#Quinn Hughes x reader

[oscquinn]

Okay wait

Quinn who absolutely would NOT move if you fell asleep on him, because he doesn't wanna wake his girl, because he'd feel bad. But if by accident he managed to wake you, he'd kiss your cheek softly and softly tell you that it was okay and to go back to sleep

SAVED THE BEST ONE FOR LAASSSTTTTT heheheh heres a little blurb :3 quinn hughes x reader, eated g. fluffff fluff fluff sm fluff. did i say fluff?

it's only mid-afternoon but you're sound asleep, body curled into quinn's on the couch. you had been working on a little knitting project, but the needles now lay discarded right next to your cheek. your boyfriend pretended not to notice when your fingers slowed, and kindly ignored your request to "wake me in ten if i drift off."

he feels a little bad for disrespecting your wishes, it's just... you're too cute, too sleepy, and too warm against him. he couldn't possibly disrupt you, not when you've been having so much trouble sleeping the past few nights.

so quinn lets you lay there, back rising and falling under his palm as your breathing evens out. he rubs his hand in small, slow circles, keeping you warm and comfortable. the deeper you fall into slumber, though, the closer your face moves to the pointed end of your knitting needles.

feeling a protective urge wash over him, quinn moves as slowly as possible to take the supplies and move them. he presses a kiss to your hairline, trying not to jostle you as he transferrs the items from one hand to the other, so he can place them to the side. only the yarn has other plans, and one loose end falls from the bundle to tickle your nose.

"five more minutes," you mumble, assuming he's waking you intentionally. "but just five. gotta clean the..." you trail off, jaw stretching around a yawn. "the... the guest room."

quinn stretches to place the yarn and needles on the coffee table, moving with a little more freedom now that you've come around, even slightly. once your craft supplies are out of his hands, he guides your head back against his chest. "shh, baby. it's okay, go back to sleep. we can clean later."

"mmm, okay," you respond happily, giving in to the gentle rumble of his voice and the comfort of his arms.

[withwritersblock]

The First Time

~The First Time by Damiano David~

Author's Note: hi so um this is another Ted Mosby inspired Quinn as in I lowkey replicated Ted and Victoria in my own way. But I couldn't stop thinking about them and this song so um here's this Summary: Quinn falls in love at first sight at his cousin's wedding Warnings: swearing, erm idk about anything else Word count: 7,426 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

Quinn was starting to hate weddings. Especially weddings that led to the dreaded question. When’s your wedding, Quinny? As if he knew. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone have a wedding to plan. He was tired of wearing his wedding suit, yes the suit that he wore to every wedding he attended every year. Which seemed to become a longer list the longer he was in the league.

The boys were all getting married at an accelerated rate, which meant a thousand weddings a summer. At least that’s what it feels like. He was getting tired of it. But of course alcohol made that process easier.

Except the reception hasn’t even started yet and he was not allowed to indulge into the open bar until that was done. He was dreading the ceremony. At first, he thought that it was because it was how similar all weddings were and how each ceremony was the same. But something was nagging at him. Maybe it was the fact that he was jealous. 

It was exhausting watching each of his friends tie the knot with the woman they’ve been in love with for years. Quinn hasn’t felt that type of love before. Sure, he’s loved someone. Maybe he was in love at some point. But nothing to the point where he looked like his cousin Jacob right now. His cousin was in the midst of trying not to cry during his vows.

Quinn cannot recall a time, he’s ever loved someone that deeply. It was craving that he couldn’t shake. But it was never a feeling you could steal or alter or pretend. It was genuine, he knew it would happen when it would happen. Dammit was he done waiting.

His gaze scanned the bridal party. Luke was up there in a brown suit, alongside the other groomsmen in the exact attire. Luke and Jacob were instant best friends as they were born weeks apart. There was no doubt that he would be a part of the party. Quinn’s gaze looked toward the bridesmaids and looked over each of their vastly different dresses. They were the same shade of brown. 

Quinn thought that it was a bit of an odd wedding color choice but it wasn’t his wedding so he didn’t linger on that thought very long. His eyes dropped back down towards his lap as he took in a deep breath. He needed the ceremony to be over as his heart was slamming hard against his chest. Maybe he needed a drink. Maybe he was becoming an alcoholic in training from all these torturous weddings.

Jack nudged his arm against Quinn. He lifted his gaze, glancing towards his brother who was trying to mouth a few words to him but Quinn couldn’t comprehend anything that he was trying to get across. But Quinn’s gaze lingered on the longing look that Jack’s girlfriend was giving him. Quinn dropped his eyes back towards his lap. He’s never been looked at like that. At least to the extent of his knowledge. He’s never seen love in someone’s else’s eyes. He was craving that feeling in his chest desperately. 

He hated being a hopeless romantic. It really was hopeless.

The ceremony was coming to a close and the guests were beginning to gather towards the reception that was only a building over. The wedding was on the same lot with a neighboring hotel to cater all of the guests.

Quinn wandered into the reception, alone. As the rest of the Hughes family waited for Luke to be done with photos. Quinn desperately needed a drink. The reception was starting to get started as a few of his relatives were on the dance floor and many others were staking claim at a few tables scattered around.

He made his way directly to the bar. Smiling towards the bartender, he met the man’s gaze. “What can I do for you?” he asked Quinn.

Quinn nodded, “A beer is fine, thank you,” he expressed as he pulled his wallet out to tip the bartender. The bartender turned around to retrieve the beer for him as Quinn placed a ten dollar bill onto the bar top. 

He sat down on the barstool as he leaned against the counter. He looked over the reception and admired each group. He admired the way they were laughing and smiling and simply enjoying each other’s time. 

His eyes continued to scan the groups of people when his gaze landed on her. It was as if the rest of the world faded away. Everything around her was blurry and she was as bright as the sun. Quinn’s body froze with his entire body erupting in tingles while admiring her.

She was sitting at a table alone, her gaze staring towards the red drink in her hand. He concluded she was drinking a vodka cranberry. She was spinning the tiny straw as she kept her gaze low. She was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. So beautiful that all of the air in his lungs disappeared as he continued to admire her from afar. 

He took a sharp breath as he reached towards the beer beside him. Nearly knocking it over in the process. Quinn cleared his throat as he brought the beer towards his lips. His eyes still admired her from the distance, forgetting to breathe once again as she lifted her gaze to meet him from across the room. His cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink.

He could barely see her eyes from a distance but he knew he never wanted to look somewhere else. He took a long sip of his beer before he left it onto the counter top half full as he stood up from the barstool. He had every intention of meeting her, he needed to meet her and get her to fall in love with him.

“Hey Quinn,” he heard as a hand slammed against his shoulder. Quinn’s entire body jolted as he looked towards the side to see that Luke and Jack were beside him. He acknowledged that they were there for only a moment before he turned his gaze back towards the woman drinking a vodka cranberry across the way. 

And she was gone, completely disappeared as if she was a figment of his imagination. Maybe she was because she was too out of this world stunning to be real. He let out an exasperated sigh as he forced his gaze back towards his brothers.

“What was that, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Jack teased as he brought his own beer towards his lips. It made him wonder how long the pair of them had been standing there to already have drinks in their hands. Did they watch him practically fall in love with a potential hallucination?

“Nothing,” Quinn muttered as he reached beside him for the beer he nearly abandoned. He brought it back towards his lips as he had one intention for the rest of the night. He needed to find her again. 

Jack and Luke shared suspicious glances before they returned to drinking their beers. “Well, it seems like the Hughes side didn’t take a second to slow down,” Jack joked as he pointed to the dance floor where every one of their relatives were dancing without an ounce of hesitation or care in the world.

“Yeah, it’s not in the genes apparently,” Quinn said half heartedly as he rested the now empty beer onto the counter. “Can I get tequila soda?” he asked the bartender and he nodded as he began to make the drink for him.

“Need something stronger, huh Bud?” Luke teased. Quinn laughed sarcastically as he continued to scan the reception, hoping their eyes would connect once more. Yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

“I’m starting to hate weddings,” Quinn expressed while he looked behind him for his new drink. The bartender was sliding it towards him at that exact moment. Quinn smiled polietly before he brought the short glass towards his lips.

“Yeah me too,” Luke muttered as he took a longer sip of his beer while stifling a laugh.

Quinn kept scanning the crowd, his posture straightened once he caught a glimpse of her in the distance. She was at the table where the beautiful eight tier cake rested. She was reorganzing the cupcakes that surrounded it in such delicate fashion. He took a deep breath as his lips curled upward.

She was very real and very out of this world beautiful. She spun on her heel, maybe knowing that he was looking her way. Their eyes met. The corner of her lips curled upward as she turned back around to continue to rearrange the cupcakes.

Quinn took another deep breath as if her attention on him meant he was finally able to breathe for the first time. Jack and Luke followed Quinn’s gaze towards the girl. Chuckles falling from their lips in the process.

“Now the last five minutes make total sense,” Luke muttered as he took another sip of his beer. 

Quinn rolled his eyes as he finished the tequila soda before he rested it back down ontot he counter. He didn’t acknowledge the boys as he made his way through the sea of people. He made his way towards the table with the cupcakes and the cake. It was a beautiful area of desserts that he couldn’t wait to enjoy. 

He walked beside her, fighting off a wide toothy grin. “Hey,” he let out as he was hoping to catch her attention. She lifted her gaze up, a small smile on her lips. 

“Hi,” she let out as she turned her attention towards him. She delicately crossed her arms over her chest as she met his gaze. 

“So I’m assuming you’re here for the bride?” he asked, cringing at the question himself. She let out a small chuckle. “I mean my cousin Jacob is the groom and so I know all of his side of this whole thing. So you must be here for the bride,” 

“Actually, I made the eight tiered wedding cake with all of the assortment of cupcakes. I’ve been waiting for my delivery team to drop it off. And they placed everything all wrong. My eight tiered cake is not in the center but I am doing my best to fix it,” she explained as she turned her focus back onto the cake and turned the cake holder slightly to the right. 

“You keep saying eight tiered cake, it’s starting to sound like a fake phrase,” he offered jokingly.

“Oh because it’s impressive that I made all of this by myself. And it’s a little sad that you haven’t said that an eight tier cake is impressive because this is impressive,” she said jokingly. 

He grinned widely as he let out a small laugh. “It is a very impressive cake,” he teased. 

“Thank you so much,” she said somewhat sarcastically as she looked back into his eyes. He squinted his eyes slightly while his gaze dipped towards her lips for only a second before he looked back up towards her eyes. 

“I’m–”

“Before you do that, I have to ask you a super important question,” she offered as she took another step towards him. Their eyes remained connected in the process. He nodded encouragingly. “What are your intentions here? Are you trying to hook up or fall in love because I don’t do either at weddings,” 

He smirked as he nodded very hesitantly. “Well, what if I told you that my only intention was to check out this beautiful, very impressive cake,” he said quietly. 

“Really?” she teased.

“Maybe,” 

She smirked as she felt her heart start to race the longer she looked into his eyes. Something was causing the butterflies to erupt in her stomach as she continued to look into his strong and powerful gaze.

“I have a rule that I don’t hook up at weddings,” she stated while awkwardly resting her hands onto her hips.

“Okay then let’s fall in love,” he offered. He knew it was cheesy as he said it but he didn’t care. The giggle that fell from her lips was worth it. He never wanted to hear another sound ever again.

“I have a rule against that too,” she mumbled while fighting off a grin. Quinn swallowed harshly as he looked behind him. He saw his brothers watching from across the way near the bar. He pursed his lips forward as he looked back towards her. Smiling softly in the process.

“Do you have a rule against having a conversation with me while fetching your drinks?” he questioned while crossing his arms over his chest. He swayed from one foot to the other. 

“I do not have a rule against that,” she offered.

“What would you like to drink?” Quinn said as he glanced down to the glass that was empty on the table. She reached down and took a hold of it. Carefully, she handed it towards Quinn, their hands brushed against one another in the process. A nervous grin fell onto her lips as she quickly brought her hands back to her sides. 

“Vodka cranberry with lime would be amazing,” she said happily. 

“With lime,” he muttered as he took a step back while tapping his finger against the side of the glass. 

“I’ll be sitting here,” she said pointing to the table only a few feet in front of them. 

“I’ll be back,” he offered quietly as he started walking through the sea of people back towards the bar and back towards his brothers. No doubt already on their third beer well before the party even truly started. 

“Hello, can I get another tequila soda and a vodka cranberry, please,” he refers to the bartender, completely ignoring his brothers. He heard stifled laughs falling from both of his brothers while he shook his head as he fought off a laugh. “Will you guys just shut up,” he said through a giggle. 

“So who’s that?” Jack sing-songed. 

“Shut up,” Quinn mumbled as he pulled his wallet out to tip the bartender. 

“Your eyes are-like-glued to her,” Luke let out as he pointed behind him. At the motion, Quinn spun his head around to look in her direction. “See,” Luke said with a giggle. “So what’s her name?”

“No idea,” he let out with a dry laugh.

“You were just talking with her for like five minutes and you never got her name?” Jack chimed in.

“She has these rules about meeting people at weddings and–” Quinn trailed off as the drinks rested in front of him, “I’m leaving, bye,” he muttered as he took a hold of the short glasses and started making his way through the crowd again. 

As Quinn walked up towards the table. He carefully rested the drink in front of her as he pulled out his own chair. He rested his own drink down as he sat down beside her. “Thank you very much,” she offered as she brought the drink towards her lips. She took a very tiny sip before she rested it down onto the table.

“Of course,” he let out as he took a small sip of his own. Their eyes connected and the corner of her lips curled upward as she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. “So you’re really not going to tell me your name?” he asked teasingly.

She chuckled as she tilted her head to the side while looking into his eyes. “It helps prevent the whole hooking up or falling in love part of my rules,” she expressed.

“Right and why do you have these rules, what’s the story there?” Quinn questioned while leaning towards her subtly. He brought the drink towards his lips. She grinned while she also brought her drink towards her lips.

“Isn't it kinda obvious? A few bad hookups that led to a few bad relationships. It’s also not great for business, when you keep hooking up with your customers’ guests.” she explained the last part through a giggle. Quinn nodded along while chuckling. 

“I get that,” he expressed. The groom and the bride entered the reception, causing everyone to erupt into cheers. Quinn turned his head to follow the noise, watching his cousins kiss his bride. Quinn dropped his gaze towards his lap, his entire body filling with envy at the sight. As the reception fully started, the food was being passed around and the party was getting fully started.

Jack jogged up towards Quinn, “Quinn, Quinn, Quinn hey Quinn–Lukey gave me the number to the maid of honor–look at how pretty she is,” Jack said as he pointed in the direction behind him. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where he was looking. 

Before Quinn could even react, Jack disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Quinn fought off a grin as he looked over and met her gaze. He took a deep breath. 

“So I’m Quinn,” he let out while meeting her gaze. She giggled as she brushed her hair away from her face.

“I’m Y/N,” she whispered as she leaned towards him. 

“I’m so sorry about him and breaking one of your rules,” Quinn expressed as he pointed behind him. Y/N let out a soft laugh before she brought the drink towards her lips. She rested it back down onto the table. 

“It’s okay,” she muttered as she looked towards the caterers that were handing out the meals to each table. She mentally connected the dots that she would need to start preparing the cake for the guests. Jacob and his bride wanted nothing to do with the dramatic cake cutting, explicitly in their instructions to not make it a huge moment. 

For the next hour, they both sat together and talked about anything and everything. Conversations flowed so easily, Quinn has never had it so easy with a girl before. But he knew what it was from the moment they met. This moment together would be the end. Because he respected that she had those rules. Despite how stupid he found them, it wasn’t his place.

But Quinn knew that you couldn’t fall in love with someone at first sight or at first conversation. It takes time to fall in love with someone, to really fall in love with them. He knew that. He swore he knew that but the way his heart fluttered as she spoke or the way her smile lit up his entire world. He’s never felt like this before.

But it would be momentary. Just for the night. That’s all he knew.

“I’m sorry, I need to start preparing the cake,” she offered as she stood up, leaving her glass on the table.

“I can grab you another drink, if you’d like,” Quinn offered as he stood up from the table. Quinn took a hold of both of their glasses, she smiled towards him as a thank you.

“Better not, once I am done with cutting the cake I am heading home. But thank you,” she offered as she took a few steps away from him towards the table.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere,” he offered as he pointed towards her with the glass still in his hand. She giggled as she turned towards the dessert table to begin cutting the cake. 

Quinn walked back towards the bar, returning the glass as he asked for another tequila soda. It was his fourth drink of the night but he wasn’t feeling it yet. He wasn’t feeling anything at this point. There was no way he was going to let her go. He couldn’t. He would never forgive himself if he let her go.

The bartender nodded as Quinn pulled his wallet out again to tip him. The drink only took a few seconds for him to make and place back in front of Quinn. He took a long sip as he drifted his gaze towards her as one of the other caterers started assisting her with the many plates that were needed for the cake. 

He made his way back over to the table where Jacob and his bride were standing there talking with Y/N. “–seriously, Y/N. You are incredible. The cake looks literally amazing. The cupcakes are out of this world. We would love for you to…” Quinn tuned out what the bride was saying to Y/N as Jacob smacked his hand against Quinn’s shoulder.

“I’m fucking married, man,” he let out, astounded at the statement leaving his lips. Quinn laughed while giving him a brief side hug.

“How does it feel, kid?” Quinn asked with a smirk toying to his lips. Every few seconds he looked towards Y/N as she was listening to Jacob’s bride rant clearly tipsy. 

“Like the best feeling in the world,” Jacob said while shaking his head. Jacob was also quite tipsy evidently. Which is well deserved. “I cannot wait to be like–really married, man, like really in the thick of it. I can’t wait for…” Quinn began to tune him out as his gaze landed on Y/N. 

She was almost done making the servings for the near two hundred people in the reception. Her smile was polite but genuine towards the bride. Quinn couldn’t believe that he may be letting this girl go because she was perfect. He was in love with her. That had to be the feeling he had in his chest because somehow he’s forgotten how to breathe but every breath he takes is like breathing for the first time ever. 

He wouldn’t tell her any of that. He wasn’t that crazy because he was crazy. This is crazy. He doesn’t even know her last name and he doesn’t even know if he’ll ever see her again. 

“–But listen, man. My beautiful wife and I are going to enjoy this cake without smashing it into each other’s faces because we are not tacky,” he offered, smacking another hand onto Quinn’s shoulder. 

Quinn watched as Jacob wrapped his arms around his bride and guided her towards the table with the cake slices set on paper plates. Paper plates that had their faces printed on them. Odd decision, once again. But having your faces on paper plates isn’t tacky, sure, Jakey whatever you say. 

“Well, my job here is done,” Quinn heard her say beside him. His gaze landed on Y/N and he smiled once their eyes connected. His smile faltered slightly as he realized that this would be the end. “It was lovely meeting you, Quinn,” she offered as she didn’t break eye contact once.

“You can’t leave without one dance,” Quinn said as he subtly pointed towards the dance floor. She shook her head slightly. “Aw come on, you have to put that pretty dress to use. Twirl a little,” he said teasingly.

She smiled as she felt herself start to blush. “You said that your entire family is here. I am not going to dance with you in front of your entire family–I am a stranger and that would be weird,” she explained while taking an urgent yet hesitant breath. He pursed his lips forward as his gaze dipped down to hers. Her lips were covered in a clear gloss, he wondered if it was scented or if it was just making her lips look so pretty.

“Then let’s go somewhere private,” he let out. She thought he was joking but the smirk on his lips told a completely different story. “Come on,” he offered while holding his hand out towards her. Their eyes remained connected as she felt her heart leap up into her throat in the process. Glancing towards the caterer that was in the process of cleaning up the minor mess that he left behind, she delicately rested her hand into his hand. 

His smile widened as he spun on his heel and started guiding her away from the reception. He was not quite sure exactly where he was heading but he swore there would be another, smaller, ballroom where they could have some privacy. 

His hand started tingingly as it was connected with hers. It was as if a magnet finally connected with their hands interlocked. His heart was slamming against his chest, desperate for her to lose her stupid rules and fall in love with him. Since he definitely has fallen in love with her. 

Quinn was right, there was a small secluded ballroom directly behind the one Jacob’s reception was held. Nearly to the point where the music was so loud, they could still dance as if they were inside the reception. Quinn glided his thumb along the top of her hand before he stopped in the center of the ballroom. 

Their eyes were connected as they were lips were only a few inches apart. She took a hesitant breath as she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. He carefully looped his arms around her waist, their bodies were close. It felt right, with their bodies nearly pressed so close to one another, it was right. 

“This is a first for me,” she offered barely above a whisper.

“What is?” he asked quietly as he looked deeply into her eyes. She returned the gaze as she twisted some pieces of his hair between her fingertips.

“I don’t dance with a guy I just met in a ballroom…alone,” she offered somewhat teasingly. He giggled.

“Well, for your information, I don’t go around asking beautiful girls to dance privately in a ballroom the first night I meet her,” he said. A small giggle fell from her lips, he loved making her laugh. “Usually, I wait until the fifth date for that,” he offered as he leaned towards her. She rolled her eyes playfully. 

You Don’t Know Me by Michael Buble began to play in the reception. There were a few squeals from some of the women in the other ballroom. Jacob said that his bride loved his music and Quinn was surprised this was the first time his music played.

To his surprise, Y/N rested her head onto his shoulder, her head facing away from him. Quinn smiled softly as he slowly blinked, he continued to sway their bodies back and forth. 

Quinn’s heart was slamming against his chest so hard he was starting to worry that it would explode in his chest. His hand slowly began to absentmindedly run along her back, his hands remained respectful. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, rather he would never do that unless he was joking. But he continued to glide one of his hands up her back and lower down her back.

Their bodies swayed perfect sync. They moved in a small subconscious circle, moving about the open space. He heard her humming along to the song, the corner of his lips curled upward at the sound. His heart was so full from this moment, with yes the woman he loved. He wouldn’t dare let it slip from his lips but he knew that the feeling burning in his chest was the desire that only love could bring.

The song started to reach the bridge, nearing the end of the song. Slowly, she lifted her head up as their noses nearly bumped into one another. Some of her hair was blocking her face, without hesitation he raised his hand up and tugged the hair behind her ear.

His thumb glided along her jaw for a moment that caused her breathing to hitch in her throat. His gaze remained on her glossed lips, craving the taste that her lips would bring. He inched towards her as she inched towards him. Their lips were nearly already touching, craving each other. Quinn’s thumb glided along her jaw once more as he nearly kissed her with everything he had.

“We’re not going to kiss tonight,” she whispered as her own eyes remained on his lips. Yet, she leaned away from him in the process.  Quinn grinned as he ran his hand down her side before he settled them on the small of her back.

“That’s okay,” he whispered as he lifted his gaze up, watching them flicker up to meet his eye. 

“It is?” she questioned barely above a whisper.

“There’s a rule against that at weddings, remember?” he leaned towards her, whispering in her ear. “Falling in love is against the rules,” he whispered as he pulled back.

“Right,” she let out, almost as if she wasn’t believing it. 

“I’ve got a question though,” he whispered as their eyes remained connected. She nodded slowly. “I don’t want to watch you walk away, that’ll ruin this moment,” he whispered. 

A small smirk formed on her lips, “That wasn’t a question,” she said quietly. He smiled as he tilted his head to the side.

“I want this moment to be perfect and you walking away will just ruin that memory,” he expressed quietly. She nodded as she ran her thumbs along the side of his neck.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. 

“What?” he questioned breathily, masked with a laugh.

“I’m serious, close your eyes and count to ten in your head,” she whispered again. He stared towards her suspiciously, meeting her gaze he nodded.

After a few seconds, he listened and shut his eyes. His breath caught in his throat as he felt her hands glide off of his frame, his hands slipping from her frame. He didn’t count, simply feeling her vanish from his life almost as quickly as she entered it. 

He kept his eyes shut, probably for a lot longer than ten seconds but he wanted to keep the last image in his mind. He wanted to remember this moment knowing that he’ll probably never see the love of his life again. Yes, he was dramatic and yes he knew deep down in his heart that she probably wasn’t the love of his life. But the ache in his chest feeling her body drift away from him was the worst feeling in the world.

Yep, this was definitely worse than watching her walk away. Eventually, he opened his eyes and was alone. The music was loud and still playing slow songs, Ed Sheeran was playing in the other room. A song he knew but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

Quinn lazily took a step behind him, spinning in a one-eighty as he half expected to see her standing behind him. But yet she was gone. Completely vanished and his heart was heavy. He stood in the empty ballroom, lazily doing another spin as he looked towards the hallway that they entered the ballroom through. He realized that’s probably where she vanished.

He took a deep breath as he found himself doing another spin, wanting to savor the memory. He let out a long drawn out breath as he decided it would be best if he left early. He stumbled slightly as he made his way towards the exit in search for the hotel that was in the same lot as the reception.

~~~

He slept better than he thought with her slipping from his life. He swore that she was going to change her mind but she stood firm. Firm enough to leave without saying goodbye. But maybe that part was on him. Since he was the one who told her that he didn’t want to watch her walk away. That would’ve been the worst thing in his mind. 

His brothers were on their way over to his hotel room, they allegedly ordered Denny’s for breakfast and were willing to share. Quinn shot up from the bed as he walked towards the door. He pulled it open to see Luke covering his eyes. Jack was using the Denny’s takeout bag to block his eyes. The bag was huge. They really ordered the whole menu it seemed.

“What are you dickheads doing?” Quinn asked as he swung the door open, letting them walk inside.

“You disappeared last night, we assumed you brought home that girl. Is it safe?” Luke asked teasingly as he stepped into the room, separating his fingers as he peeked inside. He dropped his hands to the side, somewhat disappointed in his older brother that there was in fact zero sign of a hookup.

“I did not, I didn’t even get her number,” Quinn mumbled regrettably as he plopped down onto the bed as Jack began to pull out the different meals. Luke’s mouth fell open as he sat down on the chair near the large window. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jack asked as he dropped a take out container that held pancakes with strawberries on it. 

“She has rules that she doesn’t hook up at weddings, okay?” Quinn defended as he caught the plastic silverware that Luke tossed towards him.

“Isn’t that the point of being single at weddings?” Jack questioned as he handed a container towards Luke. He opened without a single piece of hesitation.

“She works weddings, I guess it becomes awkward or whatever,” Quinn mumbled while he ripped open his plastic silverware. “I enjoyed my night with her and I am content knowing that I’ll never see her again.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jack and Luke both said at the same time. Quinn raised his hand up and flipped them off in the process.

“It’s true. I am okay that I will never see her again and that she’ll just be that one girl I danced with at my little cousin’s wedding. That’s all,” Quinn explained.

“You didn’t dance with her, we would’ve seen you,” Jack offered with a mouthful of pancakes.

“She thought it would be weird if we danced in front of my entire family. So we went next door to the tiny ballroom and danced together there. We almost kissed and then she was gone. End of story,”

“Wait–”  Jack held his hand up as he spoke.

“Let me see if I’m getting this right,” Luke interrupted. Jack nodded encouragingly. “You spent over an hour flirting with this girl and getting her drinks.”

“Right so far,” Quinn uttered teasingly.

“She tells you that nothing will happen with you and you still ask her dance,”

“Bingo,” 

“She tells you not in front of your family so you take her next door. Slow dance, stare all lovey dovey towards one another and then you don’t kiss her.”

“Right on the money, little bro,” Quinn expressed, a smirk toying his lips.

“What happens after you don’t kiss her?” Jack questioned tossing his hands to his side. Quinn rolled his eyes playfully.

“I told her that I didn’t want to watch her walk away because it would ruin the moment,”

“Sure,” Jack let out sarcastically. Luke took a dramatic bite of his food to hide his laughter.

“So she told me to close my eyes and count to ten and I did and she was gone. Which might I add is possibly worse than watching her walk away but that’s the end of that,” Quinn explained, dropping his gaze towards the pancakes in front of him. He took a dramatic bite.

“So that’s it?” Jack and Luke said at the same time, still dumbfounded at the whole conversation. Quinn nodded.

“You never want to see her again?” Jack asked.

“It’ll ruin the whole–memory or whatever. And besides I live in Vancouver and she probably lives in the Toronto area. Why would I track her down just to never see her again because I don’t live in Toronto,” he explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jack smirked as he took a deep breath. A blush formed to his lips as he furrowed his eyebrows harshly. “So if I told you, I grabbed her business card from the dessert table and had the address of her business you wouldn’t want to go see her?” Jack offered as he held up the tiny card in his hand. 

Quinn would be lying if he said he didn’t feel his stomach do rock star kicks and flip as he saw the tiny card. He could barely read her name on the front but it was obviously her card.

“You’re blushing,” Luke pointed a dramatic finger towards him and Quinn fought off a grin forming to his lips.

“She didn’t want it to become anything, so no, I wouldn't want to go see her. And–uh–did you forget the part where she probably lives in Toronto.” Quinn expressed as he took a long breath trying to relax his body. 

Jack still had that smug smirk on his lips and Quinn knew that he had some bullshit up his sleeve. He chose to ignore it, well that lasted all of four seconds as Jack twisted the card around. There was a tiny cartoon plane on the card with words he couldn’t make out.

“Even if the card says ‘We’re moving to Vancouver! Enjoy our treats while you can!’” Jack read out while fighting off a fit of laughter. 

Quinn’s eyes widened as he jumped up from the bed, “Shut up, it does not say that,” Quinn expressed as he stormed towards Jack. He ripped the card from Jack’s hands and read the words himself. It was true. “Oh shit,” he mumbled barely audible. He continued to hold the business card close to his face as he spun it in his hand. Her name spread across the front of the card. 

His heart jolted again in the same way their eyes first met. A smile formed to his lips as he lifted his gaze up and met Jack’s eyes.

“Go get ready, we are on a mission,” Jack ushered Quinn by pushing him away. Quinn nodded encouragingly as he jogged towards his bathroom. He needed to get ready to go see her again. Jack turned to Luke, “Is it bad that I really want to just go get more of her cupcakes?” 

“No, I dreamed about that cake last night, it was so good,” Luke said while giggling.

It took him a long forty minutes to get ready. His shower was fast but he was careful with his hair; he needed it to be absolutely perfect. 

He was starving. Which meant that every two seconds he would jog back into the hotel room to take a few bites of his pancakes before he went back into the bathroom. There were several shouts from Jack to just take it with him but he rejected the idea.

But now they were in the car and only a few minutes away from the bakery. Luke saw that they were open online despite Quinn’s protest that they could be closed since it was a Sunday. But they were open and Quinn was officially nervous. 

“What are you going to tell her?” Jack asked from the backseat as he tapped his hands against Quinn’s shoulders.

Quinn had no fucking clue. He had absolutely zero idea of what to say to her. Everything about last night was perfect except one thing. He didn’t fucking kiss her. She said no but the way she sounded disappointed when he agreed; he should’ve suspected that she wanted more. He respected her wishes but right now he is respectfully no longer doing that.

He craved the feeling he had in his chest, the ach and the desperation to be around someone. He craved wanting someone so bad that it actually hurts. It’s physically painful knowing that he let her go. He let her disappear and slip away from him.

He should’ve kept his hands on her waist, desperately slam his lips against hers. Something. He needed something to make the moment better than the near perfection that it was between them. His heart was beating for her and he needed that feeling again.

Would he tell her that he loved her, that the moment their eyes connected he fell in love? The second their eyes connected it was love at first sight, something he swore was a myth. Something straight out of the movies that reality couldn’t handle.

“Quinn?” Jack asked, tapping his fingers against his shoulders again. Quinn shook his head and looked outside of the passenger window to see her at the register. He took a deep breath, finally able to breathe again once he saw her in the distance. Her smile was so genuine and the sparkle in her eyes could be seen from several feet away and inside a tinted car. “Holy shit dude,” Jack said as Quinn fell silent.

The people that were inside left, a cupcake in each of their hands. Quinn could hear his heartbeat in a fast cadence. He saw the door swing open and shut. 

“What if this is a mistake? What if she doesn’t want to see me again? I mean what if she doesn’t want me like I want her?” 

“What do you want then, Quinn?” Jack asked quietly. 

Quinn shook his head slightly as he bit his bottom lip. He dropped his gaze towards his lap. “I’m going to sound fucking crazy if I say it,” Quinn let out as he clenched his fists for a moment before he rested his hands onto his thighs. 

“I think you would be crazy if you didn’t go in there,” Jack expressed quietly.

“Go,” Luke pushed him before he reached down and unbuckled the seatbelt for him. Quinn took another breath as he unwrapped the seatbelt away from him and reached towards the door handle and pushed the door open. 

“Bring me a cupcake,” Luke muttered as he tapped his hand against Quinn’s arm. 

“Can you be serious for onc–” Jack scolded Luke but Quinn let the door shut. He brushed off the comments his brothers made as he stepped out of the car. 

Quinn nearly collapsed as he stood up completely. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins so fast he was feeling slightly faint. He slammed the door shut, pulling his pants up slightly. He took a step like a baby deer trying to learn to walk. 

He spun his head around looking towards his brothers. They were both eagerly watching out of the windows. Luke gave Quinn a thumbs up. Quinn rolled his eyes as he continued walking towards the bakery. She had her back turned and her head down. 

Quinn took a deep breath as he pulled the door open. The door made a sound similar to windchimes as he stepped inside. “I’ll be with you in one second,” she sing-songed with her back still turned away. Quinn took a few steps inside, his heart fluttering hearing her voice. 

The flutter in his chest erupted as the same Michael Buble song that played last night was playing in the bakery shop. He kept his gaze towards her, an anticipatory grin on his lips as he waited for her to turn around.

Slowly, she spun around a customer service grin on her lips and quickly switched to a genuine one. Their eyes remained connected for a few seconds before a breathy laugh left her lips as she rounded the register and took fast steps towards him. Quinn’s eyes squinted as he watched her come closer to him, his heart nearly exploding in his chest as he watched her make her way towards him.

“Thank god,” she mumbled as she leaped towards him, connecting their lips instantly. 

He kissed her with so much urgency and love it was as if life would stop right here in this moment. Maybe he was okay with that, life ending while kissing her perfect lips. He took a hold of her cheeks, holding her head in place as her hands explored his body, desperate to find a perfect place to rest her hands. 

Reluctantly, he pulled back as he watched her eyes flutter open. He glided his thumb along her cheeks. 

“Feeling you slip away from me was so much worse than watching you walk away,” he mumbled as he looked deeply into her eyes. He leaned towards her, devouring her lips in the process.

After a few seconds it was her turn to pull away, “Leaving you standing there was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” she mumbled as she ran her hand down his chest. 

“Do you have any rules against the day after weddings?” he asked quietly while scanning her features. She shook her head ever so slightly. He nodded before he pressed his lips against hers with so much urgency. He stumbled backwards as he lowered his grip onto her waist to stablize her. 

[thesecretestblogever]

okay idk if this is as big brained as i think but HERE ME OUT, SECRET!! quinn hughes, “diet pepsi” by addison rae, either losing their virginities or like doing a “redo” of their first times. thank you 🥰

- Puck

HI PUCK <3

The idea of a "redo" type situation...

Somehow, you end up in Quinn's backseat (gotta love a nice Porsche SUV... keep it classy)

It's way roomier than the sedan you got on your 16th birthday, but Quinn still finds a way to complain.

"I'm gonna pull a muscle or something back here, I'm not as limber as I was back then," he complains. You're tangled up in the backseat, laid across the leather with the seatbelt buckles digging into your back. Quinn's slotted between your legs as he leaves messy kisses over your neck and grinds his hips down into yours. You can feel his bulge through his jeans and the denim is providing delicious friction on your clit.

"Shut up and put your head between my legs," you roll your eyes. He copies you, but does what he's told like a good boy.

The shuffle is just as awkward and cramped as it was all those years ago, but you make it work. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders as he works you open with his tongue. The car is steaming up, the windows slowly losing the view to the outside. Your fingers are curled tightly in Quinn's hair, your hips nearly humping his face until you come with a shudder and a soft moan.

You both realize as he's unbuckling his jeans that there's no condoms here, not even a spare in his wallet, and you make note to leave a supply stash in the center console later (and hope Luke or Jack doesn't find it when they're rooting around for gum).

You fuck, hot and bare in the backseats and it's just as good, if not better, than it was your first time. You're sweaty on the leather, and Quinn's long hair hangs around his face in damp locks, your hands constantly pushing it back so you can see his face better.

When he comes, his eyes scrunch shut and he bits his lips roughly ( a habit you've noticed - he's always chewing on them) to muffle the beautiful sounds still spilling out. It's easiest and cleanest that he fills you up and you take everything he has to give you, kissing him through it and drinking in the moans he makes.

You both lay there, catching your breath, even if it's not the most comfortable. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, holding him there and he would stay inside you forever if he could.

The garage door is closed, so there's nothing stopping you from hopping out of the car naked, and you get a slap to your bare ass on the way out. The kids are inside napping, and you wonder briefly if you have enough time to take a shower with your husband before they wake, and Quinn seems to have the same idea, trailing after you and unable to keep his hands off your skin.

[ruinix]

Quinn taking you to a date. Leading to sex please.

Hi. Been long...hi...drabble soon after this thought mayhaps? Jk. Lock me up. Brain, not working. I blame Quinn. How does he look so good in these recent pictures. 🫠

Kiss, Love, Fate

18+. Whore thoughts. Smut. A bit of Fluff. Unprotected Sex. Mention of Semi-Public sex. Oral sex (f receiving)

Taking you out on dates would always be Quinn's priority. He would love to do long walks anywhere as long as your hand would be gripping his or his hand securely holding your waist or hips or your lower back. He loved stirring you away from pedestrians when you were so engrossed with your rambles. Oh, his Love rambled a lot. About different things. Sometimes about work. Sometimes about your friends or family. Or sometimes, his most favorite one, about him.

He loved hearing whatever you would want to say. Even it was praise about hockey or him cleaning up—doing the laundry or dishes, cleaning the bathroom, fixing the flickering lights—in your shared home. He loved hearing your compliments even when he knew that it was the bare minimum, because he felt so good being seen in his little efforts.

He would take you to the lake, sailing with you while you were on your bikini or even long rashguards. Or to the beach, walking and running across the sands or even dancing, not caring about the stares from everyone else, because he knew that you loved doing that. He would be having so much fun in watching the sun set or rise.

When you weren't up for anything outdoors, he would settle in the couch with you, watching your shows, laughing when a scene was funny, covering his eyes when he wanted to bawl from a sad and heartbreaking scene. He didn't need to cover. Sure, you would tease him once or twice, but most of the time, you would hold him, looking at him with so much understanding, while you cried too. With you, he was safe.

He would spend hours with you and it could never be enough.

Not everything was perfect, you two would argue and raise your voices on each other. You would hate each other, but you would find each other, either sobbing from the high emotions and horrible things you both said, or fuckinng each other until your hate burned then simmer back into your need the other.

Dates were a must especially after arguments. Both of you would apologize and prove your love. Paying for meals—lunches on you, dinner on Quinn. Nonstop compliments that had you both blushing and stuttering messes. Touching your cheeks, arms, thighs while you were on his lap, your hand over his shoulder and messing his hair.

That last would easily make Quinn hard. It was the way your eyes stared into his, then his lips, then back. It was the way your fingers zapped heat just from grazing his scalp and from softly tugging or brushing his hair. It was the way you kissed him, the featherlight pecks that turned into a soft kiss with your tongue seeking entrance and he would fucking give in, ignoring the people getting fucking unconfortable with your public display of affection. Fuck them. They could look away.

When he got so fucking horny, he would tamp it down until the whole date was over, but he would fail. He would be dragging you back to the car. Sometimes he wouldn't make it. Not when you started teasing the hair on his arm. Not when you were whispering how wet you were. Not when you pointed out a perfect fucking spot to fuck. Quinn was a weak man.

He would cave and ravished you against the wall until you were screaming into his palm because you didn't know how to contain your moans. He loved your moans. And when your pussy was filled, your knees turning into jelly, he would fix both of you then you were back to the main objective: go home and fuck some more.

It would be so difficult for him to drive home, because you would tease him, holding his hand on your thigh, guiding it up your shirt, to your cum-filled pussy. Even when he gripped your inner thigh to put a stop to your antics, you would lead his fingers to your entrance, squeezing to let the mixture of you and him spill.

Again, you proved that he was weak. So fucking weak.

He would pull over, forcing your seat to slide back, making you move up the seat, so he could settle between your thighs—a difficult fucking position and he should've made you climb to the backseat but who fucking cares—and feast on your pussy. His body would be cramping up but he knew you. He knew the spot that had you grinding your pussy on his face, the technique that would make you come so quickly that had you crying because the orgasm would be force out of you so fucking fast, and the way to appease you by kissing you, letting you savor the mixture of your cums.

With your arousal shining on his chin, with the feel of your clit on his fucking nose, he would be driving home with his jaw clenched, gripping the stirring wheel so tightly that the leather creaked.

Quinn would barely look at you through the drive home or when he pulled into the driveway. He couldn't when his whole body burned with the need of you. If it was his choice, he would be fucking you against the hood of his car, but he needed to contain himself until you had the front door unlocked, until you bolted the door shut.

Then he would pounce on you. He would kiss you so hard, ordering you to speak, "Say it. Say the words." He would roughly unbutton or unlace or unzip your dress, while he nipped at your lower lip.

"I love you," you said, barely saying the words over his ravenous kiss. "I'm yours. All yours."

"Yes. All mine," he growled like an animal, because he was.

He would be fucking you in the hallway with his hand protecting the back of your head as he rutted into your pussy. He would be kissing your lips, your neck, your shoulder, your tits. Everywhere he could reach. All while he whispered that he loved you over and over again. He loved you so much that every day he would gladly burn from your reciprocation.

He would only stop when you came, but he would be taking you to the bedroom, fucking into you slowly, then going wild, rolling his hips to reach deeper. His words would be a mess as it mixed with his groans. It didn't matter because all he focused on was your sounds—your whines, your breathy moans, your please for more—and you beautiful fucked-out expression that had his eyes glistening with tears.

As he came, all he think about was that you were the one. He wouldn't feel so full of his love for you, if you weren't. He wouldn't try to make this work, if you weren't. He wouldn't yearn for you every second of his day—on the road or not—if you weren't. He wouldn't. Time and time again, he did. He would always try so he could keep you forever.

He knew his fate was with you.

If not, he would make it.

After all, fate was on the palm of his hands, and he chose you. You. Only you.

I blame Quinn. 😤😤😤

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @r0wdymaize86 @macka @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @bpinkblink @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings @alexxavicry @alwaysclassyeagle @bellaione @svexhenthusiast @starrymari

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[lcvecove]

A LAKE HOUSE MORNING ⋆ QH43

how I think early mornings at the hughes lake house would go with each brother. quinn’s version <3

read: jack’s version and luke’s version

you and quinn awake before anyone else in the house. your boyfriend is an early riser, even during the summer and the only time he sleeps in is when you go to bed really really late the night before.

he’ll wake you up with gentle kisses to your face, laughing softly when you snuggle more into the pillow, your face scrunching adorably as you try to hide from him.

“wanna do a grocery run with me? I’ll buy you coffee and breakfast on the way” he murmurs against your cheek, his tone hopeful. he trails his kisses to your forehead again in attempt to convince you, knowing he’d have a much more enjoyable morning if you accompanied him.

this would be like the fifth grocery run quinn's done in the last week. he always makes it his responsibility to make sure the house is stocked with whatever everyone needs for the day. it's like whenever he's reunited with his little brothers, he goes full 'mother-hen' mode.

besides the one time he left jack in charge, he decided to door dash everything and they ended up with a bunch of stuff they didn't need. and luke just gets too impatient with all the people and ends up leaving before he has everything.

your eyes flutter open, the soft pressure of his kisses still lingering on your skin. "only if you drive to that cafe we went to the other day," you croak out, voice still scratchy from sleep.

"it's like thirty minutes away," quinn says and you raise an eyebrow. "which is a drive I'll happily make for you, if you decide to bless me with your presence this morning," he rectifies and kisses your cheek again as you giggle.

you throw on a pair of denim shorts and one of quinn's hoodies over your bikini, deciding to grab your sunglasses from the living room before you meet quinn in the car.

when you get downstairs you're greeted by the sight of a snoring trevor, sprawled out on the couch despite having his own room here. you stop in your tracks when you see the — shaving cream? whipped cream? — smeared all over his face.

“what did you do to trevor?” you ask your boyfriend as you hop into the passenger seat.

“nothing” quinn responds innocently, not meeting your eyes. “maybe someone—not me—decided to teach him what happens when you throw up on someone’s—not mine—favourite deck chair”

“you’re unbelievable” you mutter with a smile as you fasten your seatbelt

“it wasn’t me!” he insists as you start to laugh.

[so-writing]

Off Season 2 - Quinn Hughes

(Read the first part here)

He’s not easy to miss. 

You hear it instantly when Quinn’s oversized truck hauls ass into your normally quiet section of the neighborhood for the first time that summer. Unfortunately, the Canucks and the Devils missed the playoffs and you’re forced to deal with the Hughes brothers and their entourage much earlier than you hoped. It’s been several years since they moved in, one would think they’d be more respectful of their surroundings. 

They’re not though. 

Vehicle doors slam and the shouts of multiple people fill the once quiet morning air. It’s pushing 9AM, late enough for them to get away with being loud but early enough for the neighbors (read: you) to be irritated by it. 

Fairhaven spans the majority of the northern portion of the lake it shares a name with. When your parents built the home you live in now, there weren’t a ton of other people around. Now, nearly two decades later, the once empty lots are full, the open meadows are now manicured lawns, and boathouses dot the edges of the lake. The once empty streets are now lined with touristy shops, coffeehouses and diners. The once small town has developed into a small city and, for the most part, you’re fine with it. 

Growing up in Fairhaven was lovely, leaving for college and moving away was even better. You don’t dislike your hometown, but you never had any intention of coming back until your parents decided to buy an RV after they retired and travel the country in it. They didn’t want to sell, and you hadn’t secured a job post grad, so back to Fairhaven you went.

And, three years later, here you still are. Still living alone in your parents' big, empty house while they “vanlife” around the country. Still unemployed. You’re a work in progress, that’s what you tell yourself anyway. 

The urbanization of Fairhaven, oddly and specifically, ushered in more professional athletes than you would have expected. Most of them hockey players, three of them, the Hughes brothers. Unluckily for you, they bought the house next door and have spent their summers there ever since. 

You’ve met all of them at least once, Quinn being the one you’ve interacted with the most, and they’re fine, nice enough. It’s the chaos that they bring that really bothers you. The Hughes house has a revolving door all summer, with different groups of people constantly coming and going. 

It’s annoying but you tolerate it as much as you can. They’re only here for a short time. 

*

It’s awkward and you feel really, really dumb. Of course Quinn doesn’t remember you. He’s probably been introduced to more people in the last few months than you’ll ever be in your life, he can’t be expected to remember every single name and face. 

You can’t lie though, it does sting a little that he has no recollection of you at all, considering you’ve interacted a minimum of ten times. They’ve always been brief but damn, you’re a twenty-something woman living alone in a big lakehouse, doesn’t that suggest some mystery and invite intrigue on his part? 

Honestly, when you really think about it, probably not. Quinn likely doesn’t give a damn about mystery. It’s obvious when you look out on the lake and see him playing and partying on his boat with a bunch of women that mystery is very much something that doesn’t matter to him at all. 

You’re not jealous, not the slightest bit, it’s not like you started actively following the Canucks or keeping tabs on how Quinn’s career is going. You don’t even know the man, he could be an absolute nightmare. You’re definitely not jealous of the women that get to follow him into the house at the end of the night and close the door behind them while you sit on your porch nursing a glass of wine and wondering what’s taking place next door. 

Letting it go is for the best, you tell yourself. The hot neighbor is not and will not even be interested, and that’s fine. 

After a cold shower, hot cup of coffee and everything bagel with jalapeno cream cheese, you’ve put your latest interaction with Quinn in the past and have committed to finishing the first season of Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. You started watching two days ago but because you don’t have many other plans, you blew through it. Today was going to be no different, maybe you’d pause to take a walk around the neighborhood or go pick up a few groceries but there was nothing truly concrete to stop you from your housewives binge. 

It’s not as pathetic as it sounds, you tell yourself. You’re just a regular girl living in her parents house doing nothing except going running early in the morning and binging reality tv until she goes to sleep and repeats. 

You’re about three hours into your binge watch when a knock on the front door startles you off of the couch. You’re not expecting anyone so you ignore it. It’s probably one of those guys on segways with an ipad selling bug insurance or whatever the fuck it is.

After a few minutes of ignoring the bug guy at the door, he’s still being persistent as ever and the knocking hasn’t let up. He’s clearly determined to make a sale and you’re feeling particularly feisty after watching a fight between Lisa Barlow and Whitney Rose, so fuck it. 

“I’m not buying anything you’re selling,” swinging the door open, you don’t even give him a chance to get a single word of his sales pitch in. No fucking thanks. 

“Did you not see the no soliciting sign? Because it’s been posted for like twenty-five years at this point. Do you door to door bitches not know how to read?” 

The “bug guy” chuckles before taking a step back and throwing his hands up in defeat. He stands there for a moment before throwing his head back and bursting into laughter. It’s then that you realize the man knocking on your door isn’t a traveling salesman, it’s fucking Quinn Hughes.

You nearly trip over yourself apologizing. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Selling bug insurance, obviously.”

He’s being sarcastic and it should piss you off because he’s just interrupted your zen reality tv time and now he’s making fun of you, but you fold easily. You can’t help it. He’s so hot. 

“Obviously, I'm not buying. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to apologize again, I know we’ve met, I was just being weird and panicking and in a mood. I fucking hate running. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, it’s fine.”

He lingers in your doorway a bit longer without saying anything before, “well ok, I just wanted to make sure we were cool.”

“We’ve always been cool.”

“Ok, good, yeah. So I'll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yep, I always go out at the same time. It’s a date.”

What the fuck? Why would you say that? So dumb.

“Mhm,” Quinn shoves his hands into his pockets and turns to leave, “It’s a date,” he says without turning back to you as he cuts through your front yard to get to his own. 

The whole thing leaves you feeling mostly weird, kind of giddy and just a tiny bit hopeful. Maybe that whole mystery and intrigue thing actually does exist for Quinn. Abandoning the housewives, you rush upstairs and throw open your closet doors. The goal is to choose the cutest (without looking like you’re trying too hard) running outfit you own. 

After all, you’ve got a “date” tomorrow.

-

Note: unedited, fictional lake town, the first part got more attention than expected, thanks for the love <3

[kawhh]

Quinn definitely uses ruined orgasm as a punishment. Bringing you right up to your tipping point, watching your face scrunch in pleasure, hearing your repetitive warning that you’re about to cum and then completely pulling away. Watching your face go shock and panic as it’s too late, wether you end up cumming around nothing, pathetically attempting to pull him back as tears stream down your face as the horrible feeling of arriving empty, or the high escapes you altogether leaving you squirming and pleading, chasing something he refuses to give you.

Bully Quinn, I'm in love with you. Warnings: Quinn being a shit. Teasing. Edging you until you almost pass out. Taglist.

It'd be the most addicting pleasure high he could ever experience, his eyes rolling back into his head at even the thought of being in control of you, in control of your cunt. How you whimper for him, how you beg him for release like you're praying on your knees at the altar.

The way you scream at him, the way your hands reach out to scratch him in pure desperate frustration. The way you choke on your sobs, the way your voice shatters when you get closer.

The way your cunt clenches around nothing when he edges you, giving you just enough to keep you stimulated, to make you feel like he'll give you what you're wailing for.

His fingers teasing your hole, circling an inch in. Not giving you more, just exploring your walls, prodding at you like you're a toy he's manipulating. Pulling out every single time you clench too hard around his fingers. The strings of your arousal splayed across his fingers, the eye contact when he cleans his fingers, a rumbly groan escaping him at your taste.

His cockhead resting inside you, just enough to stretch you out. In and out, playing with your hole. Watching how you open for him, how your pussy tries to suck him back in, the way your hips thrust towards him. It's adorable how much you struggle, your face covered in a mess of sweat and saliva, panting like a dog as he watches you.

Yanking you closer, tugging one of your legs over your shoulder as he bottoms out, keeping still as he abuses your clit with brutal little circles. Watching as you squirm in his hold. As you whimper. As you try and milk his cock. Timing his pull out perfectly— he thinks you might pass out, your eyes hazy and unfocused as he sends you over the line. Your body twitching, being sent into an almost dissociative mindspace as he threatens to cum inside, refusing to give you what you need.

He has complete control over you— your body, your cunt, your brain, your orgasm.

[pucksandpebbles]

Sunshine on Leith, LH⁴³

Luke Hughes x Scottish!reader When Luke Hughes meets you at your work at a coffee shop in Edinburgh, something special forms between the two of you, even though he is on holiday and has to leave anyways.

People and Places collection

a/n : this is a scheduled post, but i hope you all enjoy this until i come back from my hols!!

When Luke arrived at Edinburgh airport, drunk on exhaustion and disoriented by the busy day of travelling and jet lag, he immediately knew that he’d much rather be in Michigan for the summer. The breeze was cool against his skin as he stepped out from the taxi into the bustling city; he took a big deep breath full of air before following his brothers into the hotel. He was in his own head all throughout the check-in process, letting his brothers take the lead as he stared out onto the old cobbled streets. Shutting the door of his hotel room behind him, he let out a deep sigh, shoving his large and bulky suitcase into the corner - then, instead of curling up into the clean, white sheets like he should have done, like his brothers were doing, he took a shower, pulled on some fresh clothes and stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was already a little dark outside, the sun slowly lowering over the ancient city and Luke felt slightly unsteady on the worn-away cobblestones of the Old Town. He wandered for a little while, hands stuffed in his hoodie - still adjusting to the different weather - peering into the little glass windows of shops and cafes. Then, eventually, when he had really felt the effects of his sleep loss, he stumbled into a little cafe.

It was quietly murmuring with activity even late at night as Luke pushed his way in, just past an exiting customer who was still in corporate dress and chatting lowly on their phone through those shitty little wired Apple headphones. There you were, stood behind the bar, humming along to the music playing over the speakers, and cleaning up the counters.

Borderline vibrating with nervousness, Luke stepped up to the counter which summoned your attention, and you looked up at him with big blinking eyes.

“Hi,” Luke looked down at the cleaning supplies in your hands, “Oh, sorry are you closing?”

You smiled, putting the supplies to the side and leaning over the glossy marble counter, “Yes, but I can get you something to go?”

Luke was mesmerised by the foreign inflections in your voice and accent, and he couldn’t help but reciprocate your movement when you leaned over the counter, “Can I just have a latte please?”

His voice was soft and lilting in its question and behind the bar, you just smiled warmly in response, tucking yourself back behind the bar and the hissing machines. You peeked out from behind your station to get a look at the curly haired boy, who was certainly tall but still seemed small in his uncertainty. He had an obvious american accent, but he wasn’t loud or brash - it made him seem very sweet.

“What makes you order coffee this late at night?” You asked, carefully pulling the shot into the branded tea cup.

He looked up, startled like a deer in headlights almost, and replied, “Trying to fight the jet-lag.”

So you were right, one-hundred percent a tourist.

Busying your hands with drink-making, you pondered aloud, “Been to Edinburgh before?”

Leaning his back against the bar in a way that screamed American, Luke cocked his head and responded gently, a hint of resentment of coming all this way just for his brothers, still evident in his voice, “No. I’m here with my brothers for the summer, they wanted to try out the golf.”

You laughed aloud, bright and lively, a sound filled with warmth which made Luke’s chest vibrate a little, “Golf is pretty popular here, especially with the tourists.”

A soft silence mellowed between the two of you as Luke nodded in response, replaying in his head the soft roll of your ‘r’s and the rounded ‘o’s in your speech.

Pouring the soft frothy milk into Luke’s drink, you said, “I take it you’d much rather be someplace else?”

Luke sighed, turning around to pick up the drink in it’s little takeaway cup, the heat and steam rolling off it, he huffed, “We usually spend the summer in Michigan, there’s a lake house. I just don’t like the change.”

Placing your arms onto the till counter, you beamed, “Aye. I get ya,” then you gestured to the slowing city out of the window and said, “But Edinburgh’s a beautiful city, you’ll regret not enjoying it.”

Taking the coffee into his hand, he raised himself back up and followed the your line of sight out of the window, and then turning back to you, he said, with soft optimism, “You might be right.”

“You’ll let me know if I am?” You asked, a hesitant smile, a metaphorical outstretched hand. 

Luke grabbed onto it like he was drowning, drowning in your gentle, mellow gaze, “Maybe if I can get your number?”

Grabbing a napkin out of the petite dispenser to the side, you took a pen and scribbled out a line of numbers on it, passing it over to him, “Can I at least get your name?”

“Luke,” he said, pocketing the napkin delicately, “My name is Luke.”

You had just gotten back to your flat, a minute one, just below the ground with a little hole which peeked out onto the street above so you could see the passing feet. Bones heavy with exhaustion, you scrambled to get out of your work clothing and within minutes, you had curled up into your bed. 

As you lay there, studying the feathered plaster ceiling above you, you could stop replaying your interaction with Luke earlier. The American boy who’d come in exhausted, close to closing and who had against all odds asked for your number and gotten it.

You had had half a mind not to give it to him, giving your number out to a stranger seemed a really risky act. However, there was something about him, something so different. He was quiet and mellow and nervous and all you craved was to just reach over that counter and run your hands through his tight curls - but you couldn’t so instead you settled on leaning over as far and you could, so you could get a better look on the peach fuzz around his chin and his welcoming eyes. The American lilt to his words drew you in, and whenever you spoke, you could see the corner of his mouth tug up into a smile. 

It was when you were lying out, like a starfish, on your grey waffle bedding that a text from an unknown number pinged onto your lockscreen. An American number, which read.

Unknown number: Hey. This is Luke, it was good to meet you today

Cheeks heavy with a smile, you rolled over and tapped out a reply.

You: Me too, if you don’t have any plans I’d like to take you up Arthur’s Seat tomorrow?

Luke (coffee shop boy): I’d love that.

Luke didn’t expect his brothers to notice that he wasn’t exactly participating in the holiday’s golfing activities. But he was sneaking out a lot, getting up at the crack of dawn to hike up Arthur’s Seat, grabbing coffee with you when Jack and Quinn had already gone to bed. And when Luke and you weren’t together, he was on his phone, texting back and forth with you.

Quinn and Jack did pass each other glances however, when Luke wasn’t looking and it didn’t slip their notice that Luke wasn’t around as much as possible and was constantly sneaking out of the hotel.

Their little brother was falling in love, and they were so happy watching it unfold. It was a miracle that they’d come to Scotland, and whilst Luke might not have been happy at first, he had definitely grown to love the place. And the people. 

Luke was miserable the day he had to leave, packing his clothes back into his suitcase almost brought tears to his eyes and felt like it was tearing his heart into shreds. Jack and Quinn knew that he was down but they also they that there was little they could do about it, Luke would manage it, sort it out himself, if it was something that he really wanted.

That night, the night before he was supposed to leave, Luke turned up at the cafe like a mirror image of how he had the night that he arrived, and you two sat.

Luke and you were in a booth, sat amongst the emptied out cafe that you were supposed to be closing, two half empty takeaway cups in front of you. You were curled into Luke’s side, your head resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around you; his fingers brushed calmly through your hair.

He sighed, his warm breath ghosting over your head, “I don’t want this to end.”

You tucked yourself in further to his side, “You can’t stay forever.”

“Will you see me off at the airport tomorrow? I want to make this work.” He pleaded, his voice strained and low.

“Of course,” you said, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.  

The airport was bustling with movement but Luke felt like he was in a bubble all of his own with you, like a circle that was drawn around you both.

His lips were soft against yours, your teeth tugged gently at the chapped skin and you curled your arms around his neck, bringing his head further down.Lips moving his sync, you let yourself relax into the delicate movements and the strong support of his arms around you. It was sweet and unhasty, like you had all the time in the world but the clock was still ticking; you placed a couple of kisses up his neck and buried your head there and he grasped your middle, one hand holding his boarding pass. You held on until your blood circulation failed and your arms felt limp and then you pulled away with one final chaste kiss and a touch of your foreheads. With the release, you stumbled back, coming off your tiptoes and out of his hold, brushing away the tears that had gathered under your eyes. It was goodbye, you knew.

But you also knew it wouldn’t be forever.

When you left the airport, the sun beamed down over the city you loved; when Luke’s plane took off from the airport, he smiled brightly as he thought of you, gripping his phone with a picture of you set as the lockscreen, as he looked down on the sunshine on Leith.

[oscquinn]

OKAY HIHI

Quinn who would give you his hoodie while he makes you tea (if you like tea, if not, some juice) so that way you're warm until he comes over, and then he'll come over and lay down with you, pulling you close

i looovvvveeeeee tea omg. i know he would make it perfectly, however you best like it. he adds just the right amount of sugar, honey, and lemon juice to your mug, and a couple ice cubes so it's not too too hot when you go to drink it. just the sound of him silently fixing your cup of tea while you're snuggled in his hoodie, scent of his cologne and body wash surrounding you, while you scroll through your comfort shows. quinn definitely has them favorited on his streaming accounts, so he can always put them on when you're feeling down.

he sits next to you on the couch, arm wrapping around to pull you into his side, leaning on his chest just enough, head resting on his shoulder <333 when you thank him, and compliment the tea, he just kisses your head and murmurs "of course, baby" bc he would do anything to make you feel better

[blakeswritingimagines]

When You're Stimming

Quinn Hughes: When you start stimming, he notices the repetitive movements or behavior. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he moves closer to you. He smiles and gently puts his hand on your shoulder, trying not to add more for you. "Honey, are you okay?" He asks, genuinely concerned, while softly massaging that spot. He knows that you stim as a coping mechanism when you are feeling too much.

Jack Hughes: When you are stimming, Jack is understanding and supportive. He knows that stimming is a way for you to self-regulate and express yourself. He tries to create a comfortable and safe environment for you to be yourself, without any judgment. For instance, he might allow you to stim freely without any interruptions, and he might even join in by providing you with a fidget toy or something to keep your hands busy. He is also patient and understanding if you need space or time to yourself during your stims, and he always makes sure to listen to you and respect your needs.

Luke Hughes: When you're stimming, he is always supportive and patient with you. He understands that stimming is a healthy way for you to regulate your emotions and process sensory experiences, and he never makes you feel embarrassed or ashamed of it. He also offers a calm and soothing presence, often gently touching or holding your hand to help you feel grounded and secure. He takes pleasure in watching you stim, finding it endearing and adorable. He may also join your in stimming activities such as rocking back and forth or engaging in repetitive motions.

Nico Hischier: When you start stimming, he immediately becomes very protective and attentive. He moves closer to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. He whispers softly in your ear, trying to calm you and soothe you. "It's okay, baby," he says, stroking your hair gently. "I'm here for you. Just focus on my voice and breathe with me."

Timo Meier: Timo becomes very supportive and attentive when you start stimming. He gently asks you what you need and what he can do to help. He listens to you intently and watches you closely to make sure you're safe and comfortable. When you need space, he gives it to you. When you need physical contact, he holds you close and tells you he is there. He reassures you with kind words and soft gestures, and he respects your unique and natural expressions.

Dawson Mercer: Dawson has a patient and supportive attitude when you stim. He understands that stimming is a coping mechanism and a way of self-expression. Without any judgment, he encourages you and offers reassurance. If you stim in public, he creates a safe and protective bubble around you to shield you from any unwanted attention. He can tell when you're feeling overwhelmed or overstimulated and gently guides you to a quieter space, where you can take a break and regroup.

John Marino: John is completely supportive and understanding of your stimming. He sees it as an expression of joy and excitement, and he finds it both adorable and endearing. He may join in with you or just watch quietly, simply enjoying the happiness that it brings you. Overall, John is very accepting and respectful of your unique way of expressing parts of yourself to him, and he treasures these moments of connection and joy with you.

Kirby Dach: Kirby is completely understanding when you're stimming. He tries to remain patient and reassuring, providing you with the space and support you need to express yourself. When both are together, Kirby will often try to create a comforting and calming environment for you to help you feel safe and more comfortable. He might dim the lights, play calming music, or find ways to distract you if you're feeling overwhelmed or anxious. He also tries to understand your needs and find ways to support you, whether that means finding quiet spaces for you to stim in or providing verbal reassurance.

Juraj Slafkovsky: Juraj's heart melts as he watches you stimming. He takes a moment to observe you, noticing the rhythmic movements, the repetition of gestures, and the focused expression on your face. He feels a deep sense of love and protectiveness wash over him, and he can't help but find your mannerisms endearing and cute. Juraj approaches you gently, not wanting to startle or interrupt you. He places a warm hand on your shoulder, offering a small squeeze of reassurance. "Everything okay?" he asks softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Arber Xhekaj: Arber is incredibly understanding and supportive of your stimming. Whenever you started to stim, he was always there to offer a reassuring hug, a gentle hand on your shoulder, or simply sit next to you silently to let you know that he was there. He never tried to force you to stop or made you feel embarrassed about it. Instead, he made you feel safe and accepted. If you were stimming while out in public, he would discreetly try to shield you from any potential stares or judgment.

Cole Caufield: Cole is always supportive and patient when you're stimming. He understands that it can be a way for you to process information or express yourself, so he never tries to stop you. Instead, he gives you the space you need and offers a comforting presence, letting you do whatever you need to do, whether it's hand flapping, rocking, or repeating certain words or phrases. He doesn't treat you any differently when you're stimming, and he always makes sure you feel safe and secure with him.

Kaiden Guhle: Kaiden is very attentive and supportive when you're stimming. He listens intently and observes your behavior with a sense of admiration and interest. He asks questions to better understand your thought process and offers words of encouragement and affection. He finds your stimming endearing and often finds joy in knowing that you are being your true self. He is patient and understanding, never rushing you or making you feel uncomfortable. Overall, Kaiden is a loving and supportive partner when it comes to your stimming.

Jamie Drysdale: Jamie gently observes you, patiently letting you stim and allowing you to express yourself freely without any judgment. He may join in, mirroring or matching your hand motions, finding joy in the simplicity of the moment. Jamie's expression remains soft, and his demeanor is patient and encouraging, letting you guide the interaction, showing his understanding and support in yourr journey. "Take as much time as you need, darling. I'm here with you."

Matt Rempe: When you start to stim, Matt reacts to it with kindness and understanding. He knows that stimming is a common response to certain situations or feelings, and he doesn't judge you for it. Instead, he approaches with a comforting and reassuring presence, offering a warm smile and gentle gestures of support. He might hold your hand, run his fingers through your hair, or gently rub your back to provide comfort and reassurance. Matt knows that the stimming isn't something you can control, and he's there to provide a safe and accepting space for you the best that he can.

Auston Matthews: When you start stimming, Auston becomes extremely sweet and loving towards you. He knows that you stimms when you're feeling overwhelmed or overstimulated, so he immediately becomes attentive and supportive. He hugs you tightly and tells you that it's okay to feel overwhelmed and that you can stim for as long as you need to. He also offers to play relaxing music or to provide you with a soft blanket and a weighted blanket to give you extra comfort. He understands that stimming is a way for you to self-comfort, so he never tells you to stop.

Clayton Keller: When you start stimming, Clay gently approaches you and gives you a light squeeze on your shoulders. He offers a reassuring smile and says, "Hey, it's okay. You're safe here with me, babe." He then leads you to a quiet area and sits with you, making sure you feel comfortable and supported. He lets you stim and makes no attempt to stop or discourage it. Sometimes, he'll even lightly rub your back in a soothing manner or hold your hand to provide extra comfort.

[stayonmars]

AND YOU KNOW WHAT?!?! I WOULD NOT BLAME Y/N AT ALL IF SOMEONE SENDS ME STUFF AND KNOWS HOW I FEEL BEST BELIEVE I WILL BE LABELED CRAZY TOO AND RIDE THAT DICK!!!

🚩🚩Dark content 🚩🚩

Twisted Delusions

Summary: You were lonely, but he was there to make it all better. Be it gifts, notes, or maybe himself.

Relationship: Stalker!Q x F!Reader

Disclaimer | Inbox Rules | Dark Masterlist | Taglist

Request detail: hello i am just thinking. stalker quinn. but instead of you being afraid, you’re so lonely or in such a rough patch that you enjoy the gifts. you don’t even startle when he taps on your window one night, as you’re curled up and crying in bed. it’s a relief to finally see the sweet face of the man who’s been so kind to you. you let him in willingly. he cradles you in his lap and fucks you until your tears are from pleasure instead ☺️

Hello, lovely. How are you? You still there? I hope you are. Anyway, I may have gone off the rails. I made reader kinda delulu (not kinda, if you see the warnings). In addition to my disclaimer, don't be this kind of delusional. Stalkers are dangerous. In fictional setting however, I am already in front of the line.

If it's all over the place....it's because I blacked out as I write.

Twisted Delusions

Summary: You were lonely, but he was there to make it all better. Be it gifts, notes, or maybe himself.

Relationship: Stalker!Q x F!Reader

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Dark, Slight Angst, Extreme Stalking / Stalker!Q, Deranged + DELUSIONAL behavior (both sides), Voyeurism (Installation of video and audio devices, non-con->dub-con->con watching and recording), Consensual Sexual Content (Biting, slight Blood Kink, Primal Play, Unprotected Sex, Overstimulation, Squirting), Dual POV

Sometimes you wanted to be alone. There was solace in the silence. The noise of the world blurred into a comforting nothingness when everything—the slightest of sounds—was deafening. Even white noise was like screams. So, you would just put on your noise-cancelling headphones and tune everything out. You were just there. Not sad, not happy, just perfectly in between. It was peaceful, but not always.

Sometimes the silence was too much. No matter how loud you turn up your music, no matter how many shows you put on, no matter how many hangouts you'd planned and attended, no matter what—the silence prevailed, pressing and caging you in the blur you'd craved. You felt overwhelmed. You reached out to your friends but you found no comfort. You strangely felt alone. No. Not alone. Lonely. You felt lonely.

Maybe that was what fucked you up. Maybe you felt too lonely that when his first gift arrived, instead of fearing for your safety, you felt happy.

It was nothing big. It was just a simple de-thorned rose, fully-bloomed like someone waited until it was picked. With it, a card with a messily written note that said: "I'm here."

You were shaking, not from being scared, as you traced the letters, flipping over the card, desperately searching for his signature but it was not signed. You wanted to know who sent it to you. Even a single clue. You needed to know. But there are none. So were his next gifts. More roses, chocolates, a signed copy of your favorite book, fruits you were craving. He never signed them.

As your frustration grew, you were also becoming more aware. At first, you didn't think of the sudden moments where your hair raised and shivers ran down your spine. You were always told that there were entities that you should ignore. But then, you realized that it wasn't from ghosts or whatnots. You were being watched. He was watching you. You didn't know how but he was.

"Are you there?" You asked out loud in the middle of your living room.

Of course, you were met with silence. You brushed it off. You simply went to your bed, drawing your bed curtains, sleeping through the persistent prickling sensation stabbing at your back.

The next day you received a teddy bear and a note saying, "Yes. I am. Q."

"Q," you tested, savoring the feel of the letter that was now associated with him. You held the teddy up, looking at those black and beady eyes. A smile stretched on your lips. You hugged the teddy, squeezing tightly. "Q."

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Quinn watched the live feed from the bear's eye. His head spinning as you whispered his name over and over again. You liked him. He didn't need to ask. It wasn't even an assumption. He just knew because you'd display the roses he gave, and eat the food he sent, and read the books he had spent hours to get signed or waited patiently to arrive, and keep all his notes in your top drawer right next to your toys, and now, you held the bear while calling for him. His sweet girl liked him.

"Huggy, you good?" Someone asked, but it didn't remove him from his current state. "Practice is in 15."

He nodded, acting like everything was fine. It was not. He was hard. So fucking hard. He needed to stay hunched over his thighs, elbows on his knees, white-knuckle clenching his phone. He was burning. In one swift move, ignoring the stares he received, he went out. He locked himself in a restroom stall, tugging off his hockey pants, his cup, his compression shorts, his fucking briefs. Fuck all this fucking equipment. His cock felt heavy in his hands as he gripped it, his eyes watching the different videos of you, shuddering when you said:

"I wish you were here, Q." You gazed around, your eyes barely brushing the areas he placed his cameras. "You are but I mean..." Your voice trailed.

Quinn leaned back against the wall because you knew he was there. You fucking knew. How did you know? Could you feel him? Fuck, he hoped for that for so long. He spent hours during the night watching you, minutes to check in even if he was busy, seconds of a simple glimpse of you was enough to make him fall to his knees. And now, you finally noticed him. He could die right now and be eternally happy.

"I want to get to know you."

You really shouldn't. Fuck, you shouldn't. How could you be so naive? You should never say that to him. He was already so deeply fucked in the head for you. And you were saying that? Were you insane? His head pounded, swallowing his groans for every jerk. When he noticed your attention on the bear, he switched camera, freezing at how intently you stared at him. Fuck, you noticed, haven't you?

It only took you a second to shine a light into the lens. Instead of anger or fear, you grinned, almost looking so crazed. His heart beat faster in his chest. You were as fucked as he was, weren't you?

"Do you want to watch me?" You asked, your voice sounding breathy. "You should ask for permission first."

Then you took the bear into your closet, putting a blindfold over its eyes. You were so adorable. Quinn had forgotten his aching cock. It didn't matter if he was hard. He fixed himself, barely flinching at the pain from being constricted in his layers, shutting down the app to access the cameras in your house.

That was your first request. He would do anything you wanted.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

"May I watch you? If yes, put the rose on your window sill. If not, destroy it," was the note you received the very next day.

He really was watching you, wasn't he? Your fingers softly grazed the blooming petals of the red rose. You really should get some help. This was a stalker. He could be a monster, but what monster would ask for your permission? What monster would leave a knitted-scarf that would warm you for the day? What monster could stave your loneliness away? He was no monster. You kissed the rose, smelling its soft floral scent, leaving it on the windowsill.

That very moment you felt him. Your skin prickled with goosebumps. You tried looking around the streets but found no one in the near vicinity. You were confused yet your stomach fluttered with butterflies. Relief flooded you. You weren't alone again.

As days passed, you found yourself gazing at the stuffed toy he had given you more and more. You even dared to touch your pussy while facing the innocent looking toy, moaning his name. It didn't matter to you if he might not be watching, but you still did it. You used your fingers. You wore lingerie. You were being such a whore, imagining what it would be if he brought the gifts and handed them to you himself, if he dared to fuck you when you begged.

There was no saving you. You knew that. You didn't care.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

There were times Quinn wondered why he didn't visit your house more frequently. Like right now. He stared at the monitors, his cock limped from pouring load after load into his tissue, his cum still stained his sweatpants and splattered his abdomen. He was spent, yet his yearning for you never dampened as you passed out with your cum leaking from your sweet pussy.

You've been fucking yourself more and more and he got the front seat of it. Tonight, you were so vocal compared to some where you would only sigh and pant. You were so beautiful.

He was so fucking thankful he gave you the bear. He never dared to put cameras in your canopy bed. He was satisfied to see the slightest of your outline from the curtains you always drew. He had heard your moans and groans before, but now, fuck his life, you were perfect.

You had moaned, "Q, I want you. Please fuck me. I want your cock. Please. I need your cum. I wanna be filled. Please, Q." And these moans still echoed in his head.

He should've been there with you. He should've fucked you like you were begging him. He should've eaten your pussy after he filled it to the brim. He should've. His cock twitched, his balls complaining. He was so spent but the more he stared at you, the more he needed you.

His eyes gazed at the calendar, marking the weekend where he got no games or anything.

Maybe he would visit. Maybe.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

The gifts were escalating. From snacks you could bring to luxurious goods like wallets and handbags. Today, you received a luxury brand's chocolate. You had no idea that brand even had chocolates but it did. You ate a few and now you were suffering from being so full as you hugged your bear, crying from your tummy ache.

You were so focused on your pain that you didn't hear your window, the one you'd never truly locked, sliding open and a body slipping in. You didn't notice the breeze that was now making your bed curtains move nor the shadow looming on you from the other side.

"What's wrong?" A voice asked.

You startled, finally noticing the shadow. You couldn't see him. Your curtains were not opaque but not sheer enough to grant you visibility. Your heart pounded but your tummy churned. You let out a whimper, curling into a ball.

"Tell me what's wrong." His voice—deep and rumbly and so sexy—was filled with alarm and worry.

"Q?" You dumbly asked when you knew it was him. It couldn't be anyone else. He grunted, his shoulders shifting and tensing, his hand combing through his hair. "I ate too much chocolate. It hurts."

"The chocolate I sent you?" His confusion was clear.

"Yes," you shuddered.

A moment passed before he just walked away. Strangely, you knew that he would be back. You just knew. And he did. He came back with pain medicine and stomach relief which he slipped into the curtains so quickly. You drank it with no questions. You trusted him. It could be poison but it wasn't. He could kill you, but he didn't.

"Thank you, Q." You saw him sit down. You heard him hum to acknowledge you. "Are you going to stay?" He didn't answer. "Why did you come?" Still nothing. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"Never," he gently said.

You dared, "What if I want you to?"

An electrifying pause filled the air. "Not when you're unwell." His words had your pussy clenching despite your pain. "Rest."

You didn't want to. You knew if you fell asleep, he would be gone when you woke up. You've been craving him. You wanted him to stay. You already liked him. You didn't want his gifts to stop. You wanted him to stay.

But as time passed, the medicine started working. Your eyelids grew heavy. Your hand outstretched, wanting to draw the curtains, needing to see him.

"Don't," was all he needed to say. "Not yet."

Truth be told, you didn't need to follow him. He was your stalker who didn't ask if he could send you gifts. He watched you for so long before you outright allowed him to. He had overstepped so many times.

"Next time? Can I see you next time?"

He didn't answer. You almost cried. No. You were crying, holding the stuffed toy to console your breaking heart. It pained you more than the lessening ache of your stomach. Maybe...after all...you were still alone—

"Yes."

Just one word. Just one reassurance. It brought a smile to your face. You slept well that night.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Quinn realized—he has known this for a while—that you were more fragile as you were stronger than you looked. You were a dichotomy that had piqued his interest for much longer than his first gift. He sent it because he had noticed you. The shift in your mood. Your silent pleas for someone. He made that someone him. He was simply lucky that you were accepting of him. You were his sweet girl.

So he knew when you were retreating back into your head, gazing from the window near your fire exit. The way you would trudge your way back to your room, sitting down at the edge of your bed. He didn't need to zoom in the video feed to know how much your lips trembled, how your eyebrows met.

He had seen you this way. So many times. Every time his heart, his whole fucking existence, shook and broke into infinite pieces that he felt like he was not there. He knew you needed him.

He moved so quickly to get to you. He was speeding, cursing and yelling at anyone who would honk at his reckless driving. You needed him, so he would be there. His lungs squeezed, when he saw you curl up in your bed, not even closing curtains, your sobs breaking him further and further. His heart was being torn. All he could fucking do was grip the steering wheel, the leather creaking, his knuckles turning paper white. He should've stayed in the apartment unit that was perfectly facing yours, just several meters away, separated by a street; nothing a pair of binoculars couldn't fix. He should've stayed there. He would've gotten to you quicker.

When he arrived, he ran up the fire exit. He could see you—still curled up, still so vulnerable. He knew your window would be open. He knew, but for the first time, he knocked. Your head popped up eyes met, yours glistening with tears. As you opened the window, he crouched, leveling your gazes. As your hand softly reached to touch his cheek, he watched your tears slide down, like free-falling stars. He leaned into your touch. Fuck, you were touching him.

Why was it even when you're crying you were still beautiful? How could you have him all wrapped up around your finger when it should be you around his?

"Q," you sniffled. "I'm so lonely. I don't want to be alone."

"I'm here," he said, bridging the distance, capturing your trembling lips. He kissed you, his tongue licking the soft seam of your lips, smiling as you opened for him, your tongue meeting his. "I'm always here." He gripped your hand, keeping it on his cheek, taking the other one and pressing against his chest. "Do you feel what you do to me?"

You nodded, desperately trying to kiss him again, but he moved away, smirking as you whined. As he kissed your palm, he guided that one on his chest down to his abdomen, down to his crotch, letting you feel his hard and aching cock. You shuddered, your hands trembling underneath his.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" He repeated, his lips hovering over your tear-stained cheek, softly pushing you, his feet landing on your floor. It felt so good to be welcomed by you. "Do you?"

"Yes." You stared up face, drinking every detail of him. You were looking at him with those sad eyes that was slowly burning with need. You see him.

He love that.

He finally licked that salty trail of your tears, kissing your heated skin in between. That was when your arms wrapped around his torso. Quinn held you, smoothing his hands on your back. The backless nightgown you wore was so pretty on you. He already knew what his next gift would be.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Q was handsome. His wavy hair shone under your soft and dim lights. His jaw was sculpted by the shadows of his beard. His eyes were a clashing color of blue, green, gray, and spots of brown. They looked magical as they were attentive, homing on nothing but you. Just you.

This was the man who kept leaving you sweet gifts, who visited you just in time to give you medicine, who showed up when everything felt too much.

He sat on your bed, pulling you on his lap. His strong arms wrapped around you as his fingers trailed down your spine.

"Why did you come?" You asked, letting him wipe or lick or kiss the persistent tears that fell.

"You needed me," he answered.

"You're really watching me through my bear?" Your eyes dipped at his lips stretching into a smile that could be a smirk. "Did you watch me when I..." Your cheeks burned. You couldn't say it. How would you say—

"When you fuck yourself with your pretty fingers or the toys you keep in your nightstand? When you screamed for me? When you begged for the cock you couldn't have?" He chuckled so deeply and darkly. "Oh. I watched my sweet girl acting like a good little whore." His hand dipped into your nightgown, feeling over your ass, down to your weeping pussy. "A good but filthy whore, opening herself in front of a fucking teddy bear."

You gasped at his crass words that had head burning from the tips of your ears down to your toes. Your pussy felt like on fire as he parted your folds to sink his thick fingers in. He felt so good.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

You were in his arms. You were in his arms. Finally, you were.

You were gasping and writing on his lap like a fucking slut despite your cheeks were still wet with tears. You smell like the sweet scent of your chosen body oil. You were good enough to fucking eat. Did you know that?

He just wanted to bite down on that neck of yours, that particular spot where your pulse pound. He wanted that so fucking much. So he grabbed you by your neck, licking along the column of your neck, then he bit down.

Harder when you tried to push away.

Harder when you moaned.

Harder when your pussy clenched around his fingers.

Harder when your hands grasped at his shirt.

When he let go, his cock felt incredibly hard at the sight of his mark marring your skin. The sudden urge to tattoo it on your skin had him throwing you on the bed, grinning when you whimpered from the loss of his fingers in your sweet pussy, laughing at how you held a hand over your neck.

Finally, he could see fear in your eyes. It mixed with your extreme need for him. Fucking marvelous. He felt like he could crush you—he could—as he crawled on top of you, his arms flexing, his knees kicking your legs open.

"You made a long fucking time. I want to mark you." He kissed and nipped your fingers that were covering his mark. "To make you bleed." His hand slipped into your panties again, sliding into your heat. "To make you come." Then he hovered on your lips. "To fuck you until you were crying because hurt to come so fucking much and I won't care. I won't stop. I—"

"Then do it."

Three words. Three fucking words undid him faster than he could blink, and when your eyes moved down to his lips, he nearly fell to his knees.

"Hurt me."

He groaned, savoring those words. "No. No." He shook his head, thumbs caressing your cheeks. "You need to be scared of me, my Love."

"I am." Then you pushed him, running away.

Fuck, you were perfect.

He let you run for seven seconds. Seven fast seconds. Then he was off, his steps were quick but he wasn't running. He listened to the silence, gazing around the apartment he had religiously studied. You were nowhere to be seen, but the slightest changes—like swishing of the jacket hanging on a chair and the mess on the carpet and the literal lingering echo of a door closing on the far right—told him exactly where you were.

He walked towards it, dropping stuff on the floor, his hands hovering over the knob. He said, "Not a creative spot, Love."

As he pulled on it, you pushed it open, running with a tight scream. You were so cute. It only took him two strides, his hand catching your arm, he slammed you against the wall, kissing you fully on your lips, his teeth mashing with yours, sinking on your trembling. His other hand found your throat as you thrashed, his hips pressing against your tummy, pining you tightly against the wall.

"Maybe next time when i gave you a head start, you run outside. You scream for help. Don't fucking squeal, it only fuels me more." He laughed as he manhandled you back to your bedroom, throwing you hard on the bed, grinning when you tried to escape. "Like a little bunny." He gripped your ankles, pulling you back. "I love bunnies."

You whimpered. Your anticipation leaked in waves. You forgot that you should fighting him, but he didn't care. The little chase had shown him that you were willing to give in to his every desire.

Slowly, he tied you to your headboard with his belt then he unraveled your curtains, closing you both from the world.

He took his time with you. He only lifted your pretty night gown up, while he undressed to nothing. He bite and gripped your flesh as tightly as he could, making you cry in pain and in pleasure as he kissed every spot he had bitten. Your chest, Your tummy. Your hips. Your thighs. Your fucking pussy. He didn't hold back. He made it hurt, because he knew that he wasn't only doing this for himself.

He was offering you a distraction from the thing plagued your mind. He was just happy that he could you, because he waited for this, dreamed of this, yearned for this. He wanted you the moment he met you and when you showed signs of being fucked as him, he needed you.

He ate your pussy, forcing to say what caused you pain by stopping when you were so near your release. He listened to your breaking voice—both from your pussy being eaten out and from the pain that he made you say when you clearly you didn't to, he didn't care, he needed to know—as he feasted and gulped your arousal.

You were lonely, you said.

You didn't need to be when he was here.

"Never. I would never let you feel lonely again," he promised, not needing to know if you believe him or not. It didn't matter anyway. He would make it happen.

But first, this night would need to proceed. He needed to have you. He groaned and moaned, letting you hear how much he loved doing this. And one more time, when you were about to come, he stopped and you were sobbing until he slipped his cock into you heat, until he fucked you deeply and roughly. All the things he said about making you bleed could wait.

He would settle for bruises, for your pussy filling up with come, for your pussy to make a mess on him.

So, even if he felt his orgasm coming close, he held back, drawing yours over and over again until you were screaming for him to stop. He didn't. He didn't want to. He flicked and teased your clit, abusing the bundle of nerves as he rutted into the spot that had your pussy clenching so hard.

"Just let go, my Love. Let go. It will be okay," he panted, his eyes darkening as you shook your head. "Come on. Do it." He gripped throat, squeezing so tightly, taking in the way your eyes rolled up. "Come for me, my sweet little bunny."

You did, coming so hard that you made the exact mess he was waiting for. You squirted as your pussy convulsed all over his cock, your toes curling, your back arching so much, your tears streaming down your face. All while trying to push him away, but he gripped you tighter, slamming his hips to pour his hot cum in your still coming pussy.

"You're mine. All fucking mine."

I blacked out at some point.

I think there was too much switching. We'll be back to only Quinny POV next time. My bad 🥺.

Good night, lovelies!! 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @bpinkblink @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings @alwaysclassyeagle @bellaione @svexhenthusiast @alexxavicry

-> more thoughts? Dark List. -> Want to be notified? Join my taglist! -> Got a dark requests? Send an ask in this account! For other blurbs, you may come to my main! 💜💜💜💜

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Collection

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You keep every single puck that Quinn has ever given you, he finds your collection that you've been shyly hiding away. It might just be the thing that makes him realise you're the girl he's going to marry.

Notes: I just want a boyfriend who'll give me a puck from every one of his games, is that too much to ask?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It starts quite simply enough with an ice hockey game, like most things did with Quinn Hughes. The two of you had known each other for a while, acquaintances through Kiefer, acquaintances who then had become somewhat friends, but by no means were you close. That had changed one afternoon when Quinn had asked if you'd come to watch him play, not watch the team, not watch Kiefer, but watch him. This had seemed quite the clear hint that he was interested, or at least Quinn had considered this a neon flashing sign telling you he was interested. He considered this him shooting his shot.

It later transpired that Quinn considered this your first date, despite the fact he was on the ice and you were beside the penalty box, and that he'd not mentioned once the word date to you, but that's a story for another time.

The important part of this first-date-that-didn't-seem-like-a-first-date was not just that it set in motion your changing relationship status from somewhat friends to boyfriend and girlfriend, but that it was the first time Quinn Hughes ever gave you a puck. Something which to many would seem inconsequential. People got hockey pucks every day, every game. Thousands of fans owned pucks from hockey games, in that sense you were not particularly special.

It had felt so silly, and so girlish at the time, to be excited over an ice hockey puck of all things just because Quinn had tipped it over the glass to you specifically. And it had been for you, the glare he'd sent to those around you who even looked like they might snatch it had been lethal. It had felt even sillier to take that puck, cradle it the entire game, squirrel it all the way home only to write the date and a simple sentence on it in metallic gold pen, 'Quinn asked me to his game'. You're not entirely sure what had possessed you to do it, why it felt like something you needed to record. It had felt so...silly to do but you'd been unable to resist.

You'd squirrelled the puck away in a box in the back of your closet, out of sight of prying eyes, but it hadn't been forgotten by you. In fact, it was seen every single time you went to one of Quinn's games. After each game you'd inevitably come back with a new puck, another one to add to the collection of pucks that you were growing. At first the number was relatively slow to grow, you didn't go to every game, not during the weird stage where Quinn had yet to outright ask you out and you, oblivious as ever didn't realise he'd been trying for weeks.

As Quinn and you began officially dating you found yourself constantly receiving pucks, every game you went to he had a puck for you and at the end of the night you'd write the date and a simple sentence on it of something that had happened that night, something significant in your relationship or simply something significant to you even if it didn't seem significant to anyone else.

Still, the box remained hidden in the back of your closet, something you almost felt too shy to share. Even now that Quinn and you were in a relationship, even now 2 years down the line when he'd asked you to move in with him once your lease was up, it still felt scary to share it. Realistically you knew Quinn wouldn't be put off by it, the sort of sentimental person he was, he'd likely love it. That didn't stop the irrational fear. Especially given how personal some of the pucks were to you. It just felt embarrassing like showing him your blog from when you were thirteen or sharing a sketchbook from when you were twelve.

Moving apartments had been as simple as moving apartments could get, which is to say not simple in the slightest. Moving your things into Quinn's place had felt a little like playing Tetris, trying to find spaces for all your books and knickknacks without completely taking over his space. Trying to find a balance between his things and yours. In that chaos you'd managed to sneak your box of pucks in and to the back of your section of closet, a, in your opinion, perfect hiding spot.

It was not in fact a perfect hiding spot. Perhaps you were naive to think that Quinn wouldn't ever find them even when you shared such close quarters? Or perhaps you'd simply been avoiding the reality, trying to forget about it except in those few moments when you got home from a game before him and rushed to write on your puck and throw it into the box along with its brethren.

Either way, whether naivety or a desire to avoid the issue, it didn't stop you from finding him in that moment sat on the floor of your shared bedroom, looking incredibly cozy in a big hoodie and sweatpants, but pawing through your box that lay in front of him. The cardboard worn and battered from years of use.

"What are doing?" You knew exactly what he was doing, you could see two years worth of pucks piled high in front of him, one currently being turned over in his hands, but the panic seemingly made your brain stop working. Processing the scene felt impossible, you could see what was happening but couldn't quite comprehend it. Quinn was careful with the pucks, almost reverent as he put the one he was currently holding off to the side and reached for another, reading whatever you'd written on it.

"You kept them?" Quinn's voice is quiet, soft, an almost whisper that has you stepping further into the room even as you twist your fingers together nervous of his reaction.

"How...how did you find them?" Perhaps it was silly to think you could keep them hidden, after all you couldn't exactly claim you'd hidden them in some elaborate or overly complicated fashion. They were simply in a ratty old cardboard box in the very back of your half of the closet. It's not like you'd hidden them in some secret compartment.

"I was looking for my ugly Christmas jumper for the party on Sunday...didn't realise you'd kept them all. Why'd you hide them?" He smiles up and over at you from his spot, looking boyish and sweet even as you internally panic about the discovery he's made.

"I...I just...it's embarrassing." You shuffle nearer even as you say it, seeking his reassurance without quite truly realising it. When you're within reach of him, Quinn tugs on your hand to pull you closer from his position on the floor, cross legged and leaning back against the side of the bed.

"Baby, it's not embarrassing, it's sweet...you kept every puck I've ever given you. That's...I love that. C'mere." He tugs you down to the ground, until you're sitting side by the side with him and he can wrap an arm around you. He's warm and smells like the laundry detergent you use, it's calming, reassuring even as you still feel that rush of embarrassment at being found out.

Quinn reaches for a puck he'd put off to the side, it's worn and tarnished, dents from being hit across the ice during warm ups marring it, the logos of Seattle and Vancouver hidden underneath your writing in gold metallic pen.

"See, look, this is the puck I gave you on the day we had our first kiss." You'd written across the front 'Quinn kissed me today!!!!!!!!!' followed by more exclamation marks than was reasonable for anyone to use. You could remember the game clearly, Quinn had asked you to come along, you'd still not quite realised that he was trying to date you and your obliviousness had set a fire underneath him. He'd been so fed up that he'd forgotten what subtlety was. After a hard fought win, he'd rushed towards you in the corridor by the locker room and kissed you in front of half his teammates, all of whom had decided that was a great time to cheer and whistle like they were at a football game. You'd been surprised by it, taken aback, needing a few moments to process before returning the kiss, but you hadn't been unhappy with the sudden turn of events that had you practically unable to form words afterwards.

Quinn's careful as he puts it back before reaching for another puck, rooting around in the box before he pulls out one with the Canuck's orca emblazoned across it. Quinn takes a moment to read it before practically beaming over at you, eyes bright and excited.

"This one is from the game where I took you on the ice after and taught you how to skate," The puck had a creative attempt at drawing yourself and Quinn in ice skates, stick figure form of course, 'Quinn tried to teach me to skate after the game.'

"You mean you tried to teach me how to skate...last I remember I'm still not great..." You tap a nail against the 'tried' in your handwriting and Quinn just grins at you, any lasting embarrassment has started to disappear, and instead you're left with a sense of warmth. That you have all these memories to look back on, moments you might have forgotten about otherwise.

"You're just a work in progress, baby, you can stay upright...most of the time..." You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes as he teases you. It was a well known fact that you were nowhere near as graceful as Quinn was on the ice, having never really ice skated as a child.

You reach into the pile and pick another puck out, a pride night one, reading the caption quickly and very much deciding that this is one Quinn doesn't need to see, "Oh, not, you're not reading this one!"

"Give it here!" You reach away from him, arm as straight as you can get it to hold the puck as far from him as possible. Naturally, it does very little, Quinn and his long arms simply lean over you and pluck the puck from your grip with ridiculous ease.

You groan, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide away from whatever judgement might pass across his face as he reads off the puck, one of the early ones, from before you even realised he wanted you. From the days when you were pining, crushing hard on a man you thought you'd never have.

"Quinn smiled at me during warm ups'...Oh, baby, that's cute," Quinn grasps the nape of your neck in his hand, pulling until you turn to look at him, your cheek still smushed against his shoulder.

"We weren't dating then...and you were always so locked in..." You try to justify it, that back then his smiles were rarer, he was always so focused on the game that a smile was special, that any little interaction felt special because he wasn't yours yet, but it doesn't stop you feeling silly and embarrassed that you'd felt a smile during warm ups was important enough to put on a puck. At the time it had felt like the only thing that mattered, that Quinn had smiled at you, that his focus had been on you.

"I always have a smile for you...even back then, I was always excited when you agreed to come to a game...it made me want to play ten times harder, baby, still does." Quinn can't remember a time when he wasn't excited to see you at a game, to know you were there to support him, even in the early days. If anything the early days were even more exciting, simple because it didn't feel like a given that you'd be there. You weren't his girlfriend back then, you didn't have to be there, he couldn't complain if you weren't. So seeing you had always felt like he'd won a prize because you'd given up your time to watch him play in a freezing cold arena even knowing you'd barely get to talk to him.

"They're silly..." You gesture to the array of pucks, the number feeling ridiculous. How had you managed to collect over 100 pucks? Why had you decided to keep them all?

You stop your self-doubt and wallowing at the feeling of Quinn pressing a kiss to your hair, tugging you into his lap until you're as close as he can get you. Quinn is gentle when he runs his palm from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine and back again, a soothing rhythm that makes you feel more confident when you look him in the eye.

"They're sweet...this is our entire story in pucks, can't get better than that..." The way he smiles at you is so soft and sweet that you wonder why you were ever scared of him finding them, "Don't stop doing it, baby...Promise me."

"I'll run out of space in my box though..." You look down at the almost full, falling apart cardboard box from one of your deliveries 2 years prior, the corners starting to tear, the free space inside almost non-existent.

"Then I'll get you a bigger box. I want to be 90 years old and have a thousand pucks in a giant box, each with something you thought was special enough to write on it... even if it is..." He picks up a puck squinting at it, "'I made Quinn laugh.' or," Quinn finds another from the pile, "'Quinn said my hair looked pretty', although maybe I need to be setting the bar higher, baby" He teases you, flipping the puck between his fingers with ease.

"I was pining after you, okay, and I wasn't sure you liked me back then!"

"Yeah, I forget, me asking you to come watch me play wasn't clear enough!" Quinn has been adamant for years that it was obvious he was asking you on a date, that you were just oblivious. He was, of course, wrong. Asking someone to come watch them play hockey was not in any way an obvious invite to a date and you refused to take responsibility for the earlier miscommunication which was clearly all his fault.

"It's not clear at all, honey! People ask people to watch them play all the time, it doesn't make it a date!"

"It was so a date!" a date in which you spent near 3 hours in the freezing cold and barely spoke to Quinn...definitely what a date is supposed to be. No wonder he was single for so long when you met him.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think you're lucky I liked you enough to put up with you..."

"...I am lucky...I'm lucky you gave me a chance and that you liked me enough to keep all these pucks and I'm lucky you agreed to move in with me even if you hide pucks in the closet like some weirdo." Quinn grips your hips, squeezing gently, smiling up at you sweetly even as he calls you a weirdo like he's not the one who thought watching him play hockey would be a good first date idea.

"You'll be lucky to sleep in the bed tonight if you keep that up,"

"You'd kick me out of our bed, baby? Really?" Quinn pouts at you as you grin down at him from your perch on his lap, arms wrapping over his shoulders and crossing behind his neck.

"...I'm joking, I can't sleep without your snores." If you could call his barely there noises snores, the lightest of snores, the sort of snores that were almost perfectly rhythmic rather than annoyingly inconsistent. Before Quinn you'd been adamant you couldn't date someone who snored, that it would make it too hard to sleep, now? Now, you genuinely missed them when he was gone. The noise a comforting backing track.

"You should put that on the next puck, 'I can't sleep without Quinn's snores in my ear and his manly arms around me'."

"'Manly arms'?" You pull back from him slightly, brows raised in question and an amused twist to your lips.

"You don't think my arms are manly, baby?" You laugh as Quinn raises one arm, flexing his bicep. You can't even see his muscles underneath his baggy hoodie, too well hidden within his cocoon of comfy cotton and polyester.

"I think you're ridiculous...." You shake your head at him, settling back in against him as he peers down at you with eyes that can only be described as loving, soft around the edges and almost hazy.

"Well, I think I'm in love with you."

You sigh happily as you reach for the box of pucks just behind you. You find a puck you know from sight alone, plucking it from the box and handing it to Quinn in response. You watch him read it, the way his smile turns to a full grin that beams at you like you've given him the moon. When in reality its just a ratty puck that says, 'I think I'm in love with Quinn Hughes'.

[be4chywritez]

trophy boyfriend | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x actress!reader

rec: can you PLEASE do like a actress!reader x quinn hughes and like hes just a dork around her

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

The hum of soft jazz plays in the hotel suite as your glam team moves around you like a well-oiled machine. A makeup artist dabs at the corner of your lips, a stylist adjusts the sparkling hem of your designer gown, and a hairstylist puts the final touches on your updo.

Across the room, Quinn is struggling with his cufflinks.

You glance at him through the mirror, watching as he frowns down at the small buttons, his fingers fumbling slightly. It’s adorable, really—the way this man can maneuver a puck at lightning speed but is absolutely defeated by formalwear.

With an amused sigh, you wave off your team.

“Okay, okay, I got it from here,” you say, standing up and making your way over.

Quinn lets out a breath of relief. “Thank god.”

You shake your head, taking his wrist in your hands. “You are an Olympic athlete,” you tease, carefully fastening the cufflink. “You have literal hand-eye coordination of steel. But this? This is what beats you?”

He huffs. “These things are impossible.”

You smirk, moving onto the next one. “They’re not impossible, babe.”

Quinn just watches you, his expression softening. The way your fingers move with ease, the way you’re so gentle with him, the way you look so stupidly beautiful up close.

And then, before he can stop himself—

“Jesus,” he breathes, low and awed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your fingers pause.

The words hit you straight in the chest, so raw, so genuine that it makes you blink up at him.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah?”

Quinn nods, completely transfixed. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs rubbing over the fabric of your dress. “Like—so beautiful. I don’t even—” He exhales, shaking his head, almost in disbelief. “—I don’t even have words for it.”

You bite back a grin. “You just said a whole sentence, love.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “You know what I mean.”

You do. And the warmth in your chest tells you it’s mutual.

The luxury black SUV glides through the streets of Los Angeles, the distant flashes of cameras already visible as you near the venue.

Quinn shifts slightly beside you, adjusting the cuffs you helped him with earlier. He looks perfect—classic black tux, tousled hair, sharp jawline that’s gonna make Twitter implode in approximately thirty minutes.

But you can tell he’s a little on edge.

“You okay?” you ask, placing a hand on his knee.

Quinn glances at you, then lets out a small huff. “I just—” He rubs a hand over his face. “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

You tilt your head, squeezing his knee. “Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “I mean, look at me. I play hockey. My idea of a big night is, like… eating pasta before a game and going to bed by ten.”

You smile. “Sounds like a riveting lifestyle.”

“I’m serious,” he mutters, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You soften, lacing your fingers with his. “Quinn, you do belong here. I wanted you here, with me. No one else. Just you.”

He glances at you then—really looks at you. The sincerity in your voice, the way you’re still holding his hand even when the cameras outside are waiting to catch every move.

And maybe… maybe he does belong here.

Or at the very least—he belongs with you.

The second your car door opens, the lights and noise explode.

You step out first, flashing an effortless smile, moving through the flashing cameras like second nature.

Quinn follows.

And immediately freezes.

The sheer volume of photographers, the shouted questions, the flashes—it’s all so different from the controlled environment of a post-game media scrum.

His expression doesn’t change, his posture stays stiff. He doesn’t react.

Except—when he looks at you.

You turn back, reaching for his hand. The second he takes it, his fingers curling around yours, something shifts. His shoulders drop slightly, his face loses the blank tightness.

The cameras eat it up—Quinn Hughes, usually stoic, softening the moment you touch him.

But the second you turn away to answer a question, he’s back to looking completely out of place.

The interviewers try.

“So, Quinn! How does it feel being at the Oscars with Y/N tonight?”

He blinks. “Uh… it’s cool?”

A beat of silence.

The interviewer laughs politely. You don’t even try to hide your smirk.

Quinn, to his credit, doesn’t crumble. But you can sense it—the way his hand tightens slightly in yours, the way his jaw tenses.

He’s not freaking out, but he’s not loving it either.

You make a quick decision.

Instead of lingering for more interviews, you squeeze his hand and lean in. “Let’s go inside.”

Quinn doesn’t hesitate.

As you lead him through the last waves of flashing cameras and into the safety of the venue, you feel it—his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Like a silent thank you.

And when you glance up at him, finally out of the public eye, he gives you a small, private smile.

It’s the first real one of the night.

The theater is breathtaking—warm lights reflecting off golden décor, a hum of energy rolling through the crowd, the biggest names in Hollywood all gathered in one place.

At your table, Quinn sits beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee under the table. His touch is warm, grounding, everything you need to keep yourself from overthinking.

The show moves on, category after category, but as the night stretches on, so do your nerves.

And then—

“And now, the nominees for Actress in a Leading Role…”

Your name flashes across the massive screen, the camera cutting to you at the exact moment your heart slams against your ribs.

You don’t move.

You’re hyper-aware of the way your breathing slows, of how the applause fades into a quiet hum in your ears.

Then—Quinn’s hand tightens around yours.

You glance over.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles—soft, steady, like he’s reminding you that no matter what happens, he’s right there.

"You got this," he murmurs. So sure.

Your pulse steadies. You squeeze his hand back.

The presenter opens the envelope.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

The pause stretches.

Your stomach flips.

And then—

They say your name.

For a moment, the world stops.

Your mind blanks, heart hammering, ears ringing. You barely register the way the crowd erupts, the way your co-stars cheer.

But Quinn?

Quinn is already on his feet.

He’s not over-the-top, but he’s clapping immediately, beaming. It’s pure instinct—his entire face lit up, dimples deep, eyes wide with pride, awe, love.

You push your chair back, standing on shaky legs, but before you go anywhere—before you even think about stepping onto that stage—you turn to him.

You throw your arms around his neck, holding onto him first.

His arms wrap around your waist without hesitation, his grip strong, his warmth grounding you.

And just as you pull away, you press a quick, breathless kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then you’re moving—up the stairs, onto the stage, into the blinding lights, the golden statue placed in your hands.

You thank your director, your cast, your team. You keep it short, simple, heartfelt.

And then, just before you finish, your eyes drift back to where Quinn is still standing.

He’s still clapping, still smiling. Like you just hung the stars.

“And, of course,” you add, a small smile pulling at your lips, “to the person who reminded me every day that I could do this. Who never let me believe otherwise. Thank you, Quinn.”

The second you step behind the curtain, Oscar clutched in your hand, your heart still pounding, your eyes immediately scan for him.

It doesn’t take long.

Quinn is waiting just a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets, his smile so big it’s practically blinding.

And before he can say anything—before he can even move—

You run straight into him.

He barely has time to react before you throw your arms around his neck, jumping up slightly as his arms come around you.

He catches you with ease, his laugh warm against your ear.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cradling his face. His skin is warm, his smile softer now, his hands still holding you tight like he’s not quite ready to let go.

“You did it,” he murmurs, voice full of something so deep, so real. “I knew you would.”

Your fingers brush over his cheek. “You sure?” you tease. “Because I seem to remember some panicked, middle-of-the-night doubts.”

Quinn huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, and I seem to remember talking you down from every single one.”

You grin, pressing your forehead to his. “I guess I should start listening to you more often, huh?”

He smirks. “You definitely should.”

A photographer calls your name softly, reminding you where you are, but neither of you move just yet.

You look at Quinn. He looks at you.

And then—

You kiss him. Soft, sure, just enough.

And when you pull back, he just grins, shaking his head like he still can’t believe you’re real.

Before you can say anything else, a stage manager ushers you onto a small carpet where reporters and interviewers lined up.

"How are you celebrating tonight?" the reporter asks, microphone extended toward you.

You barely hesitate. "Probably get In-N-Out with my boyfriend."

The press room bursts into laughter.

Quinn, just a few feet away, shakes his head but can’t hide his smile.

-

The smell of fresh burgers fills the car, the golden statue sitting between you in the backseat.

Quinn takes a sip of his drink, glancing over at you. "So, this is how an Oscar-winner celebrates?"

You tear open a packet of fries. "This is how I celebrate."

Before he can respond, your phone starts buzzing.

Jack.

You roll your eyes and answer, putting it on speaker.

Jack’s voice immediately fills the car. "HOLY SHIT."

Luke’s right behind him. "SHE ACTUALLY WON."

You laugh, reaching for your burger. "You guys stayed up to watch?"

"Duh," Jack says. "Quinn, dude, how the hell did you pull this off?"

Quinn groans. "Good to hear from you too, Jack."

Luke is still processing. "I mean, we always joke about you being the most unexpected couple ever, but like… you really went and did it."

Quinn just shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

And you?

You just squeeze his hand, because you wouldn’t want to be celebrating with anyone else.

You’re back home, fresh out of the shower, warm and sleepy as you crawl into bed next to Quinn.

The Oscar sits on the dresser.

Quinn rolls onto his side, watching you as you settle against the pillows. His hand drifts across your hip, his touch absentminded, lazy.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “You tired?”

He hums. “Not as tired as you.”

You yawn—completely proving his point.

Quinn laughs, tucking you closer, his warmth melting into yours.

“Night, Oscar-winner,” he murmurs against your hair.

You smile against his collarbone. "Night, Hughes."

[theemporium]

short blurb where Quinn and his gf are asleep together in the Lakehouse and his brothers/friends find them and slightly tease them?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

series masterlist

.

“Are they in there?”

“Shut up, you’re so loud!”

“Well, sorry for not wanting to be scarred for life—”

“Oh my god, it’s not like they are going to be naked.”

“Don’t even joke about that, I’m going to throw up.”

In the few minutes it took for Quinn to slowly wake up and take in his surroundings, he had come to a few realisations. He realised that he had fallen asleep much longer than he intended, if the slight evening chill told him anything. He realised you had too, with the warmth of your body half laid across his as the two of you laid out on the sun-lounger. And he realised that his brothers were really fucking annoying sometimes.

But, he already knew that last one for a while.

“You two would be the worst spies ever,” Quinn murmured, refusing to open his eyes as his arms tightened around you and pulled you closer to him. He felt you fussing around before you let out a content sigh, settling against his chest. 

Jack let out a scoff. “We would be great spies.”

“Do you guys have to do…this in front of us?” Luke questioned, and Quinn finally opened his eyes to see his youngest brother standing at the bottom of the sun-lounger with his nose scrunched in disgust. 

“We have been dating for ages, Luke, get over it,” Quinn deadpanned, going as far to lean down and press a lingering kiss to the top of your head to really emphasise his point. 

Luke gagged in response. “My dinner is gonna come back up.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Shut up before you wake her up.”

“Too late,” you mumbled, your face still pressed against his chest. “I’m awake and I’m cold. We should’ve brought a blanket out.”

Quinn’s smile softened. “We’ll bring one out tomorrow night.”

“Oh my god, they are planning to do it again,” Luke grumbled, still glaring at the two of them. “You are defiling the lakehouse.” 

“You’re a big boy, you can handle it,” you muttered, nuzzling yourself closer into your boyfriend’s side as the evening chill continued to pick up. “Get us a blanket, please?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“This is why you’re my second best friend.”

Luke’s jaw dropped. “Second? I am second?! Who’s first?” 

You blinked your eyes open, a smile slowly spreading on your face. “Obviously Jack because he’s gonna get me a blanket.”

Luke’s head snapped around just as Jack lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Do not get me involved in the middle of this.”

“Boo.”

.

[so-writing]

Maybe Love, Mostly Soup - Quinn Hughes

Note: Oh heyyyy, it's 90F+ where I live so I wrote something cold and snowy (and slightly christmas-y) to cool down? I don't know, anyway enjoy <3

Not edited, feedback is loved and appreciated!

-

Cozy, snowy nights with Quinn are your absolute favorite. The flakes silently hit his windows while the lights of Vancouver twinkle below them. It’s rare, especially as deep into the season as it is, that you and Quinn get to spend an entire evening together and you intend to make the most of it.

You’ve been together just shy of four months, and have recently been spending more time at his place. It’s nice, both his apartment and just his presence in general. 

“I saw the stuff in the fridge that’s normally there,” Quinn comments as he twists the top off of a bottle of water, “are you making something? I figured we’d just order.”

“Quinn,” you scold him gently, “we’re not ordering food and having someone deliver it in this weather. The roads are covered.” 

“Fair,” he sets the bottle down and holds his hands up in defense, “so what are we having?” 

“It’s kind of cheesy, not literally, but like, it’s basic a little bit.” 

You’re nervous. Cooking isn’t something you’re great at, and you’ve never really made anything for Quinn, so this is already a little more daunting than you intended.

“Nah, I'm sure it’ll be delicious. You want my help?”

Considering his offer, you unload the necessary recipe items from the fridge and place them on the counter.

“Nope, I’ve got this, it’s just chicken noodle soup. Thanks though, Q.” 

“Of course babe,” your heart skips a beat, he’s never used a pet name for you before, “do you mind if I hangout here and observe?”

“Observe away.”

Quinn pulls the sleeves of his hoodie down over his palms, adjusts his beanie on his head and effortlessly pushes himself up onto the counter across from you, one that isn’t occupied with cooking ingredients.

“I’ll be right here, let me know if you need anything.” 

His smile causes your stomach to flutter but you ignore it and get to work. To start, half and peel a yellow onion, which was a fuck up because your eyes instantly start to water. 

“Shit,” you wipe your eyes with your shirt sleeve and try not to let Quinn see, careful not to injure yourself with the incredibly sharp knife in your hand. 

“You sure you don’t want help,” he’s seen, obviously, “onions don’t really bother me, i’ll do that.” 

He jumps down from the counter and takes your knife, the cutting board and the onion while you start new with carrots and celery. It takes little time, and before you realize, Quinn’s pulling a dutch oven out of the cupboard and turning on the stove. 

“Now, I’m no soup expert but if I had to guess, we probably have to cook these for a bit? And add some seasoning?”

“Right, did you peek at the recipe?” 

“Maybe,” the veggies simmer in the dutch oven for a few minutes before you add chicken stock, a few bay leaves and some fresh sprigs of thyme. 

It feels incredibly domestic, cooking with Quinn in his home while the Christmas lights on his tree slowly fade between color and white. The television is on in the living room, a Stars vs. Avalanche game long forgotten by you both. Your phones lay on the counter, untouched except for checking the recipe. It’s blissful, and what you picture when you think about the rest of your life. 

It feels too soon to talk about the future and its potential permanence, but in this moment, it’s lovely to think about. 

“Wow, rotisserie chicken, babe?” Quinn grabs the container of preshredded chicken and opens it, “I figured you’d be butchering and parting the chicken yourself.”

He’s obviously making a joke and you both laugh, but damn, way to ruin the fuckin moment you don’t even realize is happening, Quinn. It makes perfect sense though, because this is part of life with him. Quinn’s quick wit and sarcastic humor are two of your favorite things about him. 

Maybe later, much later, (when and if) things go that way, you’ll tell Quinn that when you first met him, all you knew about him was that he was a rich, hot professional hockey player and that was enough for you to fold easily and fall into his bed. It’s kind of embarrassing now, because he’s so much more than that and you would never want him to think you’re with him for the wrong reasons, but it is what it is. When and if the two of you do happen to make it all the way, you’ll both laugh about how ridiculous it is.

Right now though, you reply with a smartass, jokey comment, “if i’m going to look a chicken in the eyes while I end him, it should be for something more elaborate than chicken noodle soup,” and lean into him as he wraps his arms around you from behind. 

“Yeah, I have no idea how to get blood out of quartz anyway, so rotisserie was probably for the best.” 

“Ooh, Quinn, talk more about these gorgeous quartz counters. You know it gets me hot.” 

“I know what gets you hot,” he removes his arms from you and steps away, leaving you cold and missing his touch.

“Do you now?”

“Yeah,” he smiles widely and grabs two bags, “egg noodles!”

It’s so silly and he looks like a little kid as he empties the bags into the dutch oven and mixes them in.

“Chop up the dill and parsley, please. I’ll keep an eye on these. I’m getting fucking hungry and this is smelling good as hell.” 

It’s too early. It’s entirely too early to say it and you know that but you’ll allow yourself to feel it privately. You’re pretty sure you love him, and if you don’t entirely yet, you’re pretty fucking close. 

“Aye, aye, captain!” 

The two of you work in tandem, Quinn keeping an eye on the simmering soup while you chop the herb mixture. He removes the thyme and bay leaves while you add the parsley and dill. The scent of fresh herbs and savory chicken fills the kitchen, leaving you nearly salivating. 

“It’s got to simmer for a bit,” Quinn’s become a soup expert in the last forty-five minutes but you’re not complaining, “let’s sit.”

Quinn hops up on the counter again and taps the spot beside him, motioning for you to join him. You do.

“Why are we sitting on these luxurious quartz counters when you’ve got plenty of chairs, Quinn?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he takes your hand in his. 

“I used to do this when I was kid. Mom probably hated it, actually I know she did, but she never said a word. I loved to watch her cook, for whatever reason. I couldn’t tell you the last time I actually did it but I loved this tonight.” 

It means more than he knows but you stay quiet, hoping he’ll say more. 

“Thank you for this, for spending the evening with me.” 

You sit in silence for a moment before Quinn slides off the counter and turns to help you get down. The two of you are silent while he dishes out soup into bowls. 

“Where should we sit? Kitchen table? Living room by the tree?”

You smile, because now you’re sure. You’re sure you love him.

“Well”, you start, “I think there’s only one place for us to truly enjoy this soup,” he smiles at you and takes the bowl from your hands. 

The two of you sit side by side on the countertop, eating (mostly) homemade chicken noodle soup and enjoying each other’s company. 

Snow continues to fall outside, the lights of the city still twinkle, and Quinn thinks, maybe, he might love you.

-

Inspo for this came from here, request others? <3

[kawhh]

So birthday whore thought, getting passed around at the lake house for your birthday, like with Quinn,Jack and Luke and maybe even Trevor and Cole?😏🧐

Doesn’t have to be dark but is okay if it is

Is your birthday today or tomorrow my love? I thought it was the 16th, but if it's today, happy birthday. If it's tomorrow, take this unhinged fuckery early from me. I don't think it's exactly what you wanted, but I um, I went a bit off my head. Giving me permission to make it darker was a choice and I will not take responsibility for what I did with that. I tripled down on the birthday— also no Trevor or Cole honestly just because I'm out of group sex practice and it's a lot of bodies for my brain to keep track of. Warnings: It's dark. But also in a way not as dark. Luke being a shit. Quinn being a bit crazy. Jack doesn't know what permission is. The slightest knife play. Maybe a drop or two of blood. Don't pay attention to the health problems and concerns in any of this. Throat fucking. Food play. Badly written. Cum cake. Fork in you for a second. Knife slicing at your underwear. Cervix mention. Fingers in your mouth alongside cock. Fingers inside you when you're being eaten out. Cockwarming in your mouth. Cake on your face.

Taglist.

The brothers would lull you into a false sense of security at first— keeping it casual, not letting any of their true intentions slip. Loosening you up with their touch, the alcohol racing through your system making you pliable, weakening your morals, eroding the chain locked around your head.

Everything is normal— they're acting like usual. The birthday messages and praise spilling from them, they've even got you a cake— it's just too bad that you won't be eating any of it.

You wouldn't think anything of them wanting to crowd around you while they show you the cake, even when Luke stands a little too close to you, his muscles pushing against your back, his breath heavy and hot against the back of your neck— a personal furnace.

Nothing of the way Quinn stares at you from the opposite side of the table, his grip on the tablecloth harsh, his knuckles white with the tension in his hold. The way he stares at you, watches you. The way he forces eye contact out of you, feeling like he's pulling at your brain, shivers racing up your spine from the barely controlled look in his eyes.

Startled as he reaches for a knife, the weird feeling in your stomach esclating with how comfortable he looks with it in his hand, how confident he is with the blade. The shine catching your eyes, dragging your attention from his eyes to his hands. The veins on his hand, how they wrap around the handle.

A spike of concern as his eyes flick up to Luke's above your head just as he goes to cut the cake, a spark of relief flowing through you when he slices through, until he hesitates. Knife hitting cake board. His eyes flashing right back to focus on you, raising the icing covered knife closer to his mouth, his tongue sliding against the now sweet-tasting steel.

Not hearing the clink of Jack's belt. Your senses blind as Luke pushes against you even further, pushing you past the uncomfortable line as your thighs are squished against the table. Unmovable even when you squirm, as you try and push back against him.

A yelp as you're pushed down into the table, a firm pressure against your lower back, the noise of Jack's belt hitting the floor finally registering, the noise echoing through the tense atmosphere.

"Thought you needed a better look at the cake, angel." His hand easily restraining you, your head narrowly missing the cake. Taking advantage of you the minute you turn your head to look at him shock, your mouth open just enough for him to force himself into your mouth.

Gagging on the sudden invasion, his cock head brutally exploring your mouth— you can feel the precum against your cheeks, the ridge of his head against your tongue as he uses you, his pace fast from the start.

Quinn passing the knife over to Luke before he reaches for your face, tilting you even further for Jack, his touch soft and gentle against your cheek, his thumb tracing your stretched lips, paying no attention to Jack fucking your throat like a machine, a man possessed.

A sting against your thigh, a slice from behind— the lost knife— wielded by the youngest. The blood trailing down your leg, the knife cutting your underwear off you, exposing you to the cold air, his clothed cock pushing against your cunt.

You think Quinn might be insane— his free hand consuming the cake with a fork, his other still on your face, pushing his thumb slightly in your mouth to join Jack's cock. Seemingly finding amusement from the pain of the stretch, of the knife. His tongue tracing the cake crumbs on the fork.

His hand patting your cheek as you feel Luke's cock pushing against you, his hands on your hips to pin you in place, both for him and for Jack who's slowed his pace, wanting to enjoy every second of you being ruined.

A sharp exhale, a broken whimper leaving your mouth like a wounded animal as Luke pushes through into you, the pressure unrelenting. He wants in your cunt. There's no other option.

The stretch of his head pushing into you matching that of Jack's cock in your mouth, spikes of pleasure when he pushes through your walls, bumping into every little spot inside of you. His balls against your bloodied body as he bottoms out, angling his cock the best he can to bully the spongy spot inside of your tight, wet little body.

Dragging muffled moans out of you, the sound almost silenced with all of the cock and fingers in your mouth. His thrusts rough, slamming into your body with enough force to push you further up the table, drool from your mouth painting the tablecloth. Icing on your face, in your hair, on your lips.

Quinn can't resist pushing it in your mouth, sliding the cake crumbs and icing in beside Jack's cock.

"Only right that you get to taste the cake, sweetheart."

He's actually laughing at your panic as Luke speeds up— he's almost bruising your cervix with the power behind his thrusts, his need and want to be as far inside you as he can get. Groans escaping his mouth.

"Such a fucking tight birthday girl. Such a good pussy f'me."

They're in sync when they lose themselves in you, their cock's throbbing in your mouth and cunt at the same time, broken little jerks into your mouth as they're pushed over the limit, painting your walls with their cum.

You don't even get a break, a moment to breathe, a second to process. Luke taking Jack's place, his softening cock filling the void in your mouth, resting heavy against your tongue. His hand playing with his balls, cupping them and rolling them like he's getting ready for round two with you.

A growing concern as you're pushed further up the table, your body fully supported by the table and smushed cake. A tongue lapping at the blood on your leg, another tongue licking a fat stripe next to your cunt.

They're down there. Both of them. Their heads fighting for dominance, pushing each other out of the way when they need more access. Their hair tickling your ass, making you squirm and jump.

You can feel the cum making it's way out of you, your eyes wide when Quinn reaches for his second favourite treat— the cake.

He wouldn't... he wouldn't... would he?

The sudden metal makes you tense up, the prongs of the fork pushing into your cunt. A fucked up weird feeling as he forces cake into you, lapping at your skin.

"Birthday girl gotta have her cake— you've barely had any."

Quinn's burying his nose and tongue inside you the minute he's done with the fork, chasing the now cum covered cake inside of you, on a war path to get his first real taste of you of the night. He's been patient; he's waiting for his turn. But now it's time for him to enjoy you, to celebrate your birthday inside of you.

His pace lesuirely, unbothered by Jack sliding his fingers in with him, playing with the cake, laughing at your pathetic little embarrassed whine at how they're bullying you, using you.

They'll keep you air tight all night until you pass out, taking their time with you— you have a lot of cake to go through.