rowdyluv - Tumblr blog

rowdyluv · 2 days ago

Text

I AM SO not NORMAL ABOUT THIS

NIX AHHHHHH

Perfect Composition

Summary: Quinn and you were friends first before Petey came into the mix. After a long time of yearning for you, vying for your attention secretly or outwardly, their feelings for you would only grow to the point that it would affect their friendship and yours.

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x F!Reader x Elias Pettersson : Quinn Hughes x F!Reader, Elias Pettersson x F!Reader (MFM)

This one is for @rowdyluv coz she wants it and I tried. Although...I have gone of the rails 🧍🏻‍♀️Hope you like it! Some Interactions between Quinny and Petey: "I'm going to dominate you this period." "You?" "I'm going to track you." "Fine." -> 😏 "Stiff?" "Yeah, a little stiff." -> 😏😏😏

18+. Whore Thoughts. Fluff and Smut. Friends to Lovers (Exclusive Throuple 🔊🔊🔊). Threesome (strictly MFM). Unprotected Sex. Oral sex (both). Switching POVs.

Quinn stared, enamored by your laugh, not minding if the subject was him and how horrible—Petey's words—he was as a hotel roomie because he was messy. Quinn didn't mind the slight hit to his reputation, because you've already been in his apartment. You've helped him clean up his mess and he liked that.

Sometimes he purposedly messed his living room whenever you would be coming over. He pointedly ignored Petey's questioning look when he arrived with you after he noted how you jumped in to help Quinn with the clean up. He helped too, but now, the conversation led to him being a mess.

"Oh, Quinn, what am I going to do with you?" You asked. "It's good that Petey's with you, huh? I can't help you when you're away."

You playfully bumped your hip against his, making you almost lose your balance, but he gripped your waist, anchoring you to him. For a moment, you two got pushed into a bubble, your gazes locking then falling to each other's lips then back, your breaths catching. Quinn could hear his heart slamming full force against his ribs, threatening to break through his sternum.

When he heard a cough, you both stepped back. For a second, your gazes still wouldn't break until you turned away, announcing about finding his storage boxes.

Finally, he looked at Petey who had a playful smirk on his face while leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

Ah, Quinn was fucked. He gulped, coming close to sit on the stool next to where his friend was.

"You got a thing for her?" Petey asked in a teasing tone, but his eyes sparked something deeper. "Even after I told you that I like her?"

Quinn couldn't say anything. So many thoughts run through his head. He knew he couldn't be blamed for liking you. He'd known you for much longer than Petey. He'd dreamed of you for days on end. He looked forward to your morning chats or when you come over for breakfast. Making for two had become his norm as soon as he learned that you didn't like cooking in early mornings so you tend to forgo the most important meal of the day. It was a good thing that he had the perfect day-starter meal—his smoked salmon, eggs, and potatoes.

He liked you as a friendthat he even stock up on snacks, bringing them over to your place if you invited him for movies. He really tried to put himself forward, but he was shy, afraid to start something.

Maybe that was his first problem and he should've realized that he liked you more than that. He should've made a move, because the moment Petey met you, you two instantly clicked like two pieces of a puzzle snapping together.

Petey easily made you laugh with his jokes even going as far to invite you to watch their game after gifting you his jersey. Sometimes you two would meet each other's gazes and grin.

The blatant signals got Quinn feeling helpless. When Petey told Quinn that he liked you, it felt like he was thrown into a battle that he both want to win and lose. He didn't want to lose you. Or break his friendship with Petey.

It was an impossible choice that he wouldn't dare touch so he balled himself up, silently longing fron far away, upping his efforts with hanging out with you alone. Only, it never felt the same anymore without his friend. Quinn was confused on why that was. It was simply how it was.

Now, the cat was out of the bag and Quinn didn't know what to do.

"Will that be a problem?" He quietly asked, his hands turning clammy, his anxiety shooting upwards.

"Not at all." Petey's smile didn't falter. Not one bit. Even when he gave Quinn a firm pat on the back, turning away from him as soon as you appeared with empty storage boxes.

Quinn's heart started hammering in his chest when Petey helped you sort through the beanies, when Petey subtly beckoned him to come with mirth shining in his light colored eyes.

That was... a start.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Something changed.

You didn't know what but the two kept getting closer and closer, and you were panicking. Sure, you were used to sitting with Quinn and Petey. You'd hangout with them multiple times and numerous occasions but somehow the air felt electric. Maybe you were imagining it.

You've imagined a lot of things with Quinn and Petey. Yes, both of them. You were so scared that they might discover it, that they might get disgusted with you and not be your friends anymore, that you might seem so greedy for wanting two men—hockey players—that should've been out of your reach, but here you were choking on nothing but air when Petey grabbed one beanie that caused his hand to graze yours, when Quinn leaned over to dispose his messily folded on into the box on your other side. You were burning. You can't do this.

Why are they so close?

You still hadn't recovered from how Quinn stabilized you before. You could still feel his warmth seeping past your shirt when his hand grabbed your waist. You could still smell his clean and fresh cologne that you always loved smelling when he was near. You could still remember how his pupils dilated as his eyes met yours.

It wasn't just that. You had a similar moment with Petey. When the blond picked you up from your unit, you almost face planted on the floor, tripping over your shoelace. He caught you so easily with an arm on your midsection. His reflexes were as good as Quinn's. His effect was just as soul shaking. However, instead of pure wonder muddied and chained down like Quinn's, Petey's gaze were a dangerous mix of amusement and more. You didn't want to assume. You were scared to assume.

So, when he knelt and tied your shoelaces for you, you took a moment to settle your burning thoughts, not wanting to appear in Quinn's place with a blush redding your whole face.

Well, as if you were not blushing right now. You're so fucked.

"I don't think you should be owning this much beanie, Quinn," Petey teased.

"Like you don't," Quinn grumbled.

They were teasing each other, bantering with grins on their faces, their heats sandwiching you. You could barely process what they were saying.

You need to go.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

"She's going to bolt," Petey thought.

He marked how your eyes kept darting to the door, how your hands let go of the last beanie to fold, how your body seem to vibrate with energy. So he firmly held your thigh, making your jump, your eyes growing wide.

You'd always been so bolty. Like how you run away from Quinn earlier. Like how you stepped away after he tied your shoe. Like how you kept hiding from his invites until you finished the list of your cycling reasons. Like how when he put Quinn in the equation, you would instantly agree as if you were using Quinn as a buffer.

But his captain was not a buffer, was he? You were closer to him. You were looking at him with dream-filled eyes.

The thing was Quinn did too. Petey would blind not to see it. When you talked, Quinn would listen like he was committing all of your words to his memory.

Petey liked you too. He made it known, trying to see what would Quinn do, but he only witnessed how his friend curled into himself, looking so pitiful. It wasn't the reaction he wanted to see. Honestly, he didn't know what he wanted to see. He didn't want to fight Quinn and risk losing him as a friend. He liked the guy as much as he liked you, but that didn't mean he would simply wait for Quinn's reaction. He had to move, so he did. He invited you for games, movies, dinners, or anything.

You weren't making it easier. Again, you had your list like you didn't want to be alone with him. It hurt. Petey thought maybe you were repulsed by him. He didn't want that, so time after time, he would make sure that you didn't feel that way. He had to, because he would do everything and anything. Because he wanted you to notice him. You did when Quinn was present.

There was only one way to resolve this.

"Calm down, princess. There's no need to be scared," he said, softly nudging your chin up, smiling when your lips parted. "Alright?"

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Quinn didn't know what to do, freezing up, because Petey was really doing this and he didn't know if he was ready or not. His friend met his gaze, smirking before turning your head to face him. You looked scared but your breath was hitching, your eyes dropping to his lips.

"Okay," you whispered.

"You like us both, don't you?" Petey came closer to your ear, his eyes burning into Quinn's, daring him to do something. When you audibly gulped, his hand moved from your chin to your throat. "Use your words or we'll stop."

Wasn't this too fast? Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't say anything,

Instead of running away, you sagged against Petey, your eyes calling for him. You asked, your shining with unshed tears, "If I do, are you gonna hate me?"

"No," he and Petey said at the same time, without looking at each other, waiting and watching how you would react.

The flush on your cheeks seemed to deepen. Few quick blinks and your tears were gone, and you grinned. The most beautiful grin Quinn had ever seen.

That was when he decided to stop overthinking. Quinn grabbed you by your nape, his fingers grazing his friend's, and kissed you. Fuck, your lips were as soft as he imagined. So delicate. He shuddered when your hands came up to his shoulder and neck, your lips parting, letting his tongue slipped in.

You were perfect.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Petey let Quinn take his time with you. The poor guy had been starved of you for so long. He didn't mind it, kissing your nape, his hands slipping under your shirt, groaning at your warmth. He pushed up and up until he found your pretty tits. They felt so perfect in his palms like you were made for his touch.

You were letting out such cute adorable moans, trying to shuft but unable to because Quinn's hands were also holding you in place. You were shaking and shuddering. Your hand went over Petey's, urging him for more, so he did, rolling and tugging ar your pebbled nipples.

"Oh, fuck!" You cried out, your back arching.

Petey noticed Quinn's hand dipping into your shorts, no doubt finding your pussy. How wet were you? Were you messing uo your cute little panties? What type of panties were you wearing? Cotton? Lace? So many questions run through Petey's mind, so he went investigating, one hand joining Quinn's.

"She's so wet," Quinn panted, his fingers sliding between your folds along with Petey's. "All for us."

'Us' sounded right.

Petey couldn't stop fucking smiling when your hand slid over his head, feeling and rustling his extremely short strands, when you craned your head to face him, when you kissed him just as soft as you did Quinn.

"That's right, sweet girl. You're ours now."

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Everything felt like a blur. One moment you three were in the living room and fixing Quinn's beanies. The next you were in his bedroom with your clothes in messy heaps on the floor. You wanted to touch them everywhere, but you ended up grasping the sheets, because they were touching you all at once. Your tits, your stomach, your legs, your arms, your back, your neck, your pussy.

You cursed when they fingerfucked you harder, their fingers working and stretching your wet and dripping pussy. You tried to hide when Petey dripped lube—he found it in Quinn's drawer, not even questioning its existence, but you did—all over your pussy.

"Move over, Huggy," Petey abruptly said, leveling his face on your pussy. "Or not."

Confusion took ahold of you. You weren't alone as Quinn frowned. You tried to ask, "What—oh my fucking god, Petey!"

Petey licked along your pussy, his tongue touching your filled up hole, grazing his finger and Quinn's before he settled on sucking and teading your clit.

"Holy shit," Quinn panted, turning to you, looking both panicked and unsure. You couldn't say anything to him, pulking him for a kiss. "Fuck, you're both crazy."

Petey chuckled, the vibration rattling your pussy. "Do you want to fuck our good girl's pussy first, Quinn?"

Good girl. Sweet girl. Everything sounded so fucking hot, especially when they called your theirs. This was like a dream come true, and you were willing to do anything they wished to do. You surrendered to the pleasure, not hearing what Quinn said over your kiss, screaming and writhing as you came.

"So sudden, sweet girl." Petey rode your orgasm with slow and deep thrust of his finger, Quinn matching his pace. "Are you sure about this?"

"Please just fuck me," you pleaded, yelping when Petey basically lifted you to steaddle Quinn. "Oh my god. I...Petey, shit, what are you doing to me?" You gasped, gripping his hands that moved to rub you over Quinn's cock. When you tried to reach down, Quinn gripped your hands, forcing them behind you. "No, I want to touch. Please. Please."

"We know," Quinn murmured. "Later."

Fuck later. You'd been waiting for this for so long. You wanted to touch all of them—

"How does his cock feel?" Petey asked, guiding you up and slowly down to sink along the other's member. When you didn't say anything, he threatened, "Tell us how it feels or else we'll stop."

It wasn't fair. You simply needed Quinn to fully sit in your pussy and for him to fuck you while he looked at you with that burning and consuming gaze, but you were being force to use words that you couldn't form in your head.

Yet you tried to tell them how wonderful Quinn was stretching you, how you felt fucking full when he wasn't even halfway in, how you wanted a kiss. Petey gave you your kiss, his cock humping and grinding your ass while Quinn thrusted his full length, driving into your pussy.

It felt so good. So good that your mind was going blank. At one point, you were begging Petey to fill you too. At one point, both of them had you on your knees, one fucking your pussy, the other fucking your mouth. At one point, you were coming so hard that you couldn't keep yourself up anymore but Quinn gripped your hips up, while Petey sat on his ankles, taking you with him, his hand controlling the bobbing of your head.

You were getting used and you wanted it.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Petey groaned as your throat squeezed around him. He couldn't believe you could take his length in that pretty little mouth. Every time you moan or whine, he took a deep breath or else he would be coming instantly. There was no doubt you wanted his cum, but he wanted to fuck it in your pussy.

"I'm fucking close," Quinn annlunced, his hips rolling as he thrusted into you with harsh strokes. "My Love, I need you to come with me."

My Love. That was a good endearment. It was perfect for a pretty and sweet girl like you.

Petey held you down on his cock, savoring your sobbing moan as you came with Quinn. He gritted his teeth, holding off his orgasm.

When Quinn slipped out of you, it was his turn to use that pussy.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Quinn panted, blinking at the way your pussy was taking Petey's cock, at the way his cum kept dripping out of your pussy, making a mess on the sheets, making a mess on his friend. You were sobbing, licking up his cock helplessly crying out, as you came again.

He still couldn't believe that this was happening. That he got to fuck you. That he was watching friend do the same. That you actually liked him too. It was surreal.

Quinn jerked his cock, shuddering at his sensitivity, at your tongue lapping at his fingers.

You were so filthy. So perfectly filthy.

When Petey came with a loud groan, Quinn was spurting a small load on your face. He discovered that he loved seeing his cum on your face as much as in your pussy. You just looked so pretty with your hazy eyes, looking at him like a good slut.

"Oh, call me that again," you asked, gripping his hips so tightly.

Fuck. Did he say that outloud? Nonetheless, he repeated it, "You're such a good slut."

You let out a whimper just as Petey groaned, slipping out of you, slapping your ass once. "A slut, huh? Sounds about right, sweet girl."

A shiver ran down Quinn's spine when you nodded, falling onto the bed with cum dripping out of your pussy and down your face. You looked so drained yet so satisfied.

He moved to get towels to clean you, throwing one to Petey so he could help. They both wiped and pressed kisses on your skin, muttering their praises, chuckling when you tried to respond while yawning and barely keeping your eyes open. It wasn't long until you actually passed out with a blanket tucked to your neck covering your body clothed with Petey's shirt and Quinn's boxers on you.

"Let's make this work, Quinn," Petey said, as he threw on his sweatpants.

"Yes." Quinn nodded, wrapping his arm around you, letting his friend cuddle you too. In a tentative tone, he muttered, "For her. For us."

"For us," Petey affirmed as if hearing Quinn's doubts.

He liked this.

It would be a new experience but a welcomed one.

3AM. No proofread. I am gonna pass out.

Special tag: Loveliest @rowdyluv

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist!

#cay chats✿#rip cay #<- seriously I am mush #quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #elias Pettersson smut #<- my tags wouldn’t populate that and that’s a PROBLEM #<- <- must’ve been the wind #4340

119 notes · View notes

rowdyluv · 2 days ago

Note

There's 17 year olds consuming your content that's 18+ btw

Thank you for letting me know!!

This does go out to people to please abide by my blog and my preferences that mdni does mean MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It's for my safety and yours too. It's not a case of 'but I already know about this stuff so it doesn't make a difference' either, I do not want minors interacting with 18+ content (as it says right at the top of my blog). And while I can't find every user, please respect these wishes.

If you are a minor and I do find you interacting with 18+ content, I will block you purely because you have gone against these wishes.

11 notes · View notes

rowdyluv · 2 days ago

Text

CANUCKS ACTUALLY POSTED BROCK AND PETEY WHAT A DAY IT IS TO BE ALIVE

Canucks 💙💙💙💙

From Instagram and X. More Wallpapers!! (Previous)

#cay chats✿#elias pettersson #ep40 #brock boeser #bb6 #hi Petey baby🥰

34 notes · View notes

rowdyluv · 5 days ago

Text

OH BE STILL MY HEART 😭

Q give me your babies RIGHT NOW

STILL YOURS, SOMEHOW 　QUINN HUGHES

　　　quinn hughes x fem mom!reader

SUMMARY 　after seven years away, she returns to michigan with a daughter on her hip and a name that carries the weight of the past.

CONTAINS 　unplanned pregnancy, absent father, single mother, postpartum depression, isolation & loneliness, use of y/n.

　　SHE USED TO believe the best parts of life happened in the summer.

Michigan summers, specifically. The kind with long, golden days that faded into firefly-filled nights, where bare feet slapped against wooden docks and laughter echoed across the lake like it belonged there.

That was how she grew up. Sunburned, windswept, and always with Quinn Hughes a step or two behind her.

The Hughes’ lived two houses down. Their place was always loud, always full — three boys, constant motion, the hum of a life well-lived. Jim and Ellen treated y/n like one of their own. She ate dinners at their table, spent entire weekends on their dock, and left wet footprints through their kitchen floor without ever hearing a complaint.

But it was always Quinn who felt different.

They were just a few months apart. They grew up like shadows of each other. Where y/n was independent and quietly determined, Quinn was steady and thoughtful — always observing, always chasing after her, even if he didn’t know why yet.

Jack and Luke were younger and louder, always trailing behind with scraped knees and wild energy. But Quinn stayed at y/n’s side. He was part of her rhythm. Part of her quiet.

They did everything together. Bike rides through backroads, diving contests off the end of the dock, midnight swims when the world felt far away and private. They talked about the future like they had all the time in the world. Quinn would be a hockey star. Y/n didn’t know what she wanted, only that it wasn’t to stay.

She remembered the first time he kissed her.

They were sixteen, lying side by side on the dock, the water black beneath them, stars stretching wide above them. Y/n had said something about leaving — how she needed to see more than this town, this lake.

Quinn had turned to her then, brows pulled together in that soft, serious way he had.

“I hope you don’t leave without me.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect — clumsy and nervous, but y/n never forgot it. Her heart had thudded against her ribs like it wanted to say something before she could.

After that, the space between them shifted. They didn’t label anything. They didn’t have to. There were soft touches, lingering looks, a closeness that didn’t need explaining. It was the kind of love that grows quiet and deep roots curling beneath everything, even when it’s not spoken out loud.

But high school ended.

Y/n applied to colleges out of state. She told herself it was what she always wanted. Freedom, space, something bigger than Michigan. She didn’t tell Quinn that leaving felt like holding her breath underwater. She didn’t tell him how scared she was of becoming someone who never chased what she wanted.

And so, at eighteen, she packed her things and left.

It wasn’t dramatic. No final fight, no breakup. Just a long hug on the Hughes’ porch. Quinn didn’t say “don’t go,” and she didn’t ask him to follow.

They just… let go.

The calls were frequent at first. Texts full of I miss you’s and late-night phone calls. But time and distance wore at them. Quinn was busy with hockey. Y/n tried to pretend she was busy chasing a future she still couldn’t picture.

Eventually, the silence came. Not all at once, but slow and certain.

Y/n stopped hearing his voice in the quiet moments. She stopped looking for his name on her phone.

And that’s when everything started to fall apart.

Life moved fast after she left.

At eighteen, y/n thought freedom would feel bigger. She imagined new cities, new people, the kind of independence that came with skyline views and the sound of traffic outside her apartment window. But mostly, it was just quiet. Too quiet.

She moved into a small studio apartment off-campus in a city that felt cold no matter the season. She studied hard, worked late shifts at a bookstore downtown, and tried to pretend she didn’t miss the sound of lake water slapping against a dock or the way Ellen would always push an extra plate toward her without asking.

She thought about Quinn constantly that first year.

With every semester, every practice Quinn couldn’t skip, every shift she couldn’t trade, the distance grew further. Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it.

By the time she turned twenty, they hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

And life just kept going.

She dated casually. Met people in class, at work, at coffee shops she never went back to. Most of it was forgettable. Until him.

His name was Cameron. He was older by a couple of years. Charming, confident, with a quiet smile and the kind of presence that filled a room without trying. He made her laugh when she forgot how. Took her to dinner. Paid attention in ways no one else had in a long time.

For a while, she let herself fall.

He wasn’t Quinn. He didn’t ask about her childhood. Didn’t know what it meant when she said she missed the lake. But he made her feel noticed, and after two years of loneliness, that felt like something.

She was twenty-two when she got pregnant.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t dramatic. One missed pill. One night they both forgot to think beyond the moment.

When she saw the two pink lines on the test, the world slowed.

She stared at herself in the mirror, hand flat over her stomach, already knowing the answer before she even asked the question.

Cameron was shocked. Supportive at first, but as the weeks passed, something in him pulled away. He didn’t yell. He didn’t walk out. He just faded, one wordless day at a time.

By the time she was four months along, she was alone.

She moved again. Cheaper rent, smaller space. No longer on campus, no longer near anything that felt familiar. Her friends drifted away one by one, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to stay. She stopped answering messages. Stopped reaching out.

The days blurred together.

When Hazel was born, y/n was twenty-three.

She was exhausted, scared, and completely in love with a girl who had her nose and soft eyes.

She remembered holding her for the first time and whispering the name without even thinking.

“Hazel Quinn.”

She hadn’t planned to give her that middle name. It wasn’t something she’d told anyone. Not even Cameron before he was gone. But in that moment, it was the only name that felt right.

And then came the silence.

The hours alone with a newborn. The hollow feeling that crept in when the sun went down and no one else was coming home. The noise in her head that never stopped, telling her she wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t enough.

She loved her daughter. That was never in question.

But some days, she couldn’t get out of bed. Some days, Hazel’s cries felt like they were echoing inside her ribs, shaking everything loose. She’d stand in the shower, water scalding hot, her hand pressed flat to the tile just to stay upright.

She didn’t tell anyone how bad it got. Not the nurse at Hazel’s checkups. Not the barista who always smiled when she ordered decaf. Not even herself.

She survived, one feeding at a time. One hour at a time. One night at a time.

And slowly, things shifted.

Hazel started to laugh. Started to crawl. Started reaching for her with tiny hands, eyes bright with recognition.

Y/n would sit on the floor with her and watch her grin wide at the smallest things — string lights, music from an old speaker, the sound of the rain against the windows.

Hazel gave her something to hold onto.

But still, something was missing.

The city felt smaller now. Not because it had changed, but because she had. The streets were too loud. The people too distant. Her world had narrowed to one small apartment, one crib, and one little girl who deserved more than just surviving.

Y/n started to dream of the lake again.

Not in the way she had as a teenager — full of urgency and longing to escape — but in flashes of memory. Warm evenings, bare feet, the sound of screen doors slamming shut. She thought of Ellen’s laugh. Jim’s quiet kindness. Jack and Luke wrestling in the yard. Quinn, sitting beside her on the dock, both of them pretending they weren’t scared of the future.

And just like that, it started to feel like the only place that ever felt real.

She was twenty-five when she packed up her car.

Boxes filled with bottles, clothes too small for Hazel now, picture frames she hadn’t hung since she had moved. She left behind furniture she didn’t care about and memories she didn’t want to keep.

And she drove. Back toward the place she once ran from. Back to the lake. Back to them.

Back to him.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Boxes were everywhere — stacked against walls, half-opened, spilling out clothes, baby books and tangled cords. She’d unpacked the essentials first: the crib, the coffee maker, a lamp she’d had since college. The rest could wait.

Hazel was asleep, finally. Tucked under a soft pink blanket in the corner of the bedroom they now shared. Her curls splayed across the pillow, thumb resting near her mouth. Safe. Peaceful.

Y/n stood in the middle of the kitchen, barefoot, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug. The air smelled faintly of dust and lakewater, windows cracked open just enough to let the summer air in.

She hadn’t lived here since she was eighteen. And yet, something about it felt like stepping into a version of herself she didn’t quite recognize anymore.

It was a small rental, nothing fancy. Peeling porch steps, outdated fixtures, cabinets that groaned when you opened them too fast. But it had a view of the lake. That was the only thing she’d really cared about. She could see the water glinting through the trees from the bedroom window. She told herself she chose it for Hazel. To give her something simple and safe. But deep down, she knew better.

The lake had always been the only place that felt like home.

She walked out onto the porch, mug still in hand, and sat on the top step. The boards creaked under her weight, familiar and grounding. The moon hung low above the water, reflecting across its dark surface in quiet ripples.

Y/n pulled her knees to her chest and exhaled slowly.

Coming back wasn’t easy.

She hadn’t called ahead. Hadn’t told anyone she was moving. She just sort of showed up. She couldn’t bring herself to text Ellen or Jim, couldn’t imagine explaining to Quinn why she was back after all this time — with a toddler, no less.

She’d imagined a thousand versions of what seeing him again might feel like.

Most of them hurt.

In some versions, he was angry. In others, he didn’t care at all. But the one that scared her the most was the version where he looked at her with sadness. Like he still saw the girl who left, and didn’t quite recognize the woman who came back.

She sipped the cooling coffee and tried to push the thought away.

It had been seven years.

He’d probably moved on. He had a life now. Pro hockey, a family that adored him, maybe even someone else. She’d followed bits and pieces from a distance. Headlines. Stats. A few photos Ellen had posted years ago on Facebook before she unfollowed everyone.

She hadn’t come back for him.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

She came back because Hazel deserved roots. She deserved open space, quiet mornings, people who cared about her. Not some too-small apartment in a city where no one looked you in the eye.

And yet, when she looked at Hazel… she saw Quinn.

In her eyes, especially. Wide and soft and endlessly observant.

There were nights during the first year when y/n would hold her close and whisper stories about Michigan like they were bedtime fables. About long docks and melted popsicles and a boy who once loved her without needing to be asked.

There was a notebook tucked in the bottom of one of the boxes inside. Worn cover, half-filled pages. She’d written in it during the worst days. When Hazel was a newborn, and sleep felt like a myth. She wrote about fear, exhaustion, and guilt. But scattered between those pages were other things too.

Soft things. Hopeful things.

One entry was just a name, written over and over in different handwriting:

Hazel Quinn.

She didn’t know what she expected to happen now. Maybe nothing — maybe everything.

The thought of showing up at the Hughes’ house made her stomach twist. What if they didn’t want to see her? What if they were angry? What if she knocked on the door and Quinn opened it and everything inside her shattered?

She pulled her sweater tighter around herself and tilted her head toward the lake.

It was still here.

Still patient. Still waiting.

She let the quiet settle around her like a blanket. Let herself breathe in the scent of pine and old water and memory.

It was strange, how much had changed. And how much hadn’t.

Her world had gotten louder, heavier, more complicated. But this? This porch, this lake, this moment of stillness — it reminded her of who she used to be. Before everything.

Maybe she could still find that version of herself again.

Or maybe, she could become someone new entirely.

The next morning was slow.

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains in hazy stripes, casting soft patterns across the hardwood floor. Hazel woke early. She always did. Her curls a tangled mess, one sock missing, thumb in her mouth.

Y/n blinked awake to the sound of her daughter whispering to herself, narrating something imaginary as she poked at a stuffed bear with one chubby finger. It took her a moment to remember where they were.

Not the apartment. Not the city.

Michigan.

Home.

They had breakfast on the floor, cross-legged, the way they always did when the kitchen felt too big or too empty. Just dry cereal, a banana, and coffee for y/n that had gone cold before she even touched it. Hazel clapped when the birds landed near the window and pointed at the sky like it was a miracle.

By late morning, y/n packed a small bag and slipped on Hazel’s sandals, the kind with the little velcro straps that never seemed to stay closed. They walked down the back path toward the lake, past rows of pine trees that rustled softly in the breeze.

The lake looked the same. Still, and calm — familiar.

She spread a blanket on the grass near the shore and sat with Hazel in her lap, the toddler already reaching toward the water with grabby hands.

“Not yet,” y/n murmured with a soft smile. “We sit first.”

They stayed like that for a while, quiet. The warmth of the sun on her arms, Hazel’s small weight pressed against her, the sound of gentle waves slapping against the rocks.

Y/n’s eyes drifted toward the other side of the lake, just beyond the curve of the trees.

She knew the Hughes’ house was there.

Knew it like a muscle memory — where the gravel dipped near their driveway, the way Ellen always left the side porch light on even in the summer, the worn mailbox that still tilted a little to the left. The thought of walking up those steps made her chest feel tight. She hadn’t seen any of them since she was eighteen.

Would they even want to see her?

She hadn’t called. Hadn’t even sent a message.

It felt selfish. Cowardly, even.

But there was something about seeing Hazel next to this water, hearing her giggle as she scooped up rocks with her tiny hands that made y/n think maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

Maybe they would understand.

She thought about Quinn. What his face might look like now. Older, sharper. Would he even recognize her? Would he look at Hazel and break down?

Would it break her?

She shook the thought away and pulled Hazel closer. The little girl was babbling about something, pointing at a leaf, then at a dragonfly, and y/n nodded along, pretending she could follow.

“Do you like it here?” she asked softly, brushing curls away from her daughter’s face. “It’s nice, huh?”

Hazel beamed, squishing a blade of grass between her fingers.

Y/n exhaled and looked back at the lake.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe she’d go tomorrow.

Maybe she’d wake up and feel brave enough to knock on that door. To face whatever was waiting for her on the other side.

She laid back on the blanket and stared up at the sky, clouds drifting lazily overhead. Hazel curled into her side, mumbling nonsense and clinging to the hem of her shirt.

And y/n let herself hope, just a little that coming back hadn’t been a mistake.

It was late afternoon when she finally went.

The sky was soft and hazy, clouds stretching low and white above the lake, like they were trying to cover for her nerves. She’d dressed Hazel in her favorite overalls, the ones with sunflowers stitched onto the pockets, and pulled her own hair back, not because she cared how she looked, but because she needed something to do with her hands.

The walk felt longer than it used to.

Two houses down. Past the big oak tree with initials carved into its bark, Q + y/i — weathered now, nearly unreadable. She remembered the night Quinn had carved that, his pocketknife shaking in his hands as he grinned at her like they had the world figured out.

Her heart beat hard against her ribs.

When she reached the front steps, she froze.

The porch looked the same. Weathered wood, a pot of lavender near the door, the same black mailbox that read Hughes in chipped white letters. For a second, she thought about turning back, telling herself it wasn’t the right time, that she could try again tomorrow.

But Hazel stirred on her hip and looked up at her with wide, expectant eyes.

So she took a breath.

And rang the doorbell.

The sound was louder than she remembered. She shifted her weight, adjusted Hazel on her hip, and tried to keep her hands from shaking.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then the door opened.

Ellen stood there, frozen, a dishtowel still in her hands. Her expression flickered between confusion and disbelief, like her mind couldn’t quite catch up to what she was seeing.

Y/n opened her mouth, then closed it. “Hi, Mama El.”

The nickname tumbled out before she could stop it. Her voice was softer than she meant. Almost unsure. Almost like she didn’t believe she was really here.

Ellen blinked. “Oh my God.”

Before y/n could say anything else, she was pulled into a hug. Tight and trembling, like Ellen had been holding it in for seven years.

Hazel clung tighter to her neck, eyes wide and cautious.

Jim appeared behind Ellen a second later, eyes locked on her, then dropping to the child in her arms. He looked stunned. Like seeing a ghost he never thought he’d see again. His mouth opened slightly, and then closed again, his hands hovering as if unsure what to do.

No one spoke.

Hazel looked between them, then quietly returned to tugging at y/n’a necklace, as if sensing that everyone else in the room had forgotten how to move.

“She’s beautiful,” Ellen whispered, her voice catching as she reached out and gently brushed a hand over Hazel’s curls. “What’s her name?”

Y/n swallowed. “Hazel, Hazel Quinn L/n.”

Both of them stilled.

Jim’s eyes immediately glossed with tears, and Ellen pressed a hand to her mouth.

The name filled the room like a secret finally spoken. Like a wound breaking open and healing at the same time.

Haz, unaware of the weight her name carried, tugged y/n’s sleeve and pointed toward the inside of the house. “Mama,” she said softly, “go?”

Ellen stepped aside instantly, her voice shaky. “Come in. Please, come in.”

The house hadn’t changed.

Same smell — home cooked meal, something warm in the oven, the faint trace of fresh laundry. The walls were still covered in photos, frames lined up in the exact order she remembered. But now, there were new ones. Quinn in a pro jersey. Jack with a toothy grin. Luke with his arms thrown around both of them, taller than ever.

Y/n sat down on the loveseat, Hazel still in her lap, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Ellen and Jim took the couch across from her, too overcome to speak.

For a while, no one said anything.

Hazel was the only one who moved, her small hands toying with a stray thread on y/n’s sleeve, occasionally humming to herself.

“She’s… perfect,” Jim said finally, his voice thick.

Y/n blinked back tears and nodded. “She saved me.”

Ellen reached across the space between them and squeezed her hand. “You’re home now. We’re so glad you’re here.”

Before y/n could respond, the sound of tires on gravel made her head snap toward the window.

Ellen glanced over her shoulder. “That’ll be the boys.”

Y/n’a breath hitched.

The door opened a moment later.

Jack’s voice rang out, easy and light, like no time had passed at all. “Smells good in here! Mom, did you make the garlic bread again?”

Luke was behind him, already heading toward the kitchen. “I swear, I only come home for that bread.”

They were still laughing when they stepped into the living room.

And then they stopped.

Jack looked at her, confused, brows furrowed. His gaze moved from y/n to the little girl in her lap, then back to y/n. His mouth opened slightly.

Luke stood beside him, wide-eyed, silent.

Behind them, Quinn stepped into view.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t move.

His eyes found hers immediately — familiar, and stunned.

Then they dropped to Hazel.

And then back again.

Y/n felt the air leave her lungs.

Everything around her — the photos on the walls, the smell of garlic, the creak of the floorboards faded.

All she could feel was his stare.

Y/n stood quickly, arms tightening around Hazel as she adjusted the toddler on her hip. Her bag was still by the door, she could grab it and be out in seconds.

Quinn was staring at her like he didn’t know whether to speak or run. And honestly, she couldn’t blame him.

“I should go,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

The tension in the room was unbearable. No one spoke. Not even Jack. Jim and Ellen both looked frozen between concern and heartbreak.

She turned to leave. Then, “Wait.”

She paused.

Quinn’s voice was softer now. “Don’t go. Not again.”

She turned back slowly, her heart pounding.

“I didn’t mean to throw this at you,” she said. “Coming here, showing up like this. I just thought you should know I was back.”

His eyes drifted to the little girl in her arms. “And she’s…?”

Y/n took a breath. “She’s mine. Her name’s Hazel Quinn.”

He blinked.

“She’s not, she’s not yours, Quinn.”

His jaw twitched, like he didn’t know if he was relieved or wrecked by that.

“I named her after you anyway,” she added, more gently. “Not because I wanted anything from you. Just because you were the first person who made me feel safe. Like maybe I deserved something good.”

He swallowed hard.

Ellen stepped in softly, her voice warm. “Can I hold her for a bit, honey?”

Y/n looked down at Hazel, kissed the top of her curls, and handed her over. Hazel went easily, curling into Ellen’s shoulder with all the ease of someone who knew she was safe.

Quinn gestured toward the back door. “Can we talk?”

She nodded.

The air outside felt heavy with memory. The lake glimmered in the distance, and the sun was beginning to dip low behind the trees.

They stood in silence for a long moment.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” she finally said. “I was eighteen. Drowning in everything. My mom, my head, the pressure to be perfect. I couldn’t breathe anymore.”

He nodded slightly, not pushing.

“And after I left, i didn’t look back. I didn’t even call.” She glanced down. “I thought I could outrun it all.”

“You didn’t,” he said quietly.

“No,” she breathed. “I didn’t.”

Another pause.

“I met someone three years after i left, his name was Cameron.”

The name hung in the air.

“He wasn’t someone i loved,” she said honestly. “It wasn’t serious. I think we were both just lonely.”

Quinn’s eyes softened, but he stayed quiet.

“I went through the pregnancy alone. And the months after were dark. I didn’t know who i was. I barely knew how to be a person, let alone a mother. But Hazel? She gave me something to hold onto.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I came back to Michigan because i wanted her to grow up in a place that felt like home. That gave me something good, even when everything else was bad.”

Quinn finally looked at her, really looked.

“She’s lucky to have you,” he said.

“She saved me,” y/n said simply.

Quinn leaned against the railing. “And the name? Giving her mine?”

She gave a faint smile. “I thought about you a lot. About how you made everything feel easier when i was younger. You always made things lighter. I wanted her to have a little piece of that.”

His voice was quiet. “I thought you forgot me.”

“I never did,” she said. “I just didn’t know how to come back.”

They stood in silence again, but it was different now. Soft, familiar.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said finally.

Y/n looked at him, a little older now, but still Quinn underneath it all. Still steady, and still safe.

“Me too,” she whispered.

Dinner was a blur.

Laughter came easier than she expected. Jack had made a comment about the spaghetti being overcooked and immediately got smacked on the arm by Ellen. Luke told a story about nearly missing his flight back to Michigan, and Hazel laughed loudly every time someone dropped a fork.

Y/n caught Quinn watching her sometimes.

Not in the way he used to when they were younger, but not in a distant way either. Just quietly. Like he was remembering. Like he was seeing something familiar in someone new.

As the sky darkened, Hazel’s energy started to fade. She climbed onto y/n’s lap halfway through dessert, cheek pressed against her chest, curls wild and tangled. She had chocolate on her chin and sticky fingers.

“I think it’s time for bed,” y/n said softly, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair.

“You can use the guest room,” Ellen said immediately. “It’s already made up.”

Y/n hesitated, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

Quinn didn’t say anything, just stood and quietly gathered a few dishes, slipping them into the sink.

Upstairs, the house was quieter. Y/n found the guest room easily — nothing had changed. The same pale yellow walls, the same quilt folded neatly at the end of the bed.

She got Hazel out of her clothes and into one of the soft, oversized shirts she used as pajamas. The toddler yawned dramatically, rubbing her eyes as y/n tucked her in and leaned close.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Hazel murmured something back, half-asleep already.

Y/n stepped into the hallway just as Quinn came up the stairs.

“She’s out?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Y/n nodded. “Didn’t even fight it.”

He smiled faintly. “She’s a good kid.”

“She really is.”

They stood in the quiet upstairs hall for a moment, the house creaking softly beneath them.

“Come out back?” he asked after a pause. “Just for a little.”

She hesitated. Then nodded.

The porch was darker now, wrapped in night. A few stars shined above them, and the lake reflected the moonlight like a mirror.

Y/n sat on the top step. Quinn settled beside her, arms resting on his knees.

Neither of them spoke for a minute.

Just the sound of the water. The soft chirp of crickets. The breeze in the trees.

“She likes you,” y/n said eventually.

Quinn turned slightly. “Hazel?”

Y/n nodded. “She doesn’t usually care for people, but she seems to like you. All of you.”

He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t want to ask, but, is Cameron still in the picture?”

“No,” she said simply. “He was never really in it to begin with. I haven’t heard from him since before she was born.”

Quinn nodded.

“She’s never had a dad,” y/n added, quieter. “Not really.”

He didn’t say anything at first.

“She’s got you. That matters more than you think.”

The words caught her off guard. She blinked quickly and looked away, toward the lake.

“I was scared to come back,” she admitted.

“I get it.”

“I thought maybe you’d hate me.”

“I never could,” he said. “I tried. A few times, but I never could bring myself to.”

She glanced at him. His profile was sharp in the moonlight, jaw tight, eyes tired but soft.

“I missed you,” she said before she could stop herself.

He turned his head.

“I don’t know what this is,” she continued, “or what it’s supposed to be, but I missed you. I thought about you a lot.”

His voice was low. “You still feel like home.”

Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words settle.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “We’ve got time.”

And somehow, she believed him.

For the first time in years, she believed there was time. That not everything had to be rushed or forced or lost.

They sat like that for a long time — two people and the space between them, slowly shrinking.

The sun was barely up when y/n stirred awake.

The guest room was hazy with soft light, golden stripes falling through the blinds. For a second, she forgot where she was — until she turned toward the empty space beside her and remembered.

Hazel wasn’t there.

Her heart jumped as she sat up, fingers running through her hair. She swung her legs off the side of the bed, pulling on her sweater from the night before, ready to search the whole house if she had to — then she heard it.

Laughter. High and light. Hazel’s.

And Quinn’s voice, low and gentle, “You’re getting pancake batter everywhere, little bug.”

Y/n froze in the doorway of the kitchen, her heart skipping a beat at the nickname. The same one he use to call her.

Hazel was sitting on the counter, legs swinging, wearing her crumpled pajama shirt with a whisk in her hand, streaks of flour across her cheeks and in her curls. She was grinning up at Quinn like he’d hung the moon.

Quinn stood at the stove, barefoot, in a hoodie and gym shorts, flipping a pancake with one hand and trying to keep Hazel from stirring the mixing bowl off the counter with the other.

Y/n leaned on the doorframe, watching them.

“You let her cook?” she called softly, voice still raspy from sleep.

Quinn looked up and gave her a lopsided smile. “She let me cook. I’m just trying to keep the house from catching fire.”

Hazel squealed and dropped the whisk into the bowl with a loud splatter.

Y/n crossed the kitchen quickly, grabbing a paper towel as she laughed. “God, she’s such a menace in the mornings.”

“I like her,” Quinn said, wiping batter off his hand. “She’s got opinions.”

“Like her mom,” y/n muttered, dabbing Hazel’s face.

The little girl reached for Quinn’s hoodie and tugged gently. “More chocolate chips, Win.”

“See?” he said, giving y/n a mock-scandalized look. “She’s bossy.”

But he grabbed the bag anyway and let Hazel dump a small handful into the batter. Y/n watched the way he moved with her — like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times. Not awkward or hesitant, just gentle.

“You’re good with her,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “I like her. She’s funny. Smart, too.”

Hazel was too busy licking pancake batter off her finger to care that she was being talked about.

“She doesn’t take to people quickly,” y/n said. “Especially not men.”

Quinn didn’t respond right away. He just poured the next pancake onto the griddle and said, “Well… I’m not just anybody.”

Y/n felt that in her chest.

He turned the stove off once the last pancake was golden, setting everything out on the table. He picked Hazel up from the counter, blowing gently on her hands to clean the flour off, and carried her to a chair.

Hazel curled easily into his lap, resting her head against his chest as he cut up her pancake for her, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/n sat across from them, heart tight with something she couldn’t name.

“I forgot what mornings like this felt like,” she admitted after a while.

Quinn looked up. “You can have more of them. If you want.”

She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t have to.

Hazel reached across the table for y/n’s hand and held it tightly between her sticky fingers, but her little head stayed rested against Quinn’s chest.

Like this was where she belonged.

Like maybe all three of them did.

NAVIGATION　　 ✶ 　　NHL MASTERLIST

#cay chats✿#cay chats: q♡︎#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #fic recs

429 notes · View notes

rowdyluv · 5 days ago

Note

oh hello WHAT ARE U DOING TO ME ANDY

ok spam incoming, first up: quinn hughes with a size kink (i know he is the shortest hughes but i’m picturing this as him with like a REALLY tiny gf so maybe the size kink is like a new experience for him and he quickly realizes that he loves it)

warnings: SIZE KINK, unprotected p in v, fingering, munching (over spandex & panties), oral m!receiving, facials. really hitting all the quinn hughes classics here. panties stay ON during sex (pulled to the side) (they also magically disappear sometime between sex and getting in the shower afterward so like... plot hole, but ignore it because i don't want to fix it) (new panty idea: ones that dissolve in water like that video of the raccoon trying to wash his cotton candy) pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader (5'0") wc: 3,540

once again, i didn't follow the request exactly, but i hope y'all can forgive me. this is where the vision went. title from tate mcrae's song/tour. i think you'll find it's very apt.

“Stop walking so fast!” you call after Quinn. You finish fixing the strap of your heel and hustle to catch up to him. Although the walk sign is on at the crosswalk, he stopped and waited for you. How kind.

The red glow from the stoplight tints Quinn’s face. He grins at you, almost chuckling. “I can’t help it. It’s not my fault your legs are so short, baby.”

You glare at him, slipping your hand into his and squeezing it. “You’re so mean to me.”

Quinn gasps and squeezes your hand in return. “Never,” he teases.

Together, you continue the walk back from Rogers. You and Quinn attended the Tate McRae concert tonight and you, of course, wanted to dress up. You wore one of Quinn’s jerseys over cotton booty shorts, the sweater practically swallowing you with your size difference.

The outfit is fire, but your shoes are killing you– high heels with long straps that wrap around your calves and cross over each other, crawling up to your knee before you tie them. They’re cute shoes and you never get to wear them, so you thought ‘Why not?’

There are a couple of pros for these shoes: 1. They’re cute, like you said, and 2. Quinn loves them.

The singular con outweighs the pros: the heels are not comfortable. You were fine on the walk over and full of energy during the opening set, but once you’d been on your feet for an hour, you grew tired. Your heels and the balls of your feet are killing you, a dull pressure disappearing and reappearing with each step you take.

Before long, Quinn starts to pull away again. He’s wearing his Air Forces, jeans, and a black t-shirt. He’s the picture of comfort, whereas you’re showing out for this show. His distance represents the sacrifice you made for looking good: your ability to keep up with your boyfriend.

Quinn approaches another crosswalk, the signal flashing numbers: 10… 9… 8…

He tries to hurry you, apparently under the impression that you can make it across four lanes in eight seconds, but you halt and refuse to budge. You lean against the streetlight after hitting the button to cross, unlacing your heels.

Quinn balks at you. “What are you doing?” he asks. “You’re not walking home barefoot.”

“Well, I’m not walking home in these shoes,” you respond, kicking off one shoe and moving to the next.

Quinn opens his mouth to argue, but he’s interrupted by a fan who wants a picture. You were expecting this. That’s why you hung out in the Aquilini suite until most people had cleared out. Quinn appreciates the fans, but he hates when they interrupt his time with you. You’re unbothered by it, even grateful that this fan bought you some time to get this other shoe off.

You loop the straps around each other in a loose knot and throw the shoes over your shoulder, standing flat on the pavement and nearly sighing from the feel of the cool concrete against your aching appendages. You sidle up next to Quinn, the top of your head coming up only to his neck without your tall shoes, and wait patiently for him to send the fan on their way.

“Much better,” you tell Quinn with a subtle beam, bouncing up on your toes to give him a quick peck.

He frowns, despite returning the kiss, and looks down at your feet. “What if you step on something?”

“It’s only another two blocks,” you reply with a wave of your hand, brushing his concern off. “I’ll be okay.”

Quinn’s disapproval deepens. Now he’s the one refusing to budge, even though the walk sign has turned on again and the crowd of people around you has surged forward.

“Baby, c’mon, I’m fine. I just want to get home.” You take Quinn’s hand and tug it, stepping off the curb.

He comes with you, lingering a step behind you until you’re on the other side of the road. He seems to accept your determination to get home, humming one of Tate’s catchy songs as you walk.

The night has grown dark, but the streets of Vancouver are still bustling with people and cars. You have to dip around and dodge people as you walk, holding tightly to Quinn’s hand as he takes the lead and makes space for you to follow.

On a misstep, your foot lands squarely in a dirty puddle. You feel the water splash up as far as the back of your knee, jaw dropping in surprise and disgust as soon as it happens. An indignant whine leaves your mouth, which makes Quinn stop.

You’re less than 300 feet from home, literally so close to the door to the lobby, and your leg is splattered with mucky liquid, a drop rolling down your shin.

Your shoulders sag and you sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The corners of Quinn’s lips lift. You know what he’s thinking (“I told you so”), but you don’t expect him to turn around and squat slightly. “Hop on,” Quinn says, beckoning you towards him in the awkward position. “I’ll give you a ride the rest of the way.”

A smile grows on your face. “Aww, a piggy back ride? You are a good boyfriend.”

Quinn laughs, taking your weight easily. His arms loop beneath your thighs, holding you in place, and you throw your arms over his shoulders. “You thought I wasn’t?”

“You kept leaving me,” you say, an edge of teasing in your voice. You flick the shell of Quinn’s ear and kiss the side of his neck, shifting with each step he takes. Your mouth is right next to his ear as you continue in a low, seductive voice, “I think sometimes you forget how much smaller I am than you.”

Those are the magic words.

Quinn stiffens, falling out of step for only a second.

You act like you didn’t notice, leaving another soft kiss on Quinn’s neck before he pulls open the door to the lobby. You wave at the security guard behind his desk, wishing him a good night.

Quinn sets you down gently in the elevator after he hit the button to your floor, turning and cornering you against the back wall.

Your arms snake around his neck again, making Quinn bend a bit further to get on your level. “I like it when you carry me,” you tell him. “It’s so much easier to get my mouth on you.”

Quinn bites down on his bottom lip and releases a quiet chuckle. “You know what I like?” Quinn asks.

You have a feeling, but you play along. “What?”

Quinn hovers near your lips, his warm gaze trapping you in place. “I like that I could pick you up and fuck you against this wall and barely break a sweat.”

Your stomach drops, pulse quickening at his mere words.

Finally alone, the side of Quinn that only you get to see starts to emerge. “You’re so… delicate,” he murmurs. His fingertips skate along the neckline of his jersey, your chest rising and falling rapidly. A smirk overtakes Quinn’s lips. “Just begging to be manhandled, aren’t you?”

His thumb brushes the hollow of your neck and you let out a small noise, a wanting whimper.

“Yeah,” Quinn breathes out, a belittling confirmation. “You are.”

The elevator dings and the doors open.

Quinn sneaks a hand around your back and presses his fingers into the small of your back, guiding you down the hall to your shared apartment. His touch is casual, but you feel the intention behind it.

Your heart races as you enter the dark foyer, beelining for the bedroom as Quinn toes his shoes off. You put your heels away in your closet, ready to remove Quinn’s jersey and take a quick rinse in the shower before bed.

Quinn catches you as you exit the closet, circling your wrist with his fingers and tugging you close to his body. Your hands automatically end up on his chest.

“Where are you going?” Quinn asks.

“Bathroom,” you reply, trying to turn in his grasp.

Quinn clicks his tongue and lifts you, carrying you to the bed and laying atop you. His fingers slide beneath the jersey you haven’t taken off yet, tickling your sides. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I want to play with you for a minute, baby.” Quinn’s head disappears under the hem of your top, placing gentle kisses over your stomach. His digits travel further up, reaching past the cups of your bra and pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You quiver on the bed, legs spread with one foot planted on the bed, the other dangling off the edge. One hand goes to your hair and the other covers Quinn’s hand on your breast, feeling his knuckles bend with each swipe of his touch and roll of your skin.

His left hand goes to your bent knee, palming the underside of your thigh and pushing your leg to your chest.

You fold, his hand keeping you in place as his mouth trails lower. His lips glance over the soft fabric of your shorts, kisses nearing your pulsating and covered hole.

Quinn’s tongue darts out and flicks over the seam of your shorts, wetting the fabric near your entrance.

You jump at the sensation, surprised by Quinn’s daring.

He smiles and mouths over your heat again, licking a long stripe up your clothed slit and swirling his tongue around your clit. He hums, then blows cool air over the damp fabric. His hooded eyes find your face as his lips circle your clit again, suckling softly until you’re squirming.

“Quinn,” you squeal when his fingers start to rub against your hole, massaging your cunt as his lips tug at your clit.

He wiggles his tongue against the sensitive bud, eyebrows dancing in time with his movements.

You release a moan by accident, the sound coming strangled from your throat.

Quinn pulls from your clit with a wet pop, teeth bared in a wide smile. “Can taste you through your shorts, baby.” He kisses your slit and brings his hands to the band of your bottoms, inching them down your legs until he can take them off and throw them to the side. He seals his mouth over your clit again, audibly sucking the bud through your thin lace thong. The sensation is intensified by the thin barrier between your body and his tongue, your back automatically arching off the bed when he gently nibbles the sensitive spot.

“Quinn, Quinn,” you moan, one of your hands finding his hair and fisting the locks.

He smiles as you grind against his tongue, his thumb caressing the strip of fabric that covers your hole before dipping beneath it and pressing inside of you.

“Oh,” you mewl. Your hips gyrate faster, the flat of Quinn’s tongue held fast against your clit.

Quinn pumps his thumb inside of you, drawing his tongue away and replacing it with his fingers. His mouth kisses back up your stomach, free hand pushing your jersey up until you take the hint and help him remove it, leaving you in just your bra and panties. He leaves a wet trail between your breasts, tonguing over your neck before filling your mouth with the muscle.

You whimper, both of your hands tangling in his messy brown curls.

Quinn pulls his thumb from your entrance and replaces it with his two middle fingers, panties pulled to the side. “So wet, so responsive,” Quinn mutters, pecking your lips before he begins the journey back to your breasts. “You’re just begging to be split open on my cock, aren’t you, baby?”

“Please fuck me,” you implore, tugging Quinn’s hair.

He winces at a particularly harsh tug, but uses his free hand to unclasp your bra and remove it. Quinn sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue until it’s pebbled and puckered. “I want to be everywhere all at once,” he says, switching to the other nipple and repeating his ministrations. “Can’t decide if I want to cover this tiny body with marks or if I want to kiss you while I stuff you full.”

“Whatever you want, whatever, I don’t care.” You clench down on his fingers, chasing the feeling that’s building in the pit of your stomach.

Quinn smirks into your sternum, peppering kisses along your smooth skin. “All mine,” he simpers. He fits his mouth over your collarbone and bites down, leaving a red mark behind when he pulls away. “Mine to play with.” He sucks another mark over your pulse point. “Mine to please.”

“You really like that I wore your jersey today, huh?” you question breathlessly.

Quinn pulls back and eyes you, failing to hold back a fond smile. “It looked like a dress on you.”

“Everything of yours is big on me,” you reply. You pull his t-shirt over his head, placing it in a pile on the nightstand. “I love it.”

“I love it,” Quinn repeats, removing his fingers from your heat and quietly shushing you when you open your mouth, ready to complain about the emptiness inside of you. He frees his cock from his boxers, tossing them across the room. He wraps his hand, fingers wet with your slick, around his length and starts to pump it, thumbing over the slit and spreading the precum that blurted from it. He leans over your body, one hand holding himself up beside your head. His lips brush yours. “Love seeing you wrapped up in my clothes, baby.”

His cockhead lines up with your entrance, the slick slide of his thick member entering your tight hole making your eyes roll back. “Fuck, Quinn,” you sigh, placing a hand flat on his chest.

Quinn ducks his head, pressing kisses in the crook of your neck. He guides one of your legs over his shoulder, then the other, until there’s a healthy stretch in your hamstrings and his cock reaches deep inside of you. You cross your ankles behind his head and Quinn places a kiss on your lips before he thrusts inside you completely, his tip hitting your cervix.

You feel like he’s reaching into your stomach and scrambling your insides as his pace picks up, as the sharp sounds of skin hitting skin and wet pussy swallowing thick cock fills the room. The pillows are soft beneath your head, the mixture of your and Quinn’s breath steaming up the space between your faces.

“You take it so well,” Quinn compliments with a grunt, looking between your bodies at the place where you meet.

You follow his line of sight, eyelids fluttering with each thrust into your sweet spot.

“Fucking perfect,” Quinn continues. “Such a tight pussy, feels so good around me.”

You moan and capture Quinn’s mouth, teeth knocking together as he pounds into you, driving you towards orgasm. “Shit, yes, yes, yes,” you whine in a high pitched voice, the sounds escaping you almost pornographic in nature.

Quinn brings his hand to your core, the four fingers of his left hand flying over your clit. Your eyes roll back and spots dance in the darkness, stomach in knots until one final thrust has you contracting around Quinn’s cock. Your body shakes and quivers and trembles beneath him, muscles tight and stiff before they all relax at once and your orgasm travels through you like an electric shock. Quinn continues to rub your clit and fuck you, prolonging your orgasm and murmuring under his breath, “Yeah, baby, just like that, let go for me, keep squeezing my cock, gonna make me fucking come in this pretty pussy, fuck, baby.”

You ride out your climax with Quinn’s fingers toying with your swollen clit, his thrusts slowing until they stop completely. A bubble of precum blurts inside your spent cunt, Quinn’s teeth digging into his lower lip.

“Baby,” you encourage, a slight whine still attached to your tone. You lift your hips and roll them down, wanting Quinn to keep moving until he loses himself in your heat and floods the cavern with his seed.

Quinn’s dark eyes fix on you, a hunger behind the pupils that sends a spark through you. Your legs fall from his shoulders and his cock leaves you, Quinn’s strong thighs flexing as he walks up your body on his knees. He comes to a stop with his cock in front of your face, one hand gripping his base and the other curled over the headboard.

He seems ginormous from this angle, torso stretching for picturesque miles. His happy trail is dark and his cock is long and his stare is greedy, determined.

“Clean me up, baby girl,” Quinn says. “See how good you taste, and if you’re good, I’ll come all over this pretty face.”

All desire to have him come inside you is swept away, his angry red tip looking like the perfect thing to put down your throat.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, eyes wide as you stare up at Quinn. He feeds you each inch of his cock, shallowly working the thickness past your lips until his glans hit the back of your throat. You moan around him, your tastes mixing together in a sweet, sticky, salty liquid that coats your senses.

Quinn smiles down at you mirthfully, drawing an inch from your warm, wet suction and pushing it back in. “You gonna gag on it, baby? I bet your jaw hurts, huh? Gotta keep that mouth open so I can fuck it like I fucked your pussy.”

An involuntary and completely muffled “Oh my God” surrounds Quinn’s cock, the vibrations from your vocal chords stimulating his veiny shaft.

“Oh, I know,” Quinn brags, aborted thrusts hitting the back of your throat each time. “You love having something this big inside you, I know you do.”

You keep your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, your throat constricting when he hits your gag reflex. The soft lining of your throat massages his length, precum leaking down your esophagus into your stomach.

Quinn’s breaths are shallow. He groans, grunts, and moans as you work over him, his soft stomach tensing when he inhales sharply. You blink up at him and swallow harshly around his cock, milking another spurt of precum from his slit.

“Fuck, baby,” Quinn breathes out, clearly affected by your mouth. He wipes a bead of drool from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, pulling his cock halfway out of your mouth and wrapping his hand around it.

You keep his tip in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the head of his member.

Quinn’s jaw drops open with a moan, his hips bucking forward once in an uncontrolled manner. His hand comes to the hair on the top of your head, lifting your head slightly off the pillow as his cock leaves your mouth completely. He keeps his hand in your hair as the other strips his cock, the red, pulsing tip not even an inch from your tongue, which lays flat outside your mouth like a panting dog.

The first strips of cum land on your tastebuds and lips. You catch Quinn’s hooded eyes and parted lips just before closing your eyes and allowing him to paint your cheeks with white lines, marking your face and ruining your concert makeup with his ownership.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the hair on Quinn’s legs, thumb rubbing the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. His slick movements slow and you blink your eyes open carefully, in case any stray cum made contract with your lashes and could drip into your eyes.

Quinn meets your gaze and grins. “Hey, angel,” he says. He shuffles back, moving off of your body but staying by your side. He kisses your cum-coated lips, bringing some residue with him that he clears off with a swipe of his finger. He brings the finger to your mouth, your lips circling the digit and cleaning it. His eyes dance with pride. “You look beautiful like this.”

You laugh, using your own thumb to collect some of his cum from your cheeks. “I feel dirty.”

“You’re a dirty girl,” Quinn confirms in a silly voice, putting his hands on your hips and kneading them. “Aren’t you glad I stopped you before you got in the shower?”

“Oh, God,” you sigh, deflating and sinking into the bed. “I’m exhausted, Q.” You lift your arms toward him. “Carry me?”

Now it’s Quinn’s turn to laugh, although he does so while getting off the bed and gathering you in his arms. He steps in the shower with you, bringing a washcloth with him, and turns on the water. He wipes your face with the wet washcloth, removing his traces from your skin. “Such a princess,” Quinn muses, admiring you openly. He hangs the washcloth on the shower handle and wraps his arms around your shoulders, smushing your face against his chest and kissing the top of your head.

“Your princess,” you reply, pursing your lips between his pecs and kissing over his heart.

#cay chats✿#mhm mhm #nom nom nom #quinn hughes smut

590 notes · View notes