#dark quinn

[softsunnyy]

🚨 face slapping, obsessive behavior, exes meeting again, smut, my need to write stalker! quinn, rough sex, he cums inside you without you knowing, kinda baby trapping?? idk if i'm missing something, but i think this is enough anyway 🚨

as usual, poorly written

okay, but what about ex bf!Quinn, who can't forget you or let you go?

he promised that once you were his, you'd never stop being his.

so, who's the guy you're talking to? he knows he's not a family member, and he knows he's not one of your old friends. Why are you talking to him then?

ex bf!Quinn is obsessive; he needs to know where you are, what you're doing, and who you're talking to. And he'll show up every day in your routine, like an accident, just to twist your mind, make you miss him even more, and make forgetting him an impossible task.

so when you text him, it's no surprise. He already expected it. He already knew it would happen, and he doesn't try to make it any harder, talking to you in that flirty way, knowing that on the other end, your heart is pounding and your legs are trying to rub together to relieve the heat his words cause.

he knows what to say and do, so he asks you things he already knows, but that make you excited. He does all those things he knows you like, and that you've confessed more than once drove you crazy. From the smallest to the most possibly noticeable. He knows you like the back of his hand.

and you don't suspect his plan, how he's trying to win you back, but you can't deny that you want that. You want to go back, to hug him, to kiss him. You want to know everything he did while you weren't together.

did he meet someone? did he miss you? has he thought about you as much as you thought about him? you don't know, and it drives you crazy not knowing. But he tries to make it easier, paying compliments, telling you how he's missed hearing and knowing about you.

and you don't know anything, you don't know about all the things he did intentionally while you weren't together, or the times he thought about you. Not even the times he looked at the photos you posted, one hand squeezing his cock, staring annoyed at the cum that would be wasted. But he also doesn't know that you keep all the photos, all the recordings, everything he gave you so you can remember him when he wasn't around, using it to reach your orgasm, convincing your mind that you touch yourself the way he does.

you couldn't even think of anyone or anything else, because he was always there, on posters, or crossing the street, or in people wearing his jersey, or on tv, or even in a pack of cookies. You saw him shopping, in parking lots. You were sure you saw his car everywhere, or smelled his scent everywhere you went. He drove you crazy until you couldn't resist the urge to talk to him, and you did.

when you see each other again, he's the one who hugs you, because he knows you're doubting if it's the right thing to do, and it's when you feel his warmth that you try to stay there forever, safe in his arms. His head on your neck, as always, leaving a kiss.

you go to eat as if it were the most normal thing, but he touches you more and more, seeing how you tense up, how your cheeks turn red, and how you stutter when you speak. He knows he has you where he wants you, and at the end of the night, he's happy to walk into your house with you, his hand on your lower back and a smile on his lips.

because he always knows how to win you over, how to get your panties wet. He knows where to touch, he knows what tone of voice to use. He knows what you like, because he made sure to learn it during all that time together.

and when he kisses you? it's intense, making you feel small and at his mercy, knowing that he's in charge, that he'll take care of you and make you feel good.

and he tries to hold back, not to be too rough, but when he hears you sigh against his mouth, happy... it's like everything he planned goes down the drain. His grip leaves bruises, he moves you as he pleases, ignoring the moans.

when he put his cock inside you, it was like arriving in paradise, but he can't help but notice that you're not as tight as he expected, and that drives him crazy. He knows your body, knows how it feels after hours, days, and weeks. He knows how your fucking walls suffocate his cock when he comes back from a road trip. So why isn't that happening?

he grabs your jaw with his hand, so tight he barely lets you speak, but he asks you. Who were you with? what did you do?

you whimper, trying to explain, but you babble, so he slaps you. He wants answers, he wants you to speak to him clearly, to be his good girl.

you have to obey him, and you know it, so you confess your sin, telling him how you used the toys he had forbidden you to touch, stretching your walls, trying to convince yourself it was him. Using him to try to reach your orgasm the same way he makes you reach it, intense, explosive. The kind of orgasms that leave your legs shaking and cramping. But it didn't work the same way, because nothing can replace him.

and at first, he doesn't believe you, so he slaps you again, watching the skin on your cheek turn a deep red, which will surely leave a mark he doesn't care about right now. And he knows it burns, he knows you'll start stuttering, so he asks again, but this time, he sees the honesty in your glassy eyes, and you tell him you recorded a video you never sent him, a video you can show him so he can believe you.

and you cry, you beg him to believe you, trying not to break your words into moans at the way he's moving inside your pussy. Your legs wrap around his hips, trying to keep him closer, closer to you.

and he believes you, decides to, because he tries to remember, inside his clouded mind, all the times he followed you, spying on your every move.

his breathing calms, but his grip is still strong, painful, and his cock goes in and out of you, hammering you, making you moan so loudly that your throat hurts, burning like never before.

the thought alone made him furious, wanting to destroy you as punishment for something you didn't even do. He needs to remind you who you belong to, no matter how long you've been separated. So he puts your legs on his shoulders, adjusting the position, making you feel him in every part.

you're his, he's going to spend the night reminding you of that.

ex bf!Quinn, who's capable of cumming inside you over and over again, knowing you're fucked stupid, that your babbling shows how inattentive you are. Knowing you won't notice you didn't take your pills today, and that you just let him fill you until your pussy was dripping, staining your folds and thighs with his cum.

because he's back to stay. Forever.

[kawhh]

Having the world's worst PMS cramps.....quinny come make them disappear for nine months.....god of you jokes about that to him? You're DONE FOR

Okay, I'll admit, I went a little cum crazy. Nobody should be surprised.

Warnings: Okay guys I have a cum problem, breaking news. He's on a mission. Storing his cum. Forcing his cum into you. Physical restraint thoughts. Me writing at 3am problems.

If you mention it to him and don't want him to solve the problem, you better start running for the fucking hills. It's like waving a red flag at a bull.

This man is NOT fucking around.

Even if you don't ask outright and only hint, he's taking it as permission. You're clearly struggling enough to even voice your complaints. He can't stand you being in pain, can't stand seeing you so weak and not being able to do much about it.

There's nothing he won't do to make them disappear. I mean nothing. He's not wasting a second. His number one goal would be to get as much cum as physically possible inside you.

He's almost clinical about it.

He knows there's a chance he'll get exhausted before he can make them vanish. He can't chance it. The faster he can save you, the better. If he can't fuck you until the night, he's jerking off and saving all his cum every single time he gets hard at the thought of knocking you up.

It's not like has to fuck it into you after all. He just needs it in you. He can sacrifice his own pleasure for you. There's nothing stopping him stuffing you full of his cum with his fingers. It's easier if he warms you up first, even if he can only manage a thrust or two in his post game exhaustion.

He'd have you arching on the bed, holding your ankles together in one hand to keep you still, easily overpowering you and yanking you back if you tried to escape.

He could pour it into you, sure. But he could also force it in with his fingers slowly, pushing it against your depths, circling the tips of his fingers around in you, ignoring any noises of discomfort coming from you. You asked for this. He's just doing his best.

If he has the energy to fuck you? Good luck. This man won't stop until he's almost passing out on top of you, until he has no more cum left to give. He's keeping you in some obsession filled version of a mating press, thrusting into you violently until his dick aches.

You'll regret ever joking about it with him.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

It was Innocent // Quinn Hughes

@kawhh aka my queen of dark and twisty said dark content!! and i said !!!! it’s time!! anyways here’s some darkish, stalkerish Quinn.

WC: 1.1k

CW: questionable actions, mentions of violence, whole things in Quinn’s pov, Boeser!reader, toys, not full smut, pet names,

It started innocently at first, she dropped off lunch for Boeser. “I figured I'd be a good sister and drop this off since you left it sitting on the counter. Again.” She had an attitude. I didn’t know Boeser had a sister. He chuckled and apologized to which she left. I never forgot the way the scent of vanilla and whiskey lingered in the air that day.

It was still innocent as I was sniffing the candles in a store while I waited for Petey who took his sweet time across the street. That’s when it hit me, vanilla and whiskey. Her vanilla and whiskey. Picking up the candle, I walked up to the sales representative and asked if they had more of this. I left with 3 candles, body spray and a lotion. I needed this to last.

It was innocent when I left flowers, a gift basket with a candle and a little note signed H for Huggy. She won’t put it together, “couldn’t stop thinking about you. -H”

It was still innocent when she walked into the restaurant with a tight shirt that hung lower on her chest than it should’ve. The way her cheeks turned pink when she saw my eyes flick back up to her face, will forever be ingrained in my mind.

It was less innocent when I found her instagram and scrolled down and found a group photo of her with a guy's hand on her waist and a sick smile on his face. Heat filled my body. He was touching something that didn’t belong to him. It was an innocent DM, that’s what I told her when she asked me why her ex mentioned me by name. A simple question.

It was innocent when I asked her if she wanted to join the Lake House life360. It was innocent when I'd watch her move from her and Boeser’s home to some random bar downtown. It was innocent when I walked into that bar and saw someone talking to her at the bar. It was innocent when I broke his nose, “had to keep you safe, swear he put something in your drink. Why don’t I get you home?”

It was innocent when I overheard her conversation with Boeser about me. “I think Quinn was the one to leave the flowers, B. Dunno he randomly showed up at the bar, hit some dude and took me home. Said it wasn’t safe. Should I be worried?” He laughed at her, almost like she was the crazy one. “No dumby, Quinn wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt anyone. Let alone you.”

It was innocent when I snuck into her room during a game night to turn the camera on that was facing your bed. Silly thing, who doesn’t check their webcam.

It was innocent listening to you pant, while your hands slipped past your waistband. It was innocent when my hand was wrapped around my cock listening to your soft moans.

It was innocent when I left a gift box and a note on your bed.

“Figured you needed some help, your hands are awfully small. -H”

It was innocent when I checked the camera that night and saw my cock against your heat.

It was innocent when my cock throbbed hearing you plead for me, while you bounced on the dildo I made you.

It was innocent when I decided to call you right before your release.

“You need me, baby. Know you do. See your tears all the way over here. Just wanna be so good huh? Just wanna bounce on my cock, I mean you already are. Just not quite the real thing. Why don’t you start moving your hips again, show me how good it feels having me buried so far into your soaking cunt.”

It was all supposed to be innocent.

I can’t stop hearing her whimper in my head. I can’t stop hearing the way she cried for me. I can’t stop watching her live her life while i’m wishing for nothing more than to hold her close to me so no one can see her again.

I can’t stop the way my heart rate picks up when I open the camera and see her reading in bed and I can’t help the rage my body is filled with when I see a man sitting on her bed while she’s rummaging through her closet.

I can’t help the way my body just went on autopilot and how i’m standing in front of the door, banging against it. Waiting for her to answer.

I can’t help the way I shoved her against the back of the door the second it closed.

I can’t help my hands gripping her chin forcing eye contact, “can’t believe you’d let some random ass guy in your room, baby. Think I wouldn’t find out? Think I wouldn’t come over here the second I saw? Bet you thought I wouldn’t come over here and make you cry, huh? Oh baby, you’re in a world of hurt if you think even for a second another man is gonna go anywhere near you again. Tried so hard to be nice and polite but I don’t think you get it.” My hand slowly traveled down her body, stopping right above her core. “I know the kind of things you read. I bet you if I just slide those panties to the side you’d be soaking, I wouldn't even need to warm you up for me. You’ve been fucking yourself every night on my cock. Could just slide right in, couldn’t I?”

Her whimpers were music to my ears. The choked breath she let out as my fingers pressed against her aching hole.

“Really wanna. I do, just don’t think you deserve it. Been so mean to me baby. Letting other people touch what’s mine, teasing me every time I'm around. Prancing around in those tiny tops. Tit’s begging me to bite ‘em.”

The phone ringing cut my words short, her phone showed a picture of her and Brock. Her voice was soft and shaky as she said she’d be right out to help.

“Guess I’ll just have to wait huh?” Hand moving away from her heat.

“Q, please just. Just once? Got a second, can just slip in. Even if you don’t move, I just need to feel.”

My desperate girl.

Nodding at the girl, I brought my fingers to settle on her clit. “She’s swollen baby, must really need it.”

The honk from the driveway signaled Brock’s return.

Rolling her clit between two fingers and pinching hard. “Better hurry up baby.”

As she quickly fixed her dress and walked outside, I knew in my heart, it was never innocent.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Your dark Quinn is DELICIOUS! May we have more!?

I can't get the gif of Quinn out of my mind from the awards last season. The one where hesfixining his tie? Can we get some outfit picking? Quinn approving and disapproving of the reader's dresses for the upcoming awards show?

Please,make my dreams come true? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Nonnie...I went down a very slutty rabbithole with this one. If you (or anyone else) don't want 1,500 words of smut right out the gate. Ignore this one. If you'd like a redo, let me know, please!

It goes without saying: dark sexual themes throughout, just....dark everything. There's too much to list. 18+ Rated A for Adult, lol. Y'all know the drill!

"Darling, I need you to show me what you're planning on wearing next weekend," Quinn spoke, giving you a sideways glance as you passed by him in the living room. You stopped when he spoke to you, giving him your full and undivided attention anytime he spoke to you. He'd beckon you to come closer to the sofa where he sat, instructing you to sit and straddle his hips before he'd continue. His hands found the curve of your hips like a magnet, fingers clawing at them gently, while your hands rested on the top of his shoulders.

"Do you have an idea of what you want to show me?" He pressed, bouncing you with his leg a couple times so you slid closer to his chest.

"I have several I think you'd like," you smiled, keeping your hands where they were, but wanting to play with his hair. Your eyes remained on his, knowing he didn't like when they wandered.

Quinn breathed deep the smell of your shampoo as he leaned up into you to place a kiss to your exposed collarbone. His hands trailed from your shorts, up under the hem of your tank-top, to tease your taut nipples with the soft pads of his thumbs. Your sharps gasps brought a smirk to his lips while he continued to dot your skin with his affections, careful not to leave a mark anywhere it might be seen by a prying camera.

"Someone's a little needy this morning," he teased, working fast circles on your left bud while your hips grinded against him. You could feel your heartbeat pounding between your legs, just wanting to beg him to touch you but you knew he wouldn't. It was a treat that he was even letting you tease yourself through the friction of your cloth shorts. You could already feel the fabric grow cool from your arousal.

"What are you doing, princess?" He hummed, feeling you try to push deeper into his hips; struggling to press your clit on something that would give you the stimulation you craved.

Your answer to his question was simply a moan, as his tongue took over for his finger. His hot breath and spit against your sensitive button sent a fresh wave of tingles coursing through your body, Your pussy ached for the feeling of a touch that wasn't your own, of something you couldn't anticipate the sensation of.

"Answer me, sweetheart, or you'll be grounded."

/Grounded./ Quinn's definition of the word meant no orgasms, either by your own doing or his, no matter how much you begged, promised, or cried. He'd get you just to the point of release, time-after-time, just to leave you in tears while he walked away, making you think he was going to lift your punishment when in reality it only made it worse. You had only been "grounded" once, and it had been the worst week you could remember. You had never felt more desperate, more needy, or touch starved than the week he kept you waiting. But god, when he finally let you come, you felt weightless for an hour afterwards.

"I want you to touch me, please," you replied, breathlessly following his one and only warning, stopping your movements while he spoke.

Quinn's tone deepened, "Do you want me to touch you, or do you want to get off?"

"Both," you answered immediately, your chest heaving.

He just grinned at your answer, that devious smirk that drove you equally as crazy as it frightened you.

"Get up, princess," he ordered, withdrawing his hands from your body, leaving you stunned and fearful you had answered incorrectly. "Now."

Without needing another push, you pulled yourself off of him and stood beside him, trying so hard to be patient.

"In my lap, sweetheart."

Swallowing hard, you did as you were told, and soon found yourself between his thighs, your hands resting on either side of him.

"You're such a good girl, doing as you're told so quickly," he growled deeply into your ear. "I don't like having to tell you twice. Thank you for not making me do that."

"You're-- welcome," you choked out, finding yourself nervous for whatever was about to happen. You mind was fuzzy with wants and unspoken desires, making it harder to focus on the present.

Quinn's breathy laugher sent goosebumps across your skin as his right hand roamed. "I like to reward good girls."

His fingers slipped under the band of your shorts and painfully slow, inched across your bare skin until he discovered just how wet you were for him. You never disappointed him on that front, and he loved being surprised with just how intense it was. There were few things that topped how his fingers felt when you craved him so badly, they were a second to his tongue, of course. Your back arched against him as he traced the outline of your lips so lightly you had to focus to feel it. He was playing with you, but it didn't matter: you were getting what you had asked for, and if you played your cards right, he'd complete both of your wants at once.

"You get so wet so fast, princess. I hardly even touched you. Tsk, tsk, tsk," his tongue ticked against the back of his teeth. "Such a desperate little thing you are, aren't you?"

"Yes!" You moaned as he slipped his index into you, the sound of your wet sex popping in the quietness of his apartment while he buried his finger into you as deep as the angle would allow him. You were tightening against him, pushing into each thrust with quickening desperation.

Having given you a taste of what you could expect later, Quinn withdrew his finger, slick with your fluids, and took to rapidly stroking your plump clit. Your moans grew deeper, and more consistent with each wave of pleasure that washed over you.

"You sound so beautiful, sweetheart." He whispered, nuzzling into your neck as you continued to grind against his hand. You tried to grasp at the cushions for something to hold on to, but you just couldn't get your fingers around enough of it to do any good. Instead, your right hand would find the top of his, as he continued to play with you; your fingers sliding down his.

"Maybe I should make you get yourself off?" Quinn teased, feeling your hand press against his.

"Please, no," you begged, eyes closed in complete bliss.

"But you seem so eager to help. Do you want to feel how wet you are?"

Quinn slipped his hand from beneath yours and forced you to touch yourself, his fingers instructing where and how fast. You already knew you were past the point of being a dripping mess, and you couldn't deny how good it felt to have him show you how to pleasure yourself. Your moans continued, short and high-pitched as his pressure grew against your clit with that of your own fingers.

"That's enough," he hushed, making you take your hand away reluctantly. "That's for me to do."

The next time his fingers would separate your aching slit, your legs would involuntarily spread wider, as you pushed back against the pleasure. Every sensation felt so heightened, so intense, while you teetered on the edge of numbness. Quinn was grinning as he nipped at your shoulder, wanting to leave the darkest hickey on your shoulder yet he had to restrain himself. His fingers switched between rolling your clit under his fingertips to seeing how far he could bury his fingers inside of you.

"How good do you taste?" He asked, ordering you to clean off your fingers of your own arousal. "Good?"

"Yes," you replied, after sucking your fingers clean on demand.

"I can't wait to taste you," he murmured, his hum of his voice shooting like a vibration between your legs, a fresh supply of that slick nectar coating his fingers. "Ah, fuck.'

Quinn hissed against his tightening cock pressing against the zipper of his pants. Each time you thrusted against his touch, it teased him and you could feel him press up into you. He was hard, making you want to ask him if he'd fuck you right there.

"Do you feel what you do to me?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Upon the praise, Quinn buried two fingers deep into you, for the final push to get you to come when he said so. You were close; you had been since touching yourself. Your mouth was growing dry, having to constantly gasp for air against the throaty moans he was causing you to expel. You wanted to come, yet you didn't want to have his fingers be gone from your body.

"Are you going to come hard for me, sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh," you nodded, mouth open and eyes rolled back as you met his thrusts. His beautiful fingers lost inside your wetness just made you quicken your pace. He knew you were desperate to come, and he was nearing letting you finally let go. Just a few more minutes under his control was all he selfishly wanted and he'd get it, too.

"You've made such a mess."

"I know, I'm sorry," you whined, absolutely pathetic and lost in his touches.

"What do you want?"

"I want to come," you cried out.

"What else?" He dared you to say what you wanted later.

"I want-- I want to--," you were struggling to speak in complete sentences, and for good reason. Quinn had two fingers, knuckle-deep inside of you, pressing you to do what you were told. "I want to feel myself tighten around your cock, daddy!"

You were drooling as Quinn smirked behind you. Your hips were pushing against his erection harder now, causing Quinn to have to issue you a warning.

"Careful, princess. Not so hard; I'm not inside of you yet." His voice was low as he bit your ear. "Eager little daddy's girl, hm?"

"Yes!" You gasped, feeling Quinn's fingers slip back to your sensitive clit. You didn't know how much longer you could hold on.

Feeling you had deserved to finally have your release, Quinn brought his left hand to your throat and squeezed just enough to heighten the last few moments of pleasure. "You've done so well for me, baby. You've made daddy so proud. Would you like to come now?"

"Yes-- Yes, daddy, please! Please!"

With his lips right next to your ear, he breathed that phrase you had been craving, "Come for me, princess."

Your ears were ringing, legs were Jell-o, and your whole body was tingling as you were finally granted the extended orgasm you had begged for. Your moans were loud, but sounded so sweet to Quinn. He loved how your voice sounded at this stage, your fingers clawing at his skin, and you going limp against him as wave after wave of bliss flooded every one of your senses.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered again, holding you tightly against his chest, your back still to him. Your head had fallen back against the sofa, as you struggled to catch your breath. The room was spinning but you felt so good that it didn't matter.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Quinn asked softly, giving you as much time as you needed to find yourself again. He had all day, and he was kind enough to let you use as much as was necessary.

"Mhm," you mumbled, your voice sleepy. "Thank-- thank you."

"But of course," he said, a smile in his tone. "Take your time. There's no rush, but I'm going to take my fingers away, alright?"

You bit your lip and nodded; your hips jerked feeling his fingers withdraw from your over-stimulated petals. However, you quickly melted back into a feeling of weightlessness as Quinn's arms snaked around your waist, holding you tightly and keeping you right against him.

"Still okay?"

"Mhm."

Smiling, Quinn tightened his hold on your, nuzzling against your bare shoulder. "How about I get you cleaned up and you play dress-up for me, hm?"

You would nod again, and he'd let you get away with not using your words when he asked you a question. Quinn believed in a free pass every once in a while.

"Alright, swing your legs over, princess, and I'll carry you."

"I can--," you mumbled, still sleepy but you'd be interrupted.

"You can't walk, don't lie to me. I can see you're still shaking. You'd fall down if you tried to stand, and I won't have that. Legs. Don't make me ask again, sweetheart."

Swinging them to the left, this would be the first time seeing his face since he told you to get up and turn around. Your hair had fallen down from the messy bun it had been in, sweat had your skin glowing, and your bottom lip was red from how many times you had rolled it between your teeth. Quinn pulled your shirt back down before placing one last kiss to your exposed neck. He always led with his tongue. Your eyes would roll closed, feeling your core tense up in eager anticipation all over again.

"Just one last little tease, baby," he whispered. "There will be time for more later."

Hiding your face in the curve of his neck as he stood to his feet, you'd find yourself smiling at the thought.

- - -

The bath had been so relaxing.

Quinn had washed your face while the water filled, and made sure you didn't have to lift a finger for anything. All he had asked, was that you sipped at the glass of water he had given you. Everything he did was calculated, unhurried, and almost painfully soft. Even has he washed your hair, his fingers were careful never to pull through a snag. You were his little doll, and the most delicate of treatment would be afforded to you every time.

"Do you need anything else?" He asked, kneeling down to be level with you. You hadn't bounced back as quickly as he thought you would have, so he was keeping a close eye on you just to be sure. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I think so," you replied, eyes searching his face for a hint of what could be the reason for him still asking the same question so many times. He always checked in, but this seemed different. "Is something wrong?"

He smiled, "That's for me to worry about."

You remained quiet. You felt okay other than you were just physically drained.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly, knowing you had a bad habit of forgetting meals.

Your guilty eyes fell from his face in an instant and you knew you'd have to answer for it. "Toast."

"Sweetheart, you can't live solely on toast."

"I know, but--" You went to bite down on your lip again, but you stopped yourself, just like you stopped yourself from saying something that would get you in trouble. "I'm sorry. I'll be better."

Quinn's hand found the side of your jaw, holding it to keep your gaze where he wanted it. "Thank you." His smile was minimal but spoke volumes, mostly that of how pleased he was at how well you knew your place and what he expected of you. When he called you a good girl, it was because you really were one.

"You stay here and relax a little more, and I'm going to make you something for lunch. Ah--," he stopped, putting his thumb to your lips to keep your mouth closed. "I'll come get you when I'm done. Do you understand?"

With his thumb tracing your lips, you'd give a nod to his question.

His smile deepened as he pulled your face to his for a kiss, making you work for it as the water sloshed about with you having to struggle to meet him. "That was mean of me," he lamented, finally letting you slide back into the warm comfort of the water. "You should be resting."

Quinn would kiss the top of your head before getting to his feet and leaving the room. However, before completely exiting, he'd turn to look at you, his eyes dark, "I expect you to be where I left you when I come back, princess. Towels and floors best still be dry."

"I promise."

"Thank you," he said, finally disappearing from your line of sight.

The water was still steaming hot, but you knew he wouldn't forget you, and leave you to sit in cold water. Having a moment in your own thoughts, you remember what he had asked of you. The NHL Awards were next weekend and you needed some black-tie-level dress to wear. You knew you had several such gowns hanging in Quinn's closet, you just weren't sure which one would be the one he'd pick. Mentally, you'd flip through each of them, deciding which ones you'd reach for, and which you'd pass on when asked to finally try them on. At the moment, you knew of five you knew he'd show interest in. One he hadn't seen yet.

Twenty minutes later, Quinn would return to the bathroom, and was pleased to find you sipping from your glass and just as promised.

"Ready to get out?"

"Yes, please."

- - -

Quinn laughed, setting down the bowl of lemon and herb pasta in front of you. "Do you want me to feed you?" You couldn't tell if he was being serious or actually joking with you. His laugh should have given it away, but the sheer nature of it all seemed very honest.

"I can manage," you replied softly, hopeful he wouldn't take offense. "Thank you."

"I know you can, just having a bit of fun," he winked, though a part of him did wonder how that would go if he told you that you just had to sit there while he brought food to your mouth. A thought for another day, perhaps. "I want you to let me know how you feel in a little bit."

"I will," you reassured. "I'm okay, Quinny."

Quinn turned his head, his brows raised. "That's for me to decide."

You adverted your eyes from his face, focused now on the marble veins of the island. You knew you had just spoken out of place and now you feared the consequences. You could hear his footsteps move back towards you, and through your peripheral you could see him headed to come up behind you.

"Do you think I don't know when there's something wrong with you, hm?"

Quinn's finger traced the curve of your spine through the black silk, slip dress he had chosen for you following your bath. You shuddered against his touch, eyes closing unsure of what he was going to do next.

"You do, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way."

His fingers continued to inch upwards, following your neck until the digits were buried deep in your freshly dried hair, coiling around it tightly. He had a fistful when he pulled you backwards, your eyes snapping open when you felt like you were going to fall off of the kitchen stool. You would be looking at the ceiling when Quinn stepped into your view, still gripping your hair by the roots.

"Have I ever been wrong?"

"No," you yelped, the nape of your neck more sensitive than you could remember. "You know better than I do! I'm stupid, I'm sorry."

Quinn's fingers let go in an instant, allowing you to pull yourself back up and catching your breath. He stepped around to your right, taking the empty seat beside you.

"Look at me," he ordered, causing you to turn your whole body to face him. "Never say anything like that about yourself, princess. You're not stupid. I don't like hearing you put yourself down, especially when it's incorrect. Understood?

"Yes," you replied quickly, trying to steady your breathing, but it was turning into a struggle.

Quinn's hand would touch your thigh and move upwards, stopping when his wrist reached the hem. "You're never stupid," he reiterated.

You sniffled, as you nodded at his statement. He knew you were sorry so you refrained from uttering the constant apology.

"What am I going to do with you?" He mumbled, looking you over as you continued to face him. Quinn reached forward for your silverware then the white ceramic bowl, his left hand still gripping your upper thigh.

With a perfect piece of bowtie pasta perched on the tines of the fork, Quinn instructed you to open your mouth. He'd feed you the whole bowl, one piece at a time.

- - -

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as you thumbed through the hangers, looking for the dresses you had in mind for the following weekend. He finally felt confident that you were well enough to entertain his private little show. You were barefoot, wearing only the silk slip dress, and your hair was pulled back in a large, black hairbow. While on your tiptoes, he gazed at the curve of your calves, upwards to your full thighs and bum. So many places for his hands to hold, but he'd restrain himself from telling you to come over. He'd get the opportunity soon enough.

You decided to pull first the dress that he hadn't yet seen -- start strong right out the gate. It was black, floor-length and off the shoulder with long sleeves, with a single, thigh-high slit on the left side. No sparkles, no lace, just the dull satin to hug your body. Minimal but stunning.

Quinn would watch you let the slip dress fall from your body to a minimal pile on the floor as you stepped into the gown, pulling it up over your hips before it pulled your cleavage into place. You'd get the zipper up as far as your could on your own before he finally spoke to you.

"Come here."

As instructed, you'd saunter over, the slight train dragging behind you as you made your way across the room. And when told to turn around, you'd do so. Quinn's warm fingertips touched your back gently as he pulled the zipper up the remainder of the way.

"I like this one. Face me again." As you turned, his hands felt your curves until you were once against standing in front of him. "Set this one aside. I want to see something else before I decide."

He'd give you a nod to return to the closet and pick another for his viewing pleasure. The next one was similar, only it fully covered your chest while the entire back was out. Quinn wasn't as pleased with this one as he had the first.

"It's alright, but the first one suited you more. Put it back on for me."

Again, you'd find yourself walking back across the room, your heart beat quickening as you remembered just how much trying on anything for him made you wet. Any time you had taken photos for him while he was away turned you on so much that it made it easy to record a little something extra for him with nearly no effort. This was proving to be no different.

With the dress back on, you'd return to his side but this time he wouldn't complete the zipper. Instead Quinn would rise to his feet, a look in his eyes like he was plotting something.

"Over the bed, princess."

There it was. This was the "later" he had mentioned before carrying you off to the bath.

Doing as you were told, you bent over the bed, your arms outstretched in front of you, face down into the duvet, as you knew what that meant. You tried to contain your breathing, hiding that you were anxiously awaiting his next move. Quinn's hands gripped the curves of your hips as he pressed himself into you, forcing your legs wider apart with his foot. Your stomach tightened as you found yourself aching for his touch again. Slowly, the fabric of the dress was inched up until you were exposed in front of him.

"You deserve this," he said, the sound of a smirk in his tone. The smack he'd give to your ass stung like a hot iron but you couldn't lie -- it had felt good. "Did you like that?"

"Yes," you giggled, getting a rise out of Quinn.

"Oh, did you now?" While he was talking to you, you hadn't heard the sounds of him removing his pants, but what you felt next had you clawing at the sheets.

"Can you take all of me, princess?" He asked, teasing the head of his cock against your throbbing sex.

"Yes!" You cried out, your eagerness getting the better of you again, making Quinn laugh softly. "Please!"

He'd enter your awaiting folds in one, full thrust, pushing you deeper into the mattress. You'd moan into the blankets but the sound was hardly muted. With one hand, Quinn braced himself, while the fingers of his other slipped beneath the folds of the dress to flick your sensitive clit. Like before, you'd push back into him, feeling the pleasure strike you all at once. Each stroke he blessed you with was met with a deep thrust in tandem. All you could do was grab at the blanket beneath you and gasp for air between moans.

Adrenaline was making your hearing fade, but you could hear him enter you again, and again -- the bed thumping against the wall slightly. Everything felt so good: his cock plunging deep into you, his soft fingers teasing you devilishly, keeping you so close to the edge of ruin.

"You're so pretty, darling -- say it back. Tell me you're pretty."

You were so lost in the multitude of sensations rattling your cage that you almost didn't hear Quinn talking to you. You swallowed hard, gasping for air to help you form the words he wanted you to say.

"I'm pretty!"

"Mhmmmm, and you're prettiest when you're get so wet for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy!"

"That's right. You're doing so well for me, but I think you can do better."

Upon issuing you the challenge, Quinn's pace quickened, and you were all but biting at the sheets. Slick fingers caressed your clit with such pressure you nearly forgot to breathe. Just when you thought you'd hit your limit, Quinn demanded more from you, more patience, more self-control.

"There you go," he purred. "Hold on until I tell you not to."

You wanted to scream. Your brain was pudding, but that release was so close, one thought and you'd explode. He was railing you so hard into the mattress you had to constantly keep grabbing new fistfuls of the duvet to hold your place. You were on your tiptoes, cramps threatening to buckle your legs. It was so much to handle.

"Just a little more, princess. You can do it. Wait for me."

Had you been biting your lip, you would have tasted blood. Every muscle keeping you upright was at its limit, but you had to do what you were told. The last few minutes felt like an eternity. You were nearing the point of overstimulation.

"Now, princess, tell me what you want." His voice was strained, trying to hold himself together.

"Come in me, daddy! Please!"

His release shot into you before you were finished uttering the words.

Eyes rolled in your head when he finally granted you your reward for being so good, "Let go, darling. Come for me."

Your back arched, pushing yourself down on him one more time before he pulled out, leaving himself dripping down your leg. "That's a good girl," he finished, leaving a kiss between your shoulder blades after you had collapsed into the bed. You would have slumped to the floor in a heap had Quinn not pulled you into his embrace on the bed. You couldn't find your breath at first.

"You're alright, breathe. Breathe with me, sweetheart."

You were crashing, reduced to a girl puddle in a black gown.

"I definitely want you to wear that dress. I'll be sure to fuck you in it afterwards, so you can just be a desperate mess for me the whole night, remembering what I've already done to you in it. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, daddy," you whispered, throat sore from gasping for air so many times.

"Thank you, princess." Quinn said, his arm tightening around you, as you went limp. You were exhausted and in need of another bath. For now, he'd just hold you while you had a little nap. You had earned that and much more.

[lovingjingyuan]

I only had the confidence to start writing Dark! Quinn causes of kawhh. I was NOT trying to get canceled before, but fuck it, I have bad taste in men's personality

My old work is way more unhinged than this

Warning: non-con(ish), dark content, spanking, sex in his jersey, degradation, unprotected sex +18

The sight of you wearing his jersey was one thing Quinn couldn’t resist. Even though he seldom looks at his fans in his jersey, he couldn’t control himself when you wore it. He licks his lips. His gaze lingers on your body with the most unhinged thoughts he was unable to restrain.

Quinn knew better than to act reckless and strip you naked in front of the ice rink. Especially when people are scattered around the rink. He was just unable to control and contain himself. All he wanted in that moment was to fuck and feel your bare self on his cock. He wanted to caress his cock against your clit while you whimpered and gripped onto the edge of the jersey.

It was only when you two arrived home did he unleash all his desires. His hand swiftly raised the bottom hem of the jersey, exposing the fact you weren’t wearing any underwear. Quinn’s cock just tightened more against his boxers, begging to be freed. To imagine that you spent the entire day without any underwear or pants other than his baggy oversize jersey. You were just asking for it.

___

“Why are you surprised? You knew what you were doing when you chose not to wear your underwear. You were just begging for this attention, mh?” Your bum turned red as he smacked your butt relentlessly. Your drench pleading pussy was visible since the blue Canucks’ jersey lifted up.

He repeatedly slapped his palm against your butt. You could only whimper in agony as you remained in Quinn’s grasp.

Then he stopped. His gaze travels down your body to admire his work.

But he wasn’t finished. Quinn wanted nothing more than to hear more of your sweet noise. He wants to drain your body of all the delightful noise. As you cry and beg for him to fuck and ruin you, he rubs the tip of his cock against your entrance.

Quinn couldn’t help but tease you, needing to push you past your limits and rubbing his cock against your slick pussy and sensitive clit.

“Bad girls, don’t just get what they want; they have to earn.”

Quinn wanted to take and fuck you right there and now, but he was holding himself back, building up the excitement. His precum dripping against your pussy.

“Spread your legs more. Why do you feel shy now? You clearly weren’t an hour ago, when you were walking around like a slut.”

Of course, the jersey wasn’t coming off anytime soon. To him, the jersey served as some form of ownership branding. To show he owns you and that you are his.

[prettygirlslovecars]

i need to be euthanised. i keep going down dark jack and dark quinn spirals, i CANNOT ESCAPE THEM

[ruinix]

I am screaming into the void while kicking my feet like a lunatic. I like this so much.

UNDER CONTROL

OVERVIEW: after quinn's captaincy skills are put to the test, you want nothing more than to help him relax.

WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. bondage play, unprotected sex, p in v, etc.

note: atp, it's tradition for me to write a smut piece after every game.

wc: 2279

The game against Columbus had been a hard watch. 

Being sat on the couch in your and Quinn’s shared apartment was becoming increasingly more and more difficult the more the game carried on. During the first period, you couldn’t help but be a little frustrated at the lack of effort shown on the ice. 

However, your frustrations only grew during the last two periods. Watching Quinn and the rest of his teammates get assaulted every other second fueled your emotions, causing you to lash out at the TV due to the refs who seemed to be blind.

By the time the game had come to an end, resulting in a win for the Canucks, you couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated at everything that had transpired within the hours of the night. You knew Quinn would be happy with the win, but you also knew him well enough that he would be feeling the physical results of it too.

Once you received his text that he would be home in less than ten minutes, having found an alternate route to avoid the Vancouver traffic, your brain scrambled to think of ideas on how to make his night a little bit easier, not only on his body but on his mind.

You started by popping some leftover pizza into the microwave, knowing Quinn would eat anything you put in front of him, not caring what it was. Next, you brought out the fluffy pillows from the closet and laid them out on the couch, lighting some random Yankee candle you had found in there as well. Just as the microwave beeped and you put out one of Quinn’s favorite books on the coffee table, the front lock clicked, indicating he had arrived. 

Fumbling with your hands, you quickly walked over to the kitchen to pull the pizza out of the microwave and bringing it back over to the couch. 

“Hey.” You greeted, walking over to the doorway to kiss him.

He tiredly kissed you back, small droplets of water falling from his hair and onto your forehead, “Hi.”

“Congrats on the win, hot shot.” 

Quinn chuckled, “Thanks. Do you wanna order in or are you cooking?”

You smiled sheepishly, “Um, I actually just heated up some of the leftover pizza from a few days ago. I got too caught up in the game to actually… cook.”

He quickly noticed the embarrassment flood your face and he was quick to put a stop to it. He kissed your cheek, “You watched the game?”

“Always do. I just normally don’t get too into them, you know? But this one was really good”

Quinn let out a sigh before nodding. You could tell he was tired of standing, so you slid his hockey bag off of his shoulder and set it down on the floor. As you guided him over to sit on the couch, you couldn’t help but want to do more to help him relax. 

“Do you need anything? Water? Gatorade?” You questioned the second he sat down on the soft cushions. 

“Could you grab me a gato from the fridge?” 

You nodded, quickly making your way to the fridge and making your way back just as fast that you were surprised you hadn’t slipped, “Anything else?”

Quinn furrowed his eyebrows, “No thanks. Are you okay? You seem really jittery.”

It wasn’t hard to read you, but you were worried about the toll his body had taken during the game that you couldn’t help it. Your lack of a response caused Quinn to start to worry himself, doing the exact opposite of what you wanted to do.

He tugged you down onto the couch gently, allowing you to settle your tense body against his. It was silent as you let out a breath, easing into his touch. As you nestled your face into his chest, he winced, his body pulling back instinctively.

You pulled away quickly, “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”

Quinn shook his head, “No it wasn’t you. Just got a bit roughed up tonight.”

You gave him a look, silently asking if you could lift up his shirt to see what exactly he meant by “roughed up.”. He tensed at your gaze, nodding subtly as he allowed your hands to lift up the fabric. It was hard to see the patch of purpled and slightly yellow skin spread across his chest and you couldn’t help but grimace at the sight. 

“If anything my head hurts more than this. I promise it looks worse than it feels.” He lied, not wanting to worry you further. “I got it under control.”

Quinn had always been one to try and shake things off himself, but after tonight he desperately wanted to distract himself from not only the pain but also to forget about how the night had started.

The first period had been rough, especially for him. It was a low-effort skate from everyone and that’s exactly what the fans were seeing. He struggled to think of ways to encourage his team or even help them out, but there’s only so much one guy can do.

When they entered the locker room he was determined to shift gears. Tocchet was barely able to get a word out before Quinn took the lead, getting his team back into a winning mindset. He was always looking for ways to improve himself and the team, and if they could focus and get their heads back into the game, he knew that would show that improvement. 

What he hadn’t expected was the mental toll it would take on him. He was exhausted both mentally and physically. He wanted nothing more than to get home and fall asleep since he expected you to already be in bed. But when he saw you awake and attentive to his needs, he wanted to simply sit and enjoy your presence.

“I can tell you’re tired, Quinn. Can I do anything or do you just want to head to bed?”

“There is one thing you can do for me.” He smiled, instantly gaining your attention, “Kiss me?”

You blushed at his request, slowly leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. “Better?”

Quinn smirked, “Think you might need to do it a few more times.”

Compiling, you kissed him again, letting this one linger a bit longer before pulling away again, an expectant look on your face, and a non-amused one on Quinn’s. He let out a sigh before pulling your leg over his lap, allowing you to straddle him. Bringing a hand up, he entangled his fingers gently in your hair, pushing your head slightly towards him to connect again.

It quickly began getting heated, a soft kiss turning into a full-blown make out session on the couch. Your hands wandered across his upper body, beginning to tug his shirt up when your knuckles made contact with his bruise, causing him to bite down harshly on your lip. 

You yelped at the pain but also realized what you had done causing you to pull away from him. “I’m so sorry,” Quinn reassured you quickly, trying to pull you back in, but you pushed against his force. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight, I don’t wanna hurt you, Q.”

“Y/N, it’s fine. You’re not gonna hurt me.” 

“I just did! You’re hard not to touch, and I just don’t want to make it worse.” You mumbled, shying away from his touch and trying to return to your previous spot on the couch. 

Quinn was quick to stop you, “You trust me?”

You nodded, the question being a no-brainer. Quinn sat you down on the couch, walking over to the doorway to fetch something out of his bag. You weren’t sure what it was until he sat back down, returning you to your previous straddling position. 

“Quinn, what are you-?”  He cut you off, taking your hands behind your back, pushing you gently to lean a little bit forward, tying the fabric of his suit tie around your wrists and securing it tightly behind you.

“Now you can’t hurt me. So please, shut up and kiss me.”

His boldness caught you off guard but you had no time to be surprised as he tugged you down to kiss you yet again, You moaned against his mouth, the feeling of being restrained shooting a thrill throughout your body. 

The apartment suddenly felt hot and you knew it wasn’t just you who was feeling it. Quinn reluctantly pulled away, laying you down on your back as he stripped himself of his shirt and pants, his boxers coming down with them. 

Your mouth fell agape at the sight, but he had no time to notice as he hastily pulled off your bottoms, throwing them somewhere on the floor below you. 

“So fucking beautiful, baby.” He admired, shifting his body to hover above yours.

You wanted to tug on his hair desperately, but they were still bound behind your back, “Q, please. Wanna touch you.” 

Quinn chuckled, “Wanted you to touch me too, but you were so worried. Let me help us relax, yeah? I think we deserve it.” 

A whine was all that escaped your lips, bringing a smile to Quinn’s face. He sat you up yet again, his smile quickly replaced by his lips parting as he guided your hips to lower down onto him. You moaned softly at his pace, taking his sweet time to dwell on the feeling before bottoming out. 

He didn’t move, his hands resting tightly on your hips as he felt his muscles decompress. “You wanna do me a favour, sweet girl?”

You nodded, “What do you need, Q?”

Quinn looked up at you with tired eyes, “Fuck yourself on my cock.” Your eyes widened at his vulgarity, “I worked so hard tonight. Think I deserve it, don’t you?”

Too stunned to respond verbally, you pressed your body up slightly by using your legs, before letting yourself drop back down. Quinn groaned at your movements, fingertips digging deeper into your skin. 

You repeated the motion, setting a gentle, soft speed in order to let him relax and indulge in the pleasure. It felt good for you too, but you were fighting to resist the urge to go faster. You found yourself so lost in thought that you barely registered the feeling of Quinn’s hips snapping up to meet yours, picking up the pace slightly before settling back down and letting you take over.

“Fuck, Y/N. Feels so good.” He moaned, letting his head fall back onto the couch. 

Leaning forward, you began to litter kisses on his neck, eventually switching to suck on his skin, leaving purple marks along his shoulders and collarbone. Quinn sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of your lips on his skin as well as at the feeling of the relatively slow pace he had managed to keep you at.

“You’re so perfect.” He babbled, losing himself in the pleasure, “So sweet to me, ready to help me relax after such a long night.”

You whimpered at his words, the sweetness of them rushing straight to your core. “Quinn.”

Quinn perked his head up slightly, “Yeah? What do you need, baby?”

“Need to go faster. Please.” You begged, the slow tempo becoming unbearable.

He nodded, using his hands to guide you into a quicker speed, your hips dropping onto his faster than they had before. The desperate desire to cum was increasing by the second, and Quinn knew it by the way your moans got louder and your walls clenched tighter around him. 

You were trying your best to keep up with the pace you had longed for, but the burn in your thighs was getting harder to ignore and with your hands being bound behind your back, there wasn’t much you could do to support yourself, “Quinn…” 

“Tired already?” He teased, grabbing your jaw so you’d face him, “Imagine how I felt tonight, baby. Got shoved and slashed every time I got the puck.”

You cried out, the knot in your stomach getting closer and closer to snapping. “My hands! Please, Quinn. Please.” 

Quinn only wanted to push you so far, so keeping your hands tied at this point just seemed cruel. He tussled with the tie for a moment before unwrapping the knot, letting your hands breathe. One immediately found his shoulder, using the newly added support to help them speed up to a pace that had Quinn moaning, while the other found a home in his brown locks in order to avoid his bruise. 

“Fuck. Gonna make me cum.” He groaned, “Don’t stop, Y/N.”

His words alone were enough to tip you over the edge. You whined as you let go, body trembling as you submitted to the euphoria, face dropping to rest on his shoulder. The feeling of you leaking all over him caused Quinn to cry out, his release coating your walls white as he nipped at your neck to muffle his sounds. 

Your connected bodies stayed limp, heavy breathing echoing off the walls as you both came to. You were the first to move, pressing a kiss on his shoulder before tilting your head to the side to get a look at him. 

Quinn’s eyes stayed shut, chest heaving as calmed himself down, his body feeling at ease for the first time in 24 hours. 

“Relaxed?” You asked, leaning up so you could look at his face properly.

He blinked his eyes open to meet yours, “Definitely. We should really do that after every game.”

You laughed softly, pressing a loving kiss on his lips that he gladly reciprocated, “If it makes you feel better.”

[lipikkawrites]

A lot will go wrong before everything goes right.

Keep moving forward.

-@lipikkawrites

[darnell-la]

FRIENDS & CUFFS

summary: y/n has only been curious about Eddie’s handcuffs after they began dating. she wondered why he never used them on her, and at first, long told her she didn’t know anything about that life. she soon found out that Eddie had a lot to teach her.

warnings: quick friends to lovers storyline, making out, fem receiving oral from male, reader weakens after orgasm, slight innocent reader, drug dealer Eddie (not really mentioned), rough sex, bondage (Eddie’s handcuffs/chains), missionary, doggy, no protection, crying, whining, a lot of male noises, pet names, chocking, etc.

note: we haven’t done an Eddie Munson fan fiction in a while. we still love him, so, there will be more. more stranger things in general. you see what I did there? — nevermind.

———

Steve nearly asked Eddie every day since he graduated, when he was going to make a move on y/n. He hated watching the two drink and get close, yet never make a move.

When people would ask them if they were together, or assume, anyone could tell they the nervousness entered the room.

Not too long ago, y/n and Eddie finally made a move. It seemed so perfect how they both leaned in to feel each other’s lips.

“I think we should stop — You’re drunk, and it’s getting late,” Eddie whispered after y/n stopped fake fighting on top of him. “What if I won’t want to sleep just yet?” Y/n asked, a bit shy, but the alcohol in her body, helped her gain confidence.

“You’re drinks, princess, and I’m not. I don’t want you to regret this, and mess our friendship up,” Eddie said, really wanting to taste her, but she was afraid of showing what he’s been wanting to do with her.

“A kiss could never ruin our friendship, Eddie,” y/n said, slightly sounding desperate as her eyes could barely stay open. “Wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n,” Eddie admitted.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at what her best friend said. She thought she was the only one who wanted to experiment with him. She felt nasty, but now, she felt loose.

The two both crashed on each other’s lips, making g out rough but passionate. None of them have kissed like this before. They would’ve never mixed their saliva like this with anyone, but because it’s them, they wanted to do much more.

The night ended with y/n halfway passed out, and Eddie’s face resting on y/n’s thigh, dripping juice from y/n’s throbbing heat. “So good for me — I wanna get used to this,”

Now, the two are dating, happier than ever, but y/n has been curious lately. She didn’t pay much attention when they were just friends, but now that they’re dating, she thought about Eddie’s handcuffs.

Most partners would be jealous, but y/n? She was curious. She thought to herself plenty of times how he would use them on her, and why he hadn’t done it yet. They’ve only been sexual for a short time, but if he were kinky like that, why wouldn’t he mention it?

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after turning to his girlfriend who seemed to be daydreaming. “Yeah, I was just thinking,” y/n said, not knowing if she should bring this up as a conversation so soon her their relationship.

“What is it? What were you thinking about?” The metalhead asked as he leaned back on his bed, taking his eyes off the weed he was pre-rolling for his rich customers who couldn’t do it on their own.

“So, uh — I noticed the handcuffs, and I was curious,” y/n said as she stared at the cuffs that were basically chains, dangling from a hook in his wall. She knew that had to be for something sexual.

“Hey, y/n, look — I swear on my uncle, I’ve never used them in anyone, and never planned to. I just liked the thought of them near me. I’ve even thought about you in them,” Eddie spoke quietly, a bit embarrassed by his truth.

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t jealous or anything. I just was curious on why you didn’t use them on me yet,” y/n said, making Eddie's eyes widen. For the longest, he had thought y/n was innocent, and she was. She was just open-minded when it came to her boyfriend.

“You’re not ready for that, princess,” Eddie chuckled lightly. “Why not?” Y/n asked, a bit offended as she crossed her arms. “Being restrained means you can’t do anything. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to put you in something like that, knowing you’d wanna get out,”

“What do you mean, want to get out? I can take it,” y/n said, only making the man laugh. “You can’t even take me slow in doggy. What makes you think you can take me deep up front with your pretty hands cuffed?”

Eddie shifted in the bed to cup y/n’s chin, slightly teasing her because they both knew she wasn’t a taker. Especially with his length.

“I-I can take it — It’s not even that bad,” y/n said, making Eddie throw himself back onto his bed with a loud laugh, knowing his uncle wasn’t home to tell him to shut the hell up.

“What!? You’re mean as fuck, you know?” Y/n said as she kept her arms crossed. “Oh, really, baby? I’m sorry, it’s just — You’re a comedian,” Eddie kept laughing, only making y/n roll her eyes.

“C’mon, I’m just pullin’ your tit, baby,” Eddie leaned up to hug y/n, but she moved away. “Babe, don’t start this. I was just kidding,” Eddie tried hugging y/n again, but this time she pushed him away. Of course, not too hard. She was just being dramatic.

“And, that’s why we can’t do what you wanna do. You can’t even handle being picked on a little bit,” Eddie said as he pushed at y/n’s shoulder lightly, slightly feeling bad for what he did.

“Whatever, I’ll be fine,” y/n said, making y/n sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine — We can use em, but ion wanna hear none of that cryin', okay?” Eddie jumped off of the bed to get his handcuffs that had dust all over them.

“Really?” Y/n asked, a bit excited, but knowing she wouldn’t be too excited soon. “Ah huh, but only one rule,” Eddie said with a smirk as he untangled the chains. “Yeah?” Y/n innocently asked, not knowing how quick of a turn this would take.

“The only thing stopping me, is our safe word,” before y/n could agree with a smile, Eddie lunged at her, grabbing her quest roughly to cuff them as quick as possible.

“Hey,” y/n said with an eye roll, not knowing he’d get in the mood this fast. “Not a word from you, princess. Let’s see how good you think you can take it,” Eddie said as he placed the chains where they needed to be.

Seeing y/n in this sight, made him harder than he thought he could get. She was always beautiful, but seeing her innocent body slightly retrained, knowing she was actually ready for what was coming, made him want to burst then and there.

“Always thought about tying you up at school. I was a little perv-nerd when it came to you, princess. You always looked and smelled so good — Had to keep myself from throwing you in my van with your hands and legs tied,”

Eddie was in an emotion he couldn’t control. He was either not sure about putting his pretty girl through this, or he was getting too dark to the point he would black out and not remember anything he’d do to her tonight.

“Pretties thighs — Pretties body — Pretties fucking face,” Eddie slightly growled as he gripped y/n’s face. The younger girl whined with huge eyes, feeling her heat get wet.

“I know, baby — Hearts probably rising. Maybe a hint of fear, knowing you can’t get loose — Don’t worry. You know, I’ll take good care of you,”

Eddie quickly began tugging on y/n’s clothes until parts of her showed more than before. She had already had her night dress in, so exposing her bra-covered breast was easy.

“You sure you want this y/n because, fuck — I won’t be able to stop myself,” Eddie warned as he climbed on top of y/n, pulling her dress up as she slightly moved at his cold hands grazing her skin.

“U-Use me — Please,” y/n stuttered, not knowing if she should’ve said it. “What’s the safe word?” Eddie asked in a stern tone. “Red,” y/n said, feeling her heart raise. This was actually happening, and she only had to question him once.

“Good girl,” Eddie grunted as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. “And, that’s the only thing I wanna hear from you tonight,” Eddie said as he pulled y/n’s panties to the side.

“I-I’ll try,” y/n spoke, making Eddie shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re always doing a terrible job. Just means I’ll have to start off rough,” before anything, Eddie doubly pushed through y/n’s walls, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Yeah? You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? I told you doggy would be the only position you could truly handle — This is next level,” Eddie couldn’t stop but grin down at the struggles woman.

“S-So much,” y/n whined low, only making Eddie shush her. “Nah uh, what did I say? Didn’t I say to keep that pretty mouth closed? Hm? — You’re the one who wanted this, so accept the journey,”

Eddie grabbed both sides of y/n’s waist before pushing down onto the mattress. Y/n knew he was positioning himself to fuck her rough. He’s never gone too rough, but she asked for it tonight.

“Hush it up, princess — You wanted it,” Eddie continued saying as he pounded down into y/n, going the deepest he could get at the start of his session. After being handcuffed, there would be no room for taking it slow.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried out as she pulled one of her restraints. At times, she’d forget that she wouldn’t be able to get out. “Wanna break free? Keep trying, princess — Makes this so much hotter,” Eddie growled with a smile, looking down at the way y/n pulled on the chains.

“This is the tightest you’ve ever been — The way you’re soaking around me, only makes me closer,” Eddie felt himself twitch. He didn’t want to cum this quick, but it didn’t matter. He’s always been able to keep going.

“Eddie- Eddie, you — The condoms. You forgot the condoms,” y/n took forever to say what she was trying to say. “Oh, really? Guess that’s your luck, hm?” Eddie leaned in front of y/n’s face.

Deep down, Eddie felt bad for slipping into her without protection. He had completely forgotten, but he didn’t want to get out of character. He had to somehow make sure y/n was 100% with what was going on.

“Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me. Tell me!” Eddie slightly yelled as he snapped his hips, wanting to keep his work going. He could feel the way she fluttered around him. She was so close.

“Too much, Eds — I’m gonna cum,” y/n made the mistake of telling him how close she was. “And, you want me to stop? When you’re so close? C’mon,” Eddie leaned into y/n’s ear so she could hear his groans better.

The room was filled with wet slaps, whining, growling, and a bunch is cuss words from Eddie. He couldn’t keep himself together. This situation was too much for him. He was going to explode.

“E-Eddie, slow down — Please,” y/n tried begging the man, but he wouldn’t listen. Why would he? She hadn’t used the safe word yet. “Want me to slow down?” Eddie asked as he leaned up.

“Yes, yes,” y/n huffed, surprised he actually slowed down. She had thought he got soft, but little did she know, he was just getting a short break. “Want me to be nicer? Take it easy on you?” He asked as he softly placed his hands around her neck.

“Please-“ y/n was cut off by the grip of his hands. “Then you asked the wrong one to chain you up, sweetheart,” Eddie spat before he began slamming into her, making the young lady cry out instantly.

“E-Eds! C-Can’t anymore — I can’t!” Y/n kicked and arched her back, trying to control herself, but her cunt continued to squeeze around Eddie, only assuring him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. Using her.

“That’s it — Keep struggling — You’re going nowhere, and this isn’t even the beginning — I have so many loads I’ve been wanting to empty into you,” Eddie tightened his grip a bit more to hear her struggle for air.

For a second, Eddie thought he might have been going too far tonight. Quickly handcuffing her, saying mean things, pinning her down, and fucking get rougher than he’s ever done.

The only thing that helped him was her words. She never once came close to the word red. She would’ve said it by now, and she would never come to him later and say she was uncomfortable. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That’s how Eddie knew y/n probably enjoyed this more than him. She loved faking that she needed him to stop. He even saw a small pour from her when he slowed down a few minutes ago.

“C-Cumming — Cunming,” y/n’s body stiffened before she shook. “That’s it- That’s it — Fucking take it,” the older man growled as he pounded her, wanting her juice to splash anywhere it could.

“Ian stoppin’ either, baby — Told you to keep that fucking mouth shut, didn’t I?” Eddie asked, but y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes were landing everywhere but on him. She felt out of it already.

“Didn’t I!?” The man shouted as he shook y/n by her neck to catch her attention. “S-Sorry,” tears streamed from her eyes, upset at herself for not taking it like she swore she could.

Right as Eddie went to assure her that she was fine, she spoke, shocking him.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please cum in me. D-Don’t pull out and punish me,” she cried. “I’ll do anything, Eds, just- Please, use me,”

“Jesus’s H. Christ,” Eddie huffed as he pulled out. He quickly turned his girlfriend around, knowing the chains were long enough for her to be comfortable. He took no time to push back in her, roughly, with a warning.

Y/n wanted to speak out loud to thank him, he she kept quiet. She wanted to be good like she promised.

“You’re just a slut, y/n — A dirty fucking slut, and I knew it from how you dressed at parties — You always got drunk before you sat on my lap, facing me- Dragging that pretty pussy across my clothes cock — Swore you even stained my jeans, once,”

Y/n whined, happy that he noticed his much she wanted him before they got together. Yeah, a bit of embarrassment was felt, but the thought of being caught was what made her close to another orgasm.

“You’re in for a ride with me, princess. Especially after I coat these walls,”

[softsunnyy]

🚨; period sex, he starts touching you while you sleep ??, idk, graphic and disgusting descriptions. If you don't like this topic, please don't read it.

divider by @cafekitsune

i feel like Quinn can't control himself, not anymore. He knows the moment is approaching. He notices it in the way your mood worsens with each passing day, and the way your body grows more and more sensitive. He still remembers how you whined a couple of days ago about how much your tits hurt. He knows the day is coming, and he's more than ready to receive his reward for being so patient.

he notices it before you do, because you're still asleep. You're moving so much that it's impossible for him not to notice the small red stain that has pierced your underwear, staining those pajama pants you love so much. Something inside him ignites at the sight, and then he can't help the way his body moves carefully.

first, he touches you over your clothes, making a bigger mess, but feeling your body heat rise. Unconsciously, your body moves, seeking friction, making your ass rub against his bulge.

oh, honey, you're not making it any easier for him.

he slips his hand under your clothes and gently touches your pussy, trying not to wake you up, and taking advantage of the moment when you move a little, giving him a little more space. As if you wanted this. As if you were silently asking for it.

his fingers run through your folds, and a sigh escapes your lips. He has to hold back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. However, it's when he pulls his hand out that he gives in, seeing the mess you'd made of him even though he'd barely touched you.

his cock throbs, aches, and longs to bury himself in you, listening to the obscene sound of bodies joining together, and your red walls receiving every inch as if he belonged between your legs.

it's when you lie on your back that he decides to take a risk, standing up and settling between your legs, which he gently parted. He then removed your pants and panties, trying not to wake you up, although the air hitting your bare skin made your legs try to close. He had to intervene, opening them once more.

and there it is, the source of his desires, the reason your tits look puffier and more sensitive. The reason your body seems to smell different. The reason you look even more hot than the usual.

he releases his cock quickly, but doesn't insert it right away. He wants to enjoy you, wants to rub his tip between your folds, watching you stain him red, sharing your warmth and wetting his cock so it's even easier for him to get in.

you moan in that soft voice that drives him wild, and your nipples peek out from under that tank top you wear to bed. Today more than ever, he's grateful that you don't wear a bra when you're at home.

it's when he inserts the tip into your sensitive hole that you begin to open your eyes, confused, but feeling how wet you are, and the way your pussy throbs desperately, longing to be touched by your boyfriend, who now looks at you attentively, smiling as he slowly inserts his entire length inside you, drawing a loud moan from you that you couldn't stop.

“Quinn,” you whimpered, surprised, and he didn't give you much time to adjust to his size. He usually does, but now he doesn't have the patience, so he just started moving, watching as every time his cock came out, it came out red, like your walls, which gladly received him, clenched around him as if they didn't want him to come out.

he doesn't care about anything anymore. He needs to keep moving, to see your blood become part of him, as if you're marking him, as if you're joining him in a more intimate and primal way, as if you're giving him something of yourself that's incomparable.

his desire is carnal, it's pure, and he needs to cum inside you, fill you with his cum, and watch how both of you become one, making a mess of your fluids, leaving an unforgettable scene that he'll seek to repeat for every moment of your period. And you can only surrender, feeling the pleasure of his cock breaking you, using you, satisfying himself with your body, with your blood. The sound stuns you, the smell makes you dizzy, but your eyes roll back, lost in the pleasure of feeling his long cock touching the parts that drive you crazy.

maybe it surprised you, maybe you still don't fully understand what's happening, but you wouldn't change a thing. Not when you can have Quinn this crazy about you, wanting to consume you and merge with you in the wildest and most real way possible.

and the idea used to make you nervous before, but if Quinn decides to lick your pussy and devour you right now, you won't deny him. You can't. Not when you know how good it will make you feel, because he knows how to do it.

don't worry. He'll take care of you.

[ruinix]

Here i am again, preparing lunch while I drool over these I drool coz I'm hungry. Famished. Stomach empty as fu--

Inspired by ml @kawhh here's some dark quinn visualsssss (also here's a preemptive TW for anyone who's not into hard/dark kinks avoid this post)

Hes really trying hard not to wake you up, you just look too peaceful. Unfortunately he still can't help himself and has to get off one way or another.

Sometimes he prefers when you stay quiet, but he can't ever trust you to keep your mouth shut yourself. Always has to do it for you.

Making you cum is a lot easier when you cant squirm away as much. He doesn't really get why you're fighting it in the first place if it feels so good.

Throat training is a lot easier after whatever he put in your drink kicks in

[kawhh]

Thinking ab Dark Boyfriend content… Q, Jack, Trev, they could all have me IDGAF.

An idea has been tickling my brain, dark bf and sweet sunshine gf. He loves her so much, everything he does is out of care and love for her, how sweet she is. Never wants her to get hurt, wants to keep her save and happy and at his side. BUT! That does not mean there aren’t moments where he gets angry… And that angry voice is just so scary!!

You can pick who you want this to be about, but how would that darker side of the boys deal with it if their girl was startled by the yelling, crying and running to hide away bc she can’t take it 🥺

Confirmed would be perfectly happy with every decision in my life if I found myself in the middle of all that goodness together. Borderline drooling at the thought.

I'll pick Q for this though, since I do think he'd be the best at dealing with your emotions and smoothing over situations. He's the most responsible and the most just, calm.

Warnings: slight angst, a softer dark!Quinn, passing out.

Saying that, I think he'd lose it and shout if you were being too selfless and it was having negative impacts on you.

He understands that he can't change you, doesn't want to take your caring side away from you. It's a big part of you and it's a big reason why he adores you, why he generally lets you do anything you need to do for people, even if he's concerned.

But he has limits.

He's been smothering his emotions inside himself, watching as you lose sleep because you want to help someone out. How exhausted you are after constantly staying up for things you aren't even getting thanked for. He understands you aren't doing it for praise and thanks, but you aren't getting a break, aren't getting anything back for what you're doing.

You're getting sick often from the stress and how you're stretching yourself too thin, fists clenching as he watches you sleep, the sweat on your forehead from your fever, the way you can't get comfortable, the way you mumble out words of concern about something else you have to do for someone.

It's driving him insane and he feels helpless. He can't express how mad and upset he is, you're too sweet, too gentle and fragile. You'll turtle and it'll make everything worse. But the frustration builds. It builds and it builds.

It's not until you pass out, hitting your head against the couch from sheer exhaustion, your body weak and waving the white flag, that he loses his shit.

Swearing as he rushes to grab you, trying to shield your body from falling further, you limp in his arms. Cupping your face, staring at you in panic. He's manic, checking everything he can. Your temperature, your pulse, everything. He can't fight the frustration any longer. He's had enough. You're going to end up in the fucking hospital at this rate.

Can't contain his angry words at you when your eyes blink open, his brain not operating like usual, so afraid for your health. His tone rougher and louder than it's ever been in his life. He's just so frustrated. So concerned. Accusing you of being an idiot, yelling about how you have no concern for yourself, angry about how you don't rely on him.

He doesn't process the tears in your eyes until you're fighting in his grip, finally registering the tear tracks on your face, the way your eyes widen, the way you unknowingly take advantage of his shock to run away, stumbling from the after effects of the fainting spell.

Staring at his hands in shock, trying to process how he reacted, the look on your face haunting him, the panic of your reaction overriding all his previous frustration with you. Regret painted on his face.

He's running after you, afraid for your health in your panic. You're in no state to be running after what happened, especially when you're upset. He can't give you space right now. He needs to fix this, to make sure you're okay.

He can't stand to see a look of pure fear on his girl's face. Grabbing blankets and your favourite stuffed rabbit before he gets to you. He knows where you are. He can hear the sobbing coming from the wardrobe. It's your favourite place to be when you're scared of thunder. He can't stand that he's given you another reason to be scared enough to hide there.

The way you look at him when he opens the door.. it feels like his heart is in a vice. Cautiously holding out the stuffed animal and blankets, letting you take them at your own pace. Afraid to touch you, to startle you. But he can't wait. He can't let you spiral.

He's waiting until you cuddle yourself under the blanket, using the rabbit as a defense wall, climbing into the wardrobe himself, cursing softly as he hits his head and limbs, not being built for the space.

He's not afraid to stay in there for hours with you, even if it'll make his muscles ache for a week. Gently leaning his head against your defense wall, his voice cracking as he murmurs his apologies, explaining why he was upset. He needs you to understand, but he also needs to make sure you know how much he regrets even slightly raising his voice.

You didn't deserve his anger, didn't deserve the explosion. He just cares so damn much. It tears him apart watching your health fall off a cliff, but anger was never appropriate. He should've discussed it with you the minute his feelings started bottling up.

He'll apologise every single day of his life for how he reacted, if you need him to. You're the most important thing in his life. He adores how much you care. He just needs you to give him a little of the weight from your shoulders. To let him help you.

He'll stay there until you touch him. Until you lean into him, extending the bunny towards him like your own peace offering, sniffling, but okay.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

hey so thinking about stalker!quinn so bare that in mind when you click that handy dandy read more. i rambled hard core but whatever

he sees you in a book store in downtown Vancouver. your hairs just below your shoulders, you have on what looks like a black skirt and a pair of tights with black converse to match and he can’t read whatever’s on your hoodie.

all he can do is stare as your flip book after book, flushing as you read a random page before grabbing the book and holding it close.

he’s following you around the store, just grabbing random books to make himself not look like a weirdo. he needs more. needs to know who you are.

he overhears you ramble your phone number for rewards, replaying it in his head while you finish your transaction. as soon as he steps foot into his apartment, he’s googling.

he’s finding you one way or another. he learns you just graduated from Michigan State (and he cringes a little), and you just moved here for a job at the hospital. you’re 23, almost 24. you’re a pisces he’s learned, you really like music that screams in his year and taylor swift. it doesn’t make sense to him but that’s okay. he can live with it.

he finds out you live in his building. he sees you walking into the mail room and opening up box 117, that’s the floor below his. he’s learned you leave every Monday through friday at 5:30am and get home at 6:30pm. he hasn’t talked to you yet, just left flowers and dinners at your door.

he was getting out of his car when he saw you park yours. perfect, he’s thinking. he makes himself look busy while he waits for you to get to the elevator. making sure no one else is around, he’s walking to your car and sticking an air tag under your car. he’s gotta make sure you’re okay.

that following friday, he sees your at work still and against all better judgment goes down to the front desk and talks his way into getting a spare key to your apartment. he apologizes profusely to the desk, “i’m sorry my girlfriend didn’t leave hers under the mat and i’m supposed to surprise her tonight.” and who’s gonna say no to the beloved teams captain? no one.

that’s how he ended up in your apartment, placing cameras in hidden spots. he needs to learn your daily routine. what makes you tick. what you sound like when you moan.

once he’s found his way to your bedroom, he notices a pile of laundry on the floor. messy, messy girl. his eyes set on a lacy pair of underwear closer to your bed and he’s grabbing them before his brain even has time to stop him.

he made it home just in time. as soon as his doors closing, he gets a notification yours opened.

he’s pulling the cameras to see your pulling your top off and walking towards your room. his hands moving down to his sweats, trying to push them down enough when he hears your voice say his name.

“Quinn. yeah that’s the upstairs guys. no i haven’t talked to him much at all. yes he’s cute. very cute actually. but i don’t stand a chance. his face is fucking on the side of an arena dude, all i need is 10 minutes.” followed by some laughter.

baby, you’re getting more than 10 minutes.

he’s banging on your door before he knows it. as soon as your open the door, robe covering your top half, he’s pushing his way in.

“close the door.” he can see your face flushed and the anxiety all but falling from your eyes.

“you wanted 10 minutes? you can have 10 minutes but as soon as those 10 minutes are up? you’re mine. mine to use, to watch, to brand, to have, to do whatever i want with. isn’t that right? been practically begging me for months now. so why don’t you get on your knees and prove your worth?”

[demonic0angel]

Prompt: Dan Phatom as an inmate of Arkham Asylum?

Part 2, part 3

Harley hummed. She eyed the newest inmate, a gorgeous hunk of meat with dark raven hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing the usual orange suit, but he wore it like a model, with the buttons opened and sleeves rolled up, highlighting his broad arms and tight muscles. He was as beautiful as a demon, and even though Ivy was way prettier, Harley still couldn’t help but be curious.

Harley nodded to herself, thinking for only a moment. Then she waved a hand, calling out, “Yoo hoo! You there! Hey, handsome! Why don’t you come here and spend some time with me and Ivy?”

Ivy rolled her eyes next to her. “Harley!” She hissed.

The man paused, tilted his head, and then smiled, flashing his sharp fangs before he crossed the prison yard to sit down with the two. People stared at them, but the man didn’t seem bothered.

“Hello,” he said politely, “what’s up?”

“You’re new here, ain’tcha?” Harley said rhetorically. “What’re you in for?”

The man chuckled. “I thought it was rude to ask?”

“Nahhh, in here? It doesn’t matter. Everyone already knows why we’re here, there’s no secrets around here. So? What’re you in here for?”

The man smiled. “I started teasing a little bird I found and then he started getting mad at me. I didn’t like how he made Batman go after me, so I made a building explode and I was tossed into here. I didn’t even kill anyone though!”

Seeing how large and old he was, Harley was a little worried and had to ask, “Which little bird?”

“The beautiful one with the black and blue suit and the pretty smile,” the man said dreamily, curling a lock of raven hair around his clawed fingers as he looked towards the sky in a daydream. “He was pretty funny too.”

Harley immediately cooed. Anyone who thought Nightwing was funny clearly hadn’t been hit over the head by his escrima sticks while he threw out obnoxious puns, but the way he described him was so sweet! He was clearly insane, so that was completely okay in her books!

“Awww, that’s so cute! Are you a meta or what? Those fangs o’ yours don’t look human!” Harley said, while Ivy shook her head exasperatedly.

The man shook his head with a small smile. “Not exactly. But I guess I do have meta powers.”

Ivy asked, “Then doesn’t that just make you a meta?”

The man shrugged and then asked, “What about you ladies?” Harley knew that he was just dodging the question, but she didn’t mind, so she began to prattle on about the recent museum break-in she and the girls did, but Selina got away while she and Ivy were caught. Selina was planning a break out for them soon, so they just had to sit tight and wait!

The man smiled, fangs appearing again. “Can I join you? I want to see that little bird again.”

Harley beamed, “Sure thing! What’s your name?” while Ivy groaned.

The man smiled and reached over to shake her hand. His hands were cold and large, like a chunk of ice. He smiled and his pupils sharpened into slits, but oddly enough, he still looked friendly, like a tiger in a way.

“Please. Call me Wraith.”

[kawhh]

Foaming at the mouth. Feeling rabid.

“Typical Quinn, always dissociating” Oh girly, if only you knew.

"Later this week. Or maybe the week after, I'll drop you home." I’m almost screaming at how hot this is honestly.

Locking down the house? His casual threat?

If anyone hears yelling, it’s me.

《Pair: Quinn Hughes x fem!Reader

*no mention of y/n*

Warnings: 18+, dark Quinn, alcohol consumption, age gap, obsession, cursing, controlling, angsty Quinn, alludes to dominant/submissive kink, potential kidnapping, slow burn

Synopsis: It's monthly game night with your friend group. It's Quinn's turn to host. Upon arriving early and being the only guest, Quinn can't help but let it slip what his true intentions were for you on his game night.》

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Knocking twice on Quinn's massive, oak door, I take a step back in giddy anticipation. I was vibrating with excitement, more than ready to unwind after a long work day with my friends and Quinn.

One Saturday out of the month, you all planned in the group chat who was hosting for that month and what games were to be played, what we were eating and drinking, etc. It was a big deal as we were all so busy with our lives now, but it was still important we maintained our friendships.

This Saturday game night, Quinn was hosting.

》

The front door creaks open, and I flash Quinn a dimpled, half smile.

"Well, hellooo, Captain, how's it -"

"Why are you here today?" Quinn groans, taking in the sight of you, bouncing on his doorstep like an energized bunny.

Frowning at his lack of response to my arrival, I glance down at my watch, noting the current time and date. It was 5:00 pm, Saturday.

"Um... w-was it not for 5:00 pm?"

"Check the group chat again, sweetheart."

Quinn leans his body against his door frame, hands snug in his denim pockets as he studies me with a slight look of annoyance, mixed with heavy amusement.

Yup, I didn't realize that Quinn had changed game night to tomorrow, 5:00 pm.

"So.... no one else is here then?"

Quinn rolls his irises and motions for me to come in and out of the brisk evening night.

"Well, no, you dummy. The rest of our friends know how to read."

"Y'know, for a host, you have a reeeal attitude towards your guest of honour," I retort, slinking off my emerald puffer onto Quinn's wooden coffee table.

I flip my hair out of my sweater and re-adjust the fit around my neckline, peeling the wool a bit further past my collarbones and off my shoulders. Much better.

Quinn stares at me, his expression one of neutrality and... of something else that I could never quite place. Typical Quinn, always dissociating.

I returned his leery gaze back and wondered what he was thinking about, or lack of.

"...well then, I think I need a drink," I mutter awkwardly, cutting the stillness that was growing between us.

Quietly making my way into Quinn's kitchen, I proceed to help myself, knowing he doesn't mind that I've made myself comfortable in his space. Reaching for a martini glass, I hum to fill the silent space, knowing that Quinn was simply observing me. Something he did often.

We were close friends on the surface, I guess. Quinn and I didn't spend much time together outside of mutual group settings. He was a few years older, usually occupied with work or at practice, and the most reserved out of our shared friend group. Not quiet per se, he just chose his words carefully and only engaged when he felt his voice or opinion or help was warranted. He was a calculated man.

"Do you have a cocktail shaker, Quinn?"

Quinn pushes himself off and away from his large, marbled island. His feet took him over to his expansive bar stand, pulling out a beautiful, copper shaker.

"What do you want? I'll make it."

Interesting.

He never once offered in the years I've known him to make me my drinks. Or a drink. In fact, I was pretty sure Quinn was put off by doing anything for me with how he teased and pushed my buttons relentlessly.

"Oh, sure. Thank you, Quinn. I'll just have a dirty martini."

Quinn simply nods his head in acknowledgment, piling out some bottles from the bottom rack of his stand.

For some reason, I found myself admiring how his supple lips pursed into a tight line, his dark eyes remaining dead, despite being laser focused on what he was doing. I was mesmerized by his swift movements.

Quinn tightly caps the shaker shut and begins to vigorously jerk it back and forth from his lower abdomen, outwards. Making sure the contents he had just dumped inside was melding together.

I feel my face slowly start to get flush, my mind dizzy, and a perverted arousal flooding my core. I know I should stop staring at him, but the way Quinn kept twisting and jerking the shaker in one tight grip was absolutely sending me with an animalistic urge.

Quinn catches my needy gaze for a moment, somehow painfully aware of the effect he had on my crumbling psyche.

"What? Want me to go harder?"

A delicate sigh of content and a muffled whimper escape from my chest upon registering his words.

I fidget with the oversized sleeves to my sweater nervously, peeling my now shy gaze away from him.

"Quinn... " I warn, realizing he was just trying to fuck with me now. He knew exactly the influence he had over me and I was positive he was just abusing it at this point.

Quinn gives the shaker one last, painfully slow jerk before setting it back onto the counter. Instead of pouring the delicious liquid into my martini glass, I watch him tip his head back. His brunette curls, falling back with him. Quinn slowly, in a teasing manner, pours the alcohol down his throat through the spout of the cocktail shaker. W...what... I felt my brain start to short circuit.

What the hell.

"C'mere." Quinn instructs. I'm reluctant at first, unsure of what he wants from me, as he clearly can't be bothered to elaborate on his current scheming. But I oblige, too obediently.

"Open."

Quinn's calloused hands settle for a gentle grip around my chin, as he regards me with an expression of yearning and a need for... control.

"I said open. Wide."

Shyly, I have no choice but to purse my red lips, parting my mouth open for Quinn as he can't help but smile at me with a proud, fond expression.

"Aw. So obedient. But, wider. It's okay, sweetheart."

Quinn grips my jaw a bit firmer this time, as he uses his other hand to bring the copper bottle up to my lips, tilting it back painfully slow so it drains down my throat in a steady, controlled stream.

"That's it. Careful, I don't want you wasting a drop. It'll be a mess to clean, then," Quinn coo's in encouragement.

He loosens the steady grip on my jaw, noticing that I'm eagerly taking the delicious concoction on my own now. I feel some of the liquid about to dribble down my chin, but Quinn quickly catches it with his thumb.

"Good girl."

Quinn pulls the shaker away from my gaping mouth, dumping the remnants into my glass, garnishing it with 3 olives.

As the alcohol coats my stomach and a deep, buzzing sensation fills my frame, I try to push past the sudden intimacy I shared with Quinn seconds ago. Especially because he seems to think nothing of the exchange now.

"Let's watch a movie."

Quinn's sudden statement pulls me out of my clouds.

"A movie? Um... well I'll be back here tomorrow for game night, right? We can just watch something to-"

"I canceled game night tomorrow."

My brows furrow in deep confusion at what he had just said admitted.

"Y-You canceled game night? Okay... well, when are you rescheduling it then?"

I pull out my Samsung from the back of my jeans, unlocking it with my fingerprint and pulling up our shared group chat.

🎲The Weekender's🎮

《Captain 🐋: Hey, I'm down with a bad cold right now. Reschedule for next month- drinks and dinner on me. Sorry guys.》

Read by everyone-

What on earth. Quinn was not sick. At all. Why would he lie to our friends like that.

"Quinn, you are not sick."

Quinn simply shrugs his shoulders in response, that dissociative look flooding his vacant eyes again for the second time tonight.

An uneasy feeling began to creep into the pit of my gut, festering into nervousness and making me very aware of the shift in energy in the room.

"O-Okay...um, I think I'm going to h...head ho-"

"You don't want to watch a movie with me?"

Quinn's gaze dropped in disappointment, and a tinge of growing irritance quickly replacing it.

"No... not at the moment, Quinn. I-I think I'm going to go home and just relax... " I trail off hesitantly, unsure of how he was going to respond at me doubling down on my decline of his offer.

My emerald puffer was on the coffee table in front of Quinn.

Calculating my next movements, at a leisurely pace, I shuffle towards his uncertain demeanor. As I try to reach for my jacket, Quinn immediately strips it away from my possession and holds it against his torso.

"Here you go."

Quinn extends my puffer towards me, a growing smirk on his face as he motions for me to invade his space and grab it.

In my attempt to take it back, he holds it up in the air, above my head in a mocking manner.

"Don't be a child, Quinn. My car keys and wallet are in there. G-Give it back," I plead pathetically.

"Watch 1 movie with me. Then you can go."

My eyes widen at his incredulous demand.

"Actually, how about I watch 0 movies with you and you give me my jacket back, now... you know what, just forget it Quinn, I'll call an Uber and pick up my jacket some other-"

As I pull out my phone to order a ride, Quinn peels my phone from my grip and shoves it deep into his front pocket.

Speechless, I try to rack my brain on what just happened and why Quinn was acting so out of character.

"I'll drop you home, Princess."

Suddenly a rush of deep relief wafts over me as I place a hand over my pounding chest, exhaling a breath I didn't even know I was holding in.

"Jesus, Quinn. You scared the-"

"Later this week. Or maybe the week after, I'll drop you home."

What.

Quinn ignores the confusion and fear painted on me as he brings his face towards mine. He plants a tender kiss on my forehead, lightly stroking my hair in a possessive manner.

"You look like a wounded kitten, sweetheart. It's alright. I'm here to take care of you now. I'll make you all better, little one."

Quinn pulls away from me, walking towards the large alarm panel near his back door. I watch him arm the house and begin to lower all of the blinds in the living room, an impending doom seeping into my trembling body.

"Now. Be good and sit on the fucking couch like the good girl I know you are. It's our first movie night. I won't let you ruin it."

With laboured breaths, I feel my body going into a dreaded fight or flight response.

*due to my own selfish needs, there will be an unhinged part ||*

[ekkkkey]

vestal (chapter I)

summary: Livia, a young Vestal Virgin, is bound to Vesta’s eternal flame and the vow of sacred duty. In Rome, it’s common knowledge; touch a Vestal, and the wrath of the gods will descend upon you. But what if someone dares to defy that rule?

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon, violence, blood

tags: caracalla is a freak, darkfic, no softboys here

word count: ~3k

"No vow of chastity or sacred duty could restrain him who deemed himself a god, for he believed himself above the laws that bind mere mortals."

-Decimus Rufus, Gods Among Men: The Erosion of Roman Law.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

"This is wrong!" Livia protested, though her outrage came more from personal feeling than from a desire to argue with her mentor. "There are countless priests for that!"

Caesonia, her sworn sister, was ten years older, but always so gentle and easy to talk to that Livia could be honest with her. As long as no one else found out.

"You know how things are," Caesonia said, her voice flat with boredom as she absentmindedly smoothed an invisible wrinkle on her snow-white tunic, making it clear that the matter was settled. "The emperors want to win back the people’s love, and what does the crowd love more than the games?"

"Let them win it without us! Only love for the immortal gods and my homeland make me happy, not mortals who crave power over everything!" She didn’t even understand why she was so passionately opposed, but she couldn’t hold back her fiery outburst.

"Careful, sister," Caesonia warned, her brow furrowing. "You speak of sacred love, but the fathers of Rome are sacred too. Besides, love comes in many forms. Doesn’t love for your family, your loved ones, mean anything to you?"

Livia flinched, her gray eyes drifting into the distance, her lips trembling.

"I don’t know that kind of love," she replied quietly. "I loved my father, my sisters, but that love doesn’t compare to what I feel for the great teachings of Vesta. My father, my mother, my sister—they’re all gone, gone forever, and the gods are eternal. Immortal."

Caesonia sighed deeply, rising from her seat. She tucked her chestnut curls behind her ears and walked over to Livia, gently taking her hands and looking straight into her eyes.

"You didn’t grieve properly, I understand…"

"I don’t need grief," Livia cut in quickly, though her voice trembled. The older Vestal always said Livia was too emotional and fiery. "I only need repentance and service."

"Then serve! The Emperor is the embodiment of Jupiter, Rome itself. And now we have two of them—twice the work, right?" she giggled. Livia, giving in, smiled in response. "Or should I say, the embodiment of Romulus and Remus?"

They were alike in one thing only—both greedy children, far from the greatness of their famed ancestors. And yet, they’re emperors, which makes them the fathers of all living in Rome.

Livia didn’t love the world of mortals, didn’t like leaving the villa or the temple, just as she didn’t enjoy being in large crowds. Until now, the emperors had cared little for the Vestals. They had always dealt with uprisings and discontent with bloodshed, needing no help from them. But now… everything had changed.

The famous and beloved Lucilla, daughter of the late Emperor Marcus Aurelius, had adopted the current emperors, showing her favor. Why and for what, no one knew, and even if they did, they wouldn’t say, knowing how the emperors dealt with loose tongues.

Lucilla was now their mother, General Acacius was replaced by Fulvius Plautianus, who had served under Septimius Severus and was known for his brutal temper, and the Senate was filled with all kinds of scoundrels and sycophants. Livia, like the other Vestals, did not involve herself in politics, but she knew a lot, listening to the gossip of the wives of high-ranking officials who came to make offerings.

"Offer a prayer to Vesta, to Jupiter, anoint yourself with sacred blood, and the priest will tell them what they so desperately want to hear," Caesonia continued. "Then the games will pass, and we’ll return to the temple. It’s an honor, Livia, not a punishment. You’re young, not even fully trained, and yet you drew the lot!"

She really had drawn the short straw when it came time for her and the other sisters to decide who would make a sacrifice to the gods.

"Rituals should remain sacred," Livia replied, less confidently now, not really expecting an answer.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

The first day of the games marked the start of autumn, right in the midst of the festival season, and the city hummed with excitement. The last games had been only recently, but after a string of executions, deaths, and tortures, people were desperate for something lighter. And really, what’s more entertaining than watching someone else die?

Draped in a flowing, snow-white tunic, Livia walked alongside the other Vestals, surrounded by stern-faced Praetorian guards, as they arrived at the Colosseum just as the sun hit its peak, bathing everything in blinding white light.

The crowd showered them with lilies and narcissus, desperate for a glimpse of the sacred priestesses. There were five of them—the sixth had stayed behind to tend the sacred fire. Usually, that was Livia’s role, but today, her duty was different.

She couldn’t hide her awe at the sight before her—flowers scattered everywhere, a roaring sea of people, thousands of voices merging into one. As they passed through the gates and reached the stands, she noticed the shift. These weren’t the same poor and desperate souls who had thrown flowers at her feet. Here, the crowd was wealthier, brighter, draped in a riot of colors and excessive finery.

To her displeasure, Livia understood that in this sea of bright hues and mixed fashions, there was a lack of respect for Roman customs, a disregard encouraged by the emperors, who, by all accounts, dressed quite unusually themselves.

"Over here, Livia," a priest, old and dry as parchment, took her hand, gently pulling her away from the others as they hurried to their designated seats. She turned her head, watching them go.

From a distance, their small platform gleamed—four pristine white figures, dazzling against the chaos of color. It made her smile.

The priest’s grip was light, his skin thin and fragile. He was the only man allowed to touch the Vestals, for he himself was not a man in the eyes of the people, but a vessel of the divine.

When they led her onto the arena floor, the sun blinded her. A thin white veil covered her face, a flower crown resting on her head, and beyond the sheer fabric, the world was hazy. She barely saw the thousands of faces watching her, barely heard the deafening roar of the crowd. Only the scorching heat of the sand beneath her bare feet felt real.

The drums beat. The noise swelled. The herald called out—she didn’t hear what he said. Instead, she lifted her face toward the sun, whispering a prayer under her breath, over and over.

"It is time, child," the priest said, removing her crown and veil. Her dark hair tumbled down over her shoulders, but her gaze remained fixed on the sky. That’s where her true audience watched.

A primal, animalistic scream made her flinch. She finally lowered her face and looked around. Through the central gates leading to the arena, they brought in a massive white bull. The beast was so enormous that six burly men, their faces hidden behind golden masks, struggled to hold it.

The majestic creature tossed its horned head and bellowed loudly, frightened by the crowd. She was scared too, but she didn’t move. Instead, she took the crown from the priest’s hands, waiting as they led the bull closer.

"Behold our sacrifice, Jupiter!" the priest calls loudly, not in the voice of an old man, raising his hands to the sky. Several young boys are gathered nearby, holding a cup and a crooked bronze dagger.

They lead the bull to the center of the arena, forcing it to bow its head, tightening the thick cords around its neck. The animal freezes. Livia does, too, staring directly into its frightened black eyes. Its horns are coated in gold to honor the gods, so with each turn of its neck, they gleam and shimmer.

Slowly, she takes a few steps forward, and the stands fall silent, the rumble quiets, and the drums cease.

Such beauty, such strength—all for the glory of the gods. They love beauty, and they love when the blood of such magnificent creatures is spilled in their name. Back when human sacrifices were still allowed, beautiful, innocent youths and maidens were offered to the gods. Livia only tilted her head in sympathy, silently thanking the animal.

"In ancient times, I could have been in your place."

Her hands tremble slightly, but not from fear; it’s the solemnity of the moment. She was wrong to resist, wrong to argue with her mentor, because now she is living the best moment of her young life.

The black eyes meet hers, gray, and she could swear that these are not the eyes of an animal, but of a human! The bull no longer struggles; on the contrary, it stands still, bowing its head. Solemnly, she places the crown between its golden horns, kneels before it, bending her hands in prayer and closing her eyes.

The beginning of the ritual is marked by the continuous beat of the drums and the priest’s loud prayer. The emperors want to wage war again, to enslave more and more countries and peoples, and now, armed with a fearsome general, they await the gods’ blessing. That’s why she is here, and that’s why blood will be spilled today.

"What do you ask of the gods, amata?" the priest calls out, raising his hands to the sky.

Not opening her eyes or lowering her hands, she shouts as loud as she can in response:

"For blessing, for victory, for the greatness of Rome!"

The drums pounded like a storm, the bull let out a mournful cry, and she kept whispering her prayer, even as her heart pounded harder, even as a terrible unease settled in her stomach.

A moment. A sound—low and guttural.

And then, warmth. Hot liquid splashed over her, soaking her from head to toe. She knew what it was. This was why she knelt—to be anointed, to receive the gods’ answer, to be purified.

The thick, metallic scent filled her nose. Blood stung her eyes, slid down her face, dripped from her lips. It filled her mouth with every breath, stuck in her throat like a swallowed scream. But she didn’t stop. She whispered through bloodied lips, through the deafening drumbeats, until the very last word of her prayer left her tongue.

A bright flash illuminated her, though her eyes were closed, and she saw light—brilliant, beckoning. A good omen. The gods had accepted the sacrifice.

The priest leans down to her, and she whispers the good news to him, and he hoarsely repeats it to the entire Colosseum. The crowd, frozen in eager anticipation, bursts into cheers.

Livia rises to her feet, wiping her face. The blood has already begun to dry, pulling at her skin uncomfortably. The bull lies lifeless at her feet, its black eyes frozen forever. Part of it will be burned as an offering to the gods, and part will be cooked and eaten at the feast after the games. The thought of how it had looked at her with such intelligent eyes makes her sick. She quickly turns away, facing the imperial box, adorned with vines, flowers, and purple banners.

Both emperors raise their right hands in greeting, and the crowd erupts in cheers. How fickle people are! Not long ago, they wanted to tear their rulers apart, and now they celebrate them like divine saviors.

As she leaves the arena, the last thing she sees is the bull’s body being dragged through the opposite gates, a trail of blood smearing across the burning sand. A strange, uneasy feeling grips her, but she pushes it down, too shaken to dwell on it.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

They let her wash her hands and face, change into a clean tunic, but her dark curls, now stiff and heavy with dried blood, still reek of iron and death. She tucks them beneath her veil and hurries back to her place among the other Vestals.

The row where the Vestals sit stands out as a white line among the dressed-up guests. Their platform is on the left side of the imperial box. Livia sits to the right of the senior vestal and keeps her eyes fixed on the imperial box, even though the first fight has already begun. How could she not stare? She’s never been so close to those who rule the world.

Both of her sisters were married to senators, and she doesn’t know either of their husbands. But the Senate was one thing. This was something else entirely.

The emperors are strikingly young. Livia leaned forward slightly, eager to get a better look. The one sitting closest to her taps nervously on the golden armrest with his thin white fingers. Red-haired and pale, he doesn’t give off an impression of greatness or awe. Painted like a maiden, dressed the same. Livia doesn’t accept long garments on men; she sees it as a sign of effeminacy and a betrayal of traditions. A toga would have been more fitting for a man in her view, but then again, these are not just men.

He sat in profile, so no matter how much Livia strained her neck, she couldn’t make out his face. In another fit of curiosity, she rose slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ruler’s face, but immediately found herself facing the mocking gaze of blue eyes. From behind his brother’s shoulder, the second emperor looked at her, leaning in and smiling shamelessly.

Embarrassment floods her, and Livia sits up straight, closes her eyes, cursing herself for her tactlessness and curiosity. She rarely takes an interest in other people, even less often men, so the very fact that she got caught staring, right after having just shown all of Rome the will of the gods, stings her deeply. She liked that the people treated the Vestals with awe and reverence, but in the emperor’s smile, she saw neither respect nor awe, only mockery.

"I’ll introduce you to the emperors later, behave properly," the senior vestal instructs her sternly, and Livia lowers her head in shame.

Today, there weren’t many killings; the festival shouldn’t be tarnished by too many deaths, so the games ended quickly. They were escorted into the halls inside the Colosseum, and as they walked slowly, still surrounded by the Praetorian guards, the crowd parted before them, eyeing them and whispering. The last time the Vestals had appeared at the games was under Marcus Aurelius, so their appearance was truly a momentous event for all of Rome.

"Raise your head, child, here are our rulers," her mentor commanded, and Livia obediently looked ahead.

Their arrival was met with a swell of voices, loud exclamations ringing through the air.

The first of the two, the one she had noticed in the stands, was tall and stately, but no warrior. His features were fine and well-defined, his dark eyes sharp with intelligence, but the set of his full lips betrayed a restless, nervous nature. A golden laurel nestled in the soft waves of his reddish curls, and his slender frame was draped in a black trabea trimmed with deep purple. Beneath it, a long tunic of the same black, embroidered with gold, shimmered in the light. He looked more like an eastern king than a Roman emperor. She didn’t like him.

While she was studying one of the emperors, the other had already been studying her. She could feel his gaze like a touch, sharp and deliberate. Quickly, she turned to face him.

Oh, he was nothing like his brother.

Shorter, narrower in the shoulders, he moved with a slow, fluid grace, completely at ease. Livia tilted her head slightly, and he mirrored the gesture with an amused glint in his eye. Was he teasing her?

Livia knew that fashion required women to whiten their faces and paint their eyelids, and appearing without blush was considered bad taste—but she had never seen a painted man before. The first emperor’s lids were dusted with a soft, ashy gray, subtle but noticeable. The second’s bright blue eyes were rimmed with warm peach, a color so vivid against his pale skin that it caught her off guard. A shade she had never seen on a man.

He wore a short-sleeved tunic of rich purple, cinched at the waist with a wide golden belt. Her gaze caught on the huge gold medallion hanging from his white neck down to his chest. The sign of Fortuna, the goddess of luck. Did he even understand its meaning? Judging by the many rings and bracelets that gleamed along his fingers and wrists, she doubted it.

Finally, the Praetorians parted, and they, along with the other Vestals, stood face to face with the emperors. The tall one bent slightly and extended his hand, as if expecting the senior Vestal to offer her hand for a kiss. Livia couldn’t help but smirk. Vestals were forbidden to be touched by men, even by the emperor himself. Didn’t he know this?

The awkward moment was broken by the mocking laughter of the second emperor. His brother straightened up, pressed his lips together in irritation, and cast a glance first at his brother, then at them.

"We are glad that you honored us with your presence," he said loudly. His voice was deep and low, yet there were still nervous notes, as if he were anxious.

"And we are grateful for the invitation, Emperor Geta," her mentor replied with a respectful nod.

Geta.

Livia turned her gaze back to the other brother. So this was Caracalla.

"This is Livia," the senior Vestal introduced her. Livia stepped forward, her back straight as a blade, chin raised. "She brought good news to the arena today."

"I see," Caracalla finally spoke. His voice was hoarse, starkly contrasting the softness of his features.

Standing beside him, Livia noticed that the powdered skin, which had appeared so flawless from a distance, was marred by tiny wounds, some of which hadn’t healed and were hidden under layers of rouge. The emperor, sensing her gaze, immediately furrowed his pale brows and lifted his chin, wounded by the thought that she had seen his imperfections. It must be difficult to consider oneself a god when one’s earthly vessel is so far from perfect.

"Oh, that was quite a sight," Geta continued warmly, looking directly at her. His hand twitched forward as if he wanted to take her hand, but she immediately pulled away, causing another burst of laughter from Caracalla.

"You’re too kind, Caesar," she answered with measured dignity. "The scale of the spectacle was truly impressive."

"There will be a feast this evening," Geta said, nodding to her and her sisters. "Join us."

"I’m afraid we must serve at the temple, Emperor."

"What is allowed to Jupiter is not allowed to the bull," Geta quoted, hinting that, with their status, they could do much more than the common citizens of Rome.

"What is allowed to the bull, is not allowed to Jupiter," she replied, and his smile faltered. "Had he not turned into an bull, he would never have approached a defenseless maiden, would he?"

Once again, the young emperor looked wounded, unsure of what to say, helplessly turning to his smiling brother. Livia realized who he reminded her of—the sacrificial bull in the arena today. He had the same dark eyes, vivid and strangely sorrowful, but no trace of wisdom, no matter how hard she tried to look. Geta noticed she was studying him and fluttered his long eyelashes in confusion, then smiled again.

"You’re wise, though young," he tried to compliment her, smoothing over the awkward conversation.

To some, he might have seemed charming. Handsome, even. To someone who hadn’t devoted her life to the glory of Vesta.

"Thank you, Caesar."

The little show ends, and the eldest priestess steps up, leading them away with the emperors.

"They’re quite charming, aren’t they?" Caesonia says quietly, glancing at her with a smile.

Livia tensed. Curious gazes followed them from all sides, high-ranking guests watching their every move. A strange feeling crept over her—guilt. As if she had thought too harshly of her emperors. As if she had been unfair.

"Dignified and charming, yes," she answers calmly, suppressing her negative thoughts.

Order in the mind—order in the heart, and that’s how one must serve the gods. She ran her fingers under the veil, letting her dark curls slip through, trying to focus. Her hair was still soaked in blood, dry and tangled. She stared at her hand, pink from the blood stains, the smell of iron in the air.

"I mean them as men, child," the elder priestess smiles slyly.

Livia paled, a crease appeared between her brows, and her lips tightened into a line.

"You know your vows better than I do, sister," her voice rang with tension.

"Look, don’t touch, darling," the elder priestess continued, her tone unchanged. "We can admire them like beautiful trinkets. You wouldn’t scold me if I were to admire an intricately carved box, or…"

"I need to wash my hands," Livia interrupts her, causing Caesonia to laugh.

They weren’t stone, they had feelings, emotions, struggles. And desires too. Other Vestals sometimes spoke of men, but Livia had never joined in those conversations. And she wouldn’t now. Her training was ongoing, and the last thing she wanted to think about was worldly, base desires.

A bowl of water stood by one of the columns, meant for purification. Livia walked toward it, the crowd parting before her, holding their breath. She was flattered by this. Now, surrounded by gazes brimming with admiration, adoration, and quiet awe, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Later, she would ask the Goddess for forgiveness for her vanity, but for now, the young Vestal basked in the attention.

She dipped her hands into the cool water, and it immediately bloomed with pink.

"Smells like blood," a voice said behind her.

A strange sense of anxiety gripped her, and her heart began pounding so strongly that it made breathing hard. On the outside, she tried to remain calm, as always. After finishing washing her hands, she turned toward the speaker.

Emperor Caracalla was grinning wide, showing a gold tooth. It seemed the young ruler was in a great mood.

"It is blood, my Caesar."

"Watching you there, kneeling on the arena’s sand, bathed in blood, was the greatest pleasure of the day. I fear even tonight’s feast will not bring me such…delight," his voice was soft, smooth, flowing like honey, and his eyes gleamed with slyness. He was teasing her in a bold, shameless way!

When she was very young, living with her father and sisters, Cassandra and Claudia used to tease her, taking advantage of the fact that they were older. But in the emperor’s words, there was something different. Caracalla didn’t say anything outright offensive, but something about it felt improper. Was it the way he smiled, the way he stood, nonchalantly leaning his shoulder against a column?

In every movement, she sensed how utterly unserious he was—how he tilted his chin, half-closed his eyes, and stretched his painted lips into a lazy smirk.

He reminded her of a cat. The one that lived in the gardens of the Temple of Vesta, rolling from side to side, stretching out its fluffy body under the sun. That one was ginger too.

"It’s an honor to serve Rome, to serve you," he grinned wider, "And your brother," his smile immediately faded, and Livia was stunned at how quickly his expression changed.

For the first time, she was looked at with such disdain. She blinked, trying to convince herself she hadn’t imagined it. No, Caesar still stood there with a deep furrow between his brows, his nostrils flaring. Livia stepped back, unsure what had triggered his anger.

Almost as if seeking support or comfort, she turned, only to meet the black eyes of Emperor Geta. He stood at a distance, surrounded by a crowd. A beautiful copper-haired girl was speaking to him, but his gaze was fixed elsewhere, cutting through the sea of people—on her.

She faltered, then suddenly realized—this had nothing to do with her. The emperors were watching each other.

She mentally pictured herself from the outside: innocent, chaste, in white garments, she should remain dignified and focused. Livia was a priestess of Vesta, not a cunning and ambitious matron, so the emperors’ quarrels didn’t interest her.

Leaving Caracalla behind, she hurried toward the other Vestals, but was suddenly, shamelessly grabbed by the arms and pulled into an embrace. If this had been a man, they’d have been crucified in the Forum by morning, but…

"Livia, my dear!" she hardly recognizes the face of the girl in front of her.

"Claudia!" The calm mask slips from her face for a moment, and she smiles at her sister, whom she hasn’t seen in ages.

"You’ve grown so much! A real beauty! And you look just like Cassandra! Your nose, your lips, your cheekbones," Claudia’s finger traced her face, and Livia shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation of someone else’s touch. "But your eyes… they’re from our father. Ah, our dear sister was so gentle…" Her voice wavered, and her hand dropped.

A man’s arms wrap around her shoulders, and only now does Livia notice the rounded belly of Claudia, the gaunt look on her face, and how feverishly her cheeks shone.

"Congratulations!" she quickly changes the subject, not wanting to speak of Cassandra.

"Yes, yes, this is my husband, Senator Appius, I don’t think you’ve met him, have you?" Claudia’s smile suddenly fades, but her husband grins broadly.

The exchange of pleasantries drags on for too long, and then her mentor arrives.

"It was good to see you, Livia," her sister whispers one last time. "We live at the palace now, visit me, I get so lonely sometimes…"

Livia nods sincerely, promising to visit, and hurries to join the other Vestals. The grip of her mentor on her arm is tight, and her gaze is nervous.

"What did you do to anger the emperors?"

"Me?" her voice sounds genuinely surprised, but then she remembers Caracalla’s hateful gaze, and she too asks herself the same question. "I don’t know, I’m sorry."

Suddenly, the crowd around her—the murmuring guests, the admiring stares—became unbearable. What had once flattered her now felt suffocating. Hundreds of eyes watched her with reverence, with curiosity, yet only one pair—bright, piercing, burning with something close to fury—ruined her mood completely. She didn’t belong here.

Still, before she could leave the Colosseum and return to the Vestal House, she would have to face them once again.

Caesonia noticed her growing unease and linked arms with her, trying to comfort her.

"Once again, we thank you for the honor you have shown us and hope to see you again," Geta began, locking his hands together.

"We are pleased that the bond between our temple and the emperors has been restored," the senior Vestal responded politely.

"Oh, and one more thing," Geta said, theatrically raising his hands, "Our mother wished to visit your temple…"

"Yes, mother," Caracalla mockingly drawled, cutting off his brother. There was something in his tone that Livia didn’t like again. That’s not how you speak about your parents, even if they’re not by blood. "She can get so lonely, and we’re not always around to entertain her properly."

Her cheeks flushed, and Livia didn’t understand why, but Caracalla noticed her brief pause and grinned, his mouth opening slightly, pleased that he had provoked some emotion from her. She lifted her chin, refusing to seem vulnerable, even though inside she was embarrassed.

The moment of farewell came. She longed to return home as quickly as possible, to forget all these strange glances and words. There, among the other Vestals, she would be safe, and no troubling thoughts would haunt her.

"Until we meet again," Geta said politely, licking his upper lip and adding, "Amata, I hope next time we can do without the bloodshed."

Amata. Beloved.

She only nodded, unwilling to show how much she disliked being addressed that way by a stranger.

Caracalla didn’t say a word, looking away as if he didn’t even notice her.

And just as she exhaled, walking past him, quietly relieved by the absence of his attention, she felt it.

A touch.

A featherlight, teasing touch traced from the tip of her pinky, gliding up the soft curve of her hand—barely noticeable, yet it burned like fire.

She stopped, glancing back over her shoulder, but the emperor wasn’t looking at her; on the contrary, he was leaning toward his brother, speaking to him.

It felt as though she’d been struck. The heat spread across her cheeks, sank lower into her chest, then froze in her stomach. How dare he?! No one had the right to touch them. Neither mortal nor immortal man would ever dare touch a Vestal Virgin. But he… He turned away, pretending nothing had happened, though that single gesture had shaken everything she had believed in for so long.

Trying to suppress her anger and confusion, she hurried toward her sisters, unaware that both emperors were watching her leave.

Without realizing it, Livia had started a new game.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

note: this story is directly connected to there will be games! Livia is the sister of Cassandra, the protagonist of that story. It’s been about two months since the events of the finale and what Geta did.