#andy writes anything🍄

[puck-luck]

For your celly!! Can you do the 11 of spades with Coley 🫶🏻🫶🏻 no kink pref ❤️

warnings: flexible woman, established relationship, unprotected p in v, not very graphic sex. more allusions wc: 808

“Co, look,” you exclaim, thrusting your phone into his face. On the screen is a TikTok from Sabrina Carpenter’s latest concert– but that’s not why you’re showing it to him. Marcello Hernandez came to Sabrina’s concert, dressed as Domingo from that viral SNL skit that you’d loved the first few times you’d watched it. You were ready to let it go now that a few weeks have passed, but it was incredibly funny the first time you saw it. You’re glad Marcello is getting his props and his fame, although he does seem a little tired of the bit. Regardless, he appeared at Sabrina’s concert dressed as his character and played along.

Cole loved the sketch just as much as you did, so it was a no brainer to show him the TikTok you were watching. He lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of it, watching along with you and agreeing that it was exciting and fun that that had happened. Then, you both moved on. It wasn’t until Cole had actually gone to sleep that another Sabrina TikTok came up on your FYP– showing you her Juno pose from the same concert. You’d always gotten a kick out of the poses, loving Sabrina’s outfits and how confident she is in her sexuality.

As you’re watching, she casually does the splits. HUH? You can’t say that you have ever tried that one– you used to be able to do the splits when you were much younger, but you’d lost it over time. Taken aback, but impressed by the agility, you scroll on. Two more stretching and splits videos come up on your FYP before you go to bed. Then, tomorrow when you’re on your break, you see a few more. You start to pay attention, wondering if this is some sort of bizarre sign that you shouldn’t ignore. It may be time to get your splits back. The idea starts innocently enough– and then you remember Sabrina.

What a treat that would be– if you stretched and trained while Cole was away, then surprised him by casually doing the splits on his cock. The idea is so comical and seemingly your destiny, if you believe how often your algorithm is telling you to increase your flexibility, that you immediately decide to get to work.

You start with lunges and butterfly sits, forward folds and pigeon poses. Little by little, you feel yourself getting looser. Within a few weeks, you’re not feeling the pain of the stretch anymore in your hamstrings. One week while Cole is out of town for a game, you test out your splits and you’ve got it. Right, left, and middle. You’re able to do the splits again.

Onto phase two.

You’re too eager to bite the bullet, so the next time you and Cole start to get frisky, you’re already planning what you’re going to do. You’re going to be on top, you’re going to start in a normal position straddling his lap, then you’re going to spread your legs to the side and do a middle split right there on his cock.

You plan goes perfectly. Cole’s under you, staring up at your face, his hands covering your hips.You watch his eyes go wide, then his pupils grow bigger and darker when he realizes that you’re spreading your legs as far as they can go, just so that you can take his cock more deeply. His mouth opens slightly in surprise and stays open as you start to move again on his shaft, rising and falling in a position you’ve never done before. You’ve fallen forward, stomach flush against his, just because of the sheer pleasure. His cock really has pressed deeper into your cunt, impossibly thick and satisfying.

As you’re bouncing on his length, he helps you out by thrusting up. The sensation is different than any other time that you’ve ridden Cole, which pushes more and more noises from your mouth. He’s all sweaty and strong beneath you, tips of his hair curling, and it’s not long until you’ve both come and it’s time to clean you up.

“You’re more flexible than I thought,” Cole compliments cheekily after he wipes you down. “We’re going to take advantage of that.”

“Cirque du Soleil?” You tease.

“I was thinking more like 1,001 Sex Positions,” Cole replies. “We’re checking ‘em all off the list, baby.”

“Cole Caufield, sex position connoisseur,” you say with a snorted laugh.

“Yeah, I’m going to be a motivational speaker when I retire from hockey,” Cole agrees. “We’ll teach the world how to fuck. Imagine the power.”

“I barely let you tell your friends about our sex life.”

“This is different,” Cole tells you. He grins. “My audience will be strangers.”

Because that’s better– strangers knowing about your sex life rather than Cole’s best friends.

[shark-myths]

🍄 and 🔪 for the ask game!

🍄 - share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

GOBverse Andy is so crabby about being shorter than Jo. They consider the johawk cheating and refuse to believe Jo would wear heels for any other reason than to annoy them. Jo, who never noticed she was taller than Andy before they commented on it, now likes to stand on her tiptoes to make herself harder to kiss. She also likes to share facts about health risks associated with shortness, such as increased risk of coronary heart disease of up to 50%.

🔪 - what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Oh god what HAVEN’T I researched. The two most egregious examples that come to mind are: doing physics calculation to estimate the PSI of a smack with a full-grown swan wing, for a throwaway fucking joke line; in depth hard science research into botanical research being done on the International Space Station; and every single time I write anything in Chicago and google map it to the nth degree because that’s where I’m from and I need every single detail to be fucking correct, no matter how minor it is; when I just now researched health risks of being short for the mushroom.

[goldheartedsky]

🧃🍄📚?

🧃⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

This is gonna get real deep and real personal *really* fast, but here we go. When I was a teenager, my first real boyfriend was addicted to heroin. I was young and dumb and thought I knew what I was getting into but his addiction got worse through our relationship and affected us both tremendously. And it's part of the circumstances that lead to his death.

So one of the reasons that I write a lot of addicts (specifically heroin addicts) in recovery is to give the characters in my stories a better ending than he got and the one he deserved.

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

I think there's an incredibly sentimental side to Andy that not a lot of people see, but I think it comes out the most when she's alone with Booker. I think he was incredibly patient in waiting for whatever kind of relationship she was willing to have with him and she recognized that—someone that wasn't going to expect her to be anything other than herself—and that was what finally won her over. So she's able to let her guard down with Booker in a way that she still hasn't completely figured out how to do with Nicky and Joe, even though she's known them for far longer.

📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app? 

Okay real talk I don't use my notes app at all so there's literally like...nothing but a couple of days I needed to remember to call off of work from last summer slkfdjkldjf

More Writer's Truth or Dare asks

[puck-luck]

change-up | luke hughes

warnings: unprotected p in v, creampie, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, squirting, dirty talk, praise praise praise, fingering & masturbation, references to prior & future hookups, hookup culture, TW: hinge😩, mentions of size difference pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader summary: “because of how shy luke was when he first met reader, she thinks that he’s going to be inexperienced in bed and she‘ll to have to take the lead..but really lukey absolutely ruins her”, “could I please request luke Hughes smut where he loves being so much bigger than you”, “LOVEEDD the luke hughes one def write more dom stuff” wc: 4382

“Do you, maybe, want to go back to mine?” Luke asks quietly, his lips a mere nudge against the shell of your ear. Even in the loud bar, his voice cuts through the chatter like a flash of light. 

You’d only met Luke earlier that night, a Hinge date gone right for you and your best friend. When Luke had invited you out to the bar he was at with some of his teammates, your best friend had jumped to point out that this could be your Kylie Kelce moment– you had to go and meet your Jason, even though Luke didn’t resemble the football player at all. Not that you minded.

You consider his words– Luke’s arm is thrown over your shoulder comfortably. His body is warm against yours. He’s been pretty shy all night, quiet enough that you felt like you had to control the conversation, but while Luke was in the bathroom, one of his buddies had revealed that that was normal for Luke. He was a quiet boy around new people– it didn’t mean he didn’t like you.

Clearly, it didn’t mean he didn’t like you. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t be inviting you back to his apartment. You’re not a fool. You know what that means. 

Regardless, you agree. “Sure,” you say with a smile. 

Luke returns the smile, leaning over you to gesture towards the bartender. He closes his tab, which houses both his and your drinks. You each had only had two drinks, so you’re feeling tipsy, but not drunk enough to stop what’s about to happen.

Once Luke has closed out, he guides you to his car and opens the door in a gentlemanly way for you. The ride to his home is silent save for the country music playing from the radio. Luke’s hand rests on your knee, a weight that has you squirming.

As shy as he is, you’ve come to realize that Luke’s love language is easily physical touch. He’s been sweet when he speaks with you, and he paid for all of your drinks, which kept words of affirmation and gift giving in the running for a while, but he’s kept a hand on you all night. 

He had seemed hesitant to do so, playing it safe by touching your arm or your knee or your shoulder. When you hadn’t shrugged him off, but rather presented him with a smile and a lean into his heat, Luke had become more sure with it.

You don’t know anything about his sex life or how experienced or inexperienced he is, but you expect that you’ll have to do the same thing in bed. You’ll have to reassure him that yes, you actually want to do this, and you actually like this. He’ll want to make sure he’s being good for you, because he’s the sweetest, but if you’re honest, you’re a little disappointed that you’ll have to take the lead.

One of the reasons why you had matched with Luke on Hinge, aside from how cute he was, was that he looked like an athlete. You’ve always been someone who likes to be overpowered a bit, liking someone bigger than you, and Luke looked like he could throw you around easily. You wanted him to do so, but that just doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards tonight, and you can accept that. You’ll hook up with someone else who will toss you around eventually– but Luke is too pretty and too kind to pass up.

When he pulls into the garage and parks, Luke rounds the car and opens your door for you. He leads you by the hand into his apartment. Your purse slips down your arm and, once inside the apartment, Luke takes it from you and hangs it on a hook near his front door. 

The apartment is still dark and you find yourself distracted trying to look at his furniture through the shadows. Giving up, you turn back to face Luke with a smile on your face. 

Shockingly, he’s already moving toward you. 

Luke pushes you against the wall, his hands on your hips. He’s kissing you, swallowing your noise of surprise. You’re frozen against him for just a moment, caught off guard by his insistent movements and confident grip on your sides. You melt into his touch when his presence finally registers, the catalyst being Luke’s fingers shifting to tug at the belt loops on your jeans. You place your forearms on his shoulders, crossing your wrists behind his head. 

Luke pulls your hips against his, pressing into you with his growing length. He’s leaning over you, causing your shoulders and head to rest against the wall while your back and hips arch into him. Smoothly, he steps forward and moves one of his hands so he’s bracketing your head. 

His tongue flexes when he enters your mouth, his muscle sliding against your own. You melt even further against him, moaning against his lips. You sag against the wall and Luke’s strong hands catch you, holding you upright. 

His fingers roam along your skin, eventually resting on the swell of your ass. He squeezes your cheeks harshly, grunting in appreciation as your bottom fills his large hands. Luke lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, sitting prettily with your clothed core barely brushing his cock. You grind down against him, and Luke’s mouth curves in a smile, lips still touching your own. 

“Eager,” he mumbles, sounding smug. 

“Happily surprised,” you correct, words muffled and interrupted by your kisses. “I thought you’d be shy.”

“Mm, not when we’re alone,” Luke hums, holding you with one hand around your waist. He starts to march down the dark hallway, pushing open his bedroom door with a bang. “Not when I’m so close to getting what I want.”

Luke gently lays you on his bed, hands splayed across your back. He’s still kissing you, adamant and consistent. Now, he’s got gravity on his side. His body is covering your own, trapping you against the soft mattress. A soft curse leaves your mouth, filling Luke’s. You’re sharing the air between yourselves, aching for the other person.

“What do you want?” You ask, one of your hands finding his curls and toying with the strands. 

Luke groans, parting from you to nuzzle against your neck as you continue to scratch against his scalp. He mouths over your neck messily, his tongue painting your skin like long brush strokes across a canvas. 

“Want to mark you up,” Luke mutters, nipping at your neck. He sucks the fleshy skin at the base of your neck between your clavicles. “I want you to remember this night.”

You moan, curling a hand along his collar and pulling at the t-shirt adorning his body in an entirely unnecessary way, in your opinion. You expose his collarbone, sharp and smooth all at once, but you don’t get to reap the rewards. 

Luke instead just chuckles and bats your hand away, capturing it in his own. He presses your wrist into the mattress above your head, exposing you further. “I want to make sure you think about me for weeks.” Luke feeds the promise to you with a swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip and a tiny nibble along the same path. “That every time you get yourself off, you think about how my fingers would be better than your own, or that my cock would fill you better than any toy you own, or any other boy you find.”

You knew that this would be a hook-up sort of thing, nothing more serious because Luke’s Hinge profile clearly stated he wasn’t looking for anything long term, but his possessive tone fuels a fire in you that has you whining and tugging his hair.

He shifts your hand to join the other, his fingers gripping both of your wrists while his other hand starts to explore your body. He dances over the curves of your breasts, along your elongated stomach. Your ribs are prominent and your stomach is flatter with your back against the bed– and Luke touches your skin like you’re precious to him. For a first night together, you already feel so seen. 

After caressing your skin, Luke pulls your shirt up and bundles the fabric near the base of your neck, revealing your little lacy bralette to him. He licks along the band, going from your neck down the V of your chest, then back up to your other shoulder. You watch his nose bump against your curves and your jaw slackens a bit with the possibilities that are running through your head.

You’d give anything to get his mouth on your clit, already swollen and pulsing with faux-lightning shocks from each of Luke’s touches. 

“Eat me out,” you say, a push in the right direction. Boys like when girls speak their mind, right?

Luke stills, his lips hovering above your sternum. You watch him smirk, then resume his kissing, sweet wet pecks marking the space where your breasts meet. “Lost your manners?” He finally asks, pulling away from your body to remove your shirt. He leaves it tangled along your wrist, wrapping it a few times and tucking the end into the band of your watch to secure the fabric in place.

You pout petulantly and Luke slides off the bed, kneeling between your legs that are bent over the side of the bed. He runs a finger along the seam of your jeans, taking extra care to rub his knuckle over your clothed entrance. You keen and he draws his hand up, resting it on your mound with his thumb stationary and heavy against your clit.

“Baby, I want to,” Luke assures you, his thumb lifting up and patting your clit a few times, causing you to jolt. “But I can’t until you ask me nicely.” He starts to rub your clothed clit, up and down in slow movements. He’s peering up at you with wide eyes, blinking like he’s innocent even though he’s driving you crazy.

“Please?” You try, your voice a little squeaky. 

A tiny smile on his face, Luke tilts his head at you. “You can do better than that,” he says, shifting forward to plant a kiss where his thumb rested. “Give it a second try.”

“Please eat me out, Luke,” you say, putting another pout on your face for good measure.

“Better,” Luke teases, trailing off. He reaches for your zipper, dragging it down. He inches the denim down your legs, revealing the panties that you’re practically soaking with your slick. They match your bralette– a purposeful decision that doesn’t do unnoticed by Luke. He thumbs over your clit again, then dips lower to flick over the wet spot staining the fabric. “Keep going. I want you to beg.”

He removes your pants with a kiss to the inside of your knee. His hands move to your thighs, feeling up the skin, keeping you warm in the chilled apartment. His breath passes over your core as he switches sides and you ache for him. It breaks the floodgates and you give him exactly what he wants, falling into that submissive role you’re able to fill so well.

“I need to feel your mouth on me, Luke. I know it’ll be so good– I know you’ll make me feel so good. Fuck, Luke, I want to come on your tongue. Taste me, please, please fuck me with your tongue.”

Luke’s crooked grin returns, his teeth peeking out from behind his lips and glinting at you. “Such dirty words for such a pretty girl,” he teases, but he hooks his fingers along the crotch of your panties and tugs them to the side, revealing your wet folds. He flexes his tongue, pointing it into a solid spear that he uses to spread your lower lips and locate your entrance. “Let’s see how fast I can make you come,” Luke murmurs before diving in and lathering your clit in a wet kiss. 

He pushes your legs apart, using his strong hands to pin your hips to the bed and keep them there. You want to wiggle out from under him and grind against his face, but Luke forces you to relinquish control with his size and strength.

It’s just what you wanted. Whining and tugging at the fabric around your wrists (easily removable, although you choose not to do so), you relax against the mattress and let Luke have his way with you.

He loves it, eating you out like he could do this for hours, like he could die happy between your leg. He’s moaning against you and massaging praise into your skin, all while licking every inch of your cunt. He fucks his tongue into you, he spits along your folds and watches the saliva drip down the crack of your behind before scooping it back up with his tongue and closing his lips around your clit. He leaves you wetter and wetter each time he pulls away, admiring his handiwork from a distance with a slack jaw before locating his next target and assaulting it with his tongue and gentle scrapes of his teeth. The first time he swept his bottom teeth against your clit, you flinched, but it quickly became a moan for more.

You’ve always been a glutton, addicted to toeing the line between pleasure and pain. 

It surprises you that Luke is the same way– although he would prefer to inflict the sensation than receive it. You align perfectly.

The sharp press of his tongue inside you draws a litany of noises from your mouth and it reinvigorates Luke’s efforts, with him flicking the muscle as far as he can within your cunt. He clutches at your skin, reaching under you to envelop both of your ass cheeks in his palms and lift your pussy to meet his face. There’s no room for reprieve, no space between you, and Luke is bullying your core with inconsistent nudges of his nose to your clit. 

“Luke, my clit,” you beg, chest heaving with how badly you yearn for your release. “Please.”

“You can come without that,” Luke replies, licking over the bundle once in consolation before returning to your hole, where you’re leaking fluids. Slick, saliva, and your impending orgasm all find their way onto Luke’s tongue, running down his chin and moistening the bed beneath you. You can feel the sheets growing wet beneath you, but you don’t care. Luke is making you feel even better than you imagined he would. 

You come over his tongue with a series of moans, bringing your still-tied hands down to his hair and tugging at his locks. Luke flicks over clit with quick kitten licks, only stopping when you’re crying out from oversensitivity

Luke kisses up your body, capturing your nipples between his lips over the lace fabric of your bralette, leaving the peaks pointed and cold when his mouth travels further north. 

He brings his lips to yours, ravishing the plush curves until they’re red and bruised. All the while, Luke mumbles praises to you until they blur together and you’re arching your back to feel his torso against yours again.

“You wanna go again?” Luke checks, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Ready to give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding and knocking your nose against his. He leans in and gives you a proper Eskimo kiss before pecking you one last time. 

Luke uses his strong hands to maneuver you the way he wants– chest pressed into the bed, ass pulled up and flush with his groin as he kneels behind you. He snaps the band of your bralette against your shoulderblade, then kneads the skin of your hips. 

“Close your eyes, babydoll,” Luke commands in a gentle voice. “I want you to feel this, just focus on feeling me.”

He rolls his hips against your behind, his cock still clothed but poking at the fabric like it’s trying to find its mark and sink into your heat. He pulls you against him and you wiggle your hips, obeying his command and closing your eyes. Your t-shirt fell from your wrists during the repositioning, so you clutch freely at the pillow under your head with one hand and hold your breast with the other. You squeeze the skin, moaning at the pleasure.

Luke brings your attention back to him with a sharp spank, making you yelp and clench down with both of your hands, scrambling for something to ground you. Luke chuckles and spanks you again, harder this time and on your other cheek. 

“Can’t wait to see this ass bounce,” Luke announces, smirking obviously even though you can’t see it. “I’m gonna make sure it’s pretty and pink while I fill your pussy up.”

If your eyes weren’t shut, they’d be rolling in your head at his words. You’re helpless, reduced to a moaning mess beneath Luke. 

You had no idea that the night would turn out like this, having fully expected to push him down and ride him until he came inside of you because he just couldn’t take the pleasure any longer. The tables have turned– now you’re the one leaking beneath him, your hole spread open from his thorough meal and positively waiting for him.

Luke disappears from behind you to remove his shorts, you assume. You keep your eyes closed and you hold your position, hoping your obedience will result in a reward. 

His voice washes over you, warming you like he’s still draped over your shoulder back at the bar. 

“Keep yourself full for me while I grab something, eh?” Luke asks, a prodding question that you’re scrambling to fulfill before he can even finish his sentence. 

Your middle two fingers slide into your hole, a wet squelch pushing a breath of a laugh out of Luke from his distance. You grind against the heel of your hand, spreading your knees for more leverage. 

“Good girl,” Luke coos, making his way back onto the bed. He’s behind you once again, naked, and you wish you could open your eyes and sneak a peek at his cock. You want to see how well endowed he is, feeling him brush against your thigh before a line of spit drips down your crack and crawls toward your hole. 

You fuck yourself on your fingers, hips rocking back. There are whimpers and whines filling the room, sounding needy and desperate for more, and it takes you a minute to realize that the words are muffled into the pillow, falling from your mouth. Biting down on the pillow to silence yourself, you curl your fingers inside yourself, hoping to reach your g-spot. In this position, you fall just short.

Luke’s index finger traces over the valley of your fingers, nearing your entrance. He’s silent, his moves calculated, and his index finger presses into you. He joins your middle and ring finger, his index finger reaching your insides in a way that has you keening. You can feel his fingertips against your nailbeds, then Luke wiggles his finger in further. 

You feel like you actually drip onto the bed when he pets over your g-spot, the spot that you couldn’t find on your own. Your knees are wide and your hips are slowly coming lower and lower. Your body is defaulting to the position in which you’ve gotten off so many times– hips flush against the bed, clit rubbing against your palm as you clench down on your own fingers. 

Luke uses his knee to bring your ass back up to its previous height, swatting at your flesh when you let out a complaint at the loss. Your clit is feeling neglected, practically calling out for pleasure, but the feeling of your fingers– and Luke’s– inside you is too good to take away.

So Luke does it for you. He removes his finger from your heat and digs under your knuckles, removing your digits from their wet home. The loss of contact comes with a devastating empty feeling and Luke soothes you with a cooed praise when you express your discontent. 

He solves the problem by slapping his thick cockhead against your open hole, resting it there until you’re squirming against him and pleas are leaving you with increasing intensity and higher pitch.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Luke murmurs, pinching your skin as a reprimand. “You’ve been so good, listening to me so well. I’m going to reward you, don’t worry. Let me take care of you.”

He inches his cock inside your pussy achingly slow. You can feel every inch of him, every vein rubbing against your walls. You can feel the precum leaking from his slit and mixing with your own wetness. His tip finally nudges at your cervix, kissing the opening with another blurt of precum, and you ache for Luke to fill you up. You wish you were facing him so that he could drop a line of spit onto your tongue in a similar way.

When Luke starts to move, drawing himself out of you then forcing his way back in, all images disappear from your mind. His cock is all you can focus on– the warmth, how it’s pulsing inside of you, how it’s stretching your hole even though you had three fingers inside of it just minutes ago. 

Luke is consistent, fucking into you with hard and sure thrusts that leave you moaning. A puddle of drool is pooling on the pillow and your mouth is nearly constantly open, your tongue dry and breaths ragged. Your noises continue in their high-pitched tone, spurring Luke on. He pounds your pussy, ruining it for everyone else. 

Luke was right. You’d be thinking about him for weeks to come. 

He has you shrieking with each slap to your ass, the skin growing hot and becoming more red with each swat. You had no idea that you could be so loud in bed– you’ve normally got a handle on yourself. Normally, you’re not so wet that each thrust results in a pornographic sound of skin meeting skin. 

Luke is in a league all of his own.

“So tight,” he groans. “‘M gonna come, baby.”

“Come in me,” you beg. “Fuck, Luke, come in me.”

“I will,” he promises. “I want you to come first.”

Your abdomen is tight, burning with the need to release. You feel like you could explode and the thought pops into your head– you’d never been able to before, not with another man nor when fucking yourself, but you bet you could squirt now.

“Can I touch?” You ask, desperate. “Please, wanna touch my clit. Wanna come for you. Wanna be good. Please, Luke, tell me I can.”

“Go on,” he encourages. “Let me feel you.”

It’s like an out of body experience. You have control of your hands, but your fingers feel foreign as they find your clit and start to rub frantic circles over the bundle. Your chest is snug against the bedsheets. You spread your legs even further, needing the space to keep yourself open and feel even wider. Luke notices and loops a hand under your thigh, lifting the leg and holding it up. He’s able to keep you balanced, able to keep you steady as your fingers slide over your dripping cunt.

His grunts and moans spur you on, your back arching. His tip finds your g-spot and abuses it, knocking the air out of you with each bump.

“Luke,” you whine, his name elongated on your tongue.

“I’m here, baby, let go.”

He’s reassuring and calm, so sure behind you and panting. He drapes himself over your back, kissing behind your ear. 

It’s the smooth brush of his lips that sends you over the edge. Your vision, already black, turns into a staticky void that you fall down like you’re skydiving. 

Luke is your parachute, fucking you through the spray of your orgasm and releasing his own seed inside of you. He fills you up with his warmth, fucking you until you’re sagging on the bed and breathing hard, barely able to move. Luke drags his cock out of your cunt and brings some of his come with it, although he promptly plugs you with his fingers and a kiss once he’s turned you over onto your back. 

His fingers are mostly still inside you, slowly pumping in and out in a way that isn’t meant to derive pleasure. He simply wants to feel you. His kisses are soft and sweet, soothing you and bringing you back down to Earth. 

Eventually, you regain control of your limbs. You shift one of your legs over Luke’s hips and cuddle close to him, rolling your hips against his finger. Your tongue slides against his, tasting your first orgasm on his lips. 

The moment dies slowly. You’re both tired, ready to sleep. Luke draws his fingers out of your entrance, pecking your lips one last time. 

“Go pee, baby,” he tells you. “You’re not getting a UTI on my account. I’ll get some PJs for you while you’re gone, then we can take a shower in the morning after I serve you some breakfast in bed.”

“Mmm,” you hum, beaming. You lean up to kiss Luke again. “How’d you get so good at aftercare? Lots of experience?”

“Just want to make sure you’re satisfied,” Luke replies, fondly smiling at you when you roll away and patter towards his ensuite bathroom. He laughs a little as you cringe, the mixture of come seeping out of your hole and dripping down your thighs.

“How about I take a quick shower now and we’ll discuss that breakfast in bed when I’m done?” You tease, already pulling back his shower curtain and turning the nozzles to find your optimum heat. 

“Don’t pee in my shower,” Luke calls, pushing the covers off the bed and gathering the wet sheets to throw in the wash. He’ll put new sheets on the bed while you’re cleaning yourself.

“I’m not!” You deny, affronted. “How dare you assume such a thing?”

The last thing you hear before stepping into Luke’s shower is his cheeky, throaty laugh. You fail to bite back the smile that comes with it.

[puck-luck]

sunrise celebration | luke hughes

warnings: slight somno, but everyone is awake for the actual celebration. oral, m!receiving. established relationship. praise. hair pulling. fingering. unprotected p in v. cockwarming. riding. multiple rounds (alluded to, not necessarily included in the actual fic). creampie. lazy morning sex and makeouts and all that good stuff. happy birthday luke! pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader summary: luke's girlfriend wakes him up with one of many, many birthday presents. wc: 1805

You wake at quarter to seven with Luke beside you. He’s breathing evenly, laying on his back with an arm under your neck and the other resting on his chest. He’s shirtless, like always. He’s snoring slightly, twitching in his sleep, and you pick yourself up a bit so that you can get a better view of your serene-looking boyfriend.

You place your hand on his stomach, smoothing over the sculpted skin. He’s been working out so much lately, trying to build himself up into a “unit” (as Jack has been calling him all summer) ahead of his second full season with the Devs. Your pinkie traces over the tip of his happy trail, the dark strip of hair a favorite of yours. You admire him for a while. With the light coming through the window in his room, Luke reminds you of an angel.

When you look at the clock, you remember that it’s officially his birthday. 

Your hand is still on his stomach, fingers still petting over his happy trail. Now though, your hand is going lower, to the waistband of his underwear. You don’t dip in yet, instead opting to trail your fingers daintily over his length. It’s mostly soft in his pants, only barely swollen from his typical morning wood, but he reacts when you touch him over the fabric. His cock jumps under your palm, seeming to seek you out.

You continue rubbing over him until he’s hard and leaking, his tip prominent as it strains against the wet patch of fabric. You use the pad of your index finger to stroke over his slit, bubbling out another drip of precum when you do. 

You smile, blinking lazily before leaning up and ghosting a kiss over Luke’s cheek. He bends his arm at the elbow, the one under your neck, just to keep you close. Even in his sleep, he always wants to keep you close. 

As you continue to touch him, he starts to stir. 

“What’re you doing,” Luke mumbles softly, voice riddled with sleep. His hand on his chest drifts down to where yours is, touching your wrist and stilling your movement.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper, nosing against his cheek. Luke turns his head to you and you kiss him sweetly, bad breath and all. “Happy, happy birthday.”

“Mm, thank you,” Luke hums, catching a strand of your hair between his fingers and twirling it. 

“Wanna give you a present,” you murmur, the heel of your palm scraping over his cock. You fit your fingers around his length and pump him over his underwear. 

A groan rips from Luke’s throat, more precum leaking from his tip. You imagine his cockhead is weeping and red and you really wish you could see it. 

You shift again, trying to shift down the bed without jostling Luke too much. You do, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just moving his hips so he’s in the middle of the bed. His hands go behind the back of his head, threading through his curls. He uses his hands as a rest, settling against the pillow so that he can look down at you. 

You dig your hands into the sides of his waistband, kissing down his stomach and abdomen until the curls at the base of his cock are revealed. It’s then that you nuzzle against the hair, kissing the point where his shaft meets his groin, a breath away from where his balls rest. You kiss over the tight skin as his length is revealed to you.

His tip is just as red as you thought it would be, and just as appetizing. You flick your tongue over the crown of his cock, then press a close-mouthed kiss to his slit. 

Luke barely breathes out a moan, his hand leaving his own curls to find the back of your head. He gathers your hair into a messy ponytail, cursing under his breath. “Fuck, baby,” he sighs as you circle your fingers around his base, holding him still.

You slide his cock between your lips, eyes fluttering shut as his weight settles on your tongue. You suck, creating a vacuum over his tip. 

“Fuck,” Luke curses more sharply, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. 

You chuckle when you pull away, pumping him and swiping your thumb over his slit with a graceful twist of your wrist. “Such a pretty cock, Lu. Wanna suck it all the time. Always need you in my mouth.”

Luke grins crookedly, then bites his lip. His eyes darken, still a little clouded with sleep. “Do I not fuck you enough, baby?” He teases. “You always need more, don’t you?”

“Just want to make my boy feel good,” you say innocently with a flutter of your eyelashes and another kiss to his cock. “My birthday boy.”

As you seal your mouth over his length again, bobbing your head as you take more of him in your mouth, Luke lets his eyes drift shut and the pleasure overtake him. His hand on the back of your head is a heavy weight, helping you swallow him down until your nose brushes his pelvis and the curls there. You gag around him, but remain there, drooling until his length is slick with your spit and his precum.

You relieve yourself after a moment, taking a breath and pumping him. Luke’s eyes remain closed, hanging onto sleep in your comfortable shared bed.

“Can we just stay here all day?” Luke asks, opening his eyes and blinking at you.

“My mouth might get tired,” you reply, giggling at the joke before taking him again.

Luke laughs too, dropping your hair to thumb over your hollowed cheek. “Just in bed, baby. That’s how I wanna spend my birthday. Being lazy with my pretty girlfriend.”

“Hm, we can rot after I make you come,” you agree. “And then I wanna make you come again with you inside me.”

“Gonna ride me?” Luke asks.

“Yeah, later, if you want me to,” you sigh dreamily, licking up Luke’s shaft. You reach up to bring his hand back to your hair, then you shuffle your hand down between your legs. You touch yourself over your underwear, feeling the way the fabric clings to your soaked folds. Sucking Luke always makes you this excited– he’s just that good.

“That’s it,” Luke moans. “Love watching you make yourself come. Touch your clit for me, baby.”

You obey, petting over your clit in time with the bobbing of your head. Eventually, Luke starts to shift his hips up and you release your grip on him, curving your hand over his hip and opening your mouth so that he can fuck up into it. You shift and run your fingertips through your folds, finding your entrance while your clit finds your palm. You rut your hips against the contact, filling yourself with two fingers. 

“Oh, baby,” Luke says, tossing his head back. “Always so good. Your mouth– oh. Fuck, wanna come inside you.”

He grips your hair and pulls you off, guiding you back up his body. He rolls you onto your back in the middle of the bed, pulling your t-shirt over your head and ducking his head down to take your nipple in his mouth. He sucks, biting down on the peak, then switching over to the other. All the while, he’s pushing your panties down and replacing your fingers with his own long ones.

He fills you with two, pumping them inside of you in a way that has you arching into his mouth. Luke hurries to kick his own underwear off, the blankets falling askew as he moves. His cock slides against your thigh, hard and dripping. It doesn’t take long for Luke to make you babble and clutch at his curls, begging for that length to fill you up with his cum.

Luke complies, whimpering out a gasp as you clench down on him. “Fuck, you’re tight,” Luke groans, unable to stop his hips from stuttering into yours. He’s well-endowed and he always fucks into your heat just right, able to make you come as quickly or as slowly as he desires.

The blowjob has him worked up, so this one’s quick. Luke is clutching at you desperately, kissing your lips and your neck until they’re swollen and splotchy with hickies respectively. He’s murmuring in your ear, a load of sweet nothings that have you whining and squirming beneath him, trying to hold off until he reaches his peak. It’s his birthday, you want him to come first.

“Baby, I’m close,” Luke chokes out. “I’m gonna come.”

His hips drive against you, shuddering with the effort to hold back. His thumb finds your clit, the pressure of his weight making you keen. He breathes into your mouth, panting. His eyes are wild as you find them, the eye contact making you that much more desperate. Luke presses his forehead against yours, his body blanketing yours.

“Fill me up,” you implore, holding him tight. Your fingernails dig into the muscles of his back, feeling them move as he bucks against you. 

Luke’s grunt is animalistic as his seed starts to spill into you, nothing between you. It’s exactly what you wanted, spurring your own climax on. Your body shakes, muscles tight as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Luke keeps fucking into you, biting his lip hard as the overstimulation sends a new rush of pleasure through him. He stays inside of you even as his cock softens, plugging you to keep his cum inside. He kisses your lips, then another. The series of kisses turns into a lazy tangle of tongues and hushed giggles, the occasional twitch of Luke’s cock inside of you until he starts to grow hard again as a side effect of your wandering hands. 

“Round two?” You ask between kisses.

Luke laughs and smiles, laying back and dragging you on top of him. You sit perched on his lap, cock pressing deep inside of you at this angle. You bring your hands up your body, a hand cupping your breast and the other moving through your hair in a stretch. He grins, eyes still hooded like he’s tired, and lets his hands fall to your asscheeks, kneading the skin there. He nudges you forward, guiding your circling hips. 

“This is going to be the best birthday ever,” Luke says.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” you promise. “We’re gonna do this all day long.”

“You’re gonna run me dry,” Luke jokes.

“Well, as long as you feel good, then I’ll have done my job.” You plant your hands on Luke’s abs and grin down at him, leaning low enough to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. “Happy birthday,” you sing. “I love you.”

Luke smiles against your lips. “Best birthday ever.”

notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUKEY! I hope he enjoys his first legal drink in the U.S. and has a really good night :) sweet lukey deserves a sweet, fun birthday <3

[puck-luck]

hallmates | quinn hughes

warnings: voyeuristic themes (thin walls), masturbation (fem), dirty talk, wet dreams, drunkenness, quinn pining but barely, garland mentioned before i found out he followed trump and tucker carlson on instagram..., PROTECTED p in v (for once), the smut in this is not as strong as previous pieces of mine, use of Y/N. pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: when fem!reader moves in next to qh, there are two instances where she forgets just how thin the walls are. the second time, quinn is sure to remind her. wc: 5746

Your first grown-up job out of college has been great. You like your coworkers, you’re not bored with your daily tasks, and they gave you a very generous relocation package for your move to Vancouver. You were lucky enough to find a nice apartment with the money, and you paid the first three months’ rent easily. It’s your first one-bedroom apartment, finally living on your own for the first time in your life, and almost everything is perfect.

Almost everything.

Your one gripe is that you can hear your neighbor through the wall when he gets home from his job at weird hours, or when he has friends over during weeknights when you’re trying to prepare for work the following day, or even when he hosts holiday parties for what sounds like fifty-plus people.

It happens often enough that you’re annoyed when his presence makes itself known, but you’re not the kind of person to go over and tell him to knock it off. Plus, you decided that you’d give him a pass because it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.

Well, that, and he’s cute.

The first time you met was on move-in day. You were lugging your suitcases up the stairs leading to the apartment and he offered to help you carry them in. He took them both– one in each hand– and lifted them like they were nothing. He brought them all the way to the lobby, then smiled softly at you instead of saying “You’re welcome” when you thanked him. You had to talk to the security guard to get your key before ascending up to your floor in the elevator, and in that time, the cute boy had disappeared. You hadn’t caught his name, but you had texted your best friends and informed them that there was at least one hottie in your building.

You learned his name the second time he helped you carry something up the stairs. You had gone grocery shopping at the market down the street and had conveniently forgotten your reusable bags. Before you realized your mistake, you had gone a little crazy with the fruits and vegetables. You’d had to pack all of your goodies into two bursting paper bags that one of the vendors had on hand, and they were filled to the brim. You made it all the way to the bottom of the steps to your apartment when the handles of the bags tore off and all of your hard work was suddenly for naught.

The bags went crashing to the pavement, dirty and littered with the fallen leaves that hadn’t been corralled when they first made their way to the ground, and the prized red onion that you were going to chop up tonight as part of your dinner rolled about a foot away. 

All in all, you should’ve been glad it was the onion. You always peel the skin off of an onion before you cook it, and you always wash it thoroughly before cutting it up, but you reacted like it was the end of the world. Your prized onion was tarnished by the ground, which was silly, because they come from the ground in the first place. 

The onion rolled all the way to your neighbor’s feet. He was arriving home with a friend, a short brunet with floppy hair and a mustache. “You okay?” Your neighbor asked. He picked up the onion and cradled it in his palm.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just not sure how I’m going to carry all of this upstairs without the handles.”

“We’ll help out. You live next to Huggy, right?” The friend said, bending down to lift one of the bags. He cradles it in his arms and your neighbor does the same.

“Huggy?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

Your neighbor, in the meanwhile, had blushed beet-red and stooped down to pick up the other bag of groceries. “That’s me. It’s a nickname.”

“Huggy Bear,” his friend cooed, bumping his arm and knocking your neighbor off balance. 

“It’s Quinn. My name. You can call me Quinn,” your neighbor said, diverting your attention from the silly nickname.

“How do you know which apartment I live in, Quinn?” You questioned. You walked alongside the men as they took your groceries up the stairs, into the elevator, and into your apartment.

Quinn had cut his friend off by replying first. “Moving in makes a lot of noise. I live next door and we share a wall. You weren’t really quiet when you built your bed. I’m glad you have somewhere to sleep, but I could live without the expletives.” He reveals the information with a smile, the same slight curve of his lips that you’re starting to really admire.

That was that. They dropped the groceries off on your kitchen counter and you thanked them for the help, then sent them on their way.

The third time you saw Quinn– well, it started this whole mess. He’s been nice to you twice, so you thought you would repay him with the best thing you could think of: brownies. You’d just gotten the recipe from your aunt to make them from scratch and, hey, he’s a guy, right? Guys like baked goods. 

The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Not that you’re trying to get to Quinn’s heart. You wouldn’t mind it, but you’re not… trying.

Thirty minutes later, you’re knocking on Quinn’s door with a plate of brownies. Half of your goods are on the platter, ready for Quinn to dig into. The rest are on your counter, their yummy scent rising in waves from them like in a cartoon and waiting for you to return. 

You only know that he’s home because you can hear him through the wall. After he told you that the walls were thin, you’d been noticing the same thing. It wasn’t just when he gets home or when he has people over. You can hear him moving around and cooking throughout the day. You can hear his sports channels through the wall– yes, that’s right, channels. Multiple. You’re not sure, but he might have two or even three TVs. 

Long story short, Quinn’s home. It takes him a few minutes to come to the door when you knock. “Who is it?” He asks, voice muffled through the door.

“Your friendly next door neighbor,” you reply. “With a plate of fresh brownies.”

The lock slides open and Quinn appears from behind the door. You hold the plate out to Quinn and he takes it from you with one hand. The other rests above his head on the doorframe. He leans over you, smiling softly. 

Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You don’t know where you were going with this. Your eyes are drawn to his neck, which looks muscular and, well, biteable.

“Enjoy the brownies,” you squeak out, then you turn on your heel and bolt away.

Like any normal woman who is shocked by her sudden visceral attraction to her admittedly-hot next door neighbor, you call your best friend. She talks you through it for a little while, then starts to stray into enemy territory: “Go out, Y/N. Get your mind off of it. Have a drink, get a little tipsy, then go over to his place and tell him how hot you think he is. You’ve never heard a girl’s voice, right? I feel like you would’ve, if he has a girlfriend. The worst he can say is that he’s not interested.”

When you try to weasel out of it, speaking in low tones so that Quinn doesn't hear you through the wall, she reminds you that your resolution for this “new stage of your life” was to stop being so anxious about what someone could say to you. You had declared that you wouldn’t let your own anxiety affect your ability to be vulnerable, especially not with the people that you find attractive. 

Damn your best friend. How dare she look out for you. She even promises to call you in four hours to check in on your drunkenness.

You make plans with the girl in your office that you’ve been taking lunch with. She’s also new– not compared to you, but within the past year. She remembers what it was like to be brand new to Vancouver, so she’s eager to go out with you and offer up her friendship. She takes you to two bars in the downtown area: when the first one gets too full with what she calls “the sport crowd,” you move to the next.

Your coworker’s favorite liquor is tequila. After three shots, which make you cringe despite filling your stomach with warmth, she pulls your troubles out of you. You tell her all about your ��sexy” roommate– that’s right, Quinn has been upgraded from “hot” to “sexy” as a result of the alcohol– and she encourages you to try and bag him, just like your best friend did. She agrees that there’s no reason not to and that you should be fine because you’ve been bolstered by the tequila.

She tells you about the person she’s currently seeing and how confusing it is, rambling on and on. When the time comes, and you’re still out, your best friend does call. You talk to her for a second, then she meets your coworker through speakerphone, and they bond over the fact that they both think you should hook up with Quinn.

You party into the night, getting more and more loopy. Your confidence skyrockets by the end of the evening and your drinks are tasting like water. You’re probably too far gone to actually talk to Quinn tonight, but who cares? You feel good. You needed a night out like this.

By the time you’re getting in the Uber, there’s a goofy smile that hasn’t left your face since maybe your fifth drink. You’re able to stumble up the stairs to the lobby and gleefully greet the nighttime security guard at his desk, then you ride the elevator up to your floor. You look up and see yourself in the mirrors on the ceiling of the elevator, which is a treat for Drunk-You. It’s almost a shame when the elevator dings, having finally reached your floor, and you have to leave.

You walk down the hall and consider going up to Quinn’s door, but your phone vibrates in your pocket and you dig it out. It’s the newly minted group chat between you, your coworker, and your bestie. It distracts you, and the clock in the top left corner informs you that you’ve gotten home at a crisp 1:30am, so you decide to go to bed. 

You go to bed, alright. You get ready, you get comfy, and then you remember Quinn’s neck. 

The skin looked so soft. The hair from his beard had started to creep down towards his adam’s apple, but it was neatly maintained. You can imagine how scratchy it would be in your palms, or against your cheek when he graces you with a little kiss, or against your neck while he sucks hickeys onto your skin… or against the sensitive expanse of your own thighs.

You know just how sensitive and delicate the skin is on your thighs because it’s where your fingers are dancing. 

As you drift off, mind still foggy from your drinks, your touch starts to feel much more like you imagine Quinn’s would. His big fingers, on that manly hand, would touch you so carefully. He’d be so determined to play you like a fiddle.

As you imagine your very sexy next door neighbor touching you, you’re making a lot more noise than you realize. It starts with a whimper here and there, then crescendos into actual moans and desperate keens. You’ve shoved your face into the pillow below you, but it does very little to muffle your moans– considering you’re a big fan of breathing, your face is more turned to the side so that you don’t actually suffocate yourself while in the middle of getting off. Your middle two fingers are shoved into your cunt, your index finger erratically sliding against your clit. 

“I know, baby, you feel so good. You want it so bad, don’t you?” Quinn’s imaginary and gently deprecating words wash over your brain like an intrusive thought. 

You bite your lip and turn into the pillow, pleading with him belligerently into the cushion. You’re fighting for your life in this little fantasy, feeling so overwhelmed, and the man you’re imagining isn’t even here. But, in your mind, he’s the one with his fingers inside of you, making you gasp out his name once when his finger passes over your clit just right. In your mind, he doubles down and turns you into a mess. The drinks clogging your mind are able to make it feel more real.

You’re so caught up in your own pleasure that you forget just how thin the walls are. You miss the sound of your neighbor tossing and turning in his bed, even standing at one point and pacing around his bedroom.

It’s only after you come that you hear his bedframe creak with the weight of his body and the faint music that he seems to be playing– maybe just as white noise to fall asleep. You write it off and succumb to the clawing hands of your own slumber. 

You see Quinn again the next day. You’re heading to work with a heavy hangover weighing on you– why did you listen to your best friend when she told you to go out on a Sunday? Why did you listen to your coworker when she brought out the second and third round of shots?– and Quinn seems to be heading to his own job. You still don’t know what that is.

You meet him in front of the elevator, waiting for its doors to open and let you in. You’re honestly not sure if the movement will make you feel more sick, or even push you over the edge and make you dizzy and on the verge of throwing up, like getting out of bed did when you woke up later than you meant to and you had to rush to get ready. Everything is too bright.

Quinn yawns three times in two minutes. You’re the only two in the elevator and the silence is growing more uncomfortable than the ache in your head, since you consider Quinn to be your… friend now? General acquaintance, distant crush, or next-door neighbor might be a better categorization. 

“Long night?” You ask. 

His cheeks turn pink, bizarrely, and Quinn seems determined to face straight forward. His eyes look a little more deer-in-headlights today, rather than the calm and serene blankness that you’re used to. Not that you’re used to looking into Quinn’s eyes. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling for him. You’ve been the victim of a restless night many times over, so you know how dreadful it is the following day. “Do you know why?”

Quinn swallows harshly. “Um, I have an idea.”

It’s a weird answer, only because he doesn’t elaborate any further. You keep waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. That is, until the elevator arrives in the parking garage under the complex, when Quinn starts to head one way towards his car and you start to go the other way to your own. To make things even more confusing, Quinn says in a very stilted voice, “Thanks for the brownies.”

Then, like you did when you dropped the brownies off the previous day, he bolts. 

At first, you’re confused, but you let it go. Maybe he was late for work. At least he took the time out of his day to thank you for the brownies, right?

You consider gifting him some of your sleepy-time tea, since he was having trouble sleeping and it’s clearly affecting him. Then you think to yourself that if you kept bringing Quinn treats, you would seem like a cat dropping a mouse at their owners’ feet… so you decide not to.

You feel vindicated with your choice in the coming days. Each time Quinn sees you, his eyes go wide and he scampers away as quickly as he can. It proves itself to be very confusing because he was so nice before. 

After a tough week at work, and another near-miss with Quinn, you’re just… tired. It’s been a weird few days. What you really want is to snuggle up in your bed, throw on some ambient music, drink a glass of wine, light a candle, and fall asleep early– after blowing out your candle, of course. You’d be damned if you were the reason the entire apartment burned down in the middle of the night.

You’re lucky enough that your plans for the night work out. You get to settle in with a book– a spicy romance novel that your coworker recommended to “take the edge off if you won’t knock on Quinn’s damn door.” She seems to think that the reason you’re having a bad week is because you haven’t hooked up with Quinn yet. You don’t think there’s any correlation.

There does seem to be a correlation between the spicy book, the mention of Quinn, and what happens later. You fell asleep with your book open against your chest, having been lulled to sleep by the comfort of your own home. 

It starts simple. Quinn’s lips are sliding against yours, his hand resting securely on your waist. You’re laying in bed and you’ve got a thigh over his hip, grinding into his generous length. Before you know it, and in dream-land it seems like a flash, Quinn’s length is inside of you. He’s got a thumb on your clit while the other plays with your hair, sweet kisses gracing your lips. Quinn’s content teasing you, thrusting as shallowly as he wants and leaving you whining for more. 

“Quinn,” dream-you insists between kisses. 

“Not enough for you, sweetheart?” dream-Quinn chides playfully, his voice riddled with fondness. “You weren’t even supposed to take my cock tonight. But no, you just had to be full. You couldn’t be content with warming me either, huh? You need me to fuck you whenever you want. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Quinn, I need you,” you confirm, whining a little bit and pursing your lips so he finds them again.

“Music to my ears,” Quinn tells you with a smile. “Let me make you come, yeah?”

“Quinn,” you moan again, his touch reducing you to a mess that can only say one word: his name.

You wake to a loud knock on your apartment door. “Y/N!” The person calls, and it sounds like a man, which alarms you in your freshly awoken state.

You roll out of bed and tug on your bathrobe, which you had thrown in the dryer during your first stint in bed, the one that had sent you into sleep. And– and– had sparked that weird dream that has you wet in your panties and wishing Quinn had been there when you woke up.

You tie the belt of the robe around your waist and look through the peephole– it is Quinn. Your wish came true, in a bizarre way. He’s here and he looks concerned. He’s lifting his hand to knock again, but you open the door.

“Quinn, what’s–”

“Are you okay?” He asks. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, as well as his tennis shoes. He probably just slipped those on to come over here. “You were saying my name. I heard you through the wall. You said you needed me. Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”

The barrage of questions leaves you rattled. You blink in surprise, trying to process all of his inquiries. “What?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut hard to try and wipe the sleep away. 

“You were saying my name,” Quinn repeats. 

You squint, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was asleep,” you say, aware of how confused you sound.

“You were asleep,” Quinn repeats. He blinks twice, then repeats himself, sounding more sure. “You were asleep.”

“I was asleep,” you agree.

Quinn goes to leave, then faces you again and tilts his head to the side. “What were you dreaming about?” He asks. 

You feel your face flood with embarrassment. You’ve never been good at controlling your expression. “It was nothing.”

“Was I there?” Quinn checks. “Is that why you were saying my name?”

“You were there,” you confirm, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him and he leaves. 

Quinn smiles. He looks extra handsome when he smiles. He was smiling at you in your dream. He was doing a lot of good things in your dream. If only you could fall asleep and jump right back in– you were so close and his cock was filling you so well. 

“What was I doing in this dream?” Quinn crosses his arms and takes a step closer to you. 

You move closer to the door, keeping your hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it behind him as soon as he heads back to his apartment. “I don’t remember,” you lie. “You know, most people forget their dream within ten minutes of waking up.”

Quinn nods, still smirking. “You didn’t forget this one, though, did you?” He teases knowingly. 

“Bits and pieces.”

The next thing Quinn says is Earth-shattering. 

“Were you dreaming last time, too?”

You wish you could melt into the floor or camouflage yourself against the wall. You had a theory that Quinn had heard you getting off through the wall the night that you were drunk, although you don’t imagine that he understood your wanton noises. That was why he was running away so much. 

But… he’s not running away this time. He’s here and he’s pressing you for more and more details.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swallowing hard.

“The last time you were saying my name,” Quinn prompts. “Were you asleep then, too?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t think so,” You reply, scrubbing over your arms. It’s a sign of being uncomfortable. Hopefully Quinn picks up on that and goes, sparing you any further humiliation. You’ll never talk to him again. He’s heard you make sex noises twice, and now you know that he knows. It’s embarrassing.

Quinn takes another step forward. He’s right in the doorway now, inches away from stepping across the threshold and entering your apartment. “If you have another dream,” he says, pushing his long sleeves up to his elbows and revealing his arms. He dips his head, lowering his voice to a timbre that has you growing damp again. “You know where to find me.”

Like a final stamp of approval on an official document, Quinn touches the knot at the front of your robe. It’s a brief, fleeting touch and it’s so close to where his hands were originally planted in your dream.

He turns to leave and gets all of three steps away before you call him back. “Quinn.”

“Mhm?” He asks, knowing smile on his face. 

“How, um… how much did you hear?” You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. 

“The first time?” Quinn asks. “Or this time?”

You don’t really want to know the answer, but you nod anyway. “Uh...both?”

“Well,” Quinn says. “Today, you didn’t seem to get very far.”

No thanks to you, you think bitterly. I would’ve liked to see how that dream ended.

“But the first time, I heard everything,” Quinn informs you with a little shrug. “You… you sound really pretty when you come.”

It’s a sheepish admission and it has your jaw dropping. You fishmouth at him for a second, unable to think of something to say. He can just say shit like that? What? How?

“I guess I was hoping…” Quinn licks his lower lip, then looks you up and down. “That if I interrupted you this time, I’d get to… experience the real thing. Not just listen in through the wall.”

“You want…” you trail off, overwhelmed by the information he’s giving you. Quinn wants to have sex with you? But he’s your neighbor crush– this is a new development in the dynamic that you were not expecting. You’re not usually the kind of girl whose little crushes are reciprocated, at least, not like this.

Quinn raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to complete the sentence. When you don’t, he asks another question. “What was I doing in your dream, Y/N?”

“We, um, we were in bed,” you stammer out, feeling unsure. He wants to know– he’s made that very clear. Still, you’re somewhat reluctant. It might be coming off as coyness by accident.

“Can I come in?” Quinn asks. “I need to get the full picture. I don’t know what your bed looks like.”

You stand aside and allow him in. You close, and, out of habit, lock the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom. You try to see it through his eyes for the first time, although you’ve been living here for a while, so it’s hard. It’s just your bedroom.

“So this is where we were,” Quinn says. “Then what?”

“We were laying down,” you explain.

Quinn starts to take off his shoes, then his socks, then he climbs into your bed. “Like this?”

You feel lightheaded. What is he doing? This is so bizarre.

“Kind of?” You reply. You join him. “It was more like– this?” You pull at his arm until he lays on his side, facing you. You face him, bringing his elbow up so it rests on the pillow. 

He asked, you remind yourself. He wants to know. He asked. It’s weird, but you’re just showing him. 

You resolutely avoid his eyes, which have been trained on your face this whole time. Your cheeks are probably going to remain stained pink from the constant blush on your skin. You lay your head on the curve of his arm, then touch his cheek. Just his cheek. You’re still avoiding his eyes. It’s getting harder. “And then, um, my leg was over your hip, too.”

“Like this?” Quinn asks, bringing his warm palm to the curve of your knee and guiding your leg into place. He leaves his hand there.

“Like that,” you confirm faintly. 

All of your neurons are firing like crazy, making you question if this, too, is a dream. Has your subconscious gotten so meta that you can’t decipher what’s real and what’s fake?

“What else did we do?” Quinn’s voice has dropped to a whisper. His hand is still on your thigh.

“Well, your hand was here,” You say, correcting him and bringing his hand to your waist. “And you…”

Quinn gives your waist a little squeeze. “I… what?”

“You were kissing me,” you say, your voice barely a breath. This can’t be real. 

Quinn surprises you. “Good,” he murmurs. “I’ve been waiting to do that.” He leans in, letting his lips ghost over yours before he meets you completely. He’s hesitant, waiting for you to relax with him. 

You don’t fully, still confused from waking up and the fact that this happened so quickly and in such a bizarre way. When he pulls away, you voice your confusion. “Are you real?” You question under your breath.

Quinn chuckles, leaning in to kiss you again. “I’m real.”

He continues to kiss you. Over and over, until you finally melt into his touch and start to do exactly what you were doing in your dream– grinding against him. 

“Were you doing this in your dream?” Quinn asks. He’s helping guide your movements and you can feel him swelling beneath you. He’s not wearing underwear– you can tell. You want it, bad, and now that you’ve been kissing him, you’re more willing to explain the rest of your dream to him.

“More,” you breathe out. “I needed your cock inside me.”

Quinn makes a noise of surprise, but the way he kisses you after you say that reveals his enthusiasm.

“And you were talking to me,” you reveal as Quinn starts to meet your rolling hips. “You were– you were teasing me for being so needy.”

“What was I saying?” Quinn’s hand twitches against your waist, pulling you closer. He licks into your mouth briefly, then pulls back. “What had you begging for me, sweetheart?”

“Making fun of me,” you exhale. “Saying– I couldn’t get enough of you. That I was greedy and that I couldn’t be satisfied with just warming you–”

“Warming me,” Quinn repeats quietly, interrupting you.

You talk over him. “So you had to fuck me, but you weren’t really fucking me– you were just, inside, barely moving and your thumb was on my clit.”

“As if I could hold myself back like that,” Quinn scoffs. You grab the sides of his shirt and tug petulantly, bringing him in for another kiss. You’re addicted. 

“Show me,” you invite. “Show me how you’d fuck me. Show me what you’d do differently. Please. You came all the way over here– I want to make it worth your time.”

Quinn groans into your mouth, bringing his hand from your waist to the tie of your robe. “Really?”

“Don’t make me ask again,” you say. “I was so close in my dream.”

Quinn reacts to that in the same way. “Fuck, let me get my fingers in you first–”

“No.”

“No?” Quinn repeats, pulling away from you. 

“Not no,” you correct, bringing your hands to his waistband and snapping the band impatiently. “Just– I want your cock. Just your cock. Please fuck me, Quinn.” You kiss him sweetly one more time. “Please?”

“Undress yourself,” Quinn says. “I want to see all of you.”

“You too,” you reply. “Take your clothes off.”

As you undress, untying the knot of your belt and tossing the robe to the floor of your bedroom, you talk. You take your big t-shirt off, asking, “Condom?”

Quinn digs into the pocket of his sweats, having shed his shirt. He pulls out a foil– just one, sadly– and tosses it to you. 

You catch it, tearing the edge of the packet and taking out the ring of plastic inside of it. You push your panties down with one hand, while Quinn loses his sweats. As soon as his cock is revealed to you, hard and pink at the tip, you jump into action. You’re rolling the condom on quickly, unable to help yourself from pumping his shaft a few times.

“Quit,” Quinn remarks, batting your hand away and laying back down. He’s on his side, pulling your thigh back over his hip and resuming the position from before. He puts his hand under your jaw, then guides his cock to your opening. He pushes in, rolling his hips until every single inch is sheathed inside of you. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.”

“You’re big,” you reply, holding his shoulders and tilting your pelvis forward to encourage him to move. “Filling me so nice, Q.”

“Q,” Quinn echoes, his voice sounding a little strangled. “That’s– that’s nice.”

You wonder if he’s holding back. He always seems to when it comes to talking to you. After a while, maybe he’ll give you something more than his shy words and his hesitant admissions. He’s in your bed now, but he’s still holding back.

He starts to rut against you, finding a rhythm in which his cock slides in and out of your heat. The movement is smooth because you’re so wet from dreaming about him, then kissing him, and now having him inside. Even though there’s the barrier of protection between you, he’s warm and you can feel the way his skin stretches over his veins and his tip. That, combined with the scrape of his member against your fleshy walls, creates something so warm inside of you that you can’t help but ask for more.

Quinn gives you everything you ask for like he can’t imagine doing anything else. Soon enough, he’s holding himself up slightly by his elbow so he has some leverage to fuck into you harder and faster. 

You’re moaning, pulling him closer and threading your fingers through his hair. “Quinn,” you’re saying, repeating the word that inspired him to come over in the first place. 

He’s saying your name, too. He’s whispering it into your ear and into your mouth as he presses kisses wherever he can reach. He thrusts, he says your name, he kisses. He thrusts again, he says your name again, and he kisses you again. It’s an endless cycle, a perpetual loop. It’s soft and sweet, even though the way he’s fucking you is anything but. His thrusts are sharp and pointed, hitting the right spot inside of you as often as he can. 

The kiss to your neck is your undoing. He’s sucking a bit, biting down just barely, and his tongue works against your pulse point. It’s too much, too full of something deeper. You let go, making the noise he likes so much– the noise that he said was pretty, and he meant it, even as bashful as he looked when he said it. Your moan mixes with his name again.

Quinn spills into the condom shortly after, touching you reverently and letting his hips jerk and twitch through his release. 

You feel innately close to him, like you’re part of him. It’s bizarre how one hookup with your cute neighbor leaves you feeling satisfied and unsettled– ‘unsettled’ because, well, why would you feel so close to a man you’ve slept with once and only had a few genuine conversations with?

Quinn eases your thoughts by letting you know that he feels, at least, a little bit similar to you. 

“Can I take you to dinner?” He asks. “I’m busy most of the time, but I want to take you out. Let’s make time to have a real date.” Quinn pauses. “Unless you don’t want to– if you just want this, that’s okay. I just– I’d feel stupid if I didn’t ask.”

You touch his mouth, effectively silencing him, even though you hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to feel his lips move while he spoke. “I’ll go to dinner with you,” you agree. “If you sleep here tonight.”

Quinn smiles. “Done.”

[puck-luck]

not-so quickie | jack hughes

warnings: morning sex, unprotected p in v, thigh riding, dirty talk, jack as a boob guy for SURE, pet names, domesticity, jack x y/n being precious partners fo'eva pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader summary: the one when reader and jack's morning antics leave jack rushing to get to training. wc: 1967

Whenever you wake up in the same bed as Jack, which was more often than not nowadays, his dick is poking the small of your back or it’s nestled right against the curve of your ass. Either Jack is pulling you into him in his sleep or you’re pressing back into him in your sleep, but the way you get into this position doesn’t actually matter because it always ends in the same outcome: you, awake, because Jack has his morning wood. This morning, the tight grip Jack’s hands has on your hip explains the events of the night perfectly.

Despite the closeness between your bodies, you manage to turn to face Jack without waking him up. You trace the line of his nose, the freckles on his cheeks, and thumb over his bottom lip. 

Still asleep, Jack sighs at your light touch and pulls you as close as he can, slipping his thigh between your legs. You smile, feeling like a beam of light could erupt from your chest with how fond you are for this boy. His eyelashes flutter and the corner of his lip twitches. You can tell he’s fighting to stay asleep and you don’t blame him– the bed is comfortable, warm, and he doesn’t have to be at his off-season training for almost an hour and a half.

“Jacky,” you whisper, watching as his nose scrunches when he loses the battle.

“No,” he groans, voice thick with sleep. He feels blindly for the hem of your big shirt, the only thing you wore to bed last night, and pulls it up until he can pull it over his head. He kisses the space between your boobs before he relaxes and tries to fall back asleep.

You giggle when his breath washes over your chest, partially because it tickles and partially because you know that if Jack could climb into your skin, he would. 

“Good morning, sweet boy,” you say, scraping your fingernails down Jack’s back in soothing movements.

“G’morning,” comes Jack’s muffled reply. “You woke me up.”

When you pull your shirt collar away from your chest to peek down at him, Jack’s got that trademark Hughes pout written across his face. His eyes reflect betrayal, but you know he’s not really mad. 

“You woke me up,” you parrot back at him. 

Jack lets out a “hmph!” of displeasure at that. “Clearly, one of us is lying. That’s not possible.”

“Your little friend poked me awake.” You poke Jack to emphasize your point.

He laughs and his movements shake you. He adjusts you in his arms so you can feel the press of his, still hard, “little friend” against your hip. “This guy?” He asks. 

You hum, nodding. “That’s the one.”

“Poked you awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, that’s not very nice of him, is it?”

“Not at all.”

“What should we do about that?”

“I don’t think he should get to have any fun for the next week.”

Jack retreats from under your shirt at that and hovers above you. “A week?” He repeats, disbelief dripping from his words. “No, pretty girl, that’s cruel and unusual punishment. That’s against the Constitution.”

You laugh and press a hand to his chest. “Since when are you such a patriot?”

“I know my rights.” Jack leans down to kiss the side of your neck, then blows a raspberry in the same spot. 

You shriek and twist away from him, but Jack’s hands keep you firmly underneath him. His thigh keeps you pinned in place and offers some solid pressure to your core. His dick is still pressed against your hip and even though you’re both laughing as you try to evade his wandering lips and fingertips, you can practically feel him throbbing with the contact.

“Jack!” You squeal when he digs his fingers into your sides. You reach down and grab his wrists, trying to stop him from making any more moves, but he easily reverses your grip so he’s holding your wrists instead. He presses them down into the pillow above your head and your breath catches. His eyes are on yours and time suspends, the air thick between you two.

You’re breathing heavily and Jack’s got that barely-there smile on his face. He bites his lip, then licks it.

You’re not even registering how your hips grind down on his thigh until he looks down to where you’re touching. You look too and gasp, remembering that you are completely bare on his thigh when you see the patch of wetness glistening on his skin.

When you look back up, Jack is staring at you with something akin to determination in his hooded eyes.

“Not so upset about being woken up now, huh?” He teases, tensing his thigh and leaning into you.

“Shut up,” you breathe out, tilting your hips up to meet him.

Jack watches you without saying a word for a few minutes, a small smile present on his lips. 

Your eyes are closed, your head is tilted back, your hair is loose and falling in a halo around your head. It’s tangled and tousled from your sleep. You’ve got a fading crease from the fabric of your pillow across your cheek. Your shirt has ridden up to reveal your stomach and Jack reaches out to place a hand on it. He spreads his fingers wide and licks his lips at how his hand looks covering you. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, I want to do this with you forever. 

“Jack,” you moan, finally opening your eyes and looking into his. You continue to roll your hips against his thigh, so dense and strong and so there beneath you.

“Yeah, honey?” He replies, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “What do you need?”

“Want you inside me.” Your jaw drops when Jack thrusts his leg against your core, and stays there.

Jack looks over at the clock on your bedside table and thinks. He’s got a little over an hour before training, but he’ll have to shower and that could take five or thirty minutes depending on if you join him. He needs to cook and eat, which might take twenty minutes. The drive is fifteen minutes if he speeds (he does every time). He looks back at you and melts at the way you’re staring up at him, begging him for more with just your eyes.

“Fuck, can you be quick?” He asks.

“So close already, Jacky, just want you inside.”

Jack rolls onto his back and shoves his boxers down to his knees, pulling you on top of him. “Ride me. Make yourself feel good.”

You line him up with your entrance and sink down, feeling the breath seep out of you as he fills you up. You move your hips in slow circles, feeling him drag along your walls and press every delicious spot inside of you. You lean forward and stabilize yourself by putting both your hands on Jack’s abdomen. You can feel his abs tense as you start to move up and down on his cock.

He’s staring up at you like you’re a dream. He’s got a hand on your hip and a hand on your thigh, rubbing up and down on your smooth skin with his thumb. The only noises between you are the noises of pleasure that fall from your lips and the strangled breaths that fall from Jack’s. You take him how you want him, deep and consistent rather than fast and hard, and Jack wonders if, maybe, this is how life was meant to be lived all along?

When you pull your shirt over your head, Jack’s hand shoots up to knead your breast. He stares, mouth slightly parted, at the way they move when you continue to bounce on top of him and how they fill his palm, the weight of them causing him to smirk with pride. He’s a boob man at heart, always has been, and these tits are his, you’re his. He starts to thrust up into you once he’s got his hands on your tits, loving the way they feel under his fingers so much that he loses track of the fact that you were supposed to be keeping the pace you wanted.

Not that you mind.

You let him fuck up into you, the tip of his dick hitting your deepest point and making you a mess. “Jack,” you whine.

“Yeah, baby, that’s right,” Jack grunts out, one hand dropping to your side to pull you down into him in time with his thrusts up. “Say my name, tell me who’s making you feel good.”

You’re both sweating, a light sheen of sweat glistening on your bodies as the sun peeks through the curtains. If you looked behind you, you’d see the mess that you left on Jack’s thigh earlier. The messy hair that you love so much is starting to stick to his forehead, clumping up in strands that fall across the skin in the most beautiful way. They’re like that because of you, because of how good he’s making you feel, the effort he puts in, and it’s that knowledge that brings you one step closer to your orgasm. 

“You look so,” you say, losing the words when Jack tilts his hips to meet that one spot inside of you. “Oh, fuck, Jack.”

“Gorgeous,” Jack tells you, finishing the sentence that you had started and abandoned. “Everything I ever wanted, my pretty girl, my baby. Wanna see you come, love, wanna see you make a mess all over my cock. C’mon, baby, come for me.”

He continues to urge you as your moans grow in pitch. He continues to slam into you and it’s the tortured whimper he lets out when you clench down on him that sets off your orgasm. You almost collapse on top of him as you move your hips frantically with his stuttering ones. Your hands press on his chest, your breasts dangling right there, right in front of him, and Jack comes. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whines, looping an arm around your waist and fucking up into you wildly as he comes. He bites down and sucks on the skin of one of your tits as he comes down, pulling away to reveal a patch of his saliva that will certainly turn red, then purple, then blue over the next few hours. 

You both breathe heavily after the high of your orgasms, with you gently rising off of Jack and removing him from the warmth of your pussy.

“Good morning,” Jack says again when you cuddle into his side, your head resting on his arm and your fingertips dancing over his stomach.

“Good morning,” you reply with a smile when his dick twitches at your movements.

Jack throws a glance over the top of your head towards the clock.

“Mm,” Jack groans as he pushes himself up. He kisses you, long and soft, before he gets up to go to the bathroom. “That didn’t go as quick as I needed it to. Now I have to rush.”

“You’re complaining?” You tease.

“Never. Never complaining about getting to spend time with my pretty girl.”

You beam as you hear the shower turn on. You slip on one of Jack’s dirty shirts that he left on the bedroom floor the night before and get out of bed yourself, still feeling the remains of the morning’s adventures on your thighs. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can cut down on Jack’s time to get ready by making his breakfast for him, and he’ll reward you by bending you over the counter. He can never deny you another round when he sees himself dripping out of you so beautifully. That one, if you can swing it, will actually have to be quick.

notes: hi good morning readers yes here i am back again on a monday morning with more smut (i fear... i be thinking about this topic too much). and yet i am running out of things to write about because i do not want to write about the same three actions (a little fingering, a little oral, a little fucking) in every post because i fear that will get old for y'all. MORAL OF THE STORY: SEND REQUESTS! SEND ASKS! SEND COMMENTS ABOUT YOUR FAVORITE PLAYERS AND PEOPLE YOU WANT ME TO WRITE ABOUT! i need help <3 (yes, @johncena2020 i will eventually get to your Mr. Marino. i will.)

[puck-luck]

smutception | jack hughes

warnings: EXTREMELY META, elevator sex, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, spit kink, dom/sub tones, thigh riding, attempted phone sex, cum on the body, slight degradation, name calling, masturbation, handjob, squirting, tittyfucking, i don’t even know what else. this was a long one with a LOT of shit. pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader summary: inspired by a request from @captainlexaproluvr, which is far too long to paste here. here’s our summary instead: when jh accidentally picks up his gf’s kindle for a roadie instead of his own, he finds some surprising books downloaded. they give him a few ideas for what he’ll do when he gets home in a week… wc: 10,002

The bus rides to the airport are never fun, in Jack’s opinion. He loves his teammates, but they’re loud and annoying. He’s loud and annoying too, most of the time, but he started a really good book yesterday. He’s been thinking about reading it all day. Jack made sure to pack his Kindle in his bag, even though he had gotten distracted by your goodbye.

It started when he got back from Prague, after the Global Series. He had written off your excitement to see him as a one time thing, fueled by missing him and manifesting in an intense need for him to make it up to you– you had stopped the elevator from the garage of his apartment building and begged him to take you right there. He did, obviously, and the rush that went up his spine from how public it was led to a conversation about how Jack definitely wanted to do stuff like that again. 

He was right about one part: you jumping his bones after a roadie was a one-time-thing. The pattern changed– now, you have a habit of doing something different in bed before his roadies. It’s become somewhat of a superstition for Jack.

There was the short roadie in mid-October, when he’d gone down to Carolina and up to Ottawa for a few days. You had woken him up early that morning, kissing him and poking at him until he got fed up and pinned your wrists down. You made him late that morning, delaying the team bus for the airport, because you just had to roll your hips against his morning wood. Then, while you packed a little roadie snack for him, you just had to be naked. It’s not his fault he wanted to bend his pretty girlfriend over the counter and ruin her again.

When you joined him for the first game of his Canadian tour (Vancouver for the Hughes Bowl, then Calgary and Edmonton), Jack and Luke decided to fly with you from Jersey to Michigan to meet up with the parents ahead of time. Then, you all flew together from Michigan to Vancouver. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was when you leaned over to Jack in the middle of the plane ride and whispered, “You know what might be fun?” with a squeeze to his clothed cock before disappearing towards the bathrooms. It took a few minutes for that one to click (and a picture of your bare tits that you sent Jack from the bathroom over the airplane WiFi), but he ended up fucking you in that tiny, cramped, closet-sized bathroom. It was thrilling.

Jack went to Florida after that– before he left, you rode his face on the living room couch while jacking him off until he came with the tip of his cock just past your lips.

He really missed the goodbyes for the first half of December, when the only away game he had was about an hour away on Long Island. It barely counted, but Jack whined about needing his good luck charm anyway, so you’d gotten down on your knees and sucked his cock all while grinding against a pillow between your legs, coming from just that. Jack was too distracted by the thought of you rutting against the pillow because you were drunk off of his cock to play well that night.

He’d liked it so much that he’d asked you to do it again before he left for Columbus and St. Louis and you’d eagerly complied. It wasn’t any less sexy the second time around.

Jack loves your goodbyes. He loves you, obviously, and would love you even if you weren’t giving him these goodbye gifts, but they’re just so special. Jack is addicted. 

He doesn’t know where you’re getting the ideas from– the position or act is never something that pops into his head. Maybe that’s why he likes it so much. Maybe he likes that you’re the one taking charge and expecting things from him, although he equally loves when he gets to do whatever he wants with you on a regular day. 

Now, he’s leaving for California. He has two games in Carolina first, but then he’ll be on the west coast for a while. He’ll be gone for Christmas and New Years, which is annoying. He knows that it’s just the way that things worked out scheduling-wise, but he likes getting to shower you with presents and watch you open them, and he likes to drink a lot of alcohol with you and kiss you at midnight to ring in the next year. 

You made up for it this morning, your goodbye causing him to forget about any gripe he might’ve had about missing you for so long. You appeared in the doorway as he was packing up the last of his bags, wearing this flouncy little white nightgown with tiny roses decorating it like polka dots. It was the picture of innocence, but your actions were anything but. That enough was to drive Jack crazy, but when you sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his thigh, it shattered any possibility of functional thought. You told him not to touch you, pouting about being left alone for so long on your own– and you proved to him that you can take care of yourself just fine. 

If he thought watching you grind against a pillow was bad, it was even worse to have you soiling his dress pants with your slick and your cum. All the while, he couldn’t touch you– it was torture. It was madness. It was the hottest thing Jack has ever seen. 

After you came all over his thigh, you helped Jack change out of his pants– that was your excuse to get your lips on his cock and prevent him from arriving to player check-in with a raging erection– and chose a new outfit for him to wear. You’d kissed his lips and patted his side, reminding him not to forget his Kindle because you knew how excited he was to finish his new book on the way to Cali. 

You left to get ready for the day and he had, on embarrassingly wobbly legs, wandered around the house to find his pocket-library. It wasn’t where he left it, but he ended up finding it on one of the bookcases in his living room, swiping it and tossing it into his backpack without another thought because he was, once again, running late. 

It’s a habit now. The boys have joked about buying him a better watch and Jack goes along with it, but he knows that he’ll be late no matter how good his watch is or how early he sets it. As long as you keep saying goodbye to him like this, he’s going to be a poor teammate– he’d rather experience this than be on time, any day of the week.

Your moans from this morning are echoing in his mind, so Jack pops his headphones in and presses shuffle on the playlist he was already listening to. He digs his Kindle out of his book to offer himself another distraction. It’s going to take a lot of overstimulation to prevent another boner, which means he’s going to read his book, the one he’s been so excited about. If he finishes it, he’ll get to update his Good Reads and recommend it to Quinn. 

He traces the lines of the electronic before turning it on, touching the charging port and the power button. Jack smiles. The Kindle had been a gift from you on his birthday. The week after, he had bought you the exact same one. You had matching Kindles and you often shared books like your own little book club. He’s read romances because of you and you’ve read biographies of athletes because of him. It’s fun for him. This is special to him because he’s never done something like this with any of his other girlfriends. It gives him hope that you guys will stay together as long as possible. 

Jack finally turns the Kindle on, stopping short at the sight of the photo of the home screen. This isn’t his Kindle. He accidentally swiped yours.

It’s too late to turn the bus back and with him being on the move, it would just be too much hassle to ask you to mail his Kindle to the hotel. 

Jack chuckles to himself a little bit, digging his phone out of his pocket. He types out a text to you: Accidentally took your Kindle instead of mine :(

It isn’t long until the text bubble signaling your incoming reply appears. Sorry :( just download your book onto my account <3 I’ll read my books on yours in the meantime. 

Then, a second text: At work so can’t reply again til later :( have a good trip J ily!!!! Talk to you soon!!!

Jack replies I love you too and puts his phone away. He clicks through your Kindle, which automatically opened to the app that houses your library of books. He scrolls through, recognizing some of the titles and not recognizing the others. While sliding his finger along the screen, he accidentally fumbles the Kindle as the bus goes over a bump. When he gets a hold on the device again, he sees that his finger tapped one of your books and it opened. 

Jack goes to exit out, ready to download the book he’d been waiting for, and then he spots a familiar name in the first line.

He reads the sentence like a habit– that’s what you do when you see your name somewhere, right? 

The first page is just half of a page. It’s exposition and it’s looking like this book is somewhat of a romance, but he can’t really tell all that much.

“Every year, you go to the lake house with Jack.”

Like any good first line, it leaves Jack intrigued. Who is Jack? Where’s this lake house? How long have you been going? You say every year, but how many years is that?

Jack immediately thinks of his own lake house. He misses Michigan. His imagination solves one of his questions: the lake house in this story, in his mind, is in Michigan. It’s on the same lake as his and it looks the exact same. ‘Every year’ is vague enough that Jack can accept it. It’s meant to be vague. Only one question remains: who is this Jack guy? 

It’s fun to have a character that shares a name with you, so Jack reads on. He’s determined to figure out who this guy is. 

“The past few trips, it’s been a special occasion. You get your mid-summer break from work and you get to spend time with your boyfriend.”

So Jack is the boyfriend of the main character. Jack laughs to himself again– maybe you downloaded this book so that you could think about your boyfriend while you read it. He’s tempted to text you again with a picture of the page, but since you’re at work, you won’t reply for a while. If he’s going to rib you for reading a book about a guy with the same name as him, he wants you to be able to reply immediately. 

“You’ll sit on the patio and watch him fool around with his brothers. You know them both well after dating Jack for so long, but you’re closer with Luke. After all, he rented out the second bedroom in your and Jack’s New Jersey apartment this entire past year. You know Luke better than you ever thought you would because of that.”

Jack is starting to purse his lips as he reads. He has brothers. One of them is named Luke. He lives in New Jersey with his girlfriend and Luke lived with them last year. He’s since moved out, but the coincidence is still there. It’s still…

Weird.

He reads on anyway.

“Jack loves your relationship with his brothers–”

True. 

“but what he doesn’t love is when all of your skin is on display all day for everyone to see. Your little bikinis drive him insane– because everything he wants is right there, but he can’t have it.”

Jack is a little confused about the turn this is taking. This is only the second page of the book– he told himself he wouldn’t read past the first one, but this is just too intriguing– and it’s already talking about sex? The characters are in a long term relationship, so it’s not like this is a one-night-stand, inciting-incident sort of thing. Why would the book start here?

Also– the romances he’s read because of you are a lot more tame than this. Already, he’s starting to squint at the Kindle in disbelief. Is this the kind of shit that you read on your own? He’s ribbed you in the past for not updating your Good Reads enough and now he gets it. Maybe you don’t want the whole world (all of your followers, including your boyfriend and his older brother) to know that you’re reading porn.

“All of his frustration at not being able to do anything about your skimpy clothing comes to a head one day when the Hughes house–”

Jack stops in his tracks. The other coincidences were fine. Jack is a common name. Luke is a common name. Everyone has brothers. Lots of people have lake houses. New Jersey is just one out of fifty states in the U.S.– almost ten million people live there, partially because of its proximity to New York City. 

But all of it together– Jack and Luke Hughes, living together in New Jersey, with another, older brother and a lake house– Jack is convinced. This book was written about him.

He knows fanfiction exists. He’s never interacted with it before, but he has known about fanfiction since the early 2010s. There were a couple of girls in his classes in middle school that loved One Direction and they would talk about fanfiction all the time. It was just amongst themselves, but Jack sat right next to them, so he couldn’t really help but eavesdrop.

Jack knows that he went viral after the draft, considering the influx of people that have followed him in the years since. A lot of those followers, and he’s not bragging, have been women. He just didn’t expect to ever find fanfiction about himself. He thought that was a thing for actors and musicians, not athletes�� but the evidence is right in his hands.

Another thing clicks. You, his girlfriend, were reading fanfiction about him. You have it downloaded to your Kindle. Why would you do that if you’ve got the real thing? You could just call his name and he’d be there. Jack isn’t exactly coy about wanting to get it on with you. You’re the one who’s batting him away more often than him brushing you off. He’s always had a higher sex drive than you and been more overt about it–

…until recently.

Jack looks up from the Kindle and he starts to grin. He catches himself and brings his hand to his mouth, tracing the line of his bottom row of teeth with the tip of his fingernail. 

His initial surprise, which manifested in that weird smile and his breath of laughter, turns into a brief flash of judgment.

It’s weird that his girlfriend is reading fanfiction about him. He’s right there. Does he not satisfy you enough? Are you unhappy with how he acts in bed? You’ve never complained– if you don’t like something, you should talk to him. Right?

Jack finds himself frowning and clicking through the Kindle again. He’s searching for something in particular– the book that compiles all of your highlights and notes. He knows how you are– you’re a highlighter. You have a lot of opinions and thoughts about the things you read and you’re all about writing them down. You do it so you don’t forget what to say when you talk about your books with Jack later. There’s no way that you didn’t have anything to say about the porn about your boyfriend.

He finds the highlights and notes easily. He starts to flick through it, scanning the page for comments from books that he doesn’t recognize and doesn’t find anything until the tenth page of notes. 

He catches the first comment in the same way that he discovered your smut-stash in the first place. He sees his name.

“Jack moves like he’s drunk on the feeling of you, soft noises falling from his lips like he’s trying not to be too loud. You can almost feel the elevator shaking with his movements.”

Jack’s lips part in surprise. He taps the highlight, looking for more information. He’s looking for your comment– and all he gets is an “oh.”

It’s frustratingly vague. “Oh”? What does that even mean?

Jack releases a scoff and clicks along. He reads the sentence again, this time focusing on a familiar detail. Jack was fucking his girlfriend in an elevator. You jumped his bones in the elevator a few weeks ago. Jack’s not sure that’s a coincidence– after all, none of the details in the first story were coincidental.

He checks when you left that comment– and he was right. You left the comment while he was in Prague.

Jack feels a bit like a detective as he repeats the process, searching for more highlights and comments. He finds several interesting ones:

“Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can cut down on Jack’s time to get ready by making his breakfast for him, and he’ll reward you by bending you over the counter. He can never deny you another round when he sees himself dripping out of you so beautifully” was also highlighted while he was in Prague.

“You make your way into the bathroom and press your back against the door, feeling lightheaded at the rush– in just a few minutes, you’re going to have your boyfriend’s cock inside of you, but thousands of feet off the air. The thought of it, how dirty it is to have sex in such a public yet confined space, makes you whimper” while he was in Carolina and Ottawa.

“‘Wanna sit on this pretty face,’ you tell him. ‘While I gag on your cock’” while he was in Edmonton. 

The next one is– dirtier. Jack feels warm when he reads it. You highlighted it while he was gone in Florida and it’s clearly the inspiration for the goodbye you gave him before he went to Long Island that one night, the night when you nearly gave him a heart attack by coming on the pillow between your legs.

The other part that you highlighted… didn’t happen… but Jack has a feeling that you want to try it, given the comment you left on the highlighted page.

“Jack tilts your head up and you open your mouth, showing him that you swallowed every drop that he awarded you. Jack spits a thick wad onto your tongue again, the weight of it heavy on your muscle although, in reality, his saliva would weight next to nothing.”

Your comment says: “...& he spits on the ice all the time but never in MY mouth??”

He would if you asked. But that’s not the end of the quote– his favorite part is yet to come.

“The heat in his eyes and the taste of him in your throat pushes you to your peak, your hips erratic against the pillow. Your legs are shaking, trembling as you tip over the edge and release over the object between your legs.”

Yeah, he likes that one.

The final comment that Jack reads is from his most recent roadie in Ohio and Missouri. It’s what happened this morning. 

“‘Nah, I don’t think I will,’ Jack replies. ‘How about you get yourself off on my thigh and I’ll consider rewarding you for being so pretty and self-sufficient?’... ‘Let me see how pretty you are when you make yourself come, thinking of me.’ Your hips are rocking along the strong muscle of his thigh as he kisses you again.”

“Dirty girl,” Jack murmurs aloud, not realizing that he said such a thing audibly. Luckily, Nico is the only one close enough to hear him, and he always sleeps like a rock when they’re driving to the airport, or on the plane, or driving to the hotel from the airport. It’s the perfect combination.

So you’ve been reading smut while Jack is away. You’ve been getting ideas from fanfiction about how to fuck him.

Jack should be upset and uncomfortable because you’re reading about a fake version of him, but really, he’s just turned on. You think about him. If it was some other guy, maybe he’d be more upset… but no. You’re reading fanfiction about him and recreating the parts you like with him. Even in your little romance books, you want to read about him.

He’s elated, because, well… two can play at that game.

Jack was excited to read his book, but reading your books seems like a much better time and a much better way to entertain himself on this roadie.

He spends the next two weeks perusing your Kindle library for more books about him. They’re all short and most of them are written in second person, although some are in first and third person. Most commonly, though, it’s in second person as some sort of “Reader-puts-herself-in-Main-Character’s-shoes” sort of thing. Jack doesn’t like the books where the author writes “Y/N.” He’s not quite sure what it stands for, so he just tries to avoid it. 

Is it weird that he’s reading fanfiction about himself? Maybe, but he tries not to think about it too long. He’s doing it for you, for his girlfriend, because he wants to show you exactly what he found. Dirty, dirty girl.

About halfway through the roadie, he tries to hint that he knows about your secret. You’re on the phone and he tries to start a little phone sex action based on something he read the other day, when Merc left the hotel room and Jack was left alone. He’s alone again now. He doesn’t know where Dawson is, so he isn’t very subtle with his hinting.

He just parrots his favorite sentence back to you. 

“So, baby,” Jack says, grinning to himself. “‘Why don’t you touch your pretty little clit for me?’”

It doesn’t work. You just start laughing. “Jesus, J. That came out of nowhere.”

Jack pouts to himself. Maybe you haven’t read that one yet. He figured you would recognize the words.

He gives up on the reveal, deciding to save it for when he’s home in just another week. He gets to tell you how much he misses you and how much he wishes he could see you. He wishes you a belated Merry Christmas and he gets to spend midnight on the phone with you– your time, not his. He blows a kiss through the phone… and that’s that.

He’s back to being alone with your little stories. Jack’s able to restrain himself for the most part, but he is willing to admit that they pique his interest... and his cock sometimes grows to reflect just how interested he is.

He returns to the first story on the bus ride back from the airport to Jersey. It’s symmetrical that way and he kind of likes the idea of finishing his journey with your Kindle and your fanfictions where it originally began. It’s a full circle moment.

The story is a few thousand words, just about ten pages on the device. There are multiple rounds written into it– definitely a score, because in real life, multiple rounds is a luxury for Jack. He gets sleepy after the first and needs a break. Fictional Jack might be setting some unrealistic standards compared to real Jack, but at least real Jack can actually fuck you. All fictional Jack can do is… allude to it. He never actually gets to do it.

Jack’s favorite part of the story comes toward the end. You’ve been wearing your bikinis all summer, teasing Jack with the knowledge of what’s beneath the scrap of fabric. He’s seen your tits plenty of times before, but it always gives him a thrill to see them. One of his favorite things is getting to come all over them and mark them as his, which fictional Jack gets to do.

“You kneel below him, looking up at him with wide and bleary eyes. Jack smirks at you, his hand leisurely stroking his cock. His tip is an angry red, bleeding precum from his slit, but he still doesn’t increase his pace.

‘Ask me for it,’ Jack says, tilting his head to the side. When you open your mouth, Jack taps the head of his cock against your bottom lip, distracting you. Your tongue darts out to lick the salty precum away, but Jack evades you, laughing softly. ‘Such a slut. Well– for me, right? You want to walk around with your tits out all the time, but you’re so easy for my cock. You’re all mine, aren’t you?’

‘Jack, please,’ you pout. ‘I want your cum. Come on my tits.’

Jack slows his hand. Then, he stops stroking himself altogether.

‘What–’ you question involuntarily, brows furrowing and frown deepening. You push your chest out, trying to make the canvas more appealing for Jack. Why did he stop?

‘Give me your hand,’ Jack instructs, holding his hand out with his palm up so that you can take it. You give him your hand, waiting for him to help you up like a gentleman. That’s how this feels, like the momentum of the moment has completely halted. You’re so confused that you’d accept it if Jack just… denied you completely.

Instead, he brings your hand to his cock. He encourages you to curl your fingers around the length, watching your eyes as it slowly dawns on you. You resume his pace, lacking confidence at first and then realizing that this is better.

‘Do it yourself,’ Jack says. ‘You want me to mark you up?’ He bucks his hips forward once, just to throw off your rhythm. ‘Make me.’

You’re whimpering a little bit, puffing out your chest again and shuffling closer on your knees. Your body is practically brushing his from mere proximity. Your other hand comes to Jack’s thigh, tracing his light hair gently in comparison to the increasingly rapid strokes to his length.

Jack gathers your hair in his hand like he does when he fucks your mouth. As if on instinct, you open your mouth. Jack’s smirk reappears. ‘Easy,’ he reminds you again, taking his other hand and cradling your chin. He tilts your head back and spits, aiming at your lips. The difference is, he’s standing and you’re kneeling, so the spit doesn’t find its mark. Instead, it lands on your face. You blink in surprise and Jack uses his thumb to corral the saliva towards your mouth. There’s nothing really left by the time his thumb finds your lips, but you latch on like his digit is a flowing faucet in the middle of Death Valley.”

It turns out, spit is a thing for Jack too. He’s always liked to come on your body, but he didn’t even consider the possibility of a different liquid. Coming on you is a possession thing, and spitting is similar… it’s demeaning, showing that you’re under his control, but Jack likes it because you’d trust him enough to take it. It’s gross, but you’d still let him spit on you and into your mouth.

Well, in theory. He’ll see if you’re actually willing to do such a thing tonight.

Like he said, two can play at that game.

Jack barely bids adieu to his teammates. He speeds home, probably faster than he should knowing how the NJPD can be. He has no plan for if he gets pulled over. Luckily, he doesn’t, and he makes it home in record time. 

You’re asleep in bed. It’s early in the morning, but only about an hour before your alarm goes off for work. Timing might be the one thing that really annoys Jack about his job– the game wasn’t finished in California until almost one in the morning in New Jersey, then he had to take the bus to the airport, fly home, take the bus back to Prudential Center, and drive home. It took more time than he wanted it to and he feels bad waking you up, so Jack just climbs into bed and wraps his arms around your sleeping figure. You must’ve felt bad about waking him, because when he blinks his eyes open, you’ve already left for work.

Jack doesn’t find a good time to reveal your secret in the days after his return. You both do your normal routine. Jack returned on Tuesday. His next away trip isn’t until Friday, and once again, it’s a one-night, tiny roadie. He’s only going 30 minutes up the road to MSG. You’re coming with him. By all accounts, he shouldn’t even count it as a roadie.

Jack is desperate to show you that he knows. He also wants you to know that he’s okay with it– that he likes that you read about him and imagine him while he’s gone. He might be eager and rushing things, but this is his first chance to catch you off guard and he’s going to take it. He wants to establish this new routine early– now.

He sits on the couch, his hockey bag already packed and by the door. It’s a night game, so you’ll have time to get ready after work. Jack doesn’t have time. He’s hoping to intercept you as you walk through the apartment door, getting his kicks before he ends up being too late to the arena. Because it’s so close, he gets to drive himself to the arena. He can speed again, but New York City is so fickle with traffic that he knows he’ll run into trouble if you don’t get home, like, imminently. 

Big word, yes, but he’s been reading a lot lately. He was always better in school than Quinn and Luke, too. Not a brag– just a fact.

He also seems to have a future (ha, get it?) in predicting the future, because you arrive home just a few minutes later. You set your stuff down on the dining room table before joining Jack on the couch and greeting him with a little kiss.

“Thought you’d be gone by now,” you say, pressing another kiss to his lips and curling into his side. 

Jack wraps his arm around your waist and grins at you, crooked and shit-eating. “Couldn’t leave without getting my good luck charm first, eh?”

You laugh at him, pressing your hand against his chest, right over his heart. “It’s barely a roadie. You’re literally coming back here tonight and I’m going to the game.”

“You know how hockey players are with their superstitions,” Jack pouts, poking your side until you let out a sarcastic and dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes while you climb onto his lap like you don’t love sitting there. 

“I know how my hockey player is with his superstitions,” you reply, placing your palms on Jack’s jaw and squishing his cheeks together a little bit. 

Jack wiggles beneath you, still grinning and jostling you on his lap in the process. He’s already half-hard from his excitement about surprising you with your own fantasy. 

“But,” you continue. Your hands fall to his chest again. “I don’t have any ideas for you, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay,” Jack says. “I have plenty.”

You laugh, tossing your head back. “Of course you do.”

“Well, I was reading this book on my roadie,” Jack starts.

“Oh, yeah, we never talked about that. Was it good? I know you were really excited to read about–”

“Not that one,” Jack interrupts. “I didn’t end up reading that. I’ll probably read it when we go to Toronto next week.”

A look of confusion passes over your face. “Then what did you read?” You question.

Jack just smiles, waiting for it to click in your head. There’s only so much that he’d be able to read on your Kindle. You’d read one of your normal books last night and clearly hadn’t noticed anything different on the device, so you can’t immediately think of a book that Jack would read.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “What did you read?” You repeat, voice cautious.

Jack wiggles his eyebrows, hands inching down to cover your behind. He rolls his hips up against your core. He’s still smiling.

Your lips part, mouthing half of an interrogative word to yourself while you think. You’re fiddling with Jack’s t-shirt, evaluating him.

Jack brings a hand up to your neck, cupping the back and pulling you in for a kiss. You come easily, kissing Jack’s lips. Your movements are slightly stilted, still thinking about Jack’s literary options.

His hand moves from the back of your neck to your jaw. He lets his thumb and his forefinger smush your cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Wait– open your mouth again, baby?” Jack prompts, feigning concern. 

You automatically obey him, still looking confused. “What?” You try to ask with an open mouth, the word coming out garbled. 

Jack grins, subtly gathering a wad of saliva in his mouth while he looks into your mouth. There was nothing there, he just needed an excuse to get your mouth open. This is better than outright saying it. From your comments, he knows that you’re at least interested. If you hate it, you’ll talk about it later. He wants to see the realization on your face. It’s a big risk, knowing that you could cringe and flinch and react negatively, but Jack has a feeling you won’t.

He grips your cheeks, keeping your mouth open as wide as you’ll allow. Jack misses the flash of alarm and understanding in your eyes because he’s busy aiming at your mouth. Jack spits his saliva onto your tongue and releases his grip on your cheeks. Your mouth clamps shut and you stare at him, eyes wide and thoroughly shocked.

Jack quirks an eyebrow at you, satisfied by your frozen figure atop his lap. He checks the clock over your shoulder, seeing that he’s really running out of time. He was supposed to leave about five minutes ago. 

An idea pops into Jack’s head. He could leave you here, processing things, and go play his game. Then, he can come back later and pick up where he left off. 

Deciding to do that, Jack plops a chaste kiss on your lips before he stands, still cradling you with your knees squeezing his hips, but legs not quite wrapped around his middle. He lays you on the couch and kisses you again before returning to his full height. He thumbs over your bottom lip as if he’s wiping away his kiss. 

“Bye, baby,” Jack bids you, then gathers his stuff and leaves the apartment.

You don’t say anything or move an inch until after he’s gone.

Jack plays a great game. He knows you’re in the wag suite and he knows that he makes it onto the jumbotron a few times– probably even more on the live television feed that plays in the suite– just because of how well he’s playing. He makes sure to spit on the ice way more often than he normally does, just to send you a message.

In the back of his head, Jack realizes that people who write fanfiction will be thirsting over these clips of him spitting. Good. More things for you to read while he’s gone.

You’re home by the time he makes it back. You’re on him from the second he walks through the front door. 

“You read my–”

“Your secret fanfiction?” Jack teases. “It was an accident at first, but then I realized who it was about.”

You groan, whining as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck. Jack knows you’re blushing and he just laughs, cradling your body in his arms. Jack kisses the side of your head, burying his nose in your hair and smelling your shampoo.

“Is that why you spat in my mouth?” You question, voice muffled against his skin. 

Jack laughs again, smiling and swinging you around in his arms playfully. “You seemed to like that bit in your books.”

“It was only in, like, one,” you deflect. 

Jack snorts. “It was in four, baby, and those are just the ones that I read.”

You grumble again, pressing your lips against his neck in a miserable kiss. “You’re so weird,” you tell him. 

“You’re the one reading fanfiction about your boyfriend while he’s away,” Jack replies. “Then you’re recreating it.” He pauses. “‘Such a slut. Well– for me, right?’”

“Oh my God,” you wail.

“Tell me, baby, what do you do when you’re reading those little stories? Do you touch yourself?”

“Jack,” you complain.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ll take my spit in your mouth but you won’t tell me if you touch yourself to the thought of me?”

“You are so weird,” you say again. 

Jack feels triumphant, proud of himself. He’s glad that you’re still wrapped up in his arms, even though you’re embarrassed and red. 

“Can I recreate my favorite one?” Jack asks, kissing your head again. “Like you did?”

You pull back from him, fingers finding the nape of his neck and toying with his hair. You seem skeptical, eying him. “You really read them enough to have a favorite one?” You ask, bottom lip sticking out for Jack to lean down and capture between his teeth. 

He nibbles playfully until you start tugging at his locks, convincing him to back away. “‘Course I did,” Jack says, shrugging. “These writers seem to think I’m very good at pleasing you.”

You start to laugh, shaking your head.

“Do you write them?” Jack asks.

That brings you up short. “Do I write them?”

“Yeah. You know how I fuck best, don’t you?” Jack taps your nose with his own. “So, do you write?”

You make a face. “No. I’m not much of a writer.”

That’s true– you’ve often complained to Jack about how you’d like to be able to write as well as your favorite authors. He should’ve thought about that. Instead, he goes back to his most pressing question.

“So?” Jack asks.

“So, what?”

“Can we recreate one?”

He wants you in a tiny bikini or your prettiest push-up bra, your meticulous hand jerking his cock until he comes all over your chest. He wants to spit in your mouth again.

“Which one?”

Jack detangles you from his arms and crosses over to the thermostat. He punches up the heat to 80ºF, turning to look at you.

“Oh, no,” he simpers sarcastically. “It’s so hot in here. It’s like when we’re at the lake house in Michigan during the summer and you wear your bikini around the house all day, teasing me.”

You look thoroughly unimpressed. “You don’t have to turn up the thermostat. You can just ask me to put on my bikini, baby.”

Jack sticks his tongue out at you and resets the thermostat. “Will you put on your bikini for me?”

“Yes. Also, J, I didn’t read that one yet.”

Jack is delighted. He really gets to guide you through this, leaving you in the dark like he was the first few times you acted out a fanfiction together without his knowledge. “Good,” he says. “Then you’ll be just as surprised as I was when I read it.”

You roll your eyes once more, hiding a smile, before you disappear down the hall and into the bedroom. Jack puts his hockey stuff on the balcony like always. You tend to complain that it stinks. He’s used to it by now, having played hockey for so many years. The smell is nothing.

He joins you in the bedroom and finds you in your bikini, just like you said you’d be. It’s the white one that you’ve had for ages, since before Jack started begging you to go to the gym with him. He asked you to do so so that he could watch you work out and get all sweaty– hot– and he doesn’t regret it one bit. You were less broad then. The musculation broadened your hips and your chest, like it was expected to. Age has also helped– you once complained to Jack about looking different than you used to, so he looked it up so that he could find some way to comfort you that was steeped in fact rather than sympathetic words, and he found that women go through a second kind of puberty in their life where they become even more womanly. That’s the best way he can describe it. Jack doesn’t care that your body has “changed” since he started dating you. He barely even notices, except in moments like these. 

The swimsuit is small on you. It doesn’t cover everything the way it used to when you first bought it. The triangular cups spread only so far over your tits, leaving sideboob for Jack to gawk at. The bottoms are wrenched up over your hips and you’re facing away from him, so he gets to see the way that the fabric bunches and tries to ride up between your cheeks. 

He can’t help it. He crosses the room and grabs at your ass, completely groping you. It would be inappropriate if you weren’t together and minutes away from fucking. Luckily, Jack gets to touch you whenever he wants. It’s the best thing ever.

“Ja-ack,” you complain, drawing his name out and turning towards him. Jack is reluctant to let go of your lower half, so he circles his arms around your waist to keep his hands on your skin. He splays his fingers out as much as he can before he cups the weight of your behind in each palm, pointedly inching closer to grind his hips against your front. 

“Pretty girl,” Jack compliments, claiming your lips again with his. He never gets enough of kissing you. 

You kiss him back, then you bring your hands down and grope his ass in the exact same manner as he’s groping yours. 

“Hey,” Jack exclaims, his touch flying to your hands and removing them. 

“Oh, so you can do it but I can’t?” You question. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t have an ass like yours!”

“Are you calling me fat?”

This is your go-to line when Jack compliments your figure– particularly your ass and your tits. He was absolutely shocked and affronted the first time you pulled that line out of thin air, but this time might be the millionth time you’ve asked him if he thinks you’re fat, so he’s used to it.

Jack bites his lip and wiggles his eyebrows, putting his hands on your assets again. “Calling your ass fat,” he replies. “I love this fat ass.” He punctuates his tease with a squeeze.

You burst out laughing. “You’re so fucking weird!” You repeat again.

“Get on your knees,” Jack says. He’s trying to inflect his words like Bob asking Linda to undress in Bob’s Burgers. He knows you’ll get the reference, even though you don’t react.

You give him a little look, just a slight cut of your eyes, and then you kneel down. Jack’s cock twitches in his pants at the mere sight of it.

He cups your jaw with one hand and tilts your chin up, biting his lip as he admires you. “Easy,” Jack says.

“Well, I’m not going to fucking fight you, Jack. You’re the one who wants to recreate this fanfiction and I’ve never read it, so obviously I’m going to listen–”

While your mouth is moving, Jack gathers spit. Instead of letting it fly from his mouth towards your face, Jack lets it drip in a long line until you realize what he’s doing and stop talking. He quirks an eyebrow, prompting you. 

You open your mouth again and let his saliva fall onto your tongue. 

Jack pats your cheek and you close your lips. Jack waits, but he sees no movement in your throat. 

“Swallow,” he tells you.

And you do. 

Jack can’t really describe the feeling that washes over him. It’s simultaneously exciting that you will take anything he gives you and like an honor that you’ll do something so– odd? Is that the word? Jack doesn’t know– just because he asked you to.

There’s also the sexy bit, where it’s something from his body that you’re swallowing. He’s always loved it when you swallow his seed, but that’s so much more normalized. Every guy likes that. Not every guy does this spit thing.

“That’s my girl,” Jack says. He bends down and kisses your forehead as a reward. 

You don’t seem to have the words to form a reply.

“Was that okay?” Jack asks. He needs to make sure that your speechlessness is because it’s sexy and you like it, not because you’re staying quiet and dealing with his actions, just waiting it out until he’s finished. Then, you’ll never do it again and he’ll never be the wiser that you hated it.

You nod. “Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I like it.”

Jack’s anxiety melts. “I’m not making you do this?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s–” You shrug and look down.

“Tell me,” Jack implores gently. “I need to know.”

“It’s different is all. Now I’m thinking about it too much, I don’t want to think about it.” You pout up at Jack, looking a little sad. 

He wants to solve it for you. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. As long as you like it, that’s enough.”

“I like it,” you confirm. You touch his knee, then the front of his pants. “Can I show you how much I like it?”

Jack nods, bringing his hands to his belt and undoing it. He unzips himself and drops the dress pants to his ankles, letting you do the work on his briefs. “You can,” Jack says. “But you have to stop before I come.”

You’re pulling him out of his underwear as he speaks, but you pause when he tells you when you have to stop. You look up at him, hand circling his cock. He’s been growing hard this whole time, so his cock is standing out towards your face even without your hand guiding it. Once, you were making fun of him, and you compared his dick to a compass trying to find “true North”– you. Jack has thought about that moment every single time you take his cock out since you said it. He’s been able to move past it, but he thinks about it nonetheless.

“I’m never the problem when it comes to stopping,” you bite at him, your words pointed and knowing. 

“Fuck off,” Jack sneers playfully. You might be right, but that’s not fair. He likes to come, he doesn’t want to stop himself. “Suck my dick, baby.”

You stick out your tongue at him, but then you take him in your mouth.

Like most times, all thought leaves Jack’s head. When he fucks you, or when you’re taking care of him, there’s rarely anything actually flowing through his head. His mind is just automatically filled with holy shit– mouth– warm– tongue– oh, I hope you do that again– fuck, shit, oh my God– wait, don’t thrust, you don’t want to gag too much– on a loop. 

When he looks at you, his heart is lurching because of the slopes of your cheekbones and the wide, blown out look in your eyes. He can’t look at you and feel your movements at the same time because he will come down your throat. He’s just a man. He’s simple. 

Jack takes you by the hair and stops you, pulling out of your mouth and stepping away. He’s breathing more heavily than before and his cock is throbbing with a need to release. His hand circles his base, trapping himself and providing a bit of relief. 

Some of your spit keeps his dick connected to your mouth. It’s hot. Briefly, Jack tries to decide if he’d let you spit in his mouth, but it requires too much thought for the moment, so he tables it for later. 

“Give me your hand,” Jack says.

You comply and Jack curls your fingers around his shaft. You wait for him to tell you what to do– which Jack definitely likes.

“I want to come on your pretty tits,” Jack says, trying not to twitch and jerk his hips when you start to move your hand. “And I want you to make it happen.”

You grin up at him, dipping your head to press a kiss to the tip of his cock before you guide him towards your chest. Jack’s cockhead bumps your collarbone before you start to drag your hand in thorough strokes, pointing the tip towards the valley of your cleavage. You look up at him all the meanwhile, watching his face as he succumbs to the pleasure you’re providing to him. 

Jack touches your face with one hand. Your free hand is resting on the front side of his hip, just feeling him. He places his other hand over yours, gripping the appendage in a distorted version of holding your hand.

Warmth shoots through his body, your clenches and twists along his cock hurling him towards the powerful climax that he’s been anticipating since he started reading your little stories on the bus on the way to California.

“Fuck, baby, you’re always so good at that,” Jack tells you, praising you in the way that always brings a sweet blush onto your cheeks. 

You thank him quietly, bashfully, continuing your ministrations until the pleasure overcomes Jack and he moans, watching his cum splash over your skin. It’s the strokes of a masterpiece, but at the same time, Jack is marring the masterpiece that is your body with the white ropes that you’ve drawn from his cock. He’s privileged because he gets to ruin you.

After he comes, Jack brings you up to your feet and kisses you again. He can taste himself on your tongue, tangling with his as you kiss him back. Jack brings his hand between your legs, dipping into the fabric to find that you’re deliciously wet between your folds. 

He teases you with his fingers while he kisses you, letting time pass until you’re wiggling against him and making little noises into his mouth. Jack dips his finger into your hole, only going up to the first knuckle. It’s barely enough to satisfy you, but it allows Jack to belittle you a bit before giving you more, when you beg for it.

Surprisingly, you don’t beg for him to finger you more. You don’t ask him to take your bikini off. You keep kissing him and whining into his mouth, grinding your hips. After only a few more rolls of your hips, you pull away.

“Let me try something,” you whisper, kissing him once more before returning to your knees.

“‘Kay,” Jack agrees, watching you carefully. 

You kneel tall, pursing your lips and focusing on his cock, which is doing its best to fill up entirely for the second time. 

Jack’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when you push your breasts together so that Jack’s cock can rest between them. The pressure from your hands against your boobs, sandwiching Jack’s cock, drives him crazy.

The smug look on your face, knowing what you’re doing to him, makes Jack even crazier. It’s like when you’d recreate your little stories. You were in the know, but Jack was not. Now, you knew that you’d be tittyfucking your boyfriend, and you knew that he’s got a thing for your chest… oh, it’s a dream. Jack might never be able to look at anyone else sexually ever again. Holy shit.

It doesn’t take long for him to become fully hard again. He’s about seconds away from blowing a second load on your chest– an appealing idea, but evidently one that you won’t let happen. 

You pull back, drawing a complaint from Jack’s throat. You stand and push him back onto the bed, Jack pulling you with him. You land on top of his chest with a little ‘oof.’ You push yourself into a seated position, heavy on his lap. 

“Did’ya like it?” You tease, hands planted securely on Jack’s ribcage. You grind down against his naked cock. The soaked fabric of your bikini bottoms bunches up as you roll your hips, then shifts the other way when you rock back. The sensation is far too much for Jack in this state.

Jack puts his hands on your hips and halts your movements. You resist a little bit, ironically going against your words from earlier about not fighting him.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to come,” Jack says. “I want to come in you, baby.”

“Okie,” you agree like a goof, which gives Jack a little reprieve. You laugh and pat his chest, kneeling up a bit so that you can take his cock in your hand. You shift the crotch of your bikini bottoms to the side and sink down on Jack’s member, enveloping him entirely.

Jack breathes out as you settle against him. He has to close his eyes and push all the air out of his lungs before he can look up at you again.

His cum has dried on your chest. Your hair is wild. Your fingernails are digging into his chest as you start to rise and fall. Your tits bounce, drawing Jack’s eyes. He can’t really decide where to look– your tits, your face, your pussy… which is swallowing his cock greedily and perfectly, the way only you can.

Your walls are gummy and hot. It’s impossible to escape the pleasure or stave off his second orgasm, especially not when you flex your abdomen and rotate your hips in a little figure-eight that has you inadvertently clenching down on him. You’re like a vice, the one with the crank that takes a tight grip and makes it almost clinically impossible to un-attach. 

Jack is probably babbling, although he’s more focused on the sweet little moans and breaths that escape from your mouth. You’re biting your bottom lip, so Jack reaches up to pull it from your teeth. He thinks again of what it would be like to have you spit into his mouth from this vantage point, but then you start to bounce again and he loses the idea into the ether of pleasure. His first two fingers find your tongue and you start to suck, more noises leaving your mouth and sending vibrations up his arm.

His insides start to feel warm and fuzzy, which is when Jack stutters out a brief warning that he’s going to come. He doesn’t know how close you are, but your fingers on one hand have started to flick against your clit in quick motions. Jack watches your fingers move, enraptured by the sight because they’re just so deft– and then he remembers that those fingers spurred him towards an orgasm before, which landed across your chest– and then a little bit of your saliva slides between his fingers and cools in the bedroom air– and Jack comes inside of you. It knocks all of the breath and all of the tension out of his body, leaving him completely blank and new like he’s floating in space without anything around.

The first thing he sees after whiting out from the orgasm is you, legs shaking, writhing so violently from the gratification of your own climax that his cock is displaced from its home in your cunt. His cum drips out of you and the rapid emptiness allows you to pull off Jack’s favorite trick– your orgasm manifests in a squirt that washes over Jack’s pelvis and leaves you grinding into the air for more. 

Jack pushes himself up to a half-seated position to catch you when you sag forward from sheer exhaustion, kissing you again and bringing you to a position where you can straddle his thigh and continue chasing the aftershocks of your climax. You’re mewling into his mouth desperately, hips working, and Jack wants to give you another but he just can’t. He’s entirely spent.

He plugs you with two fingers, filling you because he knows that’s what you need. You hump against his hand as you come down, your kisses becoming less wanton and needy as you exit the rush of emotion you’re experiencing.

Your kisses turn sweet and long, sensual but not intentional. You’re making out just to feel each other, just like how Jack has his fingers inside of you just so that you’re full. 

“That wasn’t exactly what I read,” Jack is able to joke after your rocking stops. 

“No?” You ask, voice thick, the way it is when you first wake up in the morning and you’re not sure what’s real and what’s a dream. Jack loves when your voice gets like that after he fucks you– it means he did a good job and you’re so satisfied that you’re sleepy. Your eyes are closed now and you wrap your arms around Jack’s neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“I was supposed to spit on your face before you made me come,” Jack says. 

You hum. “I think ours was better.”

“Maybe you should write it down,” Jack teases, which earns him a sharp tug to his hair. He laughs. “Okay, message received.”

You sit in silence for another few minutes. Jack draws shapes all over the expanse of your back– although his favorite is the attempted rose that he puts between your shoulderblades or the series of loopy hearts at the base of your spine. 

“I have another question,” Jack says.

“Hm?”

You really are sleepy. Jack might have to sit you on the counter in the ensuite bathroom and clean you up with a wet rag instead of washing your body of his cum in the shower, which is what he was fully planning to do. That being said, Jack asks his final (series) of question(s).

“That stuff wasn’t, like, actually published, right? People aren’t making money off of my name and life? I don’t have to sue anyone?  I feel like that would be a little embarrassing. I don’t want to go to court because of fanfiction.”

He makes you giggle. “No, baby. They’re not real books. Although, there are probably some real books whose love interests were inspired by you.”

Jack hums. “I’ll allow it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they don’t even compare to the real thing.” You kiss his shoulder and toy with his hair a little more before Jack decides to take you to the bathroom and clean you up.

You continue to share your sweet kisses, puckering your lips to ask for another every few minutes, and Jack is hopeless to deny you. Not after you did so well, anyway– letting him do exactly what he wanted, and even improving it by working him over with your boobs and squirting because of his cock. 

Jack takes you back to bed after you’re all clean, cuddling up behind you and spooning you. “Love you,” he murmurs in your ear before kissing your neck. 

“Love you,” you parrot back. “Can’t believe you’re making me find a fanfiction that’s better than that for your next goodbye.”

“I’ll do some research, too,” Jack offers. 

You scoff, shaking your head fondly and laughing at Jack one last time before falling asleep. “So fucking weird.”

notes: this has been in my inbox since MAY ELEVENTH. Cappy's patience cannot be overpraised. she sent me FIVE requests outlining this whole thing, complete with dialogue, most of which was completely thrown out the window when i got my own ideas and actually started writing. you all will likely never see the original requests, but they are so silly goofy looking back on it. i have them written down in my notes app, having done that before i embarked on this journey, and i will probably not delete them because it's a nice little memory. back to my roots.

like i told cappy: this fic was a canon event, a fixed point, in my writing journey. i hope you all SINCERELY enjoy it. i know i've said this before, but this could be my magnum opus <3 i think it is the best contender at the moment.

i hope you all enjoyed!

[puck-luck]

have your cake | quinn hughes

warnings: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, coming on reader's body, subspace (not directly called that but gf is DEEP in SOME headspace) pairing: birthday boy!quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: it's quinn's 25th birthday, so fem!reader gives him the chance to do his favorite thing in bed for as long as he would like. wc: 2992

“Thank you for dinner, sweetheart,” Quinn says, bringing his napkin to his face and wiping his mouth. “And thanks for not making my birthday such a big deal.”

He had asked for such, so you were just trying to follow his wishes. The Canucks hadn’t had a game today, so Quinn had gone to practice like normal. He had grabbed a drink with Petey, Garly, and J.T. afterward as a special treat for his birthday. You know that Tocchet had asked catering to make Quinn a singular birthday cupcake, since he isn’t the biggest fan of sweets during the season.

With you, though, he just wanted to spend his time. You made him a steak, his favorite. On the side, you baked a potato and heaped a healthy pile of green beans onto his plate. For fun, you made some cheesy garlic bread, and although he doesn’t normally eat gluten during the season, he’s never been able to deny your fluttering eyelashes and doe eyes. 

He cleared his plate. He always does, but you feel especially proud of your cooking today.

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “I’m glad you liked it. Has your birthday been good?”

Quinn nods. “It was a good day. Very calm. It’s still weird without Jack and Luke, but I talked to them earlier. They called me before practice, right after they got out of the gym.” He pauses, reaching out with his palm up so you take his hand. “This dinner is the cherry on top.”

“You haven’t even had dessert yet,” you tell him. “Since it’s your birthday, you get to have your cake and eat it, too.” You’d been thinking about the pun for hours. It might not make the most sense, given the dessert that you’re going to offer him in just a few minutes, but you think you’re funny. You’re on the last few bites of your own dinner, so you want to clear your plate and load the dishwasher before you offer him anything.

“Baby, I don’t need anything sweet,” Quinn says. “I already had something today.”

You take the final bite of potatoes, then swallow. You stand, collecting his plate and stacking it atop your own. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“What is it?” Quinn asks.

“A surprise,” you tease, winking at him as you rinse the debris off of the plates with hot water. Then, you load the dishwasher and wash your hands, drying them with the towel that hangs near the sink.

“You’re such a tease,” Quinn laughs, pretending to chide you for withholding. He stands from the table and washes his own hands, but as soon as he’s done, he takes the opportunity to get handsy with you. He dries his hands on your clothes, leaving wet handprints over your ass and waist, plus one over one of your tits for good measure.

You twist away from him like you hate the antics, but it’s just the precursor to his dessert, which he doesn’t know yet. Sure, he’s probably hoping to get laid tonight– and it is his birthday, after all– but you had other plans.

Quinn rarely gets to do his favorite thing in bed. Part of that is because you’re both busy and when you fuck, you want to fuck. You like getting to the point where Quinn’s ample cock is buried inside you, filling you with his come, all while he murmurs little nothings about “you’re mine,” “gonna put a baby in you,” or the like. 

His favorite thing is to lay between your legs and eat you out until your thighs are squeezing his head and covering his ears and suffocating him. Like you said– you’re normally greedy for his cock, even impatient (which is how he often describes your attitude in bed), but today is Quinn’s birthday.

So, if he wants to, and he will want to, he’ll eat your pussy for dessert. He’ll eat you out until he’s had his fill, no matter how many orgasms it takes. You already set two full bottles of water on the bedside table in your shared room, plus you bought some fruit at the store so that you can recharge when he’s done with you. You’re expecting overstimulation, a fuzzy brain, and maybe even tears as a result of the pleasure.

You’re prepared for anything, because you’re at the mercy of the birthday boy today.

“Go to our room,” you tell Quinn. “I’m going to bring you dessert in bed, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just let me get everything ready.”

“Good idea,” Quinn says. “Then we won’t have to leave bed afterward.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him and shoo him away, but he’s absolutely correct. That’s the whole point.

Quinn goes, blowing you a kiss just before he walks out of sight because he can’t help himself from being silly when you share a domestic evening together. 

Once he’s gone, you pretend to prepare a dish. You open and close the fridge a couple of times, you click the lighter like you’re lighting candles, you remove plates and cups from the cupboard so that he hears the clatter and suspects nothing. As you move around the kitchen, shuffling along inconspicuously, you remove your clothes. 

Underneath your normal leggings, t-shirt, and one of Quinn’s Canucks sweatshirts lies your favorite part of the outfit. You’d been planning to do this since the end of September, so you’d had plenty of time to go to Victoria’s Secret and buy yourself a black, lace crotchless teddy. Quinn will get to look up at you in the (not-so cheap) fabric and admire how it fits you without sacrificing his ability to eat you out. There’s no barrier between your cunt and his tongue, despite the fact that you’ll still be clothed.

You have planned everything out to the final detail, to the final possibility, and you might be just as eager as Quinn will be when he sees you.

So that you’ll have something to snack on when he’s done, you actually wash the fruit you bought earlier and put it in a bowl. Holding the bowl in one hand, you politely knock on the bedroom door before entering.

Quinn is already in the process of removing his shirt and getting ready for bed. When you walk in, he turns to meet you. When he sees what you’re wearing, he freezes and his lips part in surprise.

In a second, you watch his expression melt into his typical “my brain has turned off and now the only thing that I can think about is getting my girlfriend in bed” look. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” you say, biting your lip as you take in his reaction. You put a hand on your hip and pop it to the side, showing off your outfit. 

“Are you my present?” He asks, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“I’m your dessert,” you correct.

“Even better,” Quinn decides, crossing the room and getting his hands on you. 

“Wait,” You tell him.

Quinn pouts, but drops his hands to his sides. 

You give him a little twirl, revealing the way that your behind is only partially covered by the lace of the lingerie. You move slowly, giving him plenty of time to stare at all of the parts of your body, thoroughly taking you in. 

He gives you a low whistle as you turn. You touch his jaw when you’re done, then you turn to the bed. You actually crawl from the foot of the bed, giving him a show.

When you collapse against the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Quinn stares at you, walking to the bed and touching your ankle. He draws a star on your skin, surveying the view.

“What can I– what do you want me to do?” Quinn asks, eyes still raking your figure.

“Whatever you want,” you reply. “It’s your birthday.”

“Whatever I want?” Quinn repeats.

You hum in affirmation. “Your fingers, your cock,” you list. You raise your eyebrows, bringing one of your legs up into a bent position. His eyes are drawn to your core. “Your mouth.”

Quinn’s attention snaps to your face.

“Whatever you want,” you confirm again. “For however long you want. All night, even. Birthday boy.”

“I love you,” Quinn says, climbing up onto the bed and settling between your legs. “You’re perfect.”

“I expect the same kind of treatment on my birthday,” you banter back, moving with his touch. He nudges your knee, so you spread your legs for him.

Quinn doesn’t reply, running his fingers over the fabric that lies on either side of your pussy. He pushes his thumb against your clit, applying pressure but not giving pleasure, not yet.

You take it as a sign that you’re in for a long night. So, you shift and make yourself more comfortable. You look down, watching Quinn.

He’s gentle to start. He presses sweet kiss after sweet kiss to your folds, to your clit which is still hidden. He takes his time.

You’re not sure which is true: if you’re wet of your own accord, or if Quinn’s gentle licks and smeared kisses make you that way.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re wet and Quinn’s getting to do what he loves. You’re comfortable, he’s making satisfied noises as he grows more eager, and everything feels good.

You touch his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead. You tilt your head, admiring him with slow blinks and a serene smile on your face. 

Quinn has a one-track mind at the moment. Until he’s drawn an orgasm out of you, he won’t look up and check in. 

His tongue teases you, traipsing along your slit and circling your clit leisurely. He’ll run his bottom lip over the skin, letting it drag along your core and create unexpectedly satisfying friction. He’ll nose at your clit, bumping his features along your most sensitive points, just because he can. Quinn’s eyes are closed, fully immersing himself in the moment.

He works his tongue into you over time, at first teasing you with flicks and short dips, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow greedy for more– greedy for your release all over the muscle. It’s then that he licks into you as best he can, using his thumb to stimulate your bundle of nerves. He repeats the same motion over and over– prodding his tongue into you, drawing it out… again and again, all the while he’s pressing against your clit.

Your first orgasm builds slowly. Slow and steady wins the race, they always say, and Quinn is drawing the orgasm out of you like the tortoise in this race. You’re starting to feel a bit jumpy, like the rabbit, your hips aching to move beneath him and grind against his face.

But, this is his birthday present. You restrain yourself because it’s his gift. He gets to set the pace. If Quinn wants to make this the most built-up, desperate orgasm of your life, he’s allowed to do so.

It takes minutes. Minutes of Quinn humming and licking and touching you with the pad of his thumb until you feel yourself start to crest over the wave of your climax. 

“Close,” you breathe out.

Quinn pays you no mind, just continuing his ministrations until you’re clenching down on his tongue with a whimper. Your hand clutches his hair, trying not to seize up beneath him as you come, riding out the waves with his tongue still poking around inside of you.

He moves more slowly as you come down from your first, withdrawing his tongue from your cunt and licking over the slick that accumulated after your orgasm. 

“Again,” Quinn murmurs. He doesn’t allow you to take a breath before he finds your clit with his tongue and latches on. 

He seems committed to making your subsequent releases quick. His mouth feels like the tube of a vacuum against your clit, unrelenting and merciless. He’s sucking, and sucking, and sucking. 

Quinn is starting to get sloppy. He’s got slick all over his lips, all over his chin. He stares up at you now, nothing behind his hooded eyes. He’s just taking you in, looking at you from his favorite angle. 

His hands are resting on the insides of your thighs, laying securely to keep your legs spread for him. His pupils are dilated, massive and dark. His jaw works– you can see the bones in his face shifting as he tastes you. His face is scruffy as he nuzzles against you.

It isn’t long until you come again, just as strong as the first one. This climax seems to hit you harder, just because it came more quickly.

“Another,” he says into your skin, shifting one of his hands to push a finger into your heat. He doesn’t move his mouth from your clit, only intensifying his suction. 

“Fuck,” you reply, halfway between a moan and a cry for… something. A break? For more?

You’re not sure. Things are starting to blur together and turn fuzzy. You’ve come twice without a moment of reprise, because that’s what Quinn wants. You’ll give him as many as he desires, until you physically cannot give any more.

You close your eyes and lose track of time, seeing stars the next time Quinn makes you come. He’s worked up to a second finger now, scissoring them and removing his tongue from your clit to shove it between his fingers. All three are inside of you, bringing you over the crest again.

Then, a third finger and his tongue on your nipple. 

Then, again, with his tongue on your other nipple. 

Another with his mouth pressing insistent kiss after insistent kiss to your cheeks, lips, and neck. 

Your vision is black, then reeling with colors like that scene in Ratatouille when Remy mixes all of those different flavors, then like television static on an old TV. 

“One more,” Quinn’s voice comes out of the darkness.

You whine, high in the back of your throat. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs. He’s touching your face, wiping underneath your eyes. “I know. You’re doing so well. You’re being so good for me. I love you so much– give me one more on my cock, okay? Then we’ll be done.”

“Quinn,” you keen, opening your eyes and finding it hard to look at him through the wetness there. You hadn’t realized that the overstimulation had gotten to you so much– but that’s what multiple orgasms will do to you. That’s how you react when your body is experiencing so much pleasure that it’s painful.

“That’s right, baby, I’m right here,” Quinn assures you. You can feel his cock nudging against your entrance, which feels like it’s gaping. You’re certain that your clit is swollen from the stimulation, the excessive stimulation. He sinks into you, inch by inch, cooing quietly to keep you grounded. “You’re so close already, I can feel it in the way you’re squeezing me. It’ll be quick, baby, I promise.”

He continues to talk while he fucks you, telling you how good you’ve been. He tells you how sexy you are, how perfect. He tells you how hard he’s been since you walked into the bedroom in your dirty, pretty lingerie and how he honestly thought he was going to come in his pants when you clenched down on his fingers for the third time and a weak dribble of your cum had dripped down his wrist. 

You’re far gone. Sure, you’re there– you can feel him inside, pumping into you and throbbing against your walls. You can feel the way Quinn’s lips move over your own when he kisses you and when he speaks, feeding the words directly into your mouth. His fingers are toying with your puffy clit, and you’re sure it feels nice, but all you can feel is heat and friction.

“Quinn,” you say again.

“Let go,” he instructs under his breath. “Let go for me. Come around my cock, baby.”

You nod, agreeing to a seemingly-impossible task. 

Quinn is always able to make the impossible happen. Your final climax manifests in shaking legs and bolts of lightning in your stomach, churning and folding in on itself. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, which Quinn kisses away.

He doesn’t come inside you. After you reach your final peak, he pulls out. He jerks himself above you, continuing to kiss your face and praise you for being so good to him. He comes all over your stomach and you’re glad– if he had come inside you, or somewhere equally as sensitive like your tits, it would be far too much when the time came to clean you up. With his cum on your stomach, he’s able to wipe you down without causing you any discomfort.

When it’s all over, he helps you sit up and drink your water. He kisses your temples and your forehead, your cheeks and your jawline. He surrounds you with one of his big t-shirts, like a massive hug, and he pulls you onto his lap so that you can collapse into the crook of his neck. Quinn rubs your back and convinces you to eat some of the berries you brought into the room earlier.

You’re tired when you’re able to verbalize a full sentence again. You’re exhausted, really. Quinn pushed you to your absolute limit, although you’re not dissatisfied with the way things went. You sought a night where he could do whatever he wanted, which he did, and now you want to sleep.

“Happy birthday,” you muster.

Quinn breathes out a chuckle, cradling your jawline as you stain his neck with a splotchy kiss. “Thank you again for being so perfect,” he says. “You made my birthday so special, baby. Let’s sleep, okay? I’ll cuddle you all night long.”

Within minutes, you’re drifting off to the lullaby of his breath.

[puck-luck]

evening embrace | jack hughes

warnings: oral (m! & f! receiving) aka 69 BABYYYY!!!!! whiny jack, silly jack, established realtionship af, very domestic pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes coming home from practice or a game all grumpy and frustrated and just ranting endlessly about whatever is pissing him off so u just casually decide to give him head mid-rant. without a word you just start palming him over his pants while he’s mid sentence and he’d be like “baby, what are you doing?” and you’d casually make your way to your knees with a shrug and say “you’re stressed, seem like you could use some relief” and once you’ve got his dick out and you’re about to bring it to your lips you’d say “you can continue with your ranting baby, promise i won’t get distracted” with an innocent little pout i-" wc: 4423

Jack had a bad day. The Devils just had their first few preseason games and Jack, although he felt ready to get back into his normal routine, feels like his shoulder injury from last season is still a little tender. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he snapped, but he thinks that he blacked out around the time when he missed a pivotal pass that resulted in a breakaway and goal in the game today. He’s never been so angry after a game– and this is just preseason.

He bursts through the door to your shared apartment, already ranting. 

“This is shit,” Jack complains, dropping his bags in the doorway and kicking off his shoes. 

“What’s shit, Jacky?” You ask from the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and reading a book. Now that he’s home, though, you set the book down and give him your attention.

“I’m not playing good enough,” Jack huffs out, frustrated and annoyed. “It’s my stupid shoulder. I’ve rehabbed it, I’ve gotten it fixed through surgery, and I still feel like I’m not playing at 100%.”

“Aw, honey, come sit,” you say, patting the cushion beside you. 

Jack stalks over, collapsing onto the couch cushions and pulling you onto his lap. He kisses you hello before going back to his ranting. 

“I knew I needed to work more on my wrister before the game,” he says. “But Keefe wanted us to run drills at camp so that we could be better all-around.”

You hum when you need to, but Jack’s just complaining and pouting. He had a tough day and wants to get all of his negative thoughts out, knowing that you don’t mind listening to him when he has problems.

“And I appreciate being a good team all-around, you know,” Jack continues. “But there should be times during practice when a guy can go work on his own shit, which will make the team better overall once he’s perfected the skill.”

“Maybe you can talk to Nico about that,” you murmur, tracing the letters on Jack’s shirt. 

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Jack grumbles. “It’s a team sport. If Keefe wants us to practice as a team, then that’s what we’ll do. He’s the coach.”

You nod absentmindedly, adjusting yourself on Jack’s lap. Your hand continues to pet over his covered chest as he talks. His muscles are defined; it’s clear that he put in the work during his time off. You know he did, actually. You’ve watched his body swell and gain muscle mass over the summer and you’ve been able to see the changes up close and personal.

But not this past week: training camp started and Jack has been so tired and stressed out that he’ll come home, eat dinner with you, and collapse into bed with nary a makeout sesh anywhere. He’s been too tired to get off with you, although you know it relaxes him and helps him keep his mind clear, so you haven’t pushed.

Yet, as he talks about his day, you can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if your lips were wrapped around his dick.

Your hand drops to his lap, palming his length over his shorts and interrupting Jack’s sentence.

He catches your wrist. “Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asks. “I’m talking to you.”

You blink up at him innocently, moving from his lap and sliding down to the ground. You situate yourself prettily on your knees, right between his thighs. Again, you touch the front of his shorts, rubbing the area like you’re giving him a handjob over his pants. “You seem stressed,” you tell him, simply. “Like you could use some relief.”

Jack’s mouth is agape, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I– um, yeah, I mean, I guess I’m stressed,” he replies, agreeing with you with an additional nod.

“Let me help,” you offer, cupping his bulge with your hand before leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss against the growing tent. You mouth along for a moment before bringing his waistband down, revealing his tight boxer-briefs. His semi is much more noticeable in just the underwear, straining more against the fabric as he grows harder. You fit your lips over the tip of his cock and suck slightly, through his shorts, just to make Jack jump.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, touching the back of your neck hesitantly. He moves like he’s still confused and not quite sure what’s happening.

“Keep talking, baby,” you say to him as you pull his length out of his underwear and start to stroke it. You press a kiss to the crown of his cock, then pull back. “I’m listening. I promise I won’t get distracted.” You blink up at him through your eyelashes, watching countless emotions pass over Jack’s face before you kitten-lick over his slit and hum in approval. 

“It’s just hard,” Jack says, his eyes still wide and blown because of the shock that came over him when you made your bold move. “To, uh–”

He trails off, gesturing helplessly as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his cock. You hum, bobbing your head in a commiserating, blatantly sarcastic nod. You know what you’re doing to him. You know that Jack goes boneless whenever you suck him off, that he promptly loses his words when you gag on his cock. 

So, you pull away from him. You let your spit pool where it lay while your lips were around him– able to use it as lube as you pump him, blinking up at him like you’re unimpressed. “C’mon, J. I thought you had things to be frustrated about.”

“I do!” Jack exclaims, finding his words after your mouth parts from his body.

“Oh, you do,” you repeat, a smug little smile on your face. “So tell me about it.”

“I– well– it doesn’t matter now,” Jack whines, his hips twitching under your calm palm. 

You furrow your brow and tilt your head to the side. “It doesn’t?”

Jack covers his face with his hands and makes a frustrated noise.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter, then why am I doing this?” You ask, feigning complete confusion even as you continue to stroke him. Jack has obviously gotten side tracked– and the relief of your mouth is like a wet rag on a dry erase board: it wipes everything completely clean and fresh. “I thought I was offering you something sweet to make up for your bad day.”

“You are, just– stop stopping!” 

You move your head from side to side with each word in your response: “You can’t make me!”

At a stalemate, Jack deflates. He frowns to himself, then pointedly at you. You’re still stroking him, just teasing him, waiting for him to sweetly ask you to continue until–

Jack pulls you up onto the couch and takes your place, sinking to the ground on his knees with his pants and underwear pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take his clothes off before he touches your leggings reverently with a light ghosting of his fingertips. He brushes a sweet kiss against the inside of your thigh as he touches you, but the sweetness and teasing doesn’t last very long.

“How was your day?” Jack asks with a smirk and another kiss to your covered skin. He pulls at the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your legs in a totally obvious way.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you warn.

“Not doing anything,” Jack teases. 

“Don’t lie to me, Jack Hughes.”

“Full name,” Jack notes offhandedly. He licks his lips and rubs his thumb along your slit, still covered by your godforsaken panties. If he’s going to do something, he had better do it. “Just giving my baby a taste of her own medicine,” he adds.

“My day was fine, thank you very much,” you retort.

Jack hums, fiddling with the edge of your panties, the part of the underwear that’s covering his favorite part of you. “What’d you do?” He asks.

“I showered,” you say.

“Without me,” Jack adds. You don’t have time to berate him for acting like a fuckboy– not when he starts mouthing over your hipbones until he finds the waistband of your panties. He takes the band between his teeth and drags the fabric down to meet your leggings. All the while, he stares up at you with his own wide, blown, horny eyes. 

“And I had breakfast, then I worked for a while, then I got lunch with my coworker like I told you about last night–” You continue, but Jack interrupts, pulling away from your bare cunt.

He pouts a bit. “What coworker?” Jack asks. “Who was it again?”

You muster the courage to glare at him. Jack just grins, his thumb sweeping through your folds like he hasn’t got a care in the world. 

“Sadie,” you remind him. “The new girl in accounting.”

“Oh, Sadie,” Jack drawls, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How could I forget about Sadie?” He smiles at you briefly to show that he’s messing with you, then nears your mound. “What did you eat?” He asks, just before replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, pride written all over his face as you take a deep breath.

“We got those Mediterranean bowls you like,” you say. You don’t tell him that there’s one in the fridge waiting for him.

“Without me,” Jack repeats, sounding a little more forlorn than the first time. Who knew that showering without your boyfriend would be less titillating than a Mediterranean bowl from that place down the street?

Regardless, you still don’t tell him about your little surprise in the kitchen.

“Without you,” you agree. “I can’t always be with you, you know.”

“Mhm, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through,” Jack says, using his thumbs to pull your lips apart so he can really dig in and lavish your cunt. Jack drinks up the gasp that leaves your mouth when his tongue twirls against your clit, then drops lower to press against your entrance. Jack presses a kiss against your entrance before his tongue really works into you, rendering him quiet.

You know he expects you to continue speaking, just as you expected him to continue. One thing you’ve always been better at than Jack is compartmentalizing– you swear it comes with the territory of being a woman compared to being a man– but you’ve missed this so much that you don’t care about his gloating that will come later. 

“Jack, come–”

You interrupt yourself with a breathy gasp, hands flying to his hair. Jack has always loved when you tug at the brown waves adorning his head, so the heady look in his eyes when he looks up at you is no surprise. It’s also no surprise that your gasp has Jack flattening his tongue and showering your cunt with attention.

You had meant to ask him to come back up onto the couch, wanting him to be comfortable, but Jack doesn’t seem to care. You still want him to fill your mouth. There’s a trace of his salty precum on your tongue and the absence of his cock on the muscle leaves you writhing. 

He eats you out messily, getting your juices all over his lips, cheeks, and chin. When he pulls away to catch a breath, you admire how his chest heaves with the effort to fill his lungs before diving back in and the way he licks his lips. You grip his hair, tugging slightly to get his attention, and then Jack’s disheveled baby blues are back on you. He smiles dopily, moving to wrap his lips around your clit, but before he can, you speak.

“Come up here,” you implore, tugging at his hair again. 

“Wanna stay here,” Jack replies, succeeding in his efforts to reconnect with your core this time. 

Despite the shockwaves flying through your body at his powerful suction, you remain steadfast. You’re even able to string a sentence together that has Jack pausing: “Please, J, wanna suck you too,” you complain.

It isn’t long until Jack thinks of a joke to refute you. “Baby, I’m 86, not 69.”

“Jack,” you complain, tugging his hair again indignantly as he laughs against your cunt, enjoying his own joke. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” Jack mumbles, fitting a finger inside of you and thumbing over your clit in the absence of his mouth. You’re grinding down against him now, not nearly full enough or satisfied enough. Jack’s smirk tells you that there’s more coming. “You want to have my cock in your mouth so bad that you’ll do your least favorite sex position on the couch?”

You groan. Of course he remembered the conversation he walked in on when you had your girlfriends over a couple of months ago– a lengthy, very detailed, very philosophical conversation about which sex positions are practical and impractical, as well as what places are more practical than others. 

You don’t suck Jack off as he eats you out often. It’s not something you ever really feel the need to do, even though Jack has admitted to loving the way you’ll moan against his cock and rock back into his mouth like you’re unsure which is better. The reason you don’t do it often, though, is that you can rarely finish like that. And Jack, being the doting, pussy-drunk boyfriend he is, would rather have you in a position where you’ll come all over his cock or his face rather than struggle to make it to your destination.

As for the couch, you’ve always thought that it’s more fun to ride Jack and distract him from whatever he’s watching on the TV, or for him to bend you over the edges of the furniture to pound into you from behind.

But today– today, you’re confident that you can finish. It’s been over a week since Jack felt like doing anything and you’re needy. You’re not ashamed of it, either– you love your boyfriend and the passion shared between you both is enough to steam up the windows of the apartment. It’s no secret that Jack does everything he can to make you feel good.

Which is how you’re going to convince him to get back on the couch and fill you completely, please you from both ends until you’re boneless and smothering him with your cunt– “The ideal way to die,” according to Jack, and all of his friends who insisted he was right when he dared to bring up sex at one of the parties on the lake house the previous summer. 

“Jack,” you say, simple and plain. You lean forward on the couch, reaching down to cradle his face in your palms. Your hands get sticky with your own slick, but it’s no big deal. After all, you’d already touched Jack’s dick, so it’s not like your hands are clean. You press a fleeting kiss to his nose, making Jack grin widely. “Wanna sit on this pretty face,” you tell him. “While I gag on your cock.”

“Mm, yeah?” Jack asks. The way he perks up is laughable: if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. “Gonna come in my mouth while I come in yours?”

You shiver at the thought of a simultaneous orgasm– your own warmth and relaxation taking over your body while Jack fills you up. You nod slightly, biting your lip to hold back a needy whine. Your eyelashes flutter as you watch Jack stand from his spot between your legs. 

He lays on the couch, his head resting on a throw pillow for some extra leverage. He makes himself comfortable, and it’s a little silly that both of you still have your shirts on, but Jack sticks out his tongue and waves you forward. The position makes you laugh, combined with his antics, so you make a silly move of your own. 

You crawl towards him, across the couch, trying to look like Sophie in Mamma Mia while she and Sky sing ‘Lay All Your Love on Me,’ but there’s no music playing. It’s just you and Jack and your soft little giggles, which are eventually quieted by a sweet kiss and a swipe of Jack’s tongue against your own. You can taste yourself on him and he can taste himself on you, which has Jack smiling into the kiss. His teeth clink against yours for a second, then he pats your hip and you pull away.

“Come have a seat, baby,” Jack invites, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. You shake your head and avert your eyes, blushing a little bit at how giddy you’ve made him with just a few kisses, some attention to his cock, and access to your pussy.

“Forgotten all about your bad day?” You tease.

“It turned out okay, I think,” Jack replies with a wink. He keeps his hands on your body as you turn, then line yourself up with his mouth. You’ve got the perfect view of his cock in this position, standing up and red for you, just waiting for you to lean forward and welcome him into the warm wetness of your mouth.

Jack hasn’t waited to admire you. He’s already sloppily mouthing at your lips, sliding his tongue against your clit. He has his arms looped around your thighs, hands planted squarely on your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them so that he can pull you back further and work his tongue inside of you. For your hesitation, he gives your clit a little nip to encourage you forward. It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise you, and you let out a hushed yelp. Jack giggles before returning to your entrance, prodding at you.

You bend forward, laying across Jack’s body and holding yourself up by laying your forearms on his abdomen. Your left hand pets over the skin on his hip while your right holds his base steady. You gather some spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his slit. The fluid drips down his cock, but you’re determined to replace your spit with ropes of his cum.

You take him in your mouth as far as you can, moaning when his tip nudges the back of your throat. He twitches in your mouth, involuntary but welcome. You love when he’s unable to control his reactions, doubling down on his enthusiasm at your core. 

You can feel yourself dripping all over Jack’s face. His hands are strong on your hips, pulling you back to grind against his mouth. Taking an arm from around your thigh, he brings his fingers back to your core, sliding two inside of you while he focuses on your clit. 

He’s so messy and he keeps making slurping sounds because he’s so into it, which is completely not sexy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You treasure the moans and hums that follow the unattractive slurping– Jack’s voice has grown high-pitched and needy, completely intoxicated by your taste.

You imagine him now, cheeks flushed just as pink as yours. Hell, his lips are probably swollen and the same shade of red as his tip. 

You bring a hand up to move your hair to one side of your head, the strands brushing Jack’s thigh and tickling him slightly. It’s necessary for you to give this blowjob your full attention, and you can’t have your hair getting in the way now, not after you’ve been missing Jack’s cock for a full week.

No, you’re just as drunk as he is, moaning and gagging and humming. You pull out all the stops– leaving his cock to kiss over his balls and suck at the skin while you pump his member. Jack’s always enjoyed that extra touch, his hips jumping uncontrollably into your space for the second time tonight.

“Wanna fuck my face?” You ask, words coming out in a rush. 

Jack keens beneath you, holding you closer. He pumps his fingers inside you quickly, working a third into your hole and curling his knuckles until he finds your sweet spot, making you moan wantonly. His hips are moving again, wiggling beneath you until you bring your lips back to his tip. You press a kiss against his slit before opening your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing your cheeks against his shaft until Jack starts to move.

He’s quick like a jack-hammer. His movements are twitchy and shallow because, as you’ve said time and time again, Jack has never been the world’s greatest multitasker. He’s able to perform well on the ice, very athletically minded and capable, but when his mind gets all foggy and sex-crazed, he’s completely helpless. 

He chases his pleasure wildly. He continues to make his sweet, pretty whimpers against your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit as fast as he can manage while also fingering you and fucking into your mouth– he’s working overtime and his chest is heaving with harsh breaths. You take it, even rolling your hips against his fingers to try and help him out. 

You’d feel bad about making him do all the work, but you’ve known since the beginning of your relationship how Jack feels about making you come: he loves it. It’s better than his own release. He always wants you to come over his tongue or make a mess all over his cock or fingers.

“Baby, baby,” Jack whines against your clit, his lips brushing the nerves as he talks. “Fuck, gonna come, please, please–”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, the best response you can give with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The vibrations send Jack over the edge and he lurches beneath you, pulling his fingers from your hole and replacing them with his tongue. He switches, putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing furious circles until you’re writhing above him.

You’re able to swallow a mouthful of his cum before you have to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on your own orgasm, milliseconds away from breaking down the dam inside of you. You pull off of Jack’s cock and pant above him, continuing to stroke him through his climax. 

Your eyes are a little teary from the ecstasy coursing through your veins, fueled completely by Jack’s rapid movements and equally frequent muffled pleas. He can’t stop begging you to release all over his face, even with his tongue inside of you. You can’t focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is wrecked and bordering on distressed. That’s how bad he needs you to come, how badly he needs to make you come.

His jaw has got to be aching by this point, having eaten you out for so long, but you’re so close.

You sit up a bit, just enough that you can place your hands on his muscular thighs and grind back against his face. Your hips are quick, messy, and inconsistent. “Jack,” you cry out, your breath leaving you like a hard fall to the ground knocking all the air from your lungs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, his tongue flicking over your walls.

You come harder than you ever have like this– maybe harder than you ever have in general. Jack holds you against him and laps at your release, despite the pleasure causing your hips to jerk and try to escape. You lose track of yourself, feeling completely gone. There’s a chance you’ll have to wash the couch cushions later, with the way you’re spreading slick over Jack’s face. It feels endless, your orgasm, and you think Jack may have actually made up for a week of nothing in just one night. 

He licks over you until there’s nothing left for him to taste. His hair has gone wild, eyes bright but groggy and hazy at the same time. You’re sure you look the same, unwilling to find yourself in the mirror across the room when you roll off of Jack and find a shaky footing on the floor. Your shirt is damp with sweat, as is Jack’s. He lifts the neckline to wipe the lower half of his face, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, placing a hand over his heart. His eyes look up at you, a slight smile lifting the edges of his lips. “That might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to dying from your pussy, baby.”

You laugh at that, running your fingers through your hair. “I think we both need a shower,” you say with an easy smile. 

Jack yawns. “Then bed?” He asks. 

“If you don’t fall asleep on me right here,” you reply, nodding at his body as it lounges on the couch. You thought you were bad with going boneless– Jack seems to have sank into the cushions. The sight is hilarious– your boyfriend, completely love drunk and smiling up at you like you’re an angel, with his shirt still on but no pants and no underwear. His dick has softened against his hip, the cum you didn’t swallow drying against his skin. “With your dick out and all. Any burglar would run the other direction.”

“You don’t think he’d be impressed?” Jack sits up just enough to look at his length. 

“Maybe not in this state.”

“I’ll just have to explain to him that my girl fucked me so good that I couldn’t move anymore,” Jack ponders with a shrug. He laughs to himself, eyes hooded but blinking slowly at you.

“Well, you did come first,” you agree. You reach out and take his hands, dragging him up to a sitting position, then up to his feet. 

Jack stumbles into you, petting over your rat’s-nest of a head of hair and pressing a series of kisses all over your face.

“Gross, gonna have to do extra skincare tonight,” you pout, pushing him away. 

Jack continues making kissy noises as you pull him towards your shared bedroom, depositing him in front of the shower so that he can start the water while you grab new clothes for the both of you and go to the bathroom. 

He feels you up in the shower until you’re both laughing and covered in suds, unable to keep your lips from the other person’s for longer than a couple of minutes. He makes his hair into a shampooed mohawk just to make you giggle again. His displeasure from earlier in the night is completely gone, and you couldn’t be more glad. 

notes: this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope y'all enjoyed!!

[puck-luck]

between the tiles | jack hughes

warnings: unprotected p in v, creampie (& mention of how unsafe that is bc PREGNANCY??? me when i’m scared. on the bright side, the mention is ambiguous, so it’s not revealed if jack gets reader pregnant by creampieing her <3), drinking, frat aesthetics, semi-public sex, praise mixed with degradation (sooo true), spanking, frat behavior (the brothers being gross and invasive about their brothers’ sex lives…) pairing: frat!jack hughes x fem!reader summary: based on the prompt “frat!jack fucking you in the bathroom at a party my god”, IMO based in the same universe as ‘frat fever’ but later in the timeline. wc: 3120

“Here you go, pretty girl.” Jack delivers a red solo cup of liquid to you. He holds his own cup of beer, the backwards hat on his head falling askew. He reaches up to fix it when he notices your gaze and you sneak a peek at his messy brown locks before Jack hides them again.

“Thanks, J,” you say with a smile. 

Jack stands close to you, his arm wrapped around your waist easily. He talks quietly with the brothers that pass him by, keeping you close but never paying close attention to you. You’re content with it, sipping on your drink as you watch the mayhem around you.

Jack had invited you to the party in class the other day. He loves to bother you in class. He flirts, he invites you to parties, he asks for help with his homework, he begs you to read his essays before he submits them, and he flashes those big blue eyes at you to get you to agree every time. 

You had denied his other invitations, not wanting to get involved in the frat life. You had joined a sorority your first year, but dropped less than a year in because your exec board was toxic and you felt like you didn’t belong. 

You learned that you and Jack had rushed the same year, but he had stuck it out longer than you had. Years later, he’s at the top of the social hierarchy.

Jack is the president of his frat and he loves it. Whenever you walk with him in the halls before and after your class, he seems to know everyone on campus. People are constantly saying hello and dapping him up or waving and batting their eyes. You like Jack– he’s definitely class crush material– but you don’t see how he’s completely charmed all of these people.

He’s Jack– he’s dry and his laugh is always half-hearted at best. He talks with a smirk on his face like he knows more than you, but it’s hard to ignore how well he holds eye contact through his hooded eyelids. Maybe the charm is how dry he is– how little he seems to care must make people want to impress him even more.

It’s dark in the frat house. The wooden floor is creaky and a little sticky. Music is emanating from the living room, vibrating through the whole house. The LED lights in the living room burn your eyes when you look over there, so you’ve been avoiding that room. It’s where you found Jack at first, leaning against the wall near the speakers talking with the brother that’s DJing. He looked handsome in the green and red lights, his face growing scratchy from his commitment to No Shave November that he told you about in class last week.

Tucked into Jack’s side, looking up at his facial hair and the freckles that are faded along his cheeks, you start to really see the appeal.

The drink he brought you is strong and was clearly made by a pledge. You wouldn’t be surprised if the drink was mixed and retrieved from a massive cooler that is branded with Gatorade. You decide in a moment that you want to see if your suspicion is true, but you don’t know the way around the house. 

You turn to face Jack, putting a hand on his bicep to get his attention. He pauses his conversation immediately, turning to look down at you with a little grin on his face. 

“What’s up?” Jack asks.

“Wanna give me a tour?” You say. You feel like you have to shout to make him hear you, so you stand up on your tiptoes to speak directly into his ear. 

“Sure,” Jack agrees, putting his hand on your lower back and guiding you down the hallway. You started in the room where the boys were playing pong, then Jack leads you to the kitchen. He introduces you to the pledge who is serving drinks, who blushes when you thank him. He introduces you to brothers in every room, shows you the composites hanging in the halls and points out his friends who have graduated. He’s surprised when you say you know Nico, the last president of the frat. 

Eventually, you ask Jack to show you to the bathroom. You’ve finished your drink and you’re feeling a little tipsy, but mostly bloated. There’s a long line at the bathroom in the main hall, which you wait in with Jack until you’re squirming and no closer to the door than before. You whine a bit about how long it’s taking, receiving some nasty looks and side-eyes from the girls around you in line. It doesn’t take them long to notice that you’re with Jack and the looks turn more interested than annoyed.

Jack is frowning about how long the bathroom line is taking. You can see him growing more frustrated, the frown on his face and furrow of his eyebrows deepening.

“Come here,” Jack says, taking your hand and pulling you to the front of the line. He shoulders past drunk people who are equally as annoyed as you and Jack, but now they’re growing frustrated with the blatant show of self-importance that Jack puts on as he drags you along. You hear a number of grumbled “excuse you”s and scoffs, and your face burns red slightly from embarrassment. 

Jack doesn’t care that he’s pissing people off. He simply starts to bang on the door of the bathroom with a pounding fist. 

“Get the fuck out of the bathroom!” Jack commands, shouting through the wooden door. You can hear shuffling on the other side and a few minutes later, a clown car of girls leave the bathroom, looking down in shame. One of them is leaning on her friend, covering her mouth. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had been vomiting.

Jack stops the next people in line and pushes you forward. He closes the door behind you and leaves you to do your business, which you do quickly. It’s less than three minutes before you’re washing your hands, which Jack can apparently hear through the door, because he lets himself in as you do so.

You look at him through the mirror, making eye contact. He walks toward you after turning the lock on the door. You don’t miss the tension in the room. Jack touches your back, then plasters himself against you. He brings his arms around your shoulders, hugging you tightly and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Y’look really pretty,” Jack murmurs. “Did y’know that I’ve been flirting with you since sylly week?”

“I had a feeling,” you reply, leaning into his touch. You’re wearing a low-cut going-out top, something different than what Jack normally sees you in, and you’ve noticed his glances throughout the evening. Your chest was the first place his eyes went when you greeted him in the music room.

“I was hoping you’d come tonight,” Jack says. His touch loosens and his fingers trail lower, tracing the stitching on the neckline of your shirt. Half an inch over and he’d be touching your skin– you feel like he is already. You can feel the goosebumps rising beneath his warm touch, even though it’s more absent-minded than sexy.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, unable to find any other words. 

Jack meets your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, yeah,” he replies like it’s obvious. “I’ve been wanting to get you to one of my parties for weeks.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, laughing slightly.

Jack moves your hair off the back of your neck and kisses the side of your throat, near your pulse-point. “Because you’re so uptight and I thought you could use a little fun.”

“Oh,” you scoff, laughing for real this time. “You just want me to loosen up and you thought you’d help me out?”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“No ulterior motive?” You check with a knowing smile, reaching a hand up to thread your fingers through the hair that peeks out from under Jack’s baseball cap. You scratch his scalp, earning a purr from the boy and another kiss to your neck. 

Jack hums instead of replying directly to your question. He keeps his lips planted against your skin, but you can see that he’s smiling against you. There’s your answer. Of course he had an ulterior motive– it’s why he came into the bathroom at all. It’s why you’ve been attached to his side since you showed up today.

You don’t mind. You’ve suspected all along. It’s part of the reason why you showed up tonight at all– you finally decided that there was no harm in seeing Jack outside of class, specifically in his bed.

You continue to scratch Jack’s scalp, rolling your head to rest against his body so that your neck lengthens and Jack has access to more skin. He’s behind you still, leaning down to kiss all over your skin, and you can feel him starting to grow hard when you press your ass back into his shorts.

You grind against his bulge, sighing with Jack at the feeling. His is a groan of relief as your body alleviates the pressure of being untouched, whereas yours is a sigh of contentment as a fire lights in the pit of your stomach.

“Wanna fuck you,” Jack says quietly before biting your earlobe. 

“Yeah?” You ask, breathless.

“Yeah,” Jack continues. He brings his hand down your front, bypassing your chest to touch the button of your jeans. “Been thinking about touching you for ages.”

“Then let’s go,” You say. You make a move to get out of his grasp, but Jack holds you in place.

“No, here,” He whispers. “Where everyone can hear you.”

Your breath hitches when his fingers pop the button and drag your zipper down. You’re dripping in your panties and Jack is inches away from discovering it. You can feel yourself nodding wordlessly as Jack’s fingers dance around your mound and abdomen, sending sparks up your spine.

“Is that okay?” Jack asks, checking another time before he touches you.

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, arching into him. Your lips are tingling with the need to connect with Jack’s, but his nibbling along your neck is much too enticing to halt.

Like whiplash, Jack bends you over the sink and tugs your jeans down to your knees. He takes your panties with them, leaving your lower half bare. It registers briefly that you’ll be taking longer in this grimey bathroom than those other girls. Regardless, you spread your legs as best you can with the fabric still constricting your knees. 

“Good girl,” Jack praises preemptively. His voice is gravelly and his words make you shiver. You can feel yourself clenching on nothing, seeking something that is far, far away. Jack swats the skin of your thighs, making you jump and squeal slightly. “Look at how easy you are for me.”

Your head immediately lifts, finding yourself in the mirror. You look at yourself for only a second. Under the harsh light of the fluorescent bulb, you look washed out. At the same time, you look bright red because of your attraction to Jack. Your attention turns to Jack, who looks nothing short of holy under the brightness. He looks like he’s closing in on everything he’s ever wanted.

You watch as he digs his fingers into his waistband, pushing his shorts down. He pulls his cock out of his pants, pumping his shaft until he, too, is leaking precum. Your mouth hangs open at the sight of it, dropping even further when Jack lifts the bottom of his shirt and bites it, keeping the fabric out of the way and revealing his toned abdomen.

“Jack,” you drawl. It’s not quite a moan or a plead. It’s an indignant little while for more mixed with an acknowledgement of how good-looking he is. 

“I’m coming, baby,” Jack tells you, touching the skin on your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. “Keep saying my name.”

He slams forward once the head of his cock slides into your pussy, unable to resist the feeling of your warm and damp heat. He’s pounding into you from the get-go, grunting as he thrusts into you. His noises just add to the lewd squelching filling the room, as well as the slapping of skin as he pulls your hips back to meet his. 

You follow his direction, repeating his name over and over mindlessly. You fall to the pleasure, letting your head droop and eyes close. 

Jack slaps your ass hard without ever pulling out. He regains your attention, flashing you a warning look and a muffled snarl since he’s still biting his t-shirt. You moan out his name even louder, eyes rolling. You shuffle your hips back further, hoping to entice Jack to slap you again. 

He does so, eventually, with an evil smirk on his face.

“You like that?” Jack asks around his t-shirt. “Like it when I spank you? Dirty, dirty girl.”

“J,” You whine, pleading with him in the reflection of the mirror.

It’s so good. It is. 

But you need more.

“Okay, baby,” Jack says soothingly. He pulls out, tapping your hips so you turn to face him. Your ass presses against the cool tile of the sink. Jack reaches under your thigh and lifts your leg, eventually sliding his hand down to grasp your knee. “Let’s see how bendy you are, hm?”

He places your ankle over his shoulder, creating a stretch in your hamstring that has you arching into Jack for some relief. He misreads your movement, but fills your hole again in an even better outcome than you had expected. Now, he’s facing you. Now, Jack’s able to kiss you.

His tongue fills your mouth when he seals his lips over yours. The kiss is messy, just like the union of your lower halves, and you can taste the beer that Jack drank earlier in the night. Still, even though you hate the taste of beer, the kiss is perfect. It’s exactly what you wanted from him earlier and the touch of your lips to his is equally as thrilling as a touch to your clit would be.

“You sound so pretty,” Jack praises against your lips, his hips still bucking into yours. You can feel his balls slapping against your skin as he moves. “Fuck, baby, aren’t you just so perfect for me…”

“Jack,” you gasp, feeling his tip nudge your spot. “Oh, fuck. Don’t stop.”

“Won’t,” Jack promises through gritted teeth, pushing your hamstring to the limit as he hunches over you to get a better grip on the wall behind you and the sink beneath you. His muscles are bulging, his abs flexing and mesmerizing you in a way that has you nearly screaming.

You chant his name in a high-pitched, desperate voice along with a series of curses. Jack becomes smug as his dick turns you into a mess beneath him, coating his cock in wet slick. Not only does your pussy leak all over Jack’s length, but your slick drips from your hole onto the floor of the bathroom, dirtying the room even further.

In the coming weeks, unbeknownst to you, Jack’s frat brothers will chirp him for taking you in the house’s most public bathroom. They’ll chirp him for making you scream and whine louder than the music and for the way that an audience gathered around the door, speculating about who was in there. It didn’t take long for word to spread that it was Jack Hughes, frat president, bagging some girl from his classes rather than the typical sorority presidents that he was used to sleeping with.

Jack, in return, will claim that this fuck was better than any of those had ever been.

His statement will be motivated by the memory of how your walls squeezed him and milked him through a paralyzing orgasm. You’re clenching down on him now and he’s so, so close. Sweat is beading at his hairline. His hemline fell from his teeth when his jaw dropped at the depth of the new position and he let out a choked moan when you took it between your own teeth, quieting yourself. 

You’ve got a hand in his hair and a hand on his love handles, feeling him move his hips as he fills you. You’ve got his shirt between your teeth and your ankle over his shoulder. 

Your body seizes up shortly after Jack turns his head and kisses your ankle, a place that no one in your life has ever touched, to your memory. The intimacy of that action and the persistent bump of his leaking cockhead against your cervix sends waves of pleasure over you, whiting out your vision and sending your eyes to the back of your head. 

You can’t even hear yourself as Jack’s name shrilly leaves your mouth. You don’t hear the curse that falls from his lips as you clench down, sucking him into your cunt. You don’t feel his body shudder as he loses his rhythm and buries himself into you, shallowly thrusting as his cock spills its seed inside of you. 

He meant to pull out, he did, but your cunt was too warm and too appealing. He feels much more drunk than he actually is, warm and overwhelmed by the envelopment of pussy around his cock, and Jack can’t remove himself from your entrance until he’s milked completely dry. Even then, he kisses over your neck as he thrusts slowly through your aftershocks, fucking his come deeper into you. 

The danger of the situation doesn’t register to either of you– not how public this is, not how unsafe it is to be doing this without protection, not how cramped and stiff you both feel from fucking each other in a tiny bathroom rather than Jack’s big bed.

No, you both breathe in pure bliss as you come down. You touch his cheek and hair until Jack presses his lips against yours. 

He’s the one who moves your ankle from his shoulder, kissing up your ankle to your knee before he does so. It’s romantic and sweet and you can feel your heart clutching. After fixing your clothes, Jack kisses you on the mouth once more before you both leave the bathroom. 

In class the following days, Jack acts like nothing happened at the party. He’s no different, and it leaves you wondering if it meant anything at all to the boy. Little do you know– it didn’t change anything, but it meant everything. Jack’s already organizing another party, just so that he can invite you.

notes: dear frat!jack, one chance. please. one. fuck me in the dirty bathroom NEOWWWW.

[puck-luck]

among the sheets | jack hughes

SEQUEL TO BETWEEN THE TILES

warnings: unprotected p in v, jealous and possessive jack, dirty talk, creampie, lots of kissing (lfg), trickery, light breeding kink (shh), mentions of masturbation (m & f), fingering, light biting, praise, ignoring the apparent repercussions of taking Plan B (cappy says that it’s bad for your body and to be real? i’ve never taken Plan B so idfk and idfc about the repercussions) pairing: frat!president jack hughes x reader summary: “Frat! Jack getting jealous watching reader get paired with another guy in their shared class together for an assignment 🤭”, “ok but reader talking to another guy in jacks frat bc she’s like whatever ur gonna act like nothing happened so will i and he gets PISSED and finally breaks telling her that he can’t stop thinking about her” wc: 6916

Three weeks. Six classes. Two Mondays, two Wednesdays, and two Fridays. One entire Thanksgiving break. That’s how long it’s been since you and Jack hooked up at his party in the beginning of November. 

December comes with a new goal for you: that you’re not going to let Jack Hughes get into your head. After all, he’s just a frat guy. It’s typical for frat boys to get what they want– laid– and then ghost their hookup. You’ve seen it happen to your roommates and close friends in years past, who always seem to fall for the frat guy that can’t commit. He’ll string them along for a fuck, convincing them that he likes them, just so that they’ll come back for more. 

Your girlfriends never stay the night, never receive aftercare, and sometimes don’t even get to come. Yet– the boy is always allowed to stay the night at her place. And he always pulls her back in, even when he’s fucking other girls and lying about it. Your mind automatically goes to Jack’s frat brother, Cole, who was the puppeteer of a miserable situationship with your close friend a few years back.

You’ve learned, just through talking with Jack during class, that he and Cole are still close friends. Cole’s his VP of Brotherhood. You don’t share the fact that you know the girl who cried over Cole every week for the better part of sophomore year. 

No, that information you keep to yourself. Although, to you, Jack’s friendship with Cole is proof that Jack is doing the same thing to you. If he asked, you probably would fuck him again. After all, he’s been nothing but kind to you since that party. But, at the same time, he’s been kind– not flirty. 

The distinction between the two is clear. Heading into finals, you’re going to keep your head down and do your work. You’ll study, you’ll prep for the second-to-last set of finals you’ll ever take, and you will not allow Jack to distract you. He’s just some guy.

You’re a little nervous heading into your first class back from break. Today, your teacher is announcing the pairs for your final project. In this class, there’s an optional written exam. Instead, there’s the required project, where you have to research and present about one of the topics that was covered this semester. With your luck, you’re expecting that your teacher will pair you and Jack together. That way, you won’t be able to avoid him. It’ll be a nightmare.

Like always, you arrive to class before Jack does. Like always, you take out your computer and your textbook, rereading your most recent notes to make sure you’re up to speed on what you’ll talk about in class today. Like always, Jack drops into the seat next to you just before the bell rings, and like always, he peers over your shoulder to look at your computer screen, snooping.

“I see you haven’t changed over break,” Jack says, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping that we’d come back and I’d get to watch you shop for a dress for formal instead of having to look at your notes all the time.”

“I’m not going to any formal,” you reply. “I’m not in a sorority.”

Jack clicks his tongue like he’s just remembering, about to retort when your professor starts class. You shush Jack, then turn your attention to your prof. 

She tells the class that today you’ll be meeting with your assigned partner and choosing a topic for your presentation. Everyone will have to move around in the classroom to do so, which is a relief– unless Jack ends up being your partner, he’ll have to leave your side. You won’t be burdened with the weight of having a man who’s seen your face when you come right beside you.

She begins to read from the list on her computer and you get lucky– Jack isn’t your partner. Instead, you get Braden Schneider, who sits across from you in the classroom, close to the back. He tucks himself into a corner every class and you’ve seen him at office hours once or twice. When you’re partnered up, he gives you a little wave and a smile.

Jack is stuck with another boy from the class, a boy named John (you think) with whom he seems to get along. 

Once the class splits into pairs, Jack raises his hand to bid you goodbye and goes to join John across the way. Braden comes and takes his seat. You don’t know Braden well, but he’s passionate about doing a presentation about the topic that you know best, so you click almost immediately. You leave class feeling confident that you will get a good grade on this final, so good that it might bump you up from a B+ to an A-... or even an A, if you can speak as well in front of the class as you can research.

You and Braden leave class together, trying to decide when it’s best to meet up outside of class and start working on your presentation. As you walk down the hall, Braden tells you that he can’t meet up on Friday because he’s going to his girlfriend’s formal– you can’t seem to escape the topic of greek life. You decide to grab coffee on Sunday morning. Outside the building, Braden leaves you with another wave and a confirmation of “It’s a date!”

Then, Jack finds you.

“How was Schneider?” He asks, eying your classmate’s retreating figure. 

“He’s good. We’re getting coffee on Sunday. I think our project will go well. How’s… John?” You reply, fixing the backpack straps on your shoulders before setting off towards the parking lot where you parked today. This class with Jack is the last of the day, so you’re ready to head home. He walks back the same way, since the parking lot is about a block closer to campus than the frat houses.

“Johnny,” Jack corrects. Then, he shrugs. “He’s fine. Why are you getting coffee with Schneider?”

You almost burst out laughing. “For the project?” You explain, like it’s obvious. “We have to talk about it.”

“Why can’t you just go to the library? Or you could work on it during class time,” Jack says. 

Now, it’s your turn to shrug. “We want to get it done and he says he works best in a more relaxed environment.”

“Of course he does,” Jack scoffs. “Those fucking Nups. They never take anything seriously.”

“‘Nups?’” You repeat. “What the fuck is a ‘Nup?’”

“Nu Upsilon Rho,” Jack says. “Our rival frat. He’s one of the brothers.”

“So… because he’s in this frat that you don’t like… you think he’s not going to take the project seriously,” you deadpan. “Do you even know him?”

“I just think he’s going to ditch you with all the work because he’s busy,” Jack says with another shrug. He fixes his baseball cap, turning it so it’s backwards atop his head. 

“Well, I have faith in him. We’ve got a plan and he seems pretty into our topic, so I think everything will be fine.” You frown at Jack, narrowing your eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Are you angry with me, or something?” Jack asks. “You seem mad.”

“I think you’re really overstepping,” you tell him. “My project isn’t your business. We’re not partners.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” You’ve reached your parking lot, so this is the part where you turn left and Jack continues going straight. You cross your arms over your chest and he stops in front of you, turning to face you. You’re crowded on the left side of the sidewalk. Other students walk past you, sometimes looking at you to express their distaste at the obstacle blocking their way. 

Jack looks at you for a minute, holding eye contact without saying anything. He looks confused at your retort, a slight frown tugging at his lips. 

Those are the same lips that kissed your earlobe, your cheek, your neck. Behind them is the same tongue that licked into your mouth and slid against yours. 

You’re flushing a bit now. It takes a lot of concentration to tear yourself away from him, to look down at his feet. He’s wearing those white AF1s that he always wears, creased and gross after years of wear and tear, and that’s enough to bring you back to yourself. 

“We’re throwing a party on the last day of classes,” Jack says. “It’s, like, a final hoo-rah before finals. The theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’ll put you on the list, if you want to come.”

“Maybe,” you say. You probably won’t go. The last time you went to one of Jack’s parties, you ended up losing your head after one drink and fucking him in the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear, just because he asked you to.

“Okay. It’ll start at nine. You can come early, too. I’ll be at the house all day.” If Jack is bothered by your uncertain answer, he doesn’t let it show. He bids you goodbye and turns away, heading towards the house. 

You watch him walk away, then you don’t think about him again until class on Wednesday. Wednesday begins exam review. Your optional exam is scheduled on the first day of finals week, in just ten days. You’ll only have two classes to summarize everything you learned this semester, since Monday and Wednesday are reserved for presentations, so it’s imperative that you pay attention. You have to pay attention in case your final project falls apart and goes completely south, the way that it seems Jack believes it will. You want to ace this final exam if you have to take it.

You barely speak with him throughout exam review on Wednesday, nor on Friday. You head to the library to work on other papers and exam reviews after your classes instead of going home, just so you don’t have to walk back with him.

If Jack’s not going to bring up the fact that you fucked, then neither are you. If he’s going to be a dick about the project, and the fact that you’re paired with one of his rival frat’s brothers, then you’re just going to ignore him.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t try to bother you during class, because he does. He’s insatiable like that. It’s impossible for him to go a class period without talking or without poking you and pouting for attention. You’re just the bigger person.

Jack’s presentation is on Monday and it goes fine. He and his partner are relatively monotone and they don’t seem to care much about their topic, so you’d say that they earned a solid C on the presentation part of the project. Hopefully their research and write-up is better and can lift their grade up to a B. You give him a high five after it’s done, just to congratulate him on completing the assignment, and he slumps in his seat. 

Your presentation is on Wednesday. You and Braden met for coffee on Sunday, like you said. He told you a bit about his girlfriend’s formal on Friday, then you got down to work. You both pulled through with your end of the research, so organizing your presentation was easy. You were in and out of the coffee shop in less than two hours, feeling fully confident that you’d be able to present well and receive an A.

On Wednesday, everything goes off without a hitch. Your professor looks impressed, scribbling only a few notes on her sheet of paper. You try not to look at Jack, lest he distract you, but he’s staring at you the whole time. He gives you a tight smile after the presentation is over and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

After class, Braden comes over and gives you a hug. You’d gotten his number before your coffee date, but he assures you that he’d love to study together in the future. You’ll have a class together next semester, anyway– the same one you’ll have with Jack, since you’re all in your last semester before graduation and everyone always ends up in the same course. 

Jack walks with you to the parking lot on Wednesday, heading home in the same direction, but his hands are shoved in his pockets and his expression is oddly blank. When you reach your normal parting point, Jack stops.

“Are you coming to the Ugly Sweater party?” He asks. 

“It’s on Friday, right?” You ask, still beaming after your successful presentation. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t think.”

“Do you have an ugly sweater?” Jack asks.

“I think I can find one.”

“I have two. You can borrow one of mine.” Jack kicks a rock to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way. “Do you want to come to the house and grab it? I know coming to frat parties early, like… isn’t fun for most people. I’ll kind of be busy before, too, so. You coming to the house now to grab it would be better. If you have nothing else to do.”

His words are jilted and awkward. You’re just as aware as he is that the last time you came to the house, you came all over his cock and he shot off inside of you. You know Jack’s thinking about that because the tips of his ears have gone red and he can’t meet your eyes.

You’d rather face the frat house now, in the light of day, than go back on a Friday night when there is a huge crowd and you can barely hear Jack.

“Yeah,” you tell him. Your answer surprises Jack, but it makes him smile. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to bite back the big grin. “C’mon.”

Together, you bypass the parking lot where your car sits. You walk together to the row of frat houses down the block. Jack swipes into the house with his student ID, holding the door open for you.

You kind of think he expects you to keep walking, but you’ve never been to his room before. You’ve only been in the dancing room– which looks like shit in the light of day, on a Wednesday afternoon– the kitchen, and that bathroom down the hall. 

Jack waves at a brother who is sitting in the living room to the right of the foyer, then guides you upstairs with a hand at the small of your back. His touch is featherlight, his fingertips pressing against the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric. 

You make it to the top of the stairs, turning towards the left. There are more doors on that side of the hall, so you expect Jack’s room is down there. There are two doors on the right.

Jack climbs the final stairs and hooks a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you gently towards the right. “My room’s over here,” he mumbles, reaching for one of the doorhandles. “The other one is the shared bathroom for the guys. If you need the bathroom during the party, you can go in this one instead of waiting downstairs again.”

You nod, not sure how to reply. You’re not sure if you can face that bathroom without wanting to repeat your encounter with Jack. 

It’s even harder seeing his bed– unmade, messy, and looking comfortable. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown around haphazardly, his pillows flat and squished like he was hugging them in his sleep.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jack offers. “I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind. My room isn’t much better.”

That’s a lie. You have a laundry basket for your dirty clothes and Jack seems to drop them in a pile in the corner. He’s got books out, whereas yours are stacked neatly on your desk. The truthful part is that you don’t mind– you didn’t expect a clean room in a frat house.

You take a seat on the edge of his bed, clasping your hands in your lap and bouncing a bit on the mattress when you sink into it. He digs through his closet, moving hangers and pulling boxes out of cubbies to try and find the ugly sweater that you’re going to borrow.

You spot a can of Zyn on his bedside table, which makes you laugh to yourself. You’re looking around the room for more when your phone dings.

You dig it out of your pocket, checking your messages. It’s Braden, who has sent you a picture of a coffee and a donut– and his girlfriend in the background– from the same coffee shop where you met up on Sunday. His message reads: “Thanks for the recommendation! Ordered your fav to celebrate our awesome presentation today. Jos says she’ll get the butter cream next time for sure :)”

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, already facing you when you look up with a truly ugly Christmas sweater in his hands.

“Braden.”

Jack’s face clouds over. His hands drop to his sides, the sweater drooping in his right. “You’re done with the project, though.”

“So what?”

“Why are you still talking to him?”

“We get along,” you explain with a shrug. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a Nup,” Jack says again, deadpanning.

You scoff and shake your head. “Jack, just because he’s in another frat than you doesn’t mean he’s not nice. I’m friends with him just like how I’m friends with you.”

“But we were friends first,” Jack complains.

“Does that mean that I’m only allowed to be friends with you?” You ask, teasing him slightly. The idea is absurd and you need to know if Jack really means what he’s implying. “Heaven forbid I have to tell my roommate that we’re not allowed to be friends anymore because the President of Pike doesn’t allow me to talk to anyone other than him.”

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t mean that,” Jack says. 

“Jack, honey,” you begin, an air of patronization lacing the pet name. “You’re overstepping again. Let me see that sweater.” You hold a hand out, making a grabbing motion at the lump of fabric in his hand.

“You can’t just look at it,” Jack says with a pout. “You have to try it on to get the full effect. That’s what my mom always says.”

A short silence hangs in the air as you both realize what he said. It’s not like you can pull this sweater over the sweater you’re wearing– you’ll be sweltering and it won’t fit right.

Jack looks so caught on the spot that you can’t help but burst into giggles.

“Jack,” you laugh. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?”

“Well, you’d put a new sweater on immediately after,” Jack says, trying to make up for his blunder. His ears are burning again, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. “I’ll even turn around.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you say, shrugging him off. You start to pull your sweater over your head, revealing the bra you’d thrown on this morning because it was on the top of the pile in your drawer. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it.

“I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it,” Jack jumps in. “You kept your shirt on when I fucked you.”

It’s so jarring when he says it so bluntly. You’d both been avoiding the mention of your… encounter… for weeks.

“Well, now you’ve seen it, so you’ve collected the full package,” you concede, pulling the ugly sweater over your head and standing to look at yourself in the mirror in the corner of his room. 

It’s ugly. That’s for sure. There’s fake tinsel, there’s a stupid Christmas saying on the front, and there’s probably a Santa hat or reindeer headband to match.

Jack comes up behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater,” You reply. “You weren’t lying when you said that.”

Jack seems to forget that the mirror shows his expression, because he bites his lip and eyes you. “Looks good on you.”

You laugh, pulling the sweater back over your head, leaving you in your bra. You go to move past Jack, approaching the bed where your old sweater lies. “I think you just like to see a girl in your clothes, J. You seem to have a possessive streak.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack refutes. 

You fix him with a look, glancing over your shoulder and seeing him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack, you don’t want me to be friends with a boy in another frat. I think you seem to believe that I’m Pike property because you fucked me once in the bathroom.”

Jack’s eyes go wide.

“Not that we’ve talked about it, because we probably should,” you point out. “We’re friends and we’ve fucked, then you acted like it never happened.”

“So did you,” Jack says, defending himself.

“I did because you did,” you tell him with a shrug. “I thought you’d bring it up during class or one of our walks. I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid of me.”

“I just didn’t think you wanted me to bring it up,” Jack says. “I thought you’d want it to be a one and done. I mean, I–” He pauses, wincing a little bit. “I came inside you. We didn’t talk about that. I didn’t know if you’d… be mad at me. So I… didn’t… talk to you?”

“I’m not mad at you for coming inside me,” you reply, shaking your head at him. “I don’t mind that. I took a Plan B afterward and everything’s fine. My period is supposed to come sometime this week. Plus, I–”

You cut yourself off, snapping your mouth shut. Jack’s not someone who you’d share your kinks with under a normal circumstance. He’s not your best friend, he’s not someone you gossip with, he’s not someone who you’re fucking regularly. It happened once, halfway in public, and that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to information about you. He doesn’t need to know that you felt feral over the way he came inside of you, with that low groan that has been replaying in your head every time you pull out your trusty vibrator and take care of yourself.

Jack cocks his head to the side. He raises an eyebrow. “You what?” He queries, expecting an answer. When you don’t answer, he takes a step forward and asks again. “You… what?”

“I’m not saying it,” you announce. 

Jack smirks. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Hmm, let’s think,” he teases, tapping his chin with his finger, pretending to think. “You didn’t mind when I came inside you, so I think you might… like that?”

You pull your sweater over your head, covering yourself up again. You seal your mouth shut and look at Jack, who takes another step forward, his smile only growing.

“You… want it,” Jack surmises. 

You hope your poker face is good, because he’s mighty perceptive. You would absolutely rather have a man come inside of you than in a condom. But, once again, it’s not something you were planning on telling Jack after just one fuck.

“You might be just as possessive as me,” Jack teases. He’s close enough to touch you now, so he does. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing against your exposed clavicle. He pushes the fabric of your sweater off your shoulder a bit, displacing it. The knitted fabric is stretchy, so it moves easily. He leans closer. “You like when I come inside of you because, well, I’m yours that way, aren’t I?”

With his hand on you and his body so close, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen up.

Yes, you think. That’s exactly it. You hadn’t been able to place your finger on exactly why before now– Jack seems to have opened your eyes. Yes, you like it when a man is so desperate and overwhelmed by the feeling of you that he has to fill you up. He’s yours. He might be marking you up in a way that claims you, but his come is a sign that he’s yours.

“And I like it,” Jack continues. “Because you’re mine.”

A shiver actually runs down your spine.

And then Jack kisses you.

It’s sensual. It makes your brain melt. He’s gentle with it, his tongue caressing your lips until you open up for him. With one hand, he cradles your cheek. His other hand slides along your waist, underneath the bottom of your sweater. It feels like he’s branding your skin with his touch– or maybe all of the ‘possessive streak’ talk is warping your brain. 

“Why did you put your shirt back on?” Jack murmurs when he pulls away. 

He’s genuinely asking, which makes you laugh and pull him in again. Your laughter has him smiling, which makes it hard to kiss him properly. It devolves into a series of sweet pecks, interrupted by a breath of laughter or a wide grin before your lips meet again.

“No, really,” Jack says between kisses. “Why’d you put your shirt back on? I didn’t get a good look.”

“You are such a goof,” you reply, touching his hip. “Obviously I didn’t know we’d be kissing by the end of this conversation.”

“I think we should do more than kiss,” Jack says.

Again, a bout of laughter escapes you. He is so blatant and honest about what he wants. It’s such a male trait– you can’t imagine being so brash.

“You don’t think so?” Jack asks.

“You’re just so– I don’t know,” you say, feeling flustered. He’s still touching you, his hands are  greedy, roaming along your middle.

“Is it– too much?” Jack asks, matching your tone. His face contorts with concern. “If you don’t want to go again, we don’t have to. I would… fuck, I want to fuck you again.”

The sincerity of his voice surprises you. You know that he’s a man and men are often fueled by their desire to have sex with a partner, but Jack’s words blossom in your stomach like a flower opening on the first warm day of spring.

“You do?” You ask, coyly goading him into saying more. 

“Baby, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jack reveals, groaning a little bit with want. “I can’t use the downstairs bathroom anymore and all the guys think it’s hilarious.”

“So is that why you didn’t want me talking to Braden?” You ask. “Because you’re jealous, seeing me have fun with another guy, meanwhile you can’t stop thinking about how my pussy felt around your cock?”

The dirty words make Jack keen in the back of his throat, tugging insistently at the hem of your sweater. 

You start to remove it, slowly, teasing him. As you watch his pupils dilate, fixing on your newly revealed skin, you continue to talk: “Have you been fucking your fist a lot, Jack? While you think about me?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice merely a whisper.

“Good boy,” you praise lowly, trying to make your voice as seductive and innocent as possible without feeling like a fool. “I’ve been fucking myself to the thought of you, too.” 

Your shirt comes off, dropping to the ground, but Jack’s eyes find your face.

He bites his lip, his eyes dancing along your features. “Fingers?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Been using a toy.”

Jack’s blue eyes are starting to look black, shadowed and heady with lust. They’re devoid of emotion– except for one: want.

“Good?” He asks.

Again, you shake your head. “Not as good as the real thing.” You bring your hands to his pants, popping the button on his jeans slowly, to build suspense or even give him a chance to kiss you again. He’s standing still, staring at you with those dark eyes, so you drag the zipper of his pants down and reach in, palming his length over his underwear. 

Jack’s eyes stay on you as you touch him, the blue of his eyes matching the navy of the midnight sky. 

You stroke him until you’re certain he can’t grow any harder. Then, you push his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach, somehow soft and toned at the same time. You scratch along his abdomen, lifting the fabric. His mouth curves up at the edges when you’re finally able to pull the shirt off of him, leaving his hair disheveled. It’s cute like this, you decide.

The air between you is tense, his gaze weighing on you. You kiss him again, just because you can, and you use the distraction to push at his jeans until they’re falling to the ground. His lips are wet against yours. He must have licked them while he was staring, while you stroked him.

One of his hands works on your jeans, but you’re much more concerned with the hand that’s petting over the clasp of your bra. He’s able to unfasten it quickly. Once your bra is loose, he acts quickly. He brings his hand to your front and pulls at the band of the delicate piece. He drops to a knee, leaving your lips behind, but kissing over your stomach as he tugs at your jeans. They’re tight around your hips, so it takes him a second to get them off, but his fervor and determination aides him.

Once he’s got you in your underwear, completely braless, he rises. He covers your skin in wet, messy kisses as he comes back up. He captures one nipple between his teeth, then moves to the other and sucks. His hands are flush against your ass, squeezing your skin and keeping you close. 

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and breathing in languorous spurts. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “But I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”

“So fuck me,” you tell him. “I want you to. I want you to fuck me now.”

Jack smiles against your skin, licking over your nipple one more time before he comes back to his height. “Music to my ears, babe.” He places a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, helping you step backwards until you’re against the bed. “Lay down. Let me touch you.”

You obey, climbing onto the messy bed and making yourself comfortable among his pillows. Jack joins you, climbing up your body and planting another kiss on your lips. He takes a pillow from beside your head and brings it under your hips, tapping your sides so that you lift up for him. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles. 

His words are quiet, but they still give you a burst of pride. 

He’s already moving to pull your panties down, biting his lip in concentration. His eyes are fixed on the point between your legs, even though his face is level with yours. His hair is falling into your space, tickling your forehead. You take a moment to take him in. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you stare at him. You know Jack’s attractive, because you look at him all the time and you like looking at him, but in this moment, he’s a work of art. You might have stopped breathing.

You gasp when he touches you. His fingertips are blunt and careful as they sweep through your wet folds. 

The gasp takes Jack by surprise, his eyes flickering to your face, and he smiles when he meets you there. “Are you always this wet when we’re together?” He asks. “I’m imagining you in class, absolutely soaked even though I haven’t touched you.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, bringing a hand to his hair again and smoothing it back. 

“That’s a no?”

“Definitely a no,” you say. “I’m not just wet because you’re around, Jack. It doesn’t work like that. This is because you’re a good kisser. And, well, because you sucked on my nipples.”

Jack brightens. “And I’ll do it again, too.”

You grip his hair before he can dip down and make good on his vow. “Slow down there, cowboy,” you say. 

Jack laughs at that, kissing your lips instead of finding your nipple. He swipes a finger against your clit, making you gasp again, into his mouth this time. 

“Mm,” Jack hums patronizingly. “Does it feel good?”

He fills you with his middle finger and thumbs at your clit, working the digits in tandem to make you whimper.

“Listen to yourself,” he says. “All that noise for me?”

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Jack. I need you to fuck me.”

“You need it?” Jack teases, sliding his ring finger inside of you, joining the other. 

“Don’t be a dick,” you whine. 

“God, and I thought it was embarrassing how bad I want you,” he simpers. “But, you make a good point. We both want it. Let’s not wait.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, the empty feeling foreign and dissatisfying. He shucks off the final bit of clothing remaining between the two of you, throwing the underwear over his shoulder comically. It’s not sexy, but he’s so charming and goofy that you swoon anyway.

Jack fists his cock, stroking himself. He aligns himself with your entrance, teasing your folds and bumping your clit with the head of his cock. He smiles to himself, gaze meeting yours before he speaks. He quirks an eyebrow, coming lower to kiss you again because he just can’t help himself. “Let’s fill you up, hm? Just like you like.”

“Just like you like,” you parrot back.

He murmurs a quiet agreeance as he pushes into you. He goes slow, sinking into you in a direct contrast with how he fucked you last time. “Still so tight,” Jack acknowledges. “You feel just as good as last time.”

You hold his shoulder, one hand twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He dips down to smear a kiss against your jugular, mouthing at the area where your pulse races. Jack starts to roll his hips, feeling you out. Even though it was the whole point, you realize suddenly that he’s bare inside of you. It’s like the piece of information was delayed and that you didn’t understand it until you felt him, felt the way his cock was weeping inside of you.

“Jack,” you moan, pulling him closer. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You don’t let up, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and his stomach is practically touching your own. You need him to be close– you’re drunk on the feeling of having him inside of you, bare and leaking.

“I know,” he soothes, rocking into you. He kisses you again, his tongue lathering your lips and petting whatever area he can touch– teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth… it’s messy, but driven completely by his desire, and you love it.

Your whines and whimpers, musings about how well he fills you, and your trembling touches fuel him. 

He fucks you deeply, making sure his cock brushes against your cervix with each thrust. You lose the ability to kiss him when he taps your sweet spot, keening in a way that has him grinning. You clench down involuntarily, which makes him choke a bit on his own breath and stutter his movements. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that, this is going to end a lot faster than I want it to,” Jack tells you, grimacing through another thrust. He snaps his hips, showing no signs of stopping even though he seems determined to last. 

“I want you to come,” you goad, practically begging. “Please, Jack, fill me up. Need you to come in my pussy, I need it.”

Jack makes a choked moan in the back of his throat, his head dipping to bury itself in your neck. He nibbles your neck, keeping his teeth in place to quiet himself as he quickens his pace. His breath is like music in your ears, panting and turning high pitched when you squeeze him again. “Baby, shit,” he moans, dropping to his elbows, bracketing your head. 

You grind up against him, your hips lifting off the bed and the pillow completely. 

He rearranges his position, shifting his weight to one arm so that he can reach down and rub circles over your clit with his dominant hand. His fingers, the ones next to your head, toy with your hair. He thrusts as hard as he can, his thick cock pistoning into your heat and making your stomach turn over from the pleasure. 

The pressure on your clit sends sparks through your body. You can feel the pleasure in your clenched fingertips, the burning tips of your ears, and in your curled toes. He’s everywhere, and his cum is seconds from marking you.

“Be mine,” you plead. You mean to say, ‘fill me up, put your cum inside me until it spills out of me, come apart like your cum belongs to me,’ but what you hear is different. You hear yourself ask him for more than just a fuck– you hear a slogan from a chalky Valentine’s heart, begging for a romantic connection.

He’s a frat boy. He won’t acknowledge this, he won’t understand what you mean. He’ll take it the wrong way and he’ll never talk to you again, even if you show up to the party on Friday. He’ll say hello, then look over you to find the next girl–

“I’m yours,” Jack replies, breathless. “All yours.”

The relief that comes with his reply washes over you. You cry out, unable to stop yourself from clenching down on his member and succumbing to the pleasure that had been building up inside of you.

You let your release take hold of you, throwing your head back and baring your neck to Jack. He takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, sucking on the skin below your jaw. His nose presses against the side of your face, his breath wet against your skin. 

“Good, baby, so good,” Jack praises as he fucks you through your release. “Y’feel so perfect around me, gonna give you what you want, just another minute…”

His hips work in a frenzy, snapping into you with lewd noises that mix with the noises falling from both of your lips. It only takes a few more thrusts before Jack is shuddering in your arms, his lips coming to smudge a messy, passionate kiss against yours. He spills inside of you, filling you with his hot, intoxicating cum until there’s none remaining in his cock.

His hips slow when he’s done, his blinks becoming longer and slower as he regains his breath. He watches himself thrust into you a final few times, his mouth open slightly and eyes trained on the spot like he’s in a trance. 

You snap your fingers by his face, drawing his attention. “My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”

Jack bursts into a fit of giggles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. He uses the leverage, and the wide expanse of his bed, to roll over so that you’re laying on top of him. He touches your hips, your ass, the smooth plane of your back, all the way up to your shoulderblades before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you there. 

He kisses you silly, cradling your cheek with one hand. Occasionally, he allows you to pull away, but you never go far. He’ll play with the strands of your hair, gazing at you with a satisfied, smug smirk on his lips. 

“It’s a date party,” Jack says eventually.

“What is?” You ask, your nose scrunching in confusion. 

“The ugly sweater party. It’s a date party. I was conning you into being my date.”

You barely stifle a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Hey,” Jack complains, pouting. “Not all of us can just say shit like ‘be mine’ in the middle of sex.”

You pat his chest, clicking your tongue at him to reprimand him for mocking your words. “Says the boy who tried to trick me into being his date for a frat function.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Jack shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss.

It’s slow, like the first one. Your lips move together until you’ve both run out of air. Jack returns to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Gonna get you a Plan B in the morning,” he says. His tone sounds like he’s wondering, still thinking about it, although you know that he’s stating a fact and formulating a plan. “But I think, if we want to keep doing this, we’re going to have to figure something out about birth control.”

Normally, you wouldn’t allow a man to tell you what to do with your body. Today, though, you concede. He’s right. The world isn’t ready for a little Jack, and you don’t want him to stop coming inside of you, so you make a mental note to call your doctor tomorrow.

Still, you can’t resist the chance to make a joke.

“Maybe we’ll get you a vasectomy instead,” you tease, touching his bottom lip with your index finger. “They’re reversible, you know.”

note: i couldn't resist posting this, since i finished it before i expected to. I LOVE YOU FRAT JACK! (am willing to skip the plan b but only if you're also down)

[puck-luck]

luke x older reader anon again! congrats on 1k! submitting the same request, with hearts and prompt 25 🫶🏻

warnings: unprotected p in v, age gap (not major.), religious themes & motifs, pining, childhood friends to lovers vibes, best friend's brother ofc, jealousy, occasionally insecure statements from luke, really just the sweetest sex you can imagine. i LOVED writing this. hence... the length.

WC: 4,351

You’ve been friends with the Hughes boys as long as you can remember. The first time you met Quinn, it was during your first pee-wee skate. 

Your dad was a big hockey fan, so he wanted to teach you how to skate. The debate had been between figure skating and hockey– your mom loved gymnastics, dance, and figure skating, having been an artistic athlete herself. Your dad wanted you to skate regardless, but hockey felt more suited for your talents. You were a competitive child– and territorial over your toys– so your dad thought it would translate well into a hockey environment. 

He took you to the Olympics in Salt Lake when you were three years old. You went to see figure skating and two of the United States hockey games– one for the men and one for the women. To your dad, it wasn’t a surprise how your eyes grew into saucers when you watched your first live hockey game.

He’d enrolled you in peewee skate the following week. There were no girls-only leagues, so you were put into a coed league. Quinn was in the same league. You became very fast friends– you liked to talk, your new little buddy liked to listen, and then you finally got him out of his shell midway through the season and your friendship was fully cemented. Actually, the second you learned his last name was Hughes– like Sarah Hughes, who won the Olympic Gold in single’s figure skating when you were in Utah– he was stuck with you. Just because you’d preferred hockey didn’t mean you didn’t love ice skating, too. It just wasn’t your passion.

You and Quinn stayed in touch after that peewee hockey season, enrolling in the same league and requesting to be on the same team until you both graduated into the boys- and girls-only leagues. You still remained friends, staying in contact as best you could when he moved to Toronto. You’d send letters back and forth and you became a pro at interpreting Quinn’s boyishly terrible handwriting. He’d tell you about his brothers, his parents, his school, and his hockey teams. You’d keep him updated on home, but then it stopped being home to Quinn. Soon enough, you were only talking about hockey and family. ‘Did you see that Crosby won the Hart Trophy?’ ‘Yeah! Ovi got the Calder though, so we’re still on even playing field. Canadian boy.’ ‘Hey, Ovi is Russian. Choose a real American and get back to me.’

It wasn’t long until you secured an invitation to visit the Hughes during the summer. You and your family went up to Toronto to visit them and you got to play with the Hughes boys for a whole week. It was so much fun, so the next summer, you begged to invite them to your place for a week.

The tradition continued for years, alternating houses and hometowns. You and Quinn both applied to Michigan– he played hockey, you did not. You were a good player, but you’re more of a beer league girl. You weren’t recruited to play college hockey– which, for a while, you thought was weird, because there are so few female hockey players in America. You’re hoping that your lack of recruitment means that there are hundreds of amazing women who are better than you at the sport, and that helped you accept your fate. After all, Quinn would sometimes bring you to the rink when it was empty. You’d get to play for a little while– and it was nice, in college, to have someone who knew you so well.

A lot of people assumed that you and Quinn were together, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Quinn was like your brother. There was that weird month when you were thirteen and you’d gone to visit him over the summer and you’d thought, maybe… but it turned out that you were just thirteen and confused because of your rampant hormones and puberty. Quinn is just your friend, your best friend. 

All of the brothers were pretty off-limits. You’d seen the way girls had started flirting with Jack as he’d entered his teens. You’re able to admit that he’s a cute boy. Luke was an absolute sweetheart, always trying to play with Quinn (and, by extension, you) as you’d grown up. You felt so fond of Luke in a ‘look at how precious he is, I need to protect him’ sort of way.

And then, last night at the lake house, he’d helped you line up a shot in pool and kept his hand on the small of your back when you bent over the table, and your mind had been spinning ever since. 

You can’t tell Quinn, obviously. That’s his baby brother. You’re not even sure how you feel about it– Luke’s always been your little buddy. Now, he’s over half a foot taller than you, so he’s not so little anymore. Still– he’s four years younger than you and Quinn. It’s the equivalent of a freshman hooking up with a senior and you feel icky. 

Regardless, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. He likes to twirl his fork between his fingers when he’s done eating dinner. He’ll spread his legs and sit forward when he’s playing video games with his brothers. An absent-minded, crooked smile falls on his mouth every time he’s only half-listening to you or the other boys. It’s paired with a look in his eyes that you can only describe as warm and content. In twenty-four hours, you’ve noticed more things about Luke than you’ve ever seen before. 

He’s grown up. It’s still a little weird to you, but he’s 21. You’re still 24, even though your 25th birthday is slowly creeping forward. You find yourself justifying the three year age gap, persuading yourself that it’s fine to look at Luke like that, but then you catch yourself and look away. You’re pushing the idea out of your brain.

But he’s goofy, and cute, and so sweet. He’s the same Luke as always, but you’re seeing him in a brand new way.

You’re able to keep yourself at bay for over a week. The boys throw a party and invite some girls over. Normally, you’re not jealous. You’re calm. You don’t care. 

Across the room, there’s a girl flirting with Luke. She’s got a hand on his arm and you’re nursing a drink, seeing red. You’re using Jack as a shield, but you’re still able to look over his shoulder. You think you’re being slick, but it turns out… you’re not.

“What are you looking at?” Jack laughs, tilting his head at you exaggeratedly before turning.

Unfortunately, you know you’ve been found out. There’s only one thing that would have you glowering in such a way. Nothing else in sight is nearly as interesting as Luke and the girl beside him. Jack clocks it right away.

He turns back to you with a tight, knowing smile, like he’s trying to hold back laughter. He pushes his tongue into his cheek and quirks his eyebrows at you. 

“Interesting,” Jack says, swirling his drink in his solo cup and then bringing the rim to his mouth. He maintains eye contact as he sips. 

You pop the bottom of the cup, making the drink splash into Jack’s face. “Fuck off.”

He wipes his mouth and crosses his arms, cradling the drink in the pocket of his elbow. “You and little Lukey?”

You grind your teeth and glare at him in the most menacing way you can. Jack has known you for too long to be intimidated by your glares. He also never really cared that much in the first place– he’s too shit-eating to be concerned about the repercussions of his words.

Jack smirks some more. “Don’t worry,” he says, popping his jaw like he’s turning a piece of gum over in his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.”

You clench your teeth and continue glaring. You suck your cheeks in and bite down on the inside of your mouth, lips curling with annoyance. 

“You know, he wouldn’t mind if you went over there and staked your claim,” Jack says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t think he’d be upset at all.”

“Fuck off,” you repeat again. 

“C’mon, Y/N.” Jack pushes your shoulder lightly, jokingly. “You’re being obvious.”

“Quinn’ll kill me. And– it’s Luke, Jack.”

“So what? It’s not weird. We all grew up together. We’re all around the same age. It’s not a big deal. He’s had a crush on you forever.”

“It’s different,” you sing-song. “He’s younger than me.”

“Let’s go, Cougar,” Jack teases, reaching up to high-five you. 

You don’t take it, instead deciding to punch his stomach. 

Jack doubles over like you actually wounded him, but straightens up smiling. “You oughta go make him jealous.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Dude, I’m serious. Let’s go flirt with Trevor or something. Someone who Luke thinks you’re better than– I guarantee he’ll be over here in a second.”

Jack actually tugs you toward Trevor and explains the plan before you can even get a word in. So much for keeping your secret. Trevor, to his credit, is a very willing subject. He keeps a hand on your waist during the whole conversation and you do your best to ignore the niggling desire to look over your shoulder at Luke. 

Turns out, you should’ve been worried about Quinn.

“Get your hands off her, Zegras,” Quinn snaps, pushing Trevor’s hand off of your waist and stepping between you. “You’re not allowed to fuck my friend.”

If that’s how he feels about one of his friends touching you, then you feel a bit faint at the idea of Quinn’s reaction to Luke getting together with you. That might seal the deal– you really can’t fuck Luke.

“I’m not fucking her,” Trevor says. “We’re working an angle here, Quinn.”

Quinn scoffs. “Yeah? What angle is that, Trevor?”

“We’re trying to make Luke jealous, hello?” Trevor says like it’s obvious. 

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face in your hands. “Trevor, you fucking moron.”

“What?” Quinn demands, but his look turns into sheer bewilderment. “You’re doing this for Luke?”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, stomping away. 

Trevor, somehow, is free to follow after you. Quinn hasn’t stepped in to stop him. You wish he would. He’s probably too confused. “This is good,” he says. “He’s definitely going to see us going upstairs together. Hold my hand.”

“No.”

“Dude, it was working. Luke was looking over at us the whole time.”

“I don’t care, Trevor.”

“Don’t you want him?”

“Not like that,” you hiss between your teeth. “I don’t want to make Luke jealous. I want him to come to me because he wants to, okay? Go downstairs. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. I’ll go. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You disappear into your bedroom, changing into pajamas and climbing into bed. It’s nice to have your own bedroom in the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought with their NHL salaries, but tonight it’s bittersweet to be able to hear the party going on as you lay in bed. It’s not at all like when you fall asleep during a holiday party and your parents put you to bed, and you can still hear the laughter of the guests in your dreams. Now each bout of laughter reminds you of her, the girl whose hand was on Luke like she already owned him, and you wonder if he’s making her giggle with his stupid corny jokes.

God, last week you didn’t even like Luke. Now you’re burning with jealousy– or maybe it’s the fires from Hell, because you’ve got a completely inappropriate crush on your best friend’s little brother. You can never come back to the lake house like this, at least not until you’ve gotten over this shit. Why are you so affected? It’s Luke, for fuck’s sake.

It’s Luke again when someone comes knocking at your door. You thought it would be Quinn, ready to chew you out or question you extensively about this crush. To your surprise, the problem himself appears. 

“You okay?” Luke asks, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His silhouette is burly and big and you have to close your eyes to shake the pang of emotion that penetrates your chest.

“Just tired,” you reply quietly. “Couldn’t stomach the party anymore.”

“Did Trevor say something to upset you?”

Quieter: “No, Luke.”

He hovers silently. You can hear the cogs in his brain turning. His pitch matches yours when he speaks next, although his tone is much more melancholic than despondent. “Are you mad at me?”

You hesitate for a second too long. You’re not mad, but you’re certainly taken aback by the uncertainty in his words. “No, Luke,” you say again, but this time the pang that goes through your chest is more familiar. You don’t want to upset him. You’ve always wanted to protect Luke from the world, but now you’ve made him unsure and insecure. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Luke asks, and you have to take a shaky breath. He sounds so small. It’s like the time that you didn’t let him ride bikes with you and Quinn to the store, even though he begged, and then he cried and ran to his mom. After seeing Luke’s puffy red eyes and resolute determination to ignore you for the rest of the night, your soda and candy bar didn’t taste as good. In fact, they tasted a bit like cardboard. You ended up throwing half of the bar away and going home early. You swore you’d never make sweet little Luke feel that way again.

“You wouldn’t get it, I don’t think,” you tell him quietly, pushing yourself up in bed and resting on your elbows. You take a deep breath and look at him, sure that he can see the way your chest rises and falls. 

Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can see the way Luke’s mouth opens, as if to say something, then closes with a shake of his head. You notice his eyes fluttering towards the corner of your room, removing you from his line of vision. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Luke says, biting his lower lip in a dejected and heartbreaking way. “I get it. I’ll go.”

“Luke,” you sigh. “Don’t be like that.”

“No, it’s fine. You don’t wanna talk to me,” he says with a shrug. “We’re not friends like that. I’m not Quinn.”

“Luke.” You push yourself up further, pushing the covers down and criss-crossing your legs. “It’s not that.”

“It’s always that. And if it’s not that, then it’s that I’m not Jack. I just– I don’t want to hear that from you.” Luke shrugs again, always defaulting to that motion when he’s deflecting because he’s big and awkward and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. As if he’s thinking the same thing, you watch him shove his fists in his pockets and keep his shoulders tense.

“Come here,” you request, head tilted and mouth turned down with sadness. You shift your position so that both of your knees are under you and you’re sitting back on your heels. “Luke, please.”

You hold your arms out for a hug, not for the first time in your life, and Luke shuffles over. He takes his time and he refuses to meet your eyes, just stooping down so that he can wrap his arms around your middle. It’s a weird position, given that you’re kneeling on the bed and he’s half-bent over. You can feel the pout and doubt all over Luke’s face, so you reach a hand up to his curls and run your thumb over one of his more perfect spirals. He’s letting it grow out a bit and you like how messy it looks.

“Jack told me something,” you reveal softly, still petting through his hair. Luke stiffens in your arms, but doesn’t pull away. “He said you like me.”

Luke groans and struggles in your grip, even sinking to his knees to try and get out of your grasp. He’s kneeling beside the bed, and you bring your legs around so that he’s situated between them. You keep a hand on his shoulder, the other still playing with his hair. He’s evading your eyes again, looking stoutly at the floor.

“I have feelings for you, too,” you whisper, the admission feeling heavy and wrong and like a knife to the gut. Admittance is the first step, but you just feel silly. “And I don’t really know how to deal with those. You’re– I’ve known you since we were so little, Luke.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Luke says bluntly, a hint of a complaint in his sentence. “You’ve been acting weird because you like me, too?”

“I was upset that there was a pretty girl talking to you,” you say sheepishly. “And I just didn’t want to go along with Jack’s plan. He wanted to make you jealous. Thought that would work.”

“I’m always jealous when you talk to another guy,” Luke tells you like it’s obvious. “I just, kind of, gave up. I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me. I thought I’d get over it. Stupid childhood crush, you know.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding that you yourself just experienced a similar line of thinking. You said you’d get over it, but you don’t really want to. Not right now, at least, when Luke’s sitting in front of you and he’s got a tentative hand on your calf, rubbing his thumb over the muscle and staring up at you with big eyes. You bite your lip, trying to think logically about this, but all you can do is examine Luke’s features like you’ll never get to see them again. Maybe you won’t– not like this. Not in this liminal space between something and nothing. This is one of those moments that you know won’t last– because the next one will change everything. So, for a moment longer, you just reach out and run your thumb along Luke’s cheekbone, eyes flickering between his cheek, his lips, and his eyes. 

“What do we–” Luke loses his words and presses his lips together, looking up at you, expression completely tortured. He turns his head and kisses the side of your knee, which makes your heart split a bit more.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You wish you had a better answer for him. You truly aren’t sure what you can do from here. There are too many things to consider– so you won’t consider them at all.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Luke asks. 

A fond burst of laughter escapes from your chest. “Lukey, this is a twin bed. We can’t both fit.”

A pout comes over Luke’s face again. “We can too,” he insists, furrowing his brow a bit. “I’ll prove it. Move over.”

He’s climbing into your bed before you can tell him no. His long and spindly limbs are coaxing you to lay back, then warming you as he holds you tight. It’s a tight squeeze, but that just means that you’re touching him everywhere. It’s nice and you suddenly wish you were facing him, so you roll awkwardly in his arms until you’re face to face. Your noses are nearly touching and Luke is staring at you, really taking you in. 

Your eyes find his lips… and then he’s leaning in.

It’s charged with tension and electricity, but it’s soft and hesitant. Neither of you want to test the boundaries and you don’t think this feels quite real. Your stomach is swooping with bats, not butterflies, and it’s exactly what you wanted. This is what you expected when you found yourself imagining kissing Luke this past week, even if you shook yourself out of it because it felt inappropriate. Here, it feels so right that you swear you could start crying from relief. You’ve never felt that way before from just a kiss. Your chest could burst.

When he pulls away, you feel frozen in time. Your eyes are closed and his lips are right there, a hair’s breadth away. You swallow, touching his chest, palm flat. 

“Was that okay?” Luke asks.

You nod, then slide your lips over his again. 

You come together in a way that can’t be described as anything other than desperate. Your hands touch him in any way they can and Luke’s do the same. You move in tandem like you’ve got a language of your own– an indignant hum from you followed by a sweet “I know” from Luke before he touches you exactly the way you want.

Kissing the whole time, Luke gets you on your back. Your lips only part to remove your shirt, then his. Luke’s big hand cradles your jaw and neck, keeping your head and mouth exactly where he wants them. He guides you with a surprising amount of experience and sureness, although maybe he’s fueled by the same feeling of rightness as you are.

He opens you on his other hand, snaking his hand into your pajamas shorts because he can’t be bothered to remove them. His hips roll against your thigh, his long torso displacing your pelvis from his as he kisses you. He’s big– you knew it height-wise, but now you can feel him against your leg, and you want him to fill you. You want him to claim you, to take you– you want to give all of yourself to Luke. It’s madness and though you’re sure you’ve lost your mind, the crack in your chest that pours out love for Luke has taken control of your body.

After three fingers and a lot of whimpering from you, clutches at Luke’s hair and bruising kisses working in tandem with your noises, Luke works your shorts down. He breaks from your lips so that he can take you in beneath him. He touches your waist and the curve of your stomach, the one that you cringed at for so many years as a teen but finally accepted in your grown age. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, eyes portraying nothing but sincerity.

You can’t say anything to that, nothing that can match his utterly genuine sentiment or portray how grateful you are that he took the time to say those words, so you kiss him again. You muster up an embarrassingly wanton ‘please,’ which you draw across his lips like a paintbrush. 

You can’t get enough of saying his name as he presses into you, his heavy body blanketing yours. You can feel his every muscle move as he works into you and you’ve never felt more like a masterpiece. There were times when you made fun of the phrase ‘making love,’ but sex with Luke feels intensely like you’re creating something tangible by coming together in this way. 

The moans and cries that you’re trying to stifle so that no one comes barging in should be enough to convince Luke that this is everything to you. Sweet, sweet Luke– he seems choked up when he says, “They can’t fuck you like I can.” He says the sentence like he has to prove it to you, like you’re not falling apart under his touch. He pleads with you between the words, in the spaces where you can see his breath hitch in his throat.

You’re still not sure where this night will leave you tomorrow morning. Everything, everything has turned on its head. Somehow, you feel a bit like you’ve been leading up to this for a while, not just in the past week. Luke knew it before you did.

“No,” you agree, touching his cheeks and keeping his eyes on yours. “They can’t.” You kiss him briefly, feeling his tongue swipe into your mouth before you pull away. “I’m yours.”

Luke actually keens at that, his arms straining as he shifts his weight to fuck into you harder. Because you’re so close, the bed isn’t moving enough to bang against the walls or creak on its boxsprings, and you’re glad. This is a moment for just you and Luke– you don’t want anyone hearing. You don’t want anyone to be around. You hope that they’ve all miraculously disappeared and you and Luke are the last people in the house, maybe even on Earth.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Luke repeats, his forehead meeting yours. You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale, his breath automatically syncing with yours. You’re overwhelmed, but deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice reminding you about an ancient tradition in Polynesian culture where forehead-to-forehead contact and breathing together is sacred, like you’re sharing the breath of life– like there’s some power in the universe, a god or many, clicking things into place.

He unravels first, fucking you through his release with urgence akin to the sentence he said before. Always trying to prove himself– but Luke has always been enough for you. Maybe not always in this way, but now, there’s nothing he can do to shake your favor. All of the feelings in your heart have been poured out, shared and mixed with his own, and it’s created a puddle– or a bubble– around the pair of you. 

It’s been written that sex is when two people come together as one. You finally understand what they mean, joining Luke in the seas of ecstasy.

Sweet nothings and touches like worship follow. Your hands can’t get enough of Luke’s strong figure. He runs his fingertips along your body like he’s in awe of your figure, like he gets to touch a statue so lifelike and beautiful that he can’t believe it was ever a block of marble at all. 

The concerns about what will happen tomorrow don’t exist here, in your dark bedroom with Luke stuck to you like glue. For now, it’s just you. Together, breathing, touching, loving– there’s nothing else that could matter. This is it.

note: i have to work on my grad school app in the coming days, so this will probably be the last blurb/oneshot until i finish the application. but, i might get bored of writing that and could pop in to do another smut piece here and there ;) hopefully i'll chat with y'all soon! but i don't want to rush this grad school app LOL

[puck-luck]

a new birthday tradition | jack hughes

warnings: extreme domination, spanking, spit kink, cockwarming, hair pulling, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, degradation (a bit), established!relationship pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader summary: fem!reader proposes a new birthday tradition to jack (based on the request: "jack hughes spanking and spit kink pls") wc: 2787

“Birthday boy,” you sing-song, tracing Jack’s nose. 

Your touch rouses Jack from his nap. He was sleeping on the couch, waiting for you to come home from work, having fallen asleep from boredom. It’s normal for Jack to fall asleep in the middle of the day, so this little touch has become part of your everyday routine. 

“Hi, babydoll,” you greet when Jack blinks his way awake. 

He finds you in his eyeline and sighs, the corners of his lips turning up. “Hi,” he says, voice thick with drowsiness. 

“You know what I was thinking about today?” You ask, smoothing back Jack’s hair. He nuzzles his face into your palm, dropping a kiss onto your skin.

“What?”

“There’s a birthday tradition that I thought you might like.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “I was thinking we’d put a little twist on it.”

Jack cocks his head to the side. “What is it?” He asks, voice wary. He immediately thinks of the first time Quinn told him that his birthday cake smelled like something but he couldn’t figure out what, and Jack leaned down to take a sniff, and Quinn shoved his head into the frosting. He’d rather eat a birthday cake than shove his face into it.

You drop your head so you’re whispering in his ear. “Birthday spankings.”

Jack pulls away from you, looking affronted. “You’re not spanking me.”

You roll your eyes. “Duh, dummy,” you drawl. “When have I ever been the one to spank you? Obviously, you get to spank me. One for every year you’ve been alive, plus one for luck.”

“Oh,” Jack replies. “Yeah, that could be fun.”

You roll your eyes for a second time. “Could you be less enthusiastic about it? You love my ass. You love spanking me. ‘Yeah, that could be fun?’”

Jack shrugs. “I prefer to spank you when you’re being a brat. This is, like, a gift.”

You blanch. You stare at him. Jack stares back. You blink at him slowly and set your jaw, your mouth straightening into an annoyed line. Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and pull your blouse over your head, drawing Jack’s eyes to your lacy red bra and the swell of your breasts. His hands twitch in his lap and he raises one to set it on your hip, to pull you back down to him, but you step out of reach.

“Where’s your sling?” You ask, toeing off your shoes and kicking them away.

“In the bedroom where I left it,” Jack says, snarky. He hates the sling. The angle causes his arm to fall asleep and he hates the numbness. It’s not like he’s moving his shoulder or hurting it any more– he’s going to rehab and PT, working with the best trainers in the NHL. He doesn’t want to wear his dreaded sling on his birthday.

You take off to the bedroom, returning shortly after with Jack’s sling. You hold it out to him with an expectant look on your face. 

Jack groans, but puts it on nonetheless. He glares at you once his arm is properly situated in his sling, his arm already prickling with discomfort. “You know I only have to wear this thing for like two more weeks,” he points out begrudgingly. “And the doctors said I don’t have to wear it all the time.”

You unbutton your pants and lower them, again drawing Jack’s eyes to the matching red thong you wore today, planning for him to see you like this. “That doesn’t mean you can take it off whenever you want,” you tell him. “We decided that you’d wear it when you weren’t doing anything. You’re sitting on the couch. You’re not doing anything.”

“I was napping.”

“‘I was napping,’” you repeat, mocking him. “What if you had laid on your arm wrong and set yourself back a few weeks?”

Jack’s nostrils flare at your words. “I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but you could have rolled over in your sleep. I don’t want you to have to miss out on pre-season stuff because you were reckless with your shoulder, Jack.”

“I don’t want that either, Y/N. But I’m also not a child, I know when I’m pushing myself too much. You’re being overbearing.”

“I’m trying to take care of you.”

“You’re acting like I’m helpless. I’m not fucking helpless just because I had surgery.”

You rejoin Jack on the couch and his eyes find your cleavage again, but he tears his gaze away from your breasts in order to continue this argument.

“You’re the one who pouts about your shoulder whenever I’m around to try and get attention from me. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too,” you argue.

With each one of your statements, you play Jack like a fiddle. He said it was easier to spank you when you were acting like a brat, so act like a brat you will.

“Yeah, but you know when I’m just trying to get attention. You play into it every time, don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn.”

Jack glares at you. “You only say that because you’re losing this argument.”

You lean forward, “accidentally” pushing your breasts together for Jack to see. He gulps, eyes flickering down then back up to your face. He tries to steel his face, but doesn’t do a great job.

“I’m not losing this argument,” you scoff. “You know I’m right. You’re just being difficult because you hate the sling. If I called your doctors right now, they’d tell us that you need to wear the sling more often.”

You move forward again, this time crawling over Jack’s lap until you’re sprawled over him completely, ass up for him to see.

Jack’s free hand palms one of your cheeks, resting on the skin. His thumb barely touches the lace of your thong where the fabric disappears.

You throw a glance over your shoulder and offer Jack a dazzling, smug smile. “Was that bratty enough for you?”

It dawns on Jack that you’ve goaded him into this, his hand itching to teach you a lesson still, even though it was a fake argument. He grins, letting out a little laugh. His head drops with the laugh and he pats your ass, frustratingly gentle.

“You got me, huh?” He asks. 

“You’re so easy,” You reply, giggling. 

Jack slaps your ass for that, barely a spank.

“That's one,” you tease. “Twenty two more.”

Jack closes his eyes and tries to bite back a smile. He tilts his head back, resting it on the back of the sofa. “Plus one for luck,” he adds. “Don’t forget that one.”

“Oh, how could I forget,” you say. You raise your hips and wiggle them invitingly, drawing Jack’s eyes. “You should punish me for it.”

Jack brings his hand down on your ass again, harder this time. “So annoying.”

“That’s two.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack laughs, bringing his hand down again. 

You don’t– you continue to count and moan and each time you make noise, Jack spanks you again. His hand moves more harshly with each drop. Your skin slowly grows more and more red, starting to match your red underwear. It grows sore, but Jack doesn’t stop spanking you until he reaches the 24th. You’re a moaning mess, whining and squirming in Jack’s lap, eyes wet with unshed tears by the time Jack blows cool air over your skin. All of your wiggling over his lap caused him to grow hard while administering his birthday spankings, and he knows that if he brought his fingers down to your cunt, he’d find that you’re soaking through your panties.

Jack pulls you up but the straps of your bra, the elastic snapping back against your skin when he lets go. You arch your back and whimper, climbing onto Jack’s lap to straddle him. 

Jack smiles, wiping the wetness from your eyes with his thumb. “How do you feel, pretty girl?” He asks, bringing his thumb down to toy with your bottom lip. He moves it and, like a puppeteer, mimics your voice to speak for you. “So good, you always give me exactly what I need, I love you soooo much, Jacky.”

You laugh wetly, pushing his hand away. “You’re such a loser.”

Jack furrows his brow, humming in a disapproving way. “Now that’s just mean. Maybe I should spank you some more.”

You pout, glaring at Jack. “Yeah, and make me bleed? I don't think so.”

“How about this,” Jack muses. “Wanna give me another present?”

You nod, fingers tracing his clavicle. 

“Get on your knees.”

Jack helps you down, kneeling prettily between his legs. You sit back on your heels and look up at your boyfriend, waiting for his next move.

“Go ahead and take me out, honey,” Jack encourages, lifting his hips so you can work his shorts and underwear down his legs. His cock springs up and bounces back, pretty and weeping from his arousal. You go to take him in your mouth, but Jack stops you. “No, no. Warm me. I'm gonna watch a little TV and if you’re good, I’ll fuck your throat.”

You melt, feeling yourself grow so warm and wet that you might honestly drip onto the floor if you get any more turned on. You go to take Jack’s cock in your mouth, but he stops you again, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You look into his gaze for a moment before his eyes drop to your mouth. You open your mouth, waiting for Jack to feed you his cock instead of taking it yourself. 

Instead, he drops a line of spit onto your tongue and closes your mouth. You swallow, eyes wide and blinking up at him. It’s humiliating and so good, making your head a little foggy and your knees spread a little wider. 

Jack’s eyes find your knees against the floor, your wet cunt. He purses his lips, smiling with his tongue against his front teeth, looking devilish. He knocks a pillow to the floor with his slinged arm, eyes hooded and daring.

“Pick that up,” he tells you.

You move like a machine, grabbing the pillow and ready to put it back up on the couch, to cushion his injured arm. Jack uses said arm to block you.

“Why don’t you put that between your legs,” Jack suggests, voice bored. When your eyes go wide and you freeze, staring up at him, Jack smirks. His voice drops, low and seductive. “I see how wet you are, baby. I’m giving you something to grind against while you warm me. It might not be my cock, but it’ll be good enough, right?”

You could come on the spot, feeling lost. With aborted movements, you place the pillow between your knees and press down on it, eyes fluttering at the friction.

“Good girl,” Jack praises. He fists his cock and taps the head of it against your lips. “Open up, baby. Let me take that dirty mouth.”

He thrusts his cock into your mouth, waiting until your throat adjusts around him to grab the remote and flick on the TV. 

You stare up at him, breathing through your nose. You rest your head on his thigh, the downy hair of his legs tickling your skin. You crinkle your nose, but keep your mouth fastened around Jack’s cock. Jack smiles down at you before turning his attention to the TV, placing a hand on your head and running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

He knows what happens when he tangles his hands in your hair, especially when his cock is in your mouth. It drives you to start moving your hips against the pillow, eyes fluttering when the seam of the pillow catches against your clit. You’re trying to keep your head still around his cock, but it’s hard to do when you’re chasing your own release.

Jack’s fingers tighten around your hair, tugging at the roots. You moan around him, the vibrations traveling up his cock.

“You can’t even last five minutes before you move, huh, baby?” Jack asks. He puts on a mask of disappointment, spurring you on when you open your eyes and plead with him. 

Your hips move faster, the pillow good but not quite enough to satisfy you. You whine, blinking up at Jack. Still trying not to move your mouth, you flex your tongue against him. 

Jack licks his lips, eyes trailing up and down your body. He’s taking you in, the way your cheeks are flushed and your hands are grasping the pillow beneath you, the way your hips are dragging in tilted bursts, trying to maintain the pleasure of your clit hitting the item between your legs. Jack bites his lip as he looks at the wet stain that you’ve left on the pillow.

He gathers your hair into a ponytail, twisting the locks in his hand and pulling. You let out a cry of pleasure, losing track of your volume, too overcome with pleasure. Jack’s pull tips you toward orgasm, your hole flexing around nothing and feeling neglected and empty.

“Jack,” you moan, his name garbled around his cock.

The uninterested look in Jack’s eyes contrasts the slight smile on his lips as he pushes his hips forward into your mouth, then pulls back. He starts to fuck you slowly, but quickly loses his control when you bring one of your hands up to his thigh, fingernails digging into his skin. 

His lip curls with a hiss, his pace increasing. You’re a mess, completely desperate beneath him. Your eyes are shining with tears as Jack uses your throat, his thrusts harsh and completely self-indulgent. You gag around him, your throat constricting, and Jack growls. He pushes your head down, your nose brushing against his pelvis and he releases into your mouth with a groan. His come paints your throat with white spurts and Jack uses his grip on your hair to pull you off of him.

A line of spit connects your mouth to his tip and Jack watches your eyes grow heavy, sated, when you swallow his come. 

“Gonna come for me?” Jack asks.

Your eyes find his and you nod. 

Jack tilts your head up and you open your mouth, showing him that you swallowed every drop that he awarded you. Jack spits a thick wad onto your tongue again, the weight of it heavy on your muscle although, in reality, his saliva would weigh next to nothing. 

The heat in his eyes and the taste of him in your throat pushes you to your peak, your hips erratic against the pillow. Your legs are shaking, trembling as you tip over the edge and release over the object between your legs. You’re boneless, quivering between Jack’s legs. He pulls you up onto his lap and coos at you, snaking a hand between your legs to rub over your clit with a teasing finger.

“Think you can give me another?”

“Jack,” You whimper out, shying away from his insistent fingers, but they just follow you and press into you wherever you go. 

Jack moves yout thong to the side, burying his middle and ring finger into your pussy and flexing his fingers until you’re squealing from the contact. He pushes his thumb into your clit and you grind down, wincing from the overstimulation but unable to stop chasing the pleasure.

“Look at my baby,” Jack marvels. “So pretty, so perfect. So slutty, huh, baby? You beg me to spank you, you fuck against a pillow until you come, and now you’re taking my fingers. So greedy. I’ve spoiled you.” He curls his fingers inside of you, relishing at the whimper that he steals from your lips with each of his movements.

You come again, the heat of it washing over you. You’re helpless to it, feeling like the orgasm is just rushing through you. You shudder on Jack’s lap, your wetness dripping down his skin and onto the fabric of the couch below you. Jack draws his fingers out slowly, not to overstimulate you even further, and kisses you softly.

“Happy birthday to me, huh?” Jack asks against your lips.

You nod, voice soft. You can barely move, so comfortable on his lap, feeling his skin against yours. “Happy birthday, darling,” You agree, and kiss him again.

“Is this going to become a real birthday tradition?” Jack wiggles his eyebrows, a smug look on his face. “Me spanking you?”

You hum, considering it. “Maybe not when we’re seventy-five and wrinkly.”

“This ass?” Jack reaches behind you and squeezes. “This ass isn’t ever getting wrinkly, not on my watch.”

“Okay, Jacky,” you snort with laughter. “Whatever you say.”

notes: *in a marilyn monroe voice* happy birthday... mr. president <3

this was meant to be a blurb. a short one. for jack's birthday. it did not STAY a blurb. that's my bad. i have a tendency to go overboard. hoping y'all enjoyed!

[puck-luck]

code-breaker | jack hughes

warnings: pining!, unprotected p in v, lots of miscommunication but it is resolved duh, lmao uhhhhh jack fucking his best friend's sister maybe? kind of a big plot point fasho, a lame excuse for a squirt, cum on da body (chest), eating come, lots of banter, tiny TINY bit of angst and insecurity on fem!reader's part pairing: jack hughes x zegras!reader request: cappy's "sister of the best friend, lake house, etc. sister makes the first move and the guy tries to turn her down out of loyalty to the other boy and she gets a little hurt and insecure thinking he's rejecting her and she's like "am i really that bad?" with her voice craking and he's like fuck then... smut!" wc: 4327

Jack is here. 

Jack, who you’ve been in love with since your twin brother started hanging out with him when they were in NTDP together. Jack, the New Jersey Devils’ prized star, the number one pick. Jack, the most annoying and most attractive brother of the esteemed Hughes family from Michigan. Yes, that Jack is here– ‘here’ being your apartment that you share with your brother in Anaheim now that Jamie has moved out and away.

Jack is here. You are here. Trevor is not.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you tell him awkwardly, still holding the door open and blocking the doorway. You’re all too aware of your lazy, solo-movie-night outfit as you stand in front of him. You’re clad only in a big shirt, one that normally reaches the middle of your thighs but has ridden up since your hands are raised and resting against the doorframe, and your favorite pair of panties. You did laundry earlier and showered, your big exciting thing of the day being that you could but on your favorite underwear and be lazy as soon as you finished the chore of folding your clothes. “Trevor’s in New York right now.”

“I know,” Jack says, a hand on his suitcase. The other is clenched by his side. “I have a meeting in LA tomorrow so he said I could stay here while he was gone.”

“Oh,” you reply, feeling silly. It would’ve been nice if your brother had told you that Jack was coming and staying here while he was gone, considering you’d made plans to be alone all night tonight. Trevor always does shit like this– he makes plans and then forgets to tell you until someone shows up or he has to leave to meet them. It’s frustrating. “Come on in, then.”

You move to the side, gesturing for Jack to enter the apartment, and he does. His suitcase rolls in behind him, just a little carry on, and he leaves it beside the door where he kicks off his shoes. 

Your hands make their way to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it. “I’ll, uh, go change into something more–”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jack interrupts, waving you off. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to change on my account. I’m interrupting your night of–” 

He looks to the couch and the coffee table, littered with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine that you had been drinking out of, straight from the spout. Your movie is paused on the screen, a silly Disney Channel movie that had come out when you and Trevor were children and still hadn’t lost its touch yet. You’re hoping that Jack doesn’t recognize the screencap, but Mel’s Lemonade machine fills the screen and if he’s seen Lemonade Mouth at all, he’ll know what movie you’re watching.

“Disney Channel and wine,” Jack finishes, pinching his lips to hide the amusement in his voice.

You frown, even though you want to burst into laughter with him. It is silly, what you’re doing, but you were supposed to be alone and who are you to be ashamed of your guilty pleasures?

“Don’t make fun,” you admonish, crossing your arms with a pout. “I thought I had the apartment to myself.”

“I’m not making fun!” Jack denies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I think it’s nice that you’re having a me-party.”

He’s referencing the other time he’s interrupted when you’re having a movie night on your own, when you watched The Muppets (2011) at the lake house because the boys were out on the boat and you had gotten a nasty sunburn the day before, so you’d stayed in. Jack had come back early because he was hungry, making the boys drop him off at the dock before going back out, and caught you red-handed with his favorite kind of pretzels and a half-full bottle of margarita next to the blender. 

You blush, glaring at him slightly. “Shut up, Jack.”

“No, this is perfect,” Jack continues, glowing a little as his shit-eating smile builds. He walks over to the couch and plops down, grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a swig before wiping his mouth. “I’m already dressed for a lazy night in, I shouldn’t waste it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a dick,” you complain. “You know you don’t want to watch this movie with me.”

“Why not?” He challenges, another tilt of the bottle pouring the fruity liquid down his throat. He spreads his legs when he sits as all the boys do, taking up as much space as he can. 

“Because you won’t like it,” you say. “And because I wasn’t planning on having you here.”

“Were you planning on having someone else here?” Jack teases. “Popcorn, red wine, a movie, no pants… I think I see the writing on the wall.”

“No, God, shut up, Jack!” You repeat with a huff, returning to the couch and curling up against the opposite arm, far away from the boy. “Just be quiet while I watch my movie. If you’re good, I’ll let you have some popcorn.”

Jack wiggles his eyebrows at you, sticking out his tongue. You pull at the bottom of your shirt again, making sure that your panties aren’t visible when he looks over. This is already humiliating enough– you don’t need your long-time crush seeing your underwear, too.

You hit play and turn the volume up loud enough to drown out any comments Jack might make. You’re lucky the movie is short, because he’s an antsy boy who loves to talk, just like your brother, and you can tell that he’s anxious to start another conversation.

As the credits roll, you mute the television and turn to him. “What?” You demand, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce and shoving your hands into your lap to stretch your shirt over the space between your legs. 

“You really didn’t have plans tonight?” Jack asks. “It’s a Saturday night and you live in LA. You’re in your twenties. You didn’t want to have anyone over?”

You flush, but it’s less out of embarrassment and more out of anger. “Judgemental much, Hughes? Not all of us have people throwing themselves at our feet any given day of the week.” You grind your teeth, clenching your jaw and taking a deep breath. You stare at him, refusing to break eye contact. Jack shouldn’t be allowed to form opinions on your life. You know exactly what he’s insinuating– why aren’t you out there getting laid, Y/N? and it’s frustrating because it’s the same question you ask yourself whenever your friends text about their recent hookups or whenever Trevor brings a girl back to the apartment. 

More than anything, you don’t want Jack judging you. You know that your Saturday night plans are lame, but that’s why you wanted to be alone. 

Jack falls quieter, your reaction diluting his crooked, toothy smirk that he reserves for the people he knows well. “I’m surprised you don’t have– people. Throwing themselves at you.”

He’s awkward when he says it, too awkward not to make you suspicious.

He’s avoiding eye contact, picking at his nailbeds. 

“Would you?” You ask, directly to the point. You’re making a point, too– you’ve known Jack for years and he has never, not once, implied that he thinks you’re desirable. 

Jack says nothing, running his fingers through his hair and looking down. 

You nod to yourself and stand from the couch, still tugging at your shirt. You’re pulling it even lower now, the neckline dipping and stretching as you cover your legs up as best you can. “That’s what I thought,” you say quietly, a cold feeling washing through your chest and pressing down on the skin that your heart beats beneath. 

“I would,” Jack calls, just as you walk away. You’re positioned right in front of the door that leads to your bedroom when he says it, head hanging towards the ground so that he doesn’t see the frown on your face. 

His silence was a rejection and his afterthought is even worse. Nonetheless, you turn to face him. This time, it’s your silence that rings throughout the space.

“I would,” Jack repeats. “If, y’know. You weren’t–”

“Trevor’s sister,” You say, filling in the blanks and finishing his sentence. You nod, a tight, close-lipped, and pointed smile on your face. “You don’t have to explain, Jack. I realized a long time ago that my world would always revolve around Trevor.” Your hand is on the doorknob now, twisting it and cracking your door open. Your bed is right there and you can collapse into it in mere seconds, able to let your tears leak into your pillow silently as you remind yourself that you’re not as good as your twin brother once again, just as soon as you get these words out. “I know I can’t do or say the things I want to with the people I want to because they’re always thinking about Trevor.”

You could add, And why would you be any different? You know him best. Of course he’s the one you’re loyal to, but you decide against it. It’s too petty. It’s too mean. It’s too– real. 

You look at him one last time to bid him goodnight, already craving the following day when his meeting is over and he heads back to Michigan, far away from you and your un-desirability. The tight smile returns to your face, trying to smooth out your upset yet resigned features. It’s always the same thing. It’s not Jack’s fault, really, it’s not. You’ve imagined this conversation in your head many times and each time you think rationally, you know that this is how it has to be.

He’s Jack Hughes, for God’s sake. You’re just Trevor Zegras’ less successful, lesser known twin sister.

“Trevor would kill me,” Jack says on a whim. “Really. He would. He would stand me up and punch me, right here.”

You’ve got one foot in your bedroom and one foot out. Despite the ice piercing through your chest, you can’t find it in yourself to be rude and close the door on him. You turn to face Jack again.

He’s sitting forward on the couch, hands clasped in front of him like a prayer. He moves them when he talks, lowering them and spreading them and gesturing with them. He’s always done that, ever since you’ve known him– it’s another way that he calls attention to himself and takes up space. It’s part of the reason why he’s so charming– he knows how to use his hands, how to touch someone to politely get them to move or to pull them closer or to playfully shoo them away. 

“If I had a sister, I’d do the same thing to him,” Jack continues. “It’s just– we can’t go for each others’ family. It’s against the code.”

You nod, slowly, exaggeratedly just to show him how nonsensical that sounds. “You realize it’s not up to Trevor to decide who you go out with,” you say. “That’s kind of your choice, Jack.”

“It’s not that simple.”

You shrug, then look away. Outside the living room window is a dark night, leaves blowing with the wind. 

“It could be,” you say after a moment. You’re not surprised to hear how resigned you sound. You learned to live with this a long time ago, so you know that pointing out how easily things could change is futile. You say it anyway. “If you wanted it to be. But, I get it. I’m your best friend’s sister. Maybe if I wasn’t, you’d consider–”

“I have considered,” Jack interrupts. “I’ve– well, you’ve seen it. All the guys have.”

You’re lost. It’s like he’s speaking in code. “I’ve seen what?” You ask, monotonous and silently yearning for your bed. Your patience is growing thin.

“You can’t be serious,” Jack responds with a laugh. He buries his face in his hands, muffling the noise. “Are you?”

“I’ve seen what,” you repeat, straight-faced and not entertaining this sudden bout of humor from the brunet boy.

“How I look at you when you’re in those tiny little swimsuits on the boat, or how I laugh when you make one of your stupid jokes that aren’t funny to anyone but you and Trevor,” Jack says. “You really never noticed?”

Now he’s just dangling your hopeless crush in front of you. You assumed he had noticed sometime over the years, but this is overkill. He’s never felt the same– that much is clear. It’s cruel that he thinks he can lead you to believe otherwise as a means to further tease you for being alone tonight.

You shake your head. “I never noticed because you never did any of those things, Jack. You’re just saying that to say it.”

He’s up in a flash, coming towards you and placing a hand flat on your bedroom door to prevent you from closing it and ending the conversation. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me,” Jack says.

“I don’t think it’s funny that you’re making fun of the little crush I’ve had on you since we were kids. You don’t feel the same way and I’m not an idiot.” You move to close the door again, but Jack pushes it open again. 

“You– I’m not making fun,” Jack stammers out, looking surprised. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “You have a crush on me?”

Your jaw drops and your face flames with humiliation. You thought he knew that you liked him and that he was making fun on purpose– and now you’ve accidentally revealed your massive, well-kept secret to his face. This was never supposed to happen. “You didn’t know?” You hiss, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack repeats, a smile spreading across his face. He steps closer, prompting you to back away.

“No. No,” you moan out, feeling positively ashamed and destroyed. Tonight is not turning out as you hoped it would.

Jack’s still smiling, closing your bedroom door softly behind him as he follows you into your room. 

You knock into the edge of your bed and sit, sinking into the mattress. Your hands are still pressed over your mouth as Jack kneels in front of you, prying your hands away from your face and holding them gently. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack says for a third time, his voice soft and subtly optimistic. The corner of his mouth curves up into the tiniest of smirks and you swear your face couldn’t get any more red.

All you can give him is a frown and a devastated wobble of your bottom lip. 

“Well, this changes everything,” Jack says, regaining his ability to joke, it seems. His next question is rhetorical and makes you swallow hard. “Who gives a fuck about Trevor when you feel the same way I do?” 

“You’re– you’re serious,” you say, still a thread of disbelief sewn into your words. “You weren’t kidding. You actually– thought about it.”

“Thought about it?” Jack asks. “Fuck, Y/N, I almost told you right before you left last summer, but then you said you were talking to that guy.”

You roll your eyes– that guy had only been in your life for about a month and you had only mentioned him because Jack had mentioned a girl he wanted to see. You tell him such– “I only brought him up because everyone was talking about their romantic interests and who they were interested in, I didn’t want to seem like a loser. You had some girl, too, Jack.”

“Some girl– that was you,” Jack reveals incredulously. “I thought I was being so obvious.”

“You weren’t obvious at all!” You deny, mouth open in a scoff. 

“I thought that you mentioning that guy was your way of letting me down easy!”

“Yes, Jack, because I was going to reveal my feelings for you in a room full of both of our brothers. Good idea. You fucking idiot!”

Jack laughs aloud, throwing his head back. His face scrunches up and he smooths his face with his big palm at the end of his amusement. He fixes you with a look of glee and astonishment– something only hindsight can bring to his expression. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

You shake your head, laughing with him for a moment before he swipes a thumb over your cheek, which stills you. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, smile still gracing his face. “I can’t believe–”

“Me neither,” you say.

“Can I–”

“Absolutely.”

Jack’s rising up, kissing you and laying you back on the bed so that he can completely cover your body with his own. One of his hands cups your cheek, while the other grips your hip, atop your underwear but underneath the big t-shirt that is now riding up your body as you move. Your hand is on his bicep and his chest, clutching his sweatshirt. The strings dangle down into your space, brushing against your clothes and tickling you.

His hands memorize you like a topographic map, clutching at your dips and curves and anything else he can get his hands on. 

“Wanna take this off,” You mumble against Jack’s mouth, tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt.

Jack pulls back immediately, reaching behind his neck to grab the collar of his top and bring it above his head. He balls it up and drops it somewhere on the floor. 

“That, too,” you tell him, about his t-shirt, before he can bend back down and kiss you senseless again.

Jack chuckles and pulls it off, too, leaving him half-naked just like you. His chest is tanned and swollen from his recent workouts in Michigan since his shoulder surgery, something that Trevor had told you about but about which you’d never checked in. You’re gentler on that side of his body, especially as he comes back down into your space and you get to touch him. You run your hands over his muscles. You feel out the ridges of his body, trying to match his own confident movements as he feels you up.

One of your hands makes its way to his v-line, something you’d seen over plenty of boat trips. You’d always wanted the opportunity to touch it, to trace it, to watch it bend and flex as he rolled his hips. You’re being afforded that opportunity now and it is sweet.

“I thought you might like that,” Jack murmurs. “Caught you staring once. Was the same day you wore my favorite red swimsuit out.”

“I still have it,” you tell him, gasping a little when his hand slides up to your chest. He tweaks your nipple, then his hand retreats. 

“Mm, a treat for tomorrow,” Jack says. “I’m gonna have you walking around in that thing all day just so I can look at you. For now…”

He trails off, pushing the bottom of your shirt up and leaving your lips to attach his to the freshly revealed skin of your torso. He kisses up your body with each inch he reveals, between your breasts and up your neck. He pulls your shirt off, letting it join his own on the floor, and gets his first proper look at your tits.

“Been waiting to see these,” he continues, eyes fixed on your chest like he’s being hypnotized. He places his hands on you and squeezes, feeling your supple flesh between his fingers. You moan out at the sensation, the noise spurring him on. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding and tugging at his joggers, hoping he’ll get the hint and remove them.

“‘ve wanted to come on these tits since I first saw it in a porno,” Jack reveals, still mesmerized by your chest. “Thought about it a hundred times.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Come on my tits all you want, but you have to fuck me first.”

“Guess your Saturday night wasn’t so boring after all,” Jack says before he stands from the bed and tugs his pants off. He joins you again, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing over your face. He grinds against you, his clothed cock sliding against your damp panties in a way that has you both keening into each others’ mouths. 

“Guess not,” is your reply, cut short by another moan when Jack’s hand claims your chest again.

You move without speaking after that, fueled only by the desire coursing through your veins after years of pining and aching for the other. 

Jack feels you out and eventually discards his own underwear before removing yours, returning to the missionary position that you had assumed as soon as you had first kissed. It’s sweeter this way– and you both need to see the other’s face, to feel their breath mix with your own. Your chests are flush together, your nipples scraping against the defined and broad swoops of his skin. You grind against each other for a few minutes more, his dick sliding between the wet lips of your pussy with nothing blocking it. He groans into your ear as your juices coat his length, eyes closed in a grimace that is completely charged by his pleasure.

“Condom?” is the last thing he asks, with you shaking your head and replying, “Pill.”

He lines himself up, mouth agape with a choked breath as he thrusts into your tight, wet heat. Your head finds the mattress beneath you, your back arching up as he fills you. You can feel his veins sliding against your walls, the blunt and weeping tip of his cock poking at your deepest parts.

He moves like a man possessed and fighting the beast– like he wants to let loose but at the same time, restraining himself. When you tug on his hair, the subtle waves that he’s been growing out over the summer and hiding beneath his hat in every picture you’ve seen, and whine out his name, Jack’s control vanishes.

He starts to piston his hips into your cunt, burying his face into your neck and letting out ecstasy-fueled whimpers each time you clench down. He curses in your ear, voice a little higher than it normally is, and the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment has your heart clenching. 

“J– J–” You chant, mewling as his cockhead drives against the back wall of your pussy in hard thrusts that make your head spin. 

“So good,” he grits out, kissing over your neck and catching your earlobe between his lips for a moment before dropping it. One of his hands is splayed over your hip, the other securely planted next to your head. “So tight.”

“Coming,” you warn, your fingers finding his bicep and clenching, fingernails digging into his skin so much that you won’t be surprised if you break skin. Your voice is high, too, octaves higher because of the pleasure you’re experiencing.

“Fuck, yeah, baby, come on my cock,” Jack pants out, the hand from your hip coming to rub circles over your clit. 

It sends a shock up your spine and has your hips bucking up to meet his, your entire lower half shaking as your climax approaches. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your vision goes spotty when you do come, just seconds after his groaned encouragement. Your entire body tenses, freezing with Jack still inside of you, making it damn near impossible for him to continue pumping his hips. 

He slides from your opening as you’re coming, bringing some of the slick with him in a feeble excuse for a squirt. His dick bobs, hard and an angry red that might be the most beautiful color you’ve ever seen in your hazy, post-orgasmic state.

Jack comes up to straddle your stomach, stripping his cock quickly with a tight fist, chest heaving. You know he wants to come on your chest, having already given him permission, but your mouth opens and your tongue lolls out in an invitation that Jack can’t deny. He shuffles up further on his knees, his whimper sounding pained as his milky cum spurts from the tip of his cock and lands along the flat of your tongue and your lips.

His spurts grow weaker, although he’s still stroking his dick in a fervorous pace, whining a little more at the oversensitivity. His cum makes his way to your chest, just dripping down the length of his shaft and pooling over your tits. 

You reach up with one hand and trace your fingers through the seed, causing Jack to sway a little on top of you at the sight. His cheeks are flushed and pink, eyes blue and clear like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Your fingertips brush your nipple, spreading the cum over it before you bring your hand up to your mouth and suck the remaining liquid off of your skin, swallowing it with a hum.

Jack is off of you in a flash, pulling you on top of his lap and joining your lips. The last of his cum, painted across your tongue in a thin layer, mixes with your spit as he kisses you. He’s desperate, filling your mouth with his tongue until you can barely breathe, tasting himself on you until it’s indistinguishable– where you end and he begins.

It takes a long time for Jack to finally pull away, for you both to come down from your highs and take a breath.

In typical Jack fashion, he can’t stop himself from joking around.

“Trevor’s really going to kill me now,” he says. “There’s a chance he’ll never let us be in the same room again.”

You laugh, knowing already that neither of you will be willing to let this– whatever this is– go just because your brother has something to say about it. “In that case, we’ll just have to sneak away.”

notes: I WANTED TO NAME THIS "BFB" AFTER THE VICTORIOUS SONG SOOOOOO BAD!!!!! but alas. it's best friend's sister. maybe some other time. blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. well now wait that's a good idea...

[puck-luck]

forced proximity with jack even though you guys are enemies… so you guys say 👀

lucky lift | jack hughes

warnings: elevator sex, enemies to FWB, secret pining on jack’s side, hj, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing/general dirty talk (aka i just like writing dialogue) pairing: jack hughes x reader summary: the one when you hook up with your work enemy on a whim wc: 1468

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” You hiss. “You know I don’t like this any more than you do.”

To top off a shitty day, in which you had woken up late, spilled coffee on the shirt that you had been waiting to wear all week, and tripped up the stairs in full view of everyone in the office, you were now stuck– nay, you were trapped, cornered, imprisoned– in the elevator with none other than Jack Hughes.

You and Jack had been working at this company for the same amount of time, both of you hired in the same week, trained by the same people, and working on the same projects. You hated each other. You supposed you hated Jack first, but it was only because he made everything so competitive. He claimed he couldn’t help it when your work bestie brought it up to him (much to your chagrin), “because he was an athlete when he was younger.”

In an ideal world, this “athlete” could pry open the doors of the elevator so you could make an escape. Instead, he’s staring at you with an amused smirk on his face while you do all the work.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Jack scoffs. 

“Maybe I do hate it more than you,” You bite back. “You seem awfully content over there to watch me do all the work.”

“I called for help,” Jack reminds you. “They said two hours. To me. I don’t remember you offering to call.”

“I didn’t have service,” You say through gritted teeth. 

“Get a better provider,” Jack says in the same tone. 

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?”

“I think you’re really easy to piss off.” Jack’s smile pulls at the sides of his lips in a way that’s almost endearing, but you also want to wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze.

“I think you–”

“I also think the stain on your shirt from your coffee has gotten worse with the sweat from all your efforts to escape,” Jack interrupts. “Maybe you should take it off.”

The initial surprise that came with his statement turns to anger at his arrogance. “Excuse me?” You exclaim, stalking over to him and whacking his arm. “You’re coming onto me? As if you couldn’t make this situation any worse?”

“We might as well have fun with it,” Jack says with a shrug, shying away from your violent slaps. 

“I don’t even like you,” You point out. “You don’t even like me.”

Jack reaches a hand up and cups your cheek, silencing you. “Does it matter?” 

The weight of his hand against your face and the pure honesty of his tone causes your stomach to turn. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought of him like that before, but it was rare. It was during the monthly meetings Jack led, when he had to wear more business professional clothing, and he always decided to roll up his sleeves post-meeting and lose the jacket. You usually caught him in the break room brewing his own coffee, focused and straight-faced like he was about to reenter the meeting rather than celebrate its end. 

“No,” You decide. 

You allow him to pull you in, pressing your lips together in a surprisingly gentle kiss. You never thought Jack was the kind to savor something, but here you were. He’s slow with his movements, his fingers trailing over your curves and ridges like he’s trying to map your body. 

“You’re going too slow,” You complain, palming the front of his dress pants. You fit your hand on his bulge, rubbing over it until he lets out a moan. “Let’s speed things up.”

“I want to enjoy this,” Jack mumbles and you can barely hear him.

“You will,” You tell him, unzipping his pants and reaching into his boxers. You circle your hand around his dick, pumping him from base to tip, using his precum to make the glide smoother. 

“No,” Jack groans and tilts his head back. “I want to enjoy this.”

You pause your movements. “What do you mean?”

“I–” Jack bucks his hips up into your hand, your grip loose around him while you wait for him to explain. “You’re just so pretty when you’re mad at me.”

“Oh,” You breathe out. 

“And you’re mad at me all the time,” Jack whines. He pushes you against the wall of the elevator, leaning in to leave kisses along your neck. He sucks at the underside of your jaw, leaving a cool circle of saliva when he trails his lips lower. “Wanted to fuck you for so long now, Y/N.”

He presses his hips into your body, your hand still trapped in his pants. You remove it as his hands cover the back of your thighs and he lifts you up, you immediately circling your legs around his waist. He uses one hand to push his pants down, his belt clinking against the floor as the fabric pools around his feet. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth and causing him to groan. Jack pulls your skirt up and moves your panties to the side, movements quick now that he admitted his secret to you.

He presses himself inside of you, feeding his cock into your tight, wet cunt. 

“Feels so good,” Jack whispers. “So tight, baby. So wet.”

“Fuck me, Jack,” You tell him, voice strong. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Gonna,” Jack agrees with a moan, rolling his hips sensually. 

Jack steps forward until he can hold you up against the wall and push one leg so your ankle rests on his shoulder. He turns and gives your ankle a kiss, then bows his head to watch himself enter you to a rhythm that only he knows. Jack moves like he’s drunk on the feeling of you, soft noises falling from his lips like he’s trying not to be too loud. You can almost feel the elevator shaking with his movements.

“Not gonna last,” Jack chokes out, clutching at your waist. 

“Gonna come in me?” You tease, nipping at Jack’s earlobe.

Jack lets out a high keen, his mouth falling open and his eyelids fluttering shut as your entrance flutters around him, causing him to come undone inside of you. His breaths come out as stuttered as his thrusts do, his come warm inside you and leaking out when he draws himself out of you. 

Jack keeps you pressed against the wall of the elevator, but lowers himself to his knees.

“Gonna clean you up,” Jack promises. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, your ankles crossed behind his back. His hands pull at your ass cheeks, kneading them. 

“J,” You whimper when Jack attaches his lips to your entrance. He moans against your hole, flicking his tongue against your hole like a dog drinking from a bowl of water. He nuzzles his face into your cunt and brings a hand around to rub your clit in quick circles.

“Y’look so good,” Jack praises, his eyes so big and blue from where they look up at you. “You gonna come? Gonna mix us together, give me something to really enjoy?”

“Oh,” You exclaim, your fingers lacing into Jack’s hair. Your hips buck against his face and he slips a finger into your hole, pushing it in and out of you and curling it as he laps at your clit. “Fuck, Jack, just like that.”

Miraculously, he listens to you and only intensifies his actions, pumping a second finger into you.

You choke on a wail as you come on his fingers, the climax causing your head to fall back against the wall of the elevator with force. Jack stifles a laugh, but continues to lick at your come (and his own) until you’re removing your hands from his hair and trying to get your feet back on solid ground.

“You know, I like you like this,” Jack teases, fixing your panties for you and moving your skirt back to its original position. He pulls his own pants up when he rises, tucking himself away and buckling his belt with his very talented fingers. “All fucked out.”

“If anything, I’m the one who fucked you,” You bite back. “You came first and you ate your own come out of me."

“Mmm, next time I’ll leave it inside of you,” Jack says with a short kiss to your neck, adjusting the collar of your blouse. His hand ghosts over your neck and he feels the way your breath hitches. “Maybe we should get to the office early one day and I’ll bend you over my desk. You’ll have to walk around all day, feeling my come drip out of you. You’ll be begging me to clean you up then.”

note: ugh office enemies is a trope that i need in my life. if i'm going to be a slave to the work force i am going to fuck my hot enemy jack hughes whenever i can!