#I say as I draw him with long hair anyway

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

She thought that coming up the hill would be the hardest part, but that proves to be wrong once she’s at the top.

Max hadn’t had the courage to visit by herself. Hadn’t wanted to experience the awkwardness of being both alone and un-alone, talking to someone and no one.

Most likely no one.

She thought about buying a Ouija board, but Robin very narrowly talked her out of it.

This seemed like a better alternative anyway.

Of all the birthdays she knows her brother spent alone, held up in his room with no gifts or cake because he claimed to not care about that shit, she figured that he shouldn’t get to choose this time.

So, there’s a blanket spread out on the grass with an unopened cake from Melvald’s on top, and a bouquet of flowers.

“Man, he would’ve called this gay,” Steve muses.

He leans against his hand, legs semi-stretched beside him, admiring the inscription on the headstone like it’s nothing more than a rock with writing on it.

And maybe, to him, it isn’t.

Max huffs a laugh, but it’s clipped near the end. Heavy, when her throat bobs, and she nods as tears slip down her cheeks.

“He’d call me a shithead and probably still try to steal a slice when nobody was looking,” Max says with a chuckle.

Steve huffs amusedly and shrugs.

“He was a funny guy.”

His gaze wanders off as he tugs some blades of grass up from the ground, snapping and sprinkling them into a small pile at his side with his free hand.

The finality to his words has Max’s brows drawing together.

She often wonders if, maybe, she and Steve never clicked for a reason, and if she probably shouldn’t have invited him up here when Robin suggested it.

Trust me, she had said. Take Steve, if you take anyone.

“Guess so,” Max murmurs.

Her eyes wander down to the cake sitting between them, blank, just as it was on the shelf. She wipes her eyes and thinks about reaching out to pop the plastic lid off when Steve shifts.

“Wasn’t really big on sweets,” he says.

Max blinks at him.

“What?”

“Billy,” Steve says, glancing over at her and gesturing vaguely to the headstone. “He didn’t like sweets.”

She stares for a long moment, searching her mind for a protest. Comes up blank when she tries to think of the two of them getting ice cream or something together, but she can’t recall him ever ordering anything for himself.

Across the blanket, Steve hums amusedly and smiles to himself, fiddling with a single grass blade between his fingers.

“He liked the apple pie at the diner, though. With a scoop of plain vanilla ice cream.”

“You guys went to the diner together?”

Steve’s face flushes a light pink and he shrugs again.

“Yeah? Quite a bit, actually. I think they still have his senior photo up by the register. Guy could demolish a burger.”

Max’s eyes mist over again, but she chews her lip and nods. Pushes a hand through her hair and turns her gaze down toward the blanket.

“I always thought he was, like, out partying or something.”

“We partied,” Steve admits. Shifts and lays down on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “But we usually… found somewhere quiet and just talked. Sometimes at the diner, sometimes the quarry, I think even the pool once or twice.”

He suppresses a grin as he thinks to himself, lightly nudging his sneaker against the stone. Like he’s unaware that it’s even there.

The line between Max’s brows deepens.

“If you guys were so close, then why weren’t you at his funeral?” she snaps.

Immediately, she cups a hand over her mouth, eyes widening as Steve glances at her again.

His brown eyes grow bigger for just a moment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. A new heat rises to the surface of his skin, eyes becoming glassy. “Felt like maybe I wasn’t supposed…” he pauses to clear his throat before continuing, “I, ah, visit a lot, though.”

“You do?” Max blurts.

Steve nods. Nudges the slightly older, more brittle bouquet lying next to the fresh one with the tip of his shoe.

“Who do you think leaves the flowers?”

With her hand still clamped over her mouth, Max stares at him again.

“How often do you come here?”

“Oh, just… whenever,” he says. “Maybe like three or more times a week?”

“Three or more times a week?”

Now, Steve sits up, brows drawing together.

“What’s your deal? If I knew you were gonna freak out and yell at me about everything I say, I wouldn’t have agreed to come up here.”

Max holds her hands out in front of her.

“Okay, no, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she says. Sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “I guess I just… I dunno, we were never close, but I kinda always thought I knew him best. Now I’m finding out you guys were apparently linked at the hip, and he never… I didn’t even know he didn’t like sweet stuff…”

Her skin grows hot and her eyes well with tears again. Chapped and boiling over.

Steve’s expression relaxes, and he drops his shoulders.

“He wasn’t just secretive with you. Most of what I learned about him was just by observing,” Steve reassures. Then chuckles. “He was always calling me these stupid nicknames, and the one time I called him something back — angel face — he flipped and yelled at me. No idea why.”

Max sniffles and wipes her eyes with her palms, accepting the small bundle of napkins when Steve passes it over to her.

“Angel face?” she asks.

Suddenly, Steve looks away bashfully.

“Dunno, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing I said. He hated it, so I never used nicknames again.”

Max shakes her head, which earns a puzzled look.

“He didn’t hate nicknames,” she says. Glances briefly at the headstone and then away again. “Angel face is what his mom called him.” It feels like a betrayal, to say it out loud, and Max winces. “I overheard Neil mention it in their arguments once or twice.”

She fiddles with her pant leg in her lap for a moment. Looks up to see Steve’s eyes nearly overflowing with tears, staring at the headstone.

“Oh,” he croaks.

The sight, the sound of his voice has Max’s throat going tight.

She shifts in place. Watches as Steve takes a shaky breath and reaches up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm. Then, she’s pushing herself up and shuffling across the blanket on her knees, reaching her arms around his shoulders.

At first, he doesn’t react. Then there’s an arm stretching around her back.

Hugging him is exactly like she thought it would be. Like he’s comforting her, and not the other way around. Steady, grounding, like she knows him to be for others.

She makes a mental note to thank Robin later on.

“He really was a funny guy.”

[thursdayinspace]

Okay, this is pure filth. It's been a long day and I needed to write something. Which seems to be becoming a pattern. It's fun though. Anyway, I wrote this thing a little while ago (Mulder on the phone with the boss while Scully... has some fun with him), and thought it might be fun to write it the other way around too.

He sighs and casts another look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s been four minutes and she’s still talking, still on the phone with Skinner, and his patience is slowly running out. She’s stretched out on the bed before him and he kneels by her feet where he’s been waiting ever since she answered that damned phone and he had to stop what he was doing. What on earth can they still be talking about that’s so important?

He lets his gaze sweep up and down her body, and something hot and hungry boils low in his gut as he takes her in. She’s lying here naked, thighs parted, her hair already sex-messy and her skin flushed, and she’s still talking to Skinner. She’s wet and turned on and ready to be fucked, and it’s Skinner who’s holding her attention. God, he’s not particularly proud of the primal possessiveness that rushes through him, but he can’t help it. Mine, he thinks. Skinner can’t have her. He knows she doesn’t want Skinner. And yet Skinner is still the one talking to her while she’s lying here looking like this.

“Yes, sir,” she’s saying, sounding calm and collected, “Yes, that’s good.”

And he can’t take it anymore. He pushes her thighs further apart and lowers himself down, just catching the surprised expression on her face before he holds her open with eager fingers and thrusts his tongue into her. He hears her gasp and dives in deeper, slides his arms under her thighs to hold her open and finds her clit with his mouth. It’s still swollen and sensitive from earlier, before they were interrupted, and he sucks on it hard as her free hand grips onto his hair.

“Of course,” she says. “I agree.”

Her voice sounds too casual, too normal, and he flicks her with his tongue in the way he knows drives her mad, pleased when her hips buck off the mattress and he feels the muscles in her thighs clenching.

With a moan, he runs his tongue through her folds, greedy and insatiable, drowning in the taste and smell of her. This is for him, all for him. Skinner can be in her ear, but he’s the one who has his face buried in her cunt, making her breath coming faster as she starts to tremble.

“I—” Her voice is starting to sound a little strained and he feels his cock throbbing at the sound. “I think that… would be a good idea, yes.”

She’s not listening anymore, he can tell. He’s buzzing with the thrill of it: another man talking to her, but she can focus only on him, he’s the one driving her wild, giving her pleasure like nobody else is allowed to. Her wetness is all over his face, her body completely at his mercy. He brings one hand between her legs and thrusts three fingers into her, crooking them upwards to find that spot inside that draws a suppressed whimper out of her.

“Yeah,” she says, carefully controlled. “I’m okay, just, uh. What were you saying?”

He knows how she likes to be touched. He knows how to tease her with his tongue while his fingers are fucking her in a relentless rhythm. He knows, he knows every inch and corner of her, he knows how to make her forget her own name. God, he wants to be inside her. He wants to ram his aching cock into her tight heat and fuck her until the bed collapses under them, until she comes so hard she screams, and he wants Skinner on the phone for the whole thing, showing him that he can’t have her. Nobody else can have her. She belongs to him, only to him, and he’ll prove it. He’ll show her who owns her.

She’s shaking with the effort to hold still and he knows she’s trying to hold back. Good. He has her where he wants her, right on the edge. Right at the point where she becomes helpless against her need, where he’s in perfect control of her pleasure. He could make her come right now and she knows it, and her nails are scratching his scalp and her body goes tight. She’s not pulling him off or pushing him away.

He lifts his head long enough to look up and see her eyes squeezed closed as she’s biting her lip, keeping herself from making any sounds, and if she has no intention of stopping, then neither does he.

It takes seconds after that, mere seconds of his lips and tongue and fingers working her over, until her body arches off the bed and her breath comes in stuttering gasps, and she’s coming, coming, coming.

The temptation to touch himself is almost overwhelming, but he has other plans.

As her body slumps back against the bed he finally pulls away, raises himself up to take a proper look at her. She has the phone pressed into the mattress by her side and her chest is heaving, a dazed expression on her face, and she looks… she looks like a woman who just had an orgasm. Beautiful.

Holding her gaze, he slowly reaches for the phone. It slips easily from her grasp, and he lifts it to his ear, hearing Skinner’s voice still on the other end: “Agent Scully? Agent Scully, are you there?”

He hangs up, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Agent Scully,” he says in a chastising tone. “That was very unprofessional.”

For a second, she tries to glare at him, but then starts laughing instead, covering her face with her hands. “Holy shit, Mulder,” she says.

“What did he want?”

She drops her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t remember.”

“Well.” He holds up the phone again, giving her a challenging look. “You should call him back to find out.”

“I probably should,” she agrees. “What do I say if he asks me why I hung up on him?”

“You’ll come up with something,” he says, then lowers himself on top of her, between her spread legs.

“What are you—” she starts before her eyes widen with realization. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.”

“Mulder, this is—”

“Stop me, then,” he says, nudging her opening with the tip of his cock, waiting there for her decision.

She keeps her eyes locked with his as she wraps her legs around his waist, and then takes the phone from his hand, only breaking eye contact to dial their boss’s number. She brings the phone to her ear, and as he hears Skinner answering on the other end, she digs her heels into his ass and lets out a long exhale as he enters her in one long, smooth motion.

“Yeah, it’s me again,” she says. “I’m sorry, sir, the call got disconnected. Old phone, I think I need to replace it.”

Mulder lowers his head and smiles against the soft skin of her neck as he snaps his hips forward hard. She’s his. One hundred percent. And she owns him too, heart, body and soul, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

[puckstories]

MVP | Ryan Leonard

Pairing; Ryan Leonard x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut, oral (M receiving), cursing, established relationship, praise kink (kinda??), not sure what else only edited once.

Summary; Post WJC smut (:

Word Count; 4.2k

Author’s note; I saw the most toe curling, deliciously hot edit of him on TikTok and long story short, yes, I do get it now. Anyways, I’m not great at writing smut (at least I don’t think) but I hope you like it nonetheless 😊 (add Ryan to the list of players I am accepting requests for!!) Love you guys. Go Canucks! -Honey

The moment he pushes open the door to your hotel room, you’re already in motion, throwing yourself off the bed, and into his arms like gravity doesn’t exist. A surprised laugh rumbles out of him, light and free, as his hands instinctively slide to grip your thighs, hoisting you up with ease. Your arms loop tightly around his neck, clinging to him like you’re afraid to let go.

“Congrats on the win, Captain,” you murmur into the curve of his neck, your lips brushing against the sweat-slick skin there. His scent is intoxicating—a mix of lingering beer, perspiration, and something distinctly him. You tilt your head back slightly to drink him in, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. Even flushed from the game, his cheeks still reddened and his damp hair curling at the edges, he looks maddeningly handsome. The small bandage across his nose is starting to peel at the corners, adding a rugged charm that only makes him more irresistible.

His teeth graze at his bottom lip before his face breaks into that grin—the one that sends your heart stumbling over itself every time. “Thank you, baby,” he says, his voice rough and gravelly from hours of shouting on the ice and, you imagine, roaring victory chants with his team in the locker room after.

Before you can respond, his grin softens, and his hands tighten their grip on your legs, anchoring you to him. You lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s as electric as the roaring crowd from earlier. His mouth is warm and eager, and when he nips at your lower lip, it draws a surprised gasp from you.

He takes full advantage of the opening, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that’s as much a celebration as it is a promise. Your heart races, but not from the thrill of watching the game—it’s the way he holds you like you're the reward, like you’re his trophy he’s fought to win. You thread your fingers into the damp strands of his hair, tugging gently, and he groans softly against your mouth, a sound that makes your stomach flutter and your knees weak—if only they weren’t already wrapped around him.

Ryan walks the two of you backward toward the bed, his lips never straying from yours. When the backs of your knees brush the edge of the mattress, he breaks the kiss, his breath coming fast and warm against your lips. His hands rest on your waist, steadying you for a moment before he guides you down. Your back meets the plush white comforter, cool and soft against your skin, and he pauses just long enough to take in the sight of you sprawled beneath him before climbing on top.

His hands are already moving, impatient and certain, as he hooks his fingers under the hem of your jersey. The fabric whispers against your skin as he lifts it over your head, leaving you in just your red lace bra and matching panties. The moment he sees you like this, his sharp inhale cuts through the silence of the room. His gaze lowers, and a mumbled curse slips from his lips. The hunger in his eyes sends a flush of heat surging through you, and you feel a surge of confidence bloom in your chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, like he can barely get the words out. His hands twitch like he can’t decide whether to touch or simply admire, and that hesitation makes you grin. You lean up, pressing your palms against his chest and giving him a playful shove that takes him by surprise. He falls onto his back beside you with a soft thud against the mattress, and you take your opportunity.

Sliding over, you swing your leg over his hips and settle yourself astride him, your knees bracketing his sides. His hands instinctively land on your thighs, his grip tightening slightly as he tilts his head back to look at you, a crooked smile playing on his lips. The shift in power is exhilarating, and you can feel the tension humming between the two of you, thick and electric.

“You’re too slow,” you tease, leaning down so your hair brushes against his face, your voice a soft challenge in his ear. His responding laugh is low and gravelly, but there’s a sharp edge of need in it, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “And besides, I'm perfect? MVP of the World Junior Championship? You're fucking incredible.”

His grin widens at your words, pride blooming across his face like a slow, warm sunrise. With a soft chuckle, he reaches out, gently cupping your chin, guiding you back to his lips. This kiss is different from the last—no longer rushed or urgent, but slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like every brush of his lips is a silent declaration of gratitude, love, and desire. His fingers thread into your hair, and you melt into the kiss, feeling the intensity simmer beneath the softness.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against one another, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, and it makes your own pulse quicken.

“I want your clothes off,” you whisper, the words laced with hunger.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. A flash of mischief crosses his eyes as he sits up, already tugging his shirt over his head with swift, practiced movements. The fabric barely hits the floor before his hands are on the waistband of his sweatpants, and you lift your hips slightly, just enough to help him ease them down. His sweatpants fall away, and he kicks them off with a careless flick of his foot, his gaze never leaving yours.

You lean down again, your breath hot against his skin as you press your lips to the curve of his neck. The warmth of his pulse thrums beneath your mouth, steady and strong, as you begin to trail soft kisses along the line of his jaw. Then, with a hint of provoking, you suck gently at the skin, earning a low, contented hum from Ryan. His body shifts instinctively, his head tilting to the side to give you better access, the subtle submission sending a thrill down your spine.

“No marks,” he mutters, voice low and gruff. His hand moves to your hair, fingers threading through the strands before he gives a sharp tug, pulling you off his neck. The sensation of pain and pleasure mixes together, sending a delicious shockwave through your body. Your lips part as a quiet groan escapes you, and your pulse quickens in response.

"Shut up," you grumble, the words coming out more playful than annoyed. You push your head back down, refusing to let him get the last word. Your lips graze his adams apple, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth as you feel it bob beneath your kiss. You begin a trail of open-mouthed kisses, each one wet and lingering, as you make your way lower—over the sharp line of his collarbone, down his chest, and further still. Your breath hitches as you reach the soft trail of hair below his navel, the sensation of his skin beneath your lips and the scent of him intoxicating.

Casually, your tongue slips out, tracing along the faint line of hair leading down his stomach. Each inch you cover sends a tremor through him, his body responding to even the lightest touch. You take your time, savoring the way his muscles twitch beneath your tongue as you finally reach the waistband of his boxers. Pausing for a brief second, you glance up at Ryan. His right arm is draped over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, while his teeth sink into his bottom lip in a futile attempt to suppress the sound building in his throat.

The sight of him like this—vulnerable, barely holding on—always makes something inside you flare with satisfaction. You tear your gaze away, your fingers slipping under the elastic of his boxers, feeling the soft fabric between your fingertips. Slowly, you begin to tug them down his hips. The air is thick with tension as you pull the boxers off his legs, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor.

His cock springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, the tip flushed red and glistening with the slick sheen of pre-cum. The sight alone makes your mouth water. Without a second thought, you wrap your hand around him, your fingers curling firmly but gently around his shaft. His body jerks at the sudden contact, and Ryan hisses, his breath catching in his throat as his arm falls away from his eyes, revealing a look of barely-contained desire etched across his face.

You can feel him throb in your hand, his warmth and the slickness beneath your palm igniting a fire low in your belly. After smearing the pre-cum with your thumb, spreading it across his sensitive tip, your hand starts to stroke him—teasing, just enough to drive him crazy. Ryan lets out a quiet, breathless curse under his breath, his chest heaving slightly as he tries to keep control. You feel his cock twitch in your hand, the way his hips subtly shift, his body silently begging for more.

Shifting your position, you settle in comfortably, then you lean down and give the head of his cock a few kitten licks—barely there, each one light and playful. The taste of him hits your tongue, salty and raw, and you hum softly in approval, the sound vibrating in the back of your throat.

Ryan’s reaction is immediate, his breath hitching, his hand reaching down instinctively to rest in your hair, fingers curling as if he can barely contain himself. You pause, looking up at him through your lashes, and you see the strain on his face—the tension in his jaw, the way his lips part as if he's about to say something but stops himself, lost in the sensation.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him, your voice filled with sincerity, every word laced with an intensity that seems to hang in the air between you.

You catch his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The raw emotion in your words cuts through the haze of lust, anchoring the moment in something deeper. His eyes soften as he looks down at you, his body still humming with desire but now layered with something warmer, more intimate.

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice cracking, the words escaping in a strangled moan. You feel the hand resting on the back of your head tighten just slightly, his fingers threading deeper into your hair, pulling you closer in a gentle but urgent plea. There’s a desperation in his tone, one that sends another shiver down your spine.

You nod, meeting his gaze. "Let me show you how much."

Before he can say anything else, you lower your head, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. The moment his cock slides past your lips, feeling the warmth and wetness of your tongue, Ryan lets out a deep, guttural groan that seems to tear from his chest. His hips jerk involuntarily, and his breath catches in his throat as his eyes squeeze shut, brows knitting together.

The weight of him fills your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses as you slowly take him deeper, your tongue teasing along the underside of his shaft. You pull off him with a wet pop, the sudden release of pressure causing his body to jolt. You take a moment to have a deep breath, your lips tingling as you inhale deeply. The moment is brief, though, and soon you're lowering your head again, taking his cock back into your mouth with purpose. Your lips stretch around him, sliding down his shaft, your hand working the base in rhythm with the bobbing of your head.

Ryan’s response is immediate. “Fuck...” The word is barely more than a groan, raw and breathless, escaping from deep in his throat. His reaction spurs something in you, a surge of heat, and a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. The sound vibrates around his cock, and the sensation makes him shudder, his hips twitching in response.

His hand in your hair tightens reflexively, pushing you further down onto him, urging you to take more. The sudden pressure forces you down until you can feel him hitting the back of your throat, a gag escaping your lips at the contact. But you don’t pull away. You brace yourself, your throat tightening around him as you take him as deep as you can manage, pushing through the discomfort and finding a rhythm.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the sight of him sends another wave of desire coursing through you. His head is thrown back, buried into the pillow, his lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes squeezed shut as if he's completely lost in the pleasure. Every muscle in his body is tense, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he tries to hold on. The sight of him unraveled like this—his control slipping—you'll never get enough of it.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, your lashes wet and glistening, but you don’t stop. The intensity of it, the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way his body trembles beneath you—it all drives you to keep going.

Your other hand drifts down between his legs, gently cupping and fondling his balls as your head continues to bob up and down, taking him as deeply as you can manage. His grip tightens in your hair, guiding you, and you let him take control, surrendering to the rhythm he sets. His hips start to move in sync with your mouth, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge.

But that control only lasts a few minutes before you feel his body tense even more, and suddenly, he’s pulling you off him with a frantic urgency, his cock slipping from your lips as you gasp for air. The suddenness of it leaves you blinking up at him, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice a little breathless. You swipe your tongue across your lips, tasting the salty mixture of his pre-cum and your own saliva, the taste lingering on your tongue as you watch him, still panting.

Without waiting for a response, you start to crawl toward him, but Ryan’s hands are already at your waist, gripping you tightly. With surprising strength, he pushes you back, rolling you onto your back as your body sinks into the sheets.

“Wanna cum inside you,” he growls, the words rough and simple but dripping with need. There’s no hesitation in his actions, his fingers finding the waistband of your panties. He gives one sharp tug, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him.

A small gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of it. “I liked that pair,” you murmur, not entirely serious, half breathless, the remnants of arousal and anticipation curling through your words.

“I’ll buy you more,” he replies, his voice low and hoarse, his breath fanning over your skin. There’s a hunger in his movements as he pushes your thighs apart, settling between your legs.

Ryan doesn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping the base of his cock, he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his length teasing against your slick folds for a brief moment. Then, slowly, he pushes into you, the stretch of him making you gasp as he fills you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body adjusting to the fullness of him, and you let out a soft moan as your back arches instinctively.

His eyes never leave yours as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Once he's fully inside you, Ryan stills for a moment, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by you. His eyes flutter closed as he feels you clench around him, the warmth and tightness making him let out a small groan.

His hands shift from the mattress, where they had been supporting his weight, to grasp the headboard behind you. His fingers tighten around the wood, knuckles white with the force of his grip. He pulls his hips back slowly, dragging himself out of you inch by inch, only to thrust back in with deliberate force. The motion pulls a gasp from your lips, your back arching as he fills you once again.

He starts slow, his movements steady and controlled, establishing a rhythm that has you both teetering on the edge of anticipation. Each thrust sends a ripple of pleasure through you, building steadily with each stroke. Your bodies move in sync, the heat between you rising as the room fills with the sound of your shared breaths and the soft creaking of the bed. Bit by bit, his pace begins to increase, the rhythm deepening, faster, harder. The bed shakes beneath you, clinking against the wall with each snap of his hips, but you can barely focus on anything else except the way he feels inside you, the way he drives you higher and higher with each thrust.

The noise from the headboard pounding against the wall would normally make you worry about disturbing the neighboring hotel room, but right now, all you can think about is the overwhelming pleasure that’s overtaking every part of your body. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, and a wave of heat pools low in your belly.

One of Ryan’s hands moves from the headboard to your abdomen. He applies the slightest pressure, his palm pressing down with enough force to make you feel him even deeper, and it pulls a long, strangled moan from your lips. The sensation of him inside you, coupled with the weight of his hand pressing on your stomach, makes your head spin. The pleasure borders on overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as you gasp for breath.

Ryan’s lips curl into a grin at your reaction, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He doesn’t let up, his thrusts remaining relentless, the headboard rattling with every movement. “Mhm,” he hums, the sound deep and low in his throat. He presses his hand a little harder against your abdomen, watching you carefully as he drives himself into you again. “Feels good, huh baby?”

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words. Your body reacts on instinct, nodding frantically as your hands clutch at the sheets beneath you, your breath coming in ragged bursts. “Feels—fuck, feels so good, Ryan,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the words as the pleasure courses through you, hot and intense.

Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place as he thrusts into you, his body falling into yours. The heat of his bare chest against yours sends a fresh wave of pleasure rippling through you, and you feel him shift, adjusting his angle just slightly. The new position hits a deeper spot, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Ryan moans, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

“No one else can make you feel this good. Tell me,” he gasps, his lips grazing your neck as he speaks, each word filled with raw intensity. His hips snap forward again, making your breath hitch in your throat.

You want to respond, but the words dissolve into a moan, your body too overwhelmed to form any sentence. Your nails dig into his back, clinging to him as he continues to drive into you with steady, purposeful thrusts.

Ryan groans in frustration, his breath ragged as his lips press harder against your neck. “Tell me, baby, please,” he begs, his voice thick with need, every word dripping with desperation. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tremble as he pushes himself to give you everything.

“N-no one, Ryan,” you manage to choke out between gasps as you feel another wave of pleasure threaten to crash over you.

A grin tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “That’s right,” he murmurs against your skin. “No one else can even come close.” He thrusts harder, his pace increasing, and you can feel his body vibrating with pride, with the need to prove it to you again and again.

“H-How could they?” you manage to whisper, the words tumbling out between moans. “Captain of Team USA. MVP of the World Juniors…” Your voice shakes with a mixture of awe and desire, the weight of his accomplishments sinking into the space between you.

Ryan groans at your words, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as his pace quickens. His fingers tighten on your hips, grinding deeper into you as if he’s feeding off your praise. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough and needy.

You bite your lip, barely able to form words through the haze of pleasure. “You’re the best, Ryan. No one else—no one else even comes close.” Your back arches as he hits a new angle, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that makes you gasp. “...Fuck, no one could ever make me feel like this,” you moan, your voice trembling with honesty.

His thrusts become almost frantic now, every word you say driving him harder. His mouth crashes down onto yours, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you, his body slick with sweat as he pushes you closer to the edge. Every thrust feels like a declaration, a reminder of who he is—not just the best on the ice, but the best at making you fall apart beneath him.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his lips, your voice trembling, barely able to hold steady in the moment.

Your confession seems to break something inside him. Ryan’s breath hitches sharply, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge of release. His eyes squeeze shut, and a small, broken whimper escapes his lips as he finally loses control, his release hitting him hard. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushes into you one last time, his body shaking as he spills inside you. The sensation of him coming undone makes your own body quiver in response, your fingers digging into his back as he rides out the waves of his climax.

But he doesn’t stop there. His hips keep moving, thrusting faster, harder, as he tries to prolong the feeling, fucking through the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm. The intensity of it all—his release, the way his body grinds into yours—sends you spiraling toward the edge. Your breathing quickens, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as he pushes you closer, each thrust driving you higher.

Your vision blurs, the pleasure becoming almost too much to bear, and then suddenly, it crashes over you. Your back arches off the bed, and a strangled moan of his name rips from your throat, your entire body shaking as you fall apart beneath him. The way his name slips from your lips feels like a prayer, desperate and raw, as you reach your high, the intensity of your orgasm sweeping through you like a tidal wave.

Ryan’s grip on you tightens, his forehead pressed against yours as he watches you come undone beneath him. His breaths are ragged, mingling with your own, both of you lost in the shared ecstasy.

Slowly, his movements begin to still, his body heavy with exhaustion as he collapses against you, both of you spent and breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of his as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a soft, lingering kiss.

"Shit, that was so good," he rasps, his voice low and breathless, still coming down from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls heavily against yours, both of you wrapped in the haze of post-orgasm bliss.

A dazed chuckle escapes your lips as you catch your breath. "Who do you think was the MVP of what just happened?" You tease.

Ryan lets out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against yours with the sound. He leans up on his forearms, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes twinkling with amusement and lingering affection. His grin broadens as he looks down at you, his expression softening as he takes you in.

"Oh. You," he says with a chuckle, his voice laced with certainty as he leans down to capture your lips again. "No question."

[verdesart]

Myster 'I miss my eye subspace'

I decided to merge the two drawings together so have this as an extra !!

[hinamie]

i don't normally participate in these redraw challenges but it's megumi so i'll make an exception

[lemongogo]

i just like his long hair ok 🧎

[xxplastic-cubexx]

chat if i may speak

[pup-pee]

reeeeeeeeeeeeeeddddddstonerrrrrrrr yuuummmm

ITS NOT BLOOD ITS CHEETO DUST REDSTONE ((also i stole the embroidery ren sun on the patch from madddddiiii <33 bc it was a cute silly detail i enjoy & totally wont 4get))

[moeblob]

I'm on an OC kick and also super indecisive so I spun a wheel (thank you for choosing for me, RNG).

Ricardo is a body guard and is bffs with Marlo. Ricardo's current job is watching after a celebrity's daughter who the public doesn't know even exists. She's just a teenage girl vibing with her mom and getting texts and calls from her dad (who loves her a whole lot and keeps her out of the spotlight very purposefully) and has this bodyguard and his weird friend. Marlo is just vibing with his best friend.

(Also Marlo would absolutely laugh if he heard Ricardo say "someone called me eye candy and it wasn't you and now I think you should call me that")

[seagull-scribbles]

By unpopular demand, 💕 Val

[loopyarts]

My attempt/little play around experiment at doing a somewhat rendered painterly style sketch of Ichiji.

[benetnvsch]

it's too hot here

[averlym]

whshdfhfjf.,,,

[enhanced-operatives-division]

i would love to hear about the ollie and handler crack ship here’s a silly doodle as well

LOVE THE DOODLE YOU SEE THE VISION!!!

Also this got my ass to design Ollie so:

(Love him - Also redesigned Reggie for this too so thanks!!)

And idk if it's moreso a crackship or a rarepair that only works in an AU (HACKS up Starstruck), but Reggie's line of "...and I hope Ollie made it out too. I hope a lot of things." It's totally me reading into it but like,,,,I want them to talk because Ollie is not dead to me in my heart of hearts.

Maybe the only change is like Reggie taps into the communication on the radio in Hot Water instead of using the earpiece, so Ollie ends up hearing him also? And they end up getting along really well (with Reggie having to jump through a couple hoops to be like "haha what agency..."). There's an Agency base in the South-East coast of Australia and maybe the Agency ends up adopting him after he washes up on the shore with the escape pod (after HEAVY questioning).

Alas take a doodle of my own:

Transcript (it's just canon lines):

Ollie: "She's being controlled, it's not her fault."

Reggie: "Agent, I have 0 experience dealing with giant security squids."

[skitskatdacat63]

Maybe im just too used to it atp, but it's funny to me how easy it is for me to draw seb and fernando with long flowing beautiful curly hair/wigs for my au, but when I even just try to imagine other people in it, like Mark and Jense, I can't even imagine them wearing the same type of thing at all 😭😭

[cangrellesteponme]

hehe i drew him >:]

Hippolyte Honoré de Laclos, created by @anawkwardlady ofc

ota-to-english translation for my shit handwriting below:

Hippolyte Honoré de Laclos

not a single thought behind those eyes. hair's getting too long - can't be bothered to get it cut, too busy with ze art ! dry lips (pls drink water) Les Fleurs du Mal, Beaudelaire poorly painted nails (some are straight up cracked)