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I mistakenly taken down the post, but (monster romance) book update, The Saltwater Curse by Avina St. Graves. It is nice, devoured it in 6ish hours. Maybe 3.5-4 stars. I expected it to be more smutty (like smut all throughout but i think i was just horny). So where can i get my own kraken???

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special hips...totally normal about that. TOTALLY.

Derek Forbort on Quinn Hughes (Canucks Insider)

Q: What is it like having Quinn as a captain?

Oh he’s great. He’s such a good dude. Yknow, I think you see him on the bench and he’s not the most talkative, but in the room he’s a fiery guy. He’s competitive, and he gets the boys ready to go. He’s got that swagger to him, like he goes out there and he knows he’s the best player and I think it kinda rubs off on the guys, the way he competes. Yeah, he’s awesome. He’s a special player and a special guy.

Q: What’s it like for you guys on the bench when you’re watching him, some of these things he does at the blue line? When you guys and the defensemen are sitting together, like what is it like? How are you talking about the stuff he’s doing out there? 

It’s annoying! All you Canucks fans think it’s that easy to do, it’s like… But no, I mean, it makes no sense; he’s like a point guard up there. I mean, maybe like him and Makar are the only ones in the league who can do that. Just how easy he makes it look, he’s got some special hips. 

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my dear nix, i fear i am crashing out. My quinnifer followed Olivia Bonn and liked her recent. HOW DARE HE NOT KNOW I EXIST AND LOVE ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM HEARTBROKEN

Hello, lovely. I know I kinda said in my Inbox Rules that I won't be replying any gossips/rumors or whatever it is. However, i must reply. Just once. I worry for you. I am wiping those tears away.

I get it. We all love Quinnifer. Crashing out over our beloved players, celebrities, and even TV show characters is still valid. We can't help it. We like and love them, and truly, how dare they not know we exist and we LOVE them. It should be a crime. But alas, we gotta let them do their thing. We're already loving them from faraway, why not continue, you know? What we can do is hope for the best for them. For me, I only ever want Quinny to be happy. I worry for that lil Canuck every time. [Note, not really so knowledgeable about his relationship with Olivia beyond what was told to me by my friend. I am pretty content with that small amount of knowledge] While I am OBSESSED with Quinn, clearly seen by the way I am a whore for him, I am truly more into hockey as a sports. I can't keep up (yet i am curious sometimes). I feel old.

Anyway, I'm saying those in a lighthearted and caring way. It will be fine, dearest lovely!!! Regardless what's happening over there, I am still very DELULU about Quinn. 🫡 I am so endeared by him. Let's not dwell on it and stay delulu! Being delusional about hot men (and women) is quite nice. Come join me in the whore hole. 🤗🤗🤗

Therefore, I propose we still do our Quinn Hughes heist. We take him. We clone him. We got a Quinn for every one of us. Maybe we can make him do more workout videos. With audios?? Imagine all the grunts!!! I will die. I'm dead. melting. I need that actually...hmmm...so how about that? Quinn Heist?? We ride at dawn?? Yes 😉🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

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Update: still dont know who to write about, no tornadoes today, but I'm exhausted and I feel off mentally/emotionally. Time to pop a melly (take melatonin) and have weird dreams

My idea could so easily be any of the Hughes UGH!!

my love how do you decide???

-🐥

Oh no :((( chick :(( I am sending you tight hugs. I hope when you wake up you feel better.

Please eat something sweet. It always help me feel better when I eat something sweet. Fruits. Chocolates. Candies. Gummies. Pies. Cakes. Anything. If you do eat some, I hope it works. 🥺🥺🥺

Any of the Hugheses, i see. It is hard to pick one. They're all so lovely, handsome, and sweet. I know it will be great when it comes out. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

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almost forgot daily dose of quinn...so sorry queen

he would love when you thigh ride him bc he doesn't even need to be fully undressed to have you whimpering & desperate for him

I feel refreshed yet so unbelievably thirsty...for some reason. Oh, I know the reason. Your Honor, it is this one!!! THIGH RIDE?! I am sobbing. I need to be caged. LOCKED UP.

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Quinn's majestic 💙💙💙

Bauer VAPOR launch. June 6, 2025.

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Sorry, Jack. I giggled. 🤭🤭

Bauer VAPOR launch. June 6, 2025.

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Aww poor Quinn. That sucks... FOR HIM. Now you get Victor. (No actually it is sad for Quinn, but he realized what he lost. Poor baby 😔 but it was foo late 😔😔😔) (i love it)

NOT QUITE US 　QUINN HUGHES

　　　quinn hughes x fem!reader. 　　　　

　　　victor mancini x fem!reader

SUMMARY 　y/n moves to vancouver thinking she’s just making a friend but ends up falling for quinn, who doesn’t feel the same. after some tough heartbreak, she starts fresh with victor while quinn realizes what he lost too late.

contains 　heartbreak, unrequited feelings, rejection, mild emotional manipulation (unintended but impactful behavior), use of y/n.

　　FALLING IN LOVE was never part of the plan when y/n moved to Vancouver. Especially not with Quinn Hughes. It was supposed to be simple. Just a friendship. Maybe a few shared laughs, some late-night conversations that never crossed the line.

But somewhere between the quiet moments, the way he listened, and the way he looked at her like she’d hung the stars — her heart shifted. It wasn’t planned, and it certainly wasn’t convenient. But it happened anyway. Slowly at first, then all at once, until pretending otherwise felt impossible.

Quinn hadn’t realized what he was doing — not at first. He let the late-night texts linger a little longer, laughed harder at her jokes, and held her gaze like it meant something. To him, she was easy to be around, comforting in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. But as her feelings deepened, his stayed still. And by the time he understood the weight of his actions, it was already too late. The softness in her eyes had turned into something hopeful. Something he knew couldn’t be returned.

He started acting differently. Not in a way anyone else would notice — but she did. She felt it in the pauses between his replies, the way his eyes didn’t linger as long, how he suddenly had reasons to keep things short. Y/n told herself not to overthink it. Still, when he texted asking to meet, her chest tightened with something she didn’t want to name.

He was already sitting at the back of the quiet café when she arrived. Signature beanie on his head, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. He looked up as she approached, and the flicker of guilt in his eyes told her everything before he even spoke.

“Hi,” she said gently, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, fragile. “Thanks for coming.”

She tried to smile, tried to ease the tension. “You made it sound like a breakup. And we’re not even dating.”

That made him flinch, and her smile faded.

He exhaled, then looked up with regret in his eyes. “Y/n, I didn’t mean to confuse you. Or hurt you. But I think I did both.”

She didn’t answer. Just waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About us. And I need to be honest.” He paused, like he was still trying to find a softer way to say what had already shattered. “I think I led you on.”

Her breath caught. There it was. The truth she’d tried so hard not to believe.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rushed. “It’s just… being around you felt easy. You made everything feel lighter. And I got used to that. I let things feel closer than they should’ve.”

She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re just friends,” he said, the words like stones. “That’s all we’ve ever been. That’s all I can be.”

Silence fell. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Not here, not in front of him.

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?” Her voice was quiet, sharp at the edges. “Why wait until I started hoping?”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, pain threading through his voice. “And when I did, I didn’t know how to fix it without hurting you. But pretending isn’t fair. You deserve someone who loves you fully. Not someone trying to feel something they don’t.”

She nodded slowly, numbness settling in her chest like frost. “Right,” she whispered. “I get it.”

“Y/n, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You did anyway.”

The words hung there. Honest. Final.

He didn’t argue. Just looked down at his coffee, as if it held answers.

She stood, arms folding around herself like armor. “Take care of yourself, Quinn.”

And just like that, she walked away. No goodbye. No scene. Just a quiet end to something that never had the chance to begin.

At first, it was silence.

Not loud or angry — just heavy. Like a weight pressing down on moments that used to feel light.

Y/n tried to move on. She filled her days with friends, new routines, distractions. But nothing stuck. Mornings felt too quiet without his half-asleep voice on the phone. Nights dragged on, empty of laughter, of spontaneous FaceTime calls that used to make everything feel less lonely.

It wasn’t just about missing him, it was the way he made life feel fuller. He understood the parts of her she never said out loud. Now, it felt like a version of herself was missing too.

Quinn felt it just as sharply. At first, he told himself he’d done the right thing. That he’d been honest. But the silence gnawed at him. He thought of her at the most unexpected times — when he made coffee and remembered how she took hers. When he scored and instinctively looked for her in the stands.

She’d been his calm in a world that never slowed down. Now, everything felt louder and lonelier without her.

It started gently, the way most real things do.

Victor Mancini had a kind of steady calm presence. One where he didn’t have to try too hard. He wasn’t Quinn, and he didn’t pretend to be. But there was something in the way he showed up. Unhurried, warm. At first, that made her hesitant — she saw Quinn’s shadow in his kindness.

But slowly, she began to see Victor for who he truly was.

He met her where she was. Patiently, with small kindnesses. He remembered how she liked her coffee. Walked her home. Listened like every word mattered. And little by little, the ache began to soften. Not because it disappeared, but because Victor didn’t try to replace Quinn. He had just simply chose her.

He made her laugh again. The kind that started in her chest and reached her eyes. He made her feel safe in her uncertainty. And in that space, something new took root. Something honest. Quietly beautiful.

Quinn noticed.

He saw it from afar — the way she walked lighter, the way Victor looked at her like she was the best part of the room. Like Quinn used to, before fear got in the way.

And it gutted him.

He remembered how she used to wait for him to feel something. How she’d hoped he might choose her. And now, someone else had. Someone who didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t. Instead, he lived with the ache of what he’d lost — something rare and real that he hadn’t understood until it was gone.

And yet, when he saw her laugh beside Victor, he didn’t feel bitterness. Just a quiet heartbreak, softened by the knowledge that she’d found someone who loved her the way she always deserved.

It was late when Quinn finally asked to see her.

No expectations. Just a message:

Quinn: can we talk?

They met on a quiet street just outside the city — the place they used to go when everything felt too loud. She stood with her arms crossed, not out of anger, just instinct. He looked the same, but heavier, like he was carrying something unspoken.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began. “About how I ended things. About us.”

She stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I thought I didn’t feel it,” he said. “I thought walking away wouldn’t matter. But it did. And I’ve realized something I wish I’d known sooner.”

He looked up, eyes raw.

“I loved you, Y/n. I just didn’t understand it until you were gone.”

Her breath caught — not because she hadn’t imagined this moment, but because now, it didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like closure.

She shook her head, gentle but firm. “Quinn… you don’t get to say that now.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just needed you to hear it. Even if it’s too late.”

She nodded, sadness in her smile. “I’m with Victor. He shows up. He doesn’t question how he feels. He doesn’t make me question how he feels. He chose me.”

Quinn nodded, the words sinking deep. “I’m not asking for anything. I just needed to tell you the truth.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He hesitated, then asked the question that mattered most. “Are you happy?”

She smiled — gently, but fully. “Yeah. I am.”

He exhaled, a flicker of pain passing through him before he smiled, too. “I hope you stay that way. And I hope one day I find someone who makes me feel what I never let myself feel for you.”

She stepped forward, resting her hand on his arm. Not to stay, but to offer something kind. “You will. When you’re ready to let someone love you the way you deserve.”

And with that, she turned and walked away — toward a life that no longer waited for him, and a love that chose her first.

Quinn stood beneath the quiet streetlight, letting her words settle into the silence. And for the first time, he didn’t chase what he lost.

He just let her go — and hoped, someday, he’d be ready to be chosen, too.

NAVIGATION　　 ✶ 　　NHL MASTERLIST

© V A M P — plesse do not copy, repost, translate, or use my work without consent.

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Why are they such dorks? (Affectionate) Baby Hugheses 💙💙💙

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He is zooming 🏃🏻🏃🏻🏃🏻🏃🏻

Nerd (loving)

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That's it. I am signing a petition for new Quinn workout video/clips. Thank you. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

From Instagram. Bauer VAPOR launch. June 6, 2025.

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All are slaying!!

Aww look at the Hugheses 🤣💙💙💙

From Instagram (1, 2). Bauer VAPOR launch. June 6, 2025.

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Oh my gosh

NHL Combine Week. June 6, 2025.

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can you do one where reader goes to one of his games and shows up on the big screen then it switches to quinn and him smiling looking up 🙇‍♀️ i fear this would kill me

( i love all ur writes they fuel me throughout the day esp w the cannuck season over )

Hello, lovely. This is such a cute prompt for a lil fluffy thought.🥺Thank you for reading, lovely, sweetie. I am sending you lots of forehead kisses, mwamwa. Apologies for only getting to your ask. Hope you're still there! (Game photo from Pinterest.)

18+. Fluff thoughts. No warnings except it might not be realistic. (Optional) Bonus content on your POV included!⬇️⬇️⬇️

Quinn would always want you to attend his games. He knew you would sometimes prefer sitting with the crowd, sometimes the family box. Depending on your decision, he would try to get you the seats you wanted, always eager to ask whether you would be going or not, especially for home games. Except tonight, you told him that you had plans.

He was dejected. Of course, he was. He only wanted you to see the brief intermission featuring Fin—you've always loved Fin—and perhaps even get the chance to interact with Fin when the mascot roamed the crowd during the game. He would even make that happen, perhaps drop hints to the mascot wearer where you would be, but you would not be attending tonight.

However, instead of telling you that to entice you to cancel your plans, he didn't, fearing you would cancel your plans. He didn't like interfering with your plans no matter how much he craved your very presence in the arena. You were his good luck charm, but that included your presence wherever you were. As long as he had you.

Currently, Quinn was fucking thankful you weren't in the crowd. He was playing like shit. The Canucks were down a goal in a 2-1 game with no change in the score since the first. It was more than halfway through the last period. He tried to make plays but the puck was getting swiped away. It didn't help that he could feel his fatigue, his heart pumping hard, his nearly cramping.

Yet he pushed himself. He knew you would be watching, even by checking the NHL app for the score or play-by-plays. He had to do you right, especially when you gave him actual good luck kisses before he went out. He just—

A whistle was blown for a stoppage. Quinn swerved behind the other team's goal line, taking deep and regulated breaths, taking full control of himself, skating towards the bench when the coach called for timeout. He sighed, taking sips of water, listening to the strategy while he rested himself.

At that point, he was starting to get overwhelmed. From the countless plays to be done, to the slight cramped spaces next to his teammates. Until he heard the crowd cheer, he dared to look up the jumbotron, seeing Fin holding a messily done sign.

In broad black markers, in fucking glitters, it said, "GO CANUCKS. GO QUINNY, MY LOVE!"

He nearly frowned until he saw you, jumping and cheering despite the frustrating score, wearing the signed home jersey and red-black-yellow outfit. He could read your lips, shouting "Go, Quinn! I love you!" before you spun to show off his number on your back.

Quinn laughed, earning looks from his teammates and the coaching staff, but he didn't fucking care, because you spun again, grabbing your sign from Fin and waved it in full avid fan energy. Nothing could ever bring him down, not even at the sight of his game-exhausted yet grinning face being blasted on the Jumbotron for at least a second before it flipped over to you cheering harder. So this was your plan. Fuck, he loved this. So much.

"Huggy, do you hear me?" The couch called. "You either get back to the bench or—"

"I'm rested. I'll play," he said just as the whistle was blown, signaling the end of their timeout. He nodded at his teammates on the ice. Feeling renewed, feeling the burn of your kisses earlier, wishing that you were still on the jumbotron, he adjusted his helmet one last time. "Let's do this."

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

They won. The Canucks actually won 4-2 with Quinn having the game-winning goal. Three goals on the last 5 minutes.

With glitter under your nails, on your jersey that you purchased in arena store, on your seat, on the floor, you screamed with the crowd, waving your crumpled sign. Even more when Quinn got the first star.

You were shaking all over the place from the adrenaline, zooming onto Quinn when he went back on the ice to give out his Canucks hockey stick. You felt so proud of him. He played so amazingly, so breathtaking, especially after their timeout.

Your heart did backflips when you noticed him turning to your general direction before he skated away for an interview. Then there he was again on the jumbotron, his voice raspy, his hand running through his hair to keep it away from his face yet a few wet strands fell on his temples. It should be a crime to be that handsome, no?

After Quinn disappeared, everything felt like a blur. You walked with the crowd, determined to go to a specific place in Rogers arena to wait for him.

Your phone pinged with a message, "Don't leave. Wait on our spot."

Our spot, he said. You let out a giggle, ignoring the concerned looks you received. You called him and he instantly answered.

"My Love...hi." He sounded like he was breathless.

"It's our spot now, huh, Mr. Game Winner?"

There was a pause on the other line. "What else is it then?" You could hear the smile on his voice, could see the blush blooming on his face. Quinn has always been so simple. Shy but so eager to brag in his own way.

"Our spot," you echoed, giggling so much that you heard him chuckle. "Don't take long."

"See you in fifteen."

"Make sure to shower!" You whisper-yelled.

That made him laugh. The loud and cute laugh of his. The exact laugh you wish you had heard when he was on the ice after your quick five-second-jumbotron fame. You felt so soft all over, like you were swimming on the clouds with Quinn's laugh on repeat in your had.

"Longer then? Thirty?"

"Thirty. I'll wait for you, Quinny. I love you."

"I love you more."

You both spent a whole minute just listening to each other's silence before you ended the call with a soft kissing noise which made him laugh again, leaving you so happy like you won the world when it was Quinn who won the game.

I tried my best. This was written with me who doesn't attend hockey games face-to-face (or any sports) as an avid TV watcher (i fear the crowds).

-> more thoughts? List.

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you think you'd be able to write smth with pillow prince! quinn x reader by any chance? Your luke one was so so good!

Hey there, lovely. I am so happy that you liked pillow prince Lukey (here). My braincells turned into a more angst route, but don't worry you will be swooping in to save the day.

Disclaimer: This fic is in no way telling that Q gets panic attacks. This is only fiction. If you experience panic attacks, there are many ways to manage them—grounding and breathing techniques and medication. You will be okay. You can skip over the Angst. There will be a blue page-break. Only if you want to...Do whatever that pleases you, lovelies.

Sidenote, new banner format unlocked...how do we feel about it? 🥺 (Canva is a lifesaver. Like always, pictures came from Pinterest. We thank Pinterest gods.)

18+. Whore thoughts. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Severe Panic attack (Hyperventilation, verge of passing out). Self-doubts. Smut. Pillow prince!Quinn. Dom/Sub Dynamic: Subby Quinn. Unprotected sex. ⬇️

Quinn tried so hard.

As a captain, he needed to come up with strategies on ice. As a captain, he must lead his team to victories. As a captain, he must endure. His pain didn't matter. He needed to play through gritted teeth, swallowing groan as he pushed his muscles harder, keeping his face free from any signs of discomfort, any signs of weakness. He must be strong. He must be resilient. He must. He must.

Yet even the strongest soldiers break.

As soon as Quinn exited his car, his head was spinning. His axis tilted while he turned his front door open. He could barely locked the door as he sagged against the wall, his chest squeezing, the corners of his vision darkening and compressing closer and closer until he had no choice but to close his eyes, yet even the darkness closed in. Tighter. Squeezing him. Caging him.

Cold sweat beaded his skin. His hands trembled with the violent shivers running down his body. His heart pounded, slamming violently against the chest that felt like vise. He needed out, yet the only thing he could do was drop to the floor as he panted shallow breaths that did nothing for him. He couldn't breath, taking in a lot of air yet no oxygen reaches arteries. He gripped the front of his shirt, right over his chest. He covered his lips with his other hand.

He tried controlling his breath, tried forcing himself to breathe through nose, tried to exhale as long as he could. Yet he failed. Just like how he failed to get his team a win tonight.

He couldn't do this. No matter what he did, it didn't feel enough. If he couldn't even get his shit together, how could he lead the—

"Quinn!"

Your voice sounded faraway, muted, distorted, like he was underwater while you were screaming for him, but it managed to bring him up. He opened his eyes to see you rushing towards him with a paperbag. You held it securely over his mouth and nose, gripping him by his shoulders, pushing him against the wall using your hand that clasped his.

"Breathe, Q," you said. "Match my breaths."

Quinn tried, his tears falling when he couldn't. His vision turned more splotchy, tears falling down his cheeks. He was going to pass out.

"Breathe for me, Quintin," you ordered. Your voice deepened a tone as you push against his chest harder. "Breathe. For. Me."

Quinn focused. His whole being stood in attention to your words. For you, he would. One breath at a time.

Through dimmed vision, he looked on the rise and fall of your chest. When you inhaled, he inhaled. When you exhale, he did. Then you started telling him to focus.

You demanded five things he could see. His eyes, with blurry and tight vision, trailed.

Your diamond stud earrings. Your hoodie that was his. The hair clip that held all your hair. The flowers he had brought yesterday that was now on a vase. Your face, tight with worry.

He nodded. Now, you asked for four things he could touch. His hand moved.

The cold tiles of the hallway. The grout in between. The softness and firmness of your hand that gave him reassuring squeeze. The delicate skin of your cheek with wetness of your tear that fell as you blinked.

He nodded. You sought three things he could hear. His ears listened beyond his ragged breaths.

Your music blaring from the living room. Someone's dog barking through the night. Your voice as you muttered his name—firm and strong yet so afraid.

He dipped his chin. He's no longer suffocating but trapped. You urged for two things he could smell. He used his inhale beyond breathing.

The lingering smell of what you've cooked. Your soft, sweet, florally perfume.

He held your cheek. His hand was not as shaky. His heart was not beating in pain. He leaned forward, his tears rolling down his cheeks. One look from him and you knew what he needed. Still, you asked for what he could taste, before you crossed the space and pressed your lips against his.

You with the taste of caramel and fruits and mint.

A whimper escaped him as he turned desperate when you deepened the kiss your tongue moving with his, encouraging him our of the darkest corners of his mind. You've brought him out of the confines of his mind, grounding him to reality that he wasn't alone.

After a few more seconds, you gave him one final peck. You rested your forehead against his, your hands on his cheeks, fingers grazing his jaw. You settled on his lap. He could feel you shaking—not as much as he did, but you are.

But before his guilt pooled in his chest, you muttered, loud and clear, "Oh, Quinn, my sweet boy. I got you. I got all of you."

He sobbed, his tongue finally working, no longer feeling like lead in his mouth. He told you about everything. Every fucking weight settling on his fucking shoulders. Every loss that piled and cut him down. His disappointment that fester because the playoffs felt so fucking faraway. He ranted and ranted.

You listened. Your hands moved, smoothening over his chest, his shoulders, his collarbones, his cheeks. Not once did you look at Quinn like you were tired of him. You knew he needed you so you provided your touch, your comfort, your presence. He knew you understood him. He knew because you knew him more than he did. You were always his pillar. So strong as you held every piece of him while he broke into pieces. So kind as you held him firmly, waiting for him to gather up those pieces, letting him feel your weight on his lap, on his chest more than the pressure on his shoulders.

"Let it out, Q." You started humming a tune that eased his soul. "You did what you can. It's enough. You're enough, Quinn."

Before you, if someone were to tell him that, he would scoff and would beat himself further down. Being in the NHL, those words sometimes felt untrue.

Now, with you, he greedily take it in. He desperately needed to hear it.

You knew that, so you repeated those words every time he crashed down, every time he get swallowed by panic attacks as soon as he reached his home.

The only place he could be vulnerable. The only place he could just be Quinn.

Not the Canucks captain.

Not anyone.

Just Quinn.

Minutes turning into an hour. You both would stay in the entry way until his tremors stopped, until he finished crying, until all that was left was Quinn, all pieced together, all comfortable with your hands rub his back.

"Feeling better?" You asked, pressing a kiss on his neck, right on his pulse. When he nodded, you grinned at him, pride shining in your eyes. "That's my good boy."

Shiver ran down his spine. The praise has engrained itself to his needs. He could barely say anything—too exhausted—standing up because you told him to, trailing after you then sitting down on the sofa because you told him to.

He followed everything you ordered. He feel secure and content when he does so.. It felt natural. It felt good. In this home, he didn't need to put up a front. He didn't need to exhaust himself by staying in control. He only needed—wanted and yearned—to let go because he was in good hands. Your hands. You were safe. The safest in this world.

He watched you scooped soup into bowls. He wasn't blind not to see the meal you had prepared—now in containers—that should be for dinner, but you knew he never liked eating after a panic attack. You quickly put it in the fridge before you came over with the bowls. For him and you.

"Eat," you said with a smile.

The hair on his body stood. His heart was, again, pounding in his chest. Fluttering in satisfaction, instead of thundering in pain. He loved your commands. Casual. Simple. Ever since the beginning of your relationship, you were in control. Not in a controlling way, no. More in a caring and loving way. Affectionate. It made him all mushy and pliant to your wishes. Quinn yearned your control over him. So he followed. No questions. No complaints.

You started talking about your day, further removing Quinn from any more lingering thoughts of everything that weighed him down. You told him about the parcels you had to unbox, happily telling Quinn that you washed the hoodie he had requested. The more you talk, the more his lips stretched into a smile, his gaze softening, his soup emptying.

At some point, after you took your bowls, after you take of your hoodie, Quinn's eyes wandered down to your chest, to your pebbled nipples, under your thin and cropped camisole. Then down to your exposed lower abdomen as your sweatpants—his—slid an inch as you settled beside him, your arm linking with his. Despite the exhaustion, his cock stirred.

He couldn't focus on the movie you started, not when you were so close, not when he realized you weren't wearing anything under those pants, not when you leg came up, wrapping around his, fully cuddling him. He couldn't listen or see beyond you. It got harder when you settled further, your thigh grazing his fucking hard-on as you slide it upwards.

"My love," he rasped, his hands turning into fists.

You smirked, eyes travelling to meet his. You moved your thigh, letting him to feel the friction, his blood thrumming through his veins. You teased, "Does my sweet boy need something?"

"Please," he begged, needing to touch you but he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Not without your permission.

He whined when you got off him. He hated the few seconds you weren't touching, but he sighed as your hands glide over his thighs, undoing his pants, unzipping him, tugging the waistband of his boxers. His cock sprung up. So hard that he was fucking dripping with pre-cum.

"You're so hard, Q. Look at you getting yourself wet." You grinned, your eyes tracking the bead sliding down and down, licking your beautiful lips. "Oh, so messy, Q. What will I do to you?"

Quinn cursed, gritting his teeth as you lazily jerked him. He panted, lifting his hips when you moved to remove his pants.

"Such a good boy," you praised, leaning over. Your tongue glided from his base to his tip, licking away the mess he was creating on himself. "Mmhmm, you're so divine, Quinn."

"Fuck!" He could only curse, stripping his shirt, hiding his face behind his arm as he weakly jutted his hips. "Oh, please, my Love." When you licked his sensitive slit—kissing, sucking, and spitting on it—his eyes rolled up just from the sensation, from the pleasure zapping though his whole body. "Don't wanna come so quickly. Can't."

"You can, Quinn. You can." You encouraged as you jerked him harder, using both your spit and his pre-cum. "I'll take care of you, Quinn. You can let go. I have you."

He shook his head, whimpering, whining, sobbing. He didn't know how to say it. He didn't want to come in your mouth even if it felt fucking amazing. No. He wanted—

"My sweet boy forgot his words," you hummed, standing up while your hand still jerked up and down his length. Just one push on your pants, it fell off. You mounted his lap, exchanging your hand with your pussy. So fucking wet as you ride along his length. "So needy, Quinn. Next time, I need you to tell me what you want, okay, handsome?"

You gripped his wrists, guiding his hands to your hips. He grasped them with need, anchoring himself to you as you finally take his cock into your weeping pussy.

"Yes." Quinn nodded, stuttering his moans. You were so tight, so perfect around him. So wet and ready for him. "Please.. Please. Please."

"Needy boy," you whispered into his ear, nipping his earlobe, sucking it. "My sweet, perfect, needy Quinn. You feel so good. Do I feel good?"

Your praises etched themselves deeper than anything that could touch him. All he could think about was how your pussy felt, how your hands touches him so gently yet so roughly as your nails dug into his skin, making him groan from the mixed sensation of pain and pleasure.

"Yes." He cried out.

Your pussy squeezed, making him writhe. You grabbed his cheeks, kissing him. You moan into it, into his soul, as you greedily swallowed his sounds. He could feel your smile, your delight. It was crystal clear to both of you that he was utterly yours. To take. To fuck. To love. That was exactly what Quinn wanted.

When you rolled your hips, taking him deeper, he let out a loud moan, his head tipping back. He gasped, breathing choppy whines as you kissed and marked his neck.

"That's it, Q. Just let go," you moaned. "You are perfect. There's not a thing that I would change about you. My good boy."

He still tried to hold back. Pleasure wrecked down his spine, his eyes turning blurry, his heart pounding, his balls tightening. He was so desperate to hear you say that he was your good boy. Especially when you started kissing and sucking the sensitive skin where his jaw meet his ear, when you kept encouraging him to let go. He tried and tried and tried, but he was so weak.

"I got you, Quinn," you said as you let out your moan. The familiar pulses of your pussy got Quinn's resolve to break. "Let's come together. Be a good boy for me. Come."

And he did. When your words became an order, it was harder to last. You wanted him to be good and he was. He came hard so hard that his eyes were once again rolling back. Every spurt felt like it was drawn from his very soul. His vision hazed over with a film but sharpened at the sight of your face of pleasure. Your pussy convulsed around his cock, as you let out your own shout as you crashed down with him.

You both panted, sweat dripping down your temples. It took you both minutes to recover. You laid on him, your camisole was now transparent on some places from your and his sweat. Your breaths hit each other's skin. Your lazy smiles marked your faces as much as the red-blue kissmarks you've made on his neck.

"I love you," Quinn muttered, hissing when you squeezed around him. He tucked your hair away from your face. "Thank you for bring me back. Thank you for being here."

"I will do everything for you, Quinn." You kissed his nose. Your eyes filled up with tears. "I love you, my Heart."

His eyes watered immediately from that. While he professed his love for every time he calls you his Love, you always did too when you call him your Heart. It meant that if he lived, you would too. Even if one of you fall deep into the trenches, the other would always be there, helping each other to heal, to be strong, to be whole.

You were two beings with lives entwined. Until you have children or not. Until you two grew old that your backs would curve. Until your next lives.

Not one of you would let go.

Never.

This could've been a drabble. It might get formatted into a drabble...who knows...Hope you like it! 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

-> more thoughts? List.

[ruinix]

I love them all 🥺🥺🥺

Hughes brothers snippet 😵‍💫

HEY LUKE (let me nibble on your biceps pls)

[ruinix]

I did it! I have my first blurb idea!!

Now I gotta figure out how to turn the images into words and get them out of my brain and onto a computer

-🐥

YAY BLURB IDEA 🥰🥳🥳🥳🥳 We CHEER.

I will be waiting for this blurb. Who are you writing about? I am already on my knees. 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️