#js20 x you

[777bae]

SAFE IN HIS HANDS JURAJ SLAFKOVSKY

Summary :: Pregnancy is hard, but with Juraj by your side, it feels like you’re not doing it alone. From making breakfast to soothing your aches, his quiet love builds the foundation for the family you’re about to become.

Warnings :: pregnancy aches, kissing

Word count :: 6.7k

The first thing you feel when you wake up is warmth—Juraj’s body heat still lingering on the sheets beside you, even though he’s no longer there. It’s a fading warmth, the kind that tells you he must have left the bed not too long ago, but without him, the space beside you feels vast and empty. Your body, still heavy with sleep, reacts before your mind fully registers his absence. Your hand instinctively reaches out, fingers searching for the familiar solidness of him, but all you find is the cool fabric of his pillow.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you blink against the golden light spilling in through the curtains, painting the room in gentle hues of morning. The air is quiet, save for the distant sounds of life beginning in the rest of the house—the faint hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of the floorboards, the muffled clatter of dishes in the kitchen. You know without a doubt that it’s him, moving around with quiet purpose, already tending to you in ways he thinks you won’t notice.

You shift slightly beneath the covers, attempting to stretch out the stiffness lingering in your limbs, but even the smallest movement makes you acutely aware of the changes in your body. The weight of your growing belly settles heavily against you, pressing down in a way that wasn’t there just a few months ago. It’s strange, how even something as simple as rolling over now requires thought, effort. You pause for a moment, adjusting, breathing through the slight strain before settling into a more comfortable position.

And yet, despite the aches, despite the sluggishness, you wouldn’t change a thing. If anything, you revel in it. Every sensation—the tightness in your skin, the occasional discomfort, the deep stretch of muscles adjusting to something far greater than yourself—only serves as a reminder that your baby is growing. Thriving.

Your hand drifts down almost instinctively, fingers grazing over the gentle curve of your stomach, feeling the warmth of your own skin beneath your palm. The gesture is familiar now, something you catch yourself doing more and more often, as if your touch alone could remind the little life inside you that you’re here. That you love them. That you are waiting for them.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you imagine them, curled up safely within you, their tiny hands and feet tucked close. You wonder if they’re awake, if they can somehow sense your touch, if they know that their father was just here, that his hands have rested in the very same place more times than you can count.

Before you can dwell too long in thought, you hear it—the faint clatter of dishes, the hum of the refrigerator door opening and closing, the soft shuffle of Juraj’s feet against the hardwood floor. The sounds are gentle, careful, but unmistakable. You know them now, just as you know the warmth of his hands or the way his voice wraps around you like something solid and steady.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. He’s up early again. He always is these days.

You can’t remember the last time he truly slept in. Even on the rare mornings when he doesn’t have early practice, he’s the first to rise, moving around the house with as much quiet as someone his size can manage. You’ve woken up to the absence of his warmth enough times now to know that this has become his routine. That even before the sun has fully crept into the sky, before the weight of the day has settled over either of you, he is already thinking of you—of you and the life you carry.

The bedroom door creaks open a moment later, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his tall frame nearly filling the space. A tray is balanced carefully in his large hands, the soft glow of morning light catching against the edges of the dishes. He’s still in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, the fabric clinging slightly to the broad planes of his chest. His hair is tousled, the strands falling haphazardly over his forehead, and you can tell just by looking at him that he didn’t bother fixing it before coming in. He got out of bed long enough to make sure you had breakfast before anything else.

His eyes find yours instantly, and the way his face softens when he sees you awake makes your breath catch. It’s subtle—the way his expression shifts, the way the corners of his mouth tug upward—but it’s unmistakable. A warmth spreads through his gaze, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world just to look at you.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep, low and warm in a way that settles deep in your chest.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice groggy, your body still adjusting to the day.

He steps forward, careful, deliberate, like he doesn’t want to wake you too harshly. He crosses the room in just a few strides, moving with the quiet ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before. He sets the tray down on the nightstand, but before you can move, he’s already reaching for you.

His hands find you easily, familiar and sure, slipping behind your back as he helps you sit up. His touch is gentle but firm, his fingers pressing lightly against the tense muscles there, offering just enough support to make the movement easier. You sigh, leaning into him for a brief moment, and he lets you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his breath close, the concern in his voice so instinctive, so natural, that you know he probably asks himself the same question even when you’re not around to hear it.

You nod, offering him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. Just needed a second.”

His brows furrow slightly, like he’s still assessing, still making sure, but after a moment, he nods and leans back slightly.

“I made you breakfast,” he says then, his voice lighter now, the hint of a proud grin tugging at the edges of his lips. He lifts the tray slightly, as if presenting his masterpiece. “I tried to make the eggs the way you like them.”

You glance at the tray—scrambled eggs, perfectly golden toast, a neat arrangement of fresh fruit, and a smoothie, the kind he knows is your favorite. You don’t miss the way the edges of the toast are cut just right, or how the smoothie is in the glass you always reach for first. Small details, maybe, but they don’t go unnoticed.

A laugh escapes you, quiet but full of affection. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, even though you already know exactly what his response will be.

As expected, his brows pull together, his expression shifting into something stubborn—something utterly convinced that the thought is ridiculous. “Of course, I did.”

And then, softer, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

“You’re carrying our baby.”

The words settle between you, heavy in a way that makes your chest tighten. His gaze drops, just for a moment, to the curve of your belly, his expression shifting from playful to something deeper. There’s an awe in his eyes, quiet but unshakable, like the simple fact of your existence like this—growing, glowing, holding something so precious—will never stop astounding him.

His fingers brush absently over your blanket, like he wants to reach for you, to feel you, but he hesitates. Not out of uncertainty, but reverence.

Then he lifts his gaze back to yours, tilting his head slightly. “You need to eat,” he says, like it’s non-negotiable.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. You pick up a piece of toast anyway, taking a bite, and the second you hum in satisfaction, you feel it—the way his shoulders relax slightly, the way his lips curve into a small, contented smile.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you, his eyes lingering, his fingers tapping idly against the tray.

And in that quiet moment, as you chew slowly, as he sits beside you with nothing but warmth in his expression, you realize something:

This isn’t just about breakfast. It’s not just about making sure you eat.

It’s about you.

It’s about the way he wakes up before you, the way he moves through the house quietly so you don’t stir. It’s about the way he notices the smallest things—what foods you’re craving, what scents make you nauseous, which pillows help you sleep better. It’s about the way he watches over you, not because he thinks you can’t do things on your own, but because he wants to. Because he loves you. Because this—this life you’re building together—means everything to him.

You swallow, setting the toast down and reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his eyes questioning.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after a moment, his voice lower now, softer, with an edge of concern that you can hear even in the calm morning silence. His eyes are filled with an intensity that’s rare for him, an intensity only ever reserved for moments like this—when it’s just the two of you, and the world outside seems to slow down.

You sigh and settle back against the pillows, the weight of your body pressing down just a little more. “Tired. Sore. My back is killing me,” you admit, the words coming out in a slightly defeated tone, even though you don’t mean to sound like that.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t need to think twice. The moment you finish speaking, he’s already moving, setting the tray aside as though it’s not even important anymore. There’s only you and your discomfort now. He shifts closer, his body settling next to you, and without a word, his large hands find their way to your lower back. He doesn’t rush; his fingers are deliberate, pressing into the tight muscles there with careful precision.

The relief is almost immediate, the deep ache in your back slowly unwinding beneath his touch. You let out a quiet groan, feeling your body instinctively relax, your head falling back against the pillow. The tension, the tightness you’d been carrying all morning, starts to melt away, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. There’s only him, and the soothing rhythm of his hands working over you, the quiet intimacy of it all.

Juraj chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he leans in to press a gentle kiss there, the brush of his lips tender and comforting. “Better?” he asks, his voice low, holding a softness that makes your chest tighten with affection.

You nod, exhaling deeply, your body sinking further into the comfort of his touch. “Much,” you murmur, closing your eyes briefly to savor the feeling of his hands working over you.

His fingers don’t stop; they continue their slow, deliberate circles into your lower back, the pressure firm but never too much, just enough to chase away the tightness that had been plaguing you. You can tell by the way his hands move that he’s paying attention to every shift in your body, every little sign that you need more or less pressure. His touch is careful, not just because you’re carrying his child, but because he knows you. Knows what makes you feel better, knows how to soothe you when you’re tense, even when you don’t have to say a word.

As his hands continue, you find yourself losing track of time. You let your body surrender to him, sinking into the comfort of his presence. There’s something about the way he’s here with you, so steady, so reliable, that makes everything feel just a little bit easier. In this moment, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“You really okay?” he murmurs against your temple, his breath soft on your skin, so close now that his words feel like a part of you.

You nod, though the weight of it all lingers just a little. “Yeah. Just… everything feels so heavy lately.” The words escape before you can stop them, a soft admission of the way the changes in your body are beginning to feel overwhelming. But even as you speak them, you don’t feel vulnerable. With him, it’s always okay to be honest about the discomfort, the uncertainty, the quiet struggles you don’t always voice.

He pauses for a second, his hands stilling against your back. You can feel the shift in his energy as he processes your words, and then his arm shifts, sliding over your shoulders with ease. He pulls you closer, his body pressing lightly against yours as he envelops you in his warmth. You feel the steady beat of his heart, the solid rhythm that makes you feel safe, and he traces lazy, absentminded patterns along your arm, his fingers barely skimming your skin.

It’s a touch that feels like a promise, like reassurance. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know he’s there. He’s always there. Always paying attention.

“You want to lie down for a bit?” he offers, his voice gentle, considering. He glances over at the untouched food on the tray, eyes soft with understanding. “I can bring this back later. Or make you something else if you don’t feel like eating this.” There’s no pressure in his voice, just an open offer, a simple willingness to make sure you’re comfortable, whatever that means in the moment.

You shake your head, managing a small smile. “No, I promise this is perfect,” you say, though there’s a tiny part of you that wants to protest, to tell him he doesn’t have to keep doing so much. But you know it’s no use. You already know he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d insist, just like he always does.

“You don’t have to keep fussing over me, you know,” you add softly, a playful edge in your voice, though there’s no real attempt to push him away.

He scoffs, the sound light and teasing, but there’s a warmth in it that makes you smile. He always knows how to make you feel loved, even in the simplest of ways. “Yes, I do.” His lips curl upward, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, but there’s a deep sincerity in his eyes. “It’s my job.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Your job is to play hockey.”

He chuckles at that, but his expression softens, and without warning, he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a small but tender gesture. “My job is to take care of you.”

The words hit you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. They land like a soft weight in your chest, heavier than you expect, and the simple sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell. He doesn’t say it with any dramatic flair or grand gesture. It’s just a quiet truth, a reminder of how much he cares for you, how deeply he is here—really here—with you, in this life you’re creating together.

For a moment, you’re left speechless, taken aback by the quiet weight of his words, by the depth of love that they carry. The room feels a little quieter, a little warmer as you stare up at him, searching for the right thing to say.

You reach for his hand then, intertwining your fingers with his, the touch grounding you, reminding you of the shared bond between you. “You already do,” you say softly, your voice a gentle affirmation of everything he’s been to you, everything he’s done for you. “Every single day.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles as he exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, like he needed to hear that. The relief that passes through him is subtle, but you see it in the way his body seems to settle more fully beside you. You feel his thumb move in small, reassuring circles against your skin, and for a moment, the world outside fades. It’s just the two of you—here, together, steady and sure.

He exhales again, and his grip on your hand tightens just a little, as though holding on to this quiet moment, this connection. His eyes soften even more as he looks at you, the deep adoration in them unmistakable. You both stay like that for a while, the silence between you comfortable and full of understanding, a silent conversation in the space you’ve created.

A few moments of quiet stretch between you, the two of you comfortably nestled in the peaceful stillness of the morning. You could hear the soft hum of the house—the quiet creak of the floorboards beneath his steps as he moves around, the faint sound of the outside world beyond the windows. But then, his voice breaks the calm, filled with the warmth and playful curiosity that you’ve come to love.

“Hey, you know what might help?” he asks, his eyes twinkling as he glances at you.

You raise an eyebrow, your tired eyes meeting his. “Please don’t say ice baths,” you joke, though you can’t help but feel a little wary at the thought.

He laughs, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. He shakes his head, his face lighting up with that familiar, comforting warmth that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the world. “No, no. A bath, though. A warm one. I can set it up for you.”

You let out a breath of relief, but then, the temptation of his suggestion tugs at you. The ache in your back and the heaviness in your feet have become constant companions, and the idea of sinking into warm water feels like the escape you didn’t even know you needed. It’s an idea that’s both simple and indulgent in the best way possible. You hesitated for only a second, but then a thought bubbles up.

“You sure?” you ask, a hint of concern slipping into your voice. You glance over at him, aware that he has practice later, and you don’t want him to take on too much. “You have practice later. You don’t have to—”

But he’s already moving, shaking his head with a reassuring smile. “I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says, his voice firm in that way he has when he’s made up his mind. There’s no room for arguing, and truthfully, you don’t even want to. He’s already started walking toward the bathroom, his footsteps soft but purposeful, the sound of the door creaking open a moment later.

Before you can say anything else, you hear the sound of water running—steady, rhythmic—and the soft shuffle of him moving around the bathroom. You picture him, lighting candles with his usual care, perhaps picking out the perfect bath salts or adding a few bubbles to the water, making everything just right. It’s like he’s curating a little moment of peace for you, and the thought alone makes your heart swell. You know he’s not just doing this out of obligation—he’s doing it because he loves you, because he wants to take care of you in ways that go beyond the obvious. He’s always been like this: attentive in the smallest, most thoughtful ways that somehow manage to make all the difference.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the quiet sounds of him moving around, the soft rustle of fabric as he prepares the bath. You don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he became your rock, your constant source of care, even in the most simple of moments. It’s never in grand gestures—it’s in the way he listens when you speak, in the way he anticipates your needs before you even voice them. It’s in the little things: the way he makes you breakfast, or rubs your back when you’re sore, or takes the time to prepare something as tender as a warm bath when he knows you need it.

By the time he returns to the bedroom, his face is practically glowing with excitement, like he’s just crafted the perfect game plan and he’s eager to see you enjoy it. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that catches you off guard for a moment—his usual quiet intensity turned into something playful, something entirely focused on you. He’s carrying the weight of a joy he finds in making you comfortable.

“Okay, it’s ready. Come on,” he says, his voice carrying a sense of accomplishment, as if the bath is a personal victory he’s eager for you to experience.

You can’t help but smile, your own exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of his unshakable enthusiasm. You make a move to sit up, but immediately, Juraj is there. He doesn’t hesitate for a second. His hands, large and strong, come to rest on your waist, steadying you with an ease that always feels both protective and intimate. His fingers press lightly against the curve of your sides as he gently helps you rise, careful not to disturb your comfort too quickly.

You can’t help but laugh softly at the way he’s handling it all. “You act like I’m made of glass,” you tease, feeling the soft weight of the moment, a soft playfulness easing some of the discomfort in your body.

He grins, but there’s something deeper in his eyes as he looks at you, something tender. “Not glass,” he corrects, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to send a shiver of warmth through your chest. “Just carrying something pretty damn important.”

Your heart swells in your chest, a rush of love filling you so completely that it feels like it could spill over. It’s not just his words, but the quiet sincerity with which he says them. It’s the way he’s here, entirely with you, not just physically, but in the way he holds your heart, your growing family, and everything in between.

He leads you gently toward the bathroom, and as you step inside, the transformation of the space takes you by surprise. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the flickering candles he’s carefully placed around the tub. The scent of lavender fills the air, soothing and fragrant, curling around you like a soft embrace. Steam rises gently from the water, which is a warm, inviting hue—perfectly set to relax every muscle in your body. The air itself feels thick with tranquility, with a kind of calm that instantly soothes your senses.

You take a slow, appreciative breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders melt away the second you step into the space. This, this is exactly what you needed. And it’s just another thing he’s done to make sure you feel cared for—making everything just perfect. You can’t help but marvel at how in tune he is with your needs, even the ones you don’t have to say aloud.

When Juraj helps you over to the tub, he’s careful, like always, steadying you, his hands warm on your skin. You look up at him and see nothing but love in his eyes, soft and steady, as if you’re the most important thing in the world.

The warm water envelops you as soon as you sink deeper into the bath, wrapping you in a comforting embrace that seems to melt away all the tension you’ve been carrying. You let out a soft sigh, your body gradually unwinding as the heat seeps into every muscle, soothing each ache, and making the world outside this small space seem so far away. The scent of lavender fills the air, delicate and calming, its fragrance mingling with the quiet sound of the water lapping gently at the edges of the tub. The flickering light from the candles Juraj must have carefully placed around the room dances in the soft steam that rises from the bath, casting a golden glow that feels like something out of a dream—a peaceful, quiet cocoon where nothing can disturb you.

You sink lower into the water, letting it completely envelop you, your arms resting gently on the edge of the tub as you close your eyes. The softness of the moment settles over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself truly relax. The stress of the day, of the aches in your body, of everything swirling around in your mind, fades into the background, replaced by the soothing warmth of the bath and the comforting presence of Juraj beside you.

His tall frame is leaned slightly forward, one knee resting on the floor while his arms drape casually over the edge of the tub. His gaze never leaves you, his eyes steady and watchful, a quiet satisfaction settling into his features like he’s just accomplished something monumental. There’s no rush in his movements, no need to hurry or pull away. He seems to take his time with you, as if savoring each moment of peace, of quiet connection. And though his expression is soft, there’s an intensity in the way he looks at you—something that feels almost reverent. It’s as if you’ve become his world in that instant, and every moment spent with you is something precious to him.

“How does it feel?” he asks after a moment, his voice soft and warm, like he’s asking about something far more important than just the bath. He genuinely wants to know, to make sure you’re comfortable, to make sure you’re feeling okay.

You hum in approval, your body melting deeper into the warm water as you smile, your eyes fluttering shut in contentment. “Perfect. Exactly what I needed,” you murmur, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the tranquility of the moment.

Juraj watches you for a few beats, his gaze never wavering, as if taking in the simple sight of you—soaked in the soft glow of candlelight, surrounded by the scent of lavender, and resting in the calm of the moment. He reaches out, his large hands gentle, his fingers skimming the surface of the water in slow, absentminded circles. A ripple follows the path of his touch, the water shimmering with movement, and his fingers dip lower, cupping a handful of warm water. With a careful, almost reverent touch, he pours it over your shoulder, letting it trickle down your skin in a soft cascade, as if to help the warmth of the bath do its work on your body. The sensation of the water against your skin is so soothing that you can’t help but sigh, your muscles loosening further, the tension slowly melting away.

He does it again, this time over your arm, his touch light but deliberate, as if trying to ease away every last trace of the weight you’ve been carrying. You let him, closing your eyes for a moment and surrendering fully to the peace he’s creating for you.

His voice breaks the silence, soft but teasing, pulling you back from the depth of your thoughts. “You don’t have to stay here, you know,” you murmur, though your words are more of an invitation than a suggestion. The truth is, you don’t want him to leave. You want him here, next to you, in this quiet, intimate space.

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling into a playful smirk. “You trying to get rid of me?” His tone is light, but there’s a touch of something more behind it—an almost amused curiosity that makes you smile despite yourself.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No,” you admit with a grin, “just saying. You probably have better things to do.”

You know he’s busy. You know he’s got his own commitments, his own routines. But in this moment, there’s a small part of you that feels selfish, wanting to keep him here with you, wanting to hold on to this sense of calm for just a little longer.

He scoffs, as if the very idea of leaving you to your own devices is absurd. “Like what?” he asks, his voice laced with mock incredulity, and there’s a warmth in his eyes as he meets your gaze.

You arch a brow, matching his teasing tone. “I don’t know. Hockey? Working out? Watching replays?”

His expression changes instantly, though, softening into something more serious, something deeper. He doesn’t respond right away; instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch is so tender, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment longer than usual. Then, his fingers trace the curve of your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “This is more important,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. His words are not dismissive or flippant—they carry weight, a kind of sincerity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Something in your chest tightens, and for a moment, the world outside this bathroom seems to disappear completely. There’s no arguing, no words needed to fill the silence. You simply look at him, and he looks at you, and for that fleeting moment, there’s nothing else. His eyes are so open, so unguarded, and the way he says it—like he truly believes it—takes you by surprise. It’s a vulnerability you rarely see in him, yet in this moment, it feels like he’s giving you a glimpse into a part of him that is only ever shared with you.

His gaze is steady, unwavering, and you realize that there’s no doubt in his mind—there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, in this quiet, intimate space with you. His presence is the grounding force you didn’t even know you needed, and in the simplicity of this moment, you can’t help but feel completely and utterly cherished.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, feeling the roughness of his calloused palm against your softer skin. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, there’s a brief, stillness between you, a sudden quiet that feels like the world pausing just to catch its breath. Juraj’s grip tightens for a split second, just long enough for you to feel the weight of his fingers around yours, grounding him in the enormity of the moment. His chest rises and falls with a breath that sounds almost like a quiet hitch, his hand holding yours as if it might anchor him to the present, to this very moment where you’ve shared something so deeply vulnerable.

His eyes flick down to your hand, his thumb tracing over your knuckles in slow, thoughtful movements. The touch is gentle, but there’s a sense of intensity to it, like he’s trying to find the right words, trying to find his place in all this. Finally, after a pause that seems to stretch on just a bit longer than usual, he looks up at you, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles—a smile that’s soft and vulnerable, unlike anything you’ve seen before.

“You think so?” His voice is barely above a whisper, a question that carries more weight than just those two words. It’s a question laced with doubt, with hope, with a quiet desire to be enough, to be worthy of the future he’s already dreaming about.

You nod, your fingers tightening around his in reassurance. “I know so.” The certainty in your voice is unwavering, the words steady and sure as you meet his gaze. He needs to hear it—he needs to know that you believe in him, that you believe in everything he already is, and everything he’s going to be. He’s going to be such a good dad.

For a few moments, he doesn’t speak, just watches your hand in his, his thumb absently tracing the lines of your fingers like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip. There’s a quiet sort of reverence in his movements, as if he’s in awe of the simple fact that you two are about to embark on this journey together. And then, his voice comes, softer now, almost lost beneath the soft sound of the water lapping against the edges of the tub.

“I just want to do it right.” The words are quiet but heavy, and there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in them—like he’s baring his soul, letting you see the weight of his heart laid bare.

Your heart aches at that, but not with sadness—no, it’s a love so full, so overwhelming that it feels like it might burst. You want to reach out and hold him, to reassure him that he doesn’t need to carry all this responsibility alone. But instead, you gently squeeze his hand, your voice soft but firm when you answer.

“You already are.” You speak from your heart, your words simple but true. “You take care of me every day. You love us. That’s all our baby is ever going to need.”

There’s a brief silence, a moment where the only sound is the faint hum of the bathroom, the steam rising around you both. You can feel his shoulders relax, the tension melting away, as if your words have given him the peace he didn’t know he needed. His hand moves from yours, but only to gently rest on your belly, his touch careful, almost hesitant at first, like he’s afraid of disturbing something precious. But when he feels it—the soft, steady flutter of the baby’s movements beneath his palm—his entire expression shifts. The small, tender smile that spreads across his face is like the sun breaking through a cloud, and you can see the wonder in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“Did you feel that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the moment is sacred.

You laugh softly, a small chuckle that escapes before you can contain it, and place your hand over his. “Of course I felt it. I feel it all the time.” You meet his eyes with a smile, and there’s a knowing in your gaze—this tiny life is already part of both of you, and you can already see how deeply it has begun to change him.

His fingers spread across your belly, like he’s trying to cover every inch of it, like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this. He leans down, lowering his face until his lips are just above the waterline, his breath warm against your skin. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his voice deep and gentle, like he’s speaking to someone already listening, already aware. There’s a strength in his tone, but it’s a quiet strength, one that’s wrapped in tenderness and protectiveness. “You’re giving your mama a hard time, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully, though your heart swells with love for him and the little one already growing inside you. “Tell me about it.”

Juraj chuckles softly, his breath warm against your skin as he stays there for a moment longer, his forehead resting gently against your belly. His hand never moves, continuing to rest in the same spot, as if he’s waiting for another movement, another sign that this tiny person is listening to him, responding to him. It’s such a simple, intimate thing—but in that moment, as he stays there with his forehead resting against you, you realize how much of him is already poured into this new life. This big, strong man—someone who fights battles on the ice, who faces tough opponents with a strength that could move mountains—is utterly undone by the tiny, fragile life inside you. It’s a side of him you’ve seen in glimpses before, but in this moment, it’s undeniable. He’s already a father in everything but name.

Eventually, he leans back, but his hand doesn’t leave your belly. His thumb continues to move in slow, soothing circles, a gesture that’s become as familiar as his touch on your hand. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he says, his voice filled with such quiet awe that it makes your throat tighten. There’s an unspoken promise in his words—I will love them, just like I love you—and it wraps around your heart like a soft blanket.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, nodding as your chest swells with emotion. “Me too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, thick with the weight of everything you’re feeling.

Juraj glances up at you, his eyes softened by something deeper than just affection—there’s a tenderness there, an unspoken understanding that transcends words. His gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer than usual, like he’s soaking in the moment, imprinting it on his soul. And then, without saying a word, he leans down. His lips find yours with a quiet intensity, a kiss that feels like it’s full of years of shared moments, of challenges overcome, of love built layer by layer. It’s not rushed, not hungry like so many kisses once were, but slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring this connection between you both.

The kiss speaks volumes. It speaks of the life you’ve created together—of the highs, the lows, and the everyday, mundane moments that have formed the foundation of your love. It carries the weight of shared dreams and quiet promises for the future. And as his lips linger against yours, you feel a tenderness that surpasses any grand gesture, a quiet kind of devotion that only comes from the deepest parts of the heart.

When he finally pulls away, there’s a moment of perfect stillness between you, as if time has paused just for the two of you. His forehead rests gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin, mingling with yours as the two of you share the same air, the same space, your hearts in sync. The sound of the water continues its gentle lapping against the edges of the tub, but it feels distant now, as if the world outside of this moment has fallen away.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, the words wrapped in layers of tenderness that make your heart ache. “Both of you.”

You blink, the weight of those words settling over you like a soft, comforting blanket. Something inside you shifts at the realization—both of you. You are no longer just two people. You are a family. And as his words settle into your chest, the floodgates open, and tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. For a moment, you fight them, but only for a moment, because in this sacred space, in this intimacy between the two of you, there’s no need for masks. No need to hold it all together. You let the tears fall freely, letting them trace the contours of your cheeks as the emotions of this moment overwhelm you.

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw sincerity, has unlocked something in you—something that’s been quietly building inside you, something you didn’t even realize was there until now. You wipe the tears from your face, but you don’t try to hide them, because they are a reflection of everything you’re feeling. You’re not ashamed of them, not embarrassed. These tears are love, pure and simple.

“We love you too,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion, barely more than a breath, but it carries every ounce of everything you’re feeling right now.

His thumb brushes gently over your cheek, a small but profound gesture, as if he’s trying to wipe away the tears, but you both know they’re not tears of sadness—they’re tears of love, of an overwhelming gratitude that you can’t express with words. They’re tears that come from the realization that, despite everything—despite the uncertainty, the changes, the challenges—you’ve built something unbreakable together. You’ve created a family. And in this moment, everything feels right.

Juraj pulls you closer then, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that feels like home, a protection that only he can provide. His hands cradle you gently, but with such a quiet force, like he’s holding not just you, but everything you’ve created. The baby. The future. The life ahead.

And as you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, you know without a shadow of a doubt that this is home. This is where you belong. There’s a peace in your soul that you’ve never known before, a certainty that no matter what comes, you will face it together.

[deepamuthukrishnan]

I was reading this in my intl law class and the weird stares I got 😭😭

FAVORITE KIND OF NIGHT ; HUGHES, SLAFKOVSKÝ

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader, quinn hughes x fem!reader, juraj slafkovský x fem!reader, ex-cole caufield x fem!reader

SUMMARY when you found out your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you the entire time, you do what every girl does when they get cheated on: you fuck his best friends.

WORD COUNT 5,5k

WARNINGS taboo content, cheating, foursome (f/m/m/m), p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, mention of stomach bulge, creampie, double p in v, rough sex, manhandling, dirty talk, humiliation, subspace, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), gagging, dacryphilia, brief aftercare.

FROM ME TO YOU my loves, listen to your clara very carefully: if you do not agree with ANY of what’s written here, please consider not reading. this is just a silly idea i had a few days ago and i wanted to write about it. i have zero intentions of offending anyone: this is pure fiction! none of this is real! anyways, thank you @cyberhughes for listening to my naughty thoughts about this plot and for having my back. love you juni baby, this one’s for you <3 and for those who are still here, have a nice reading!

𖧷

on that lonely night, said it wouldn't be love

but we felt the rush (fell in love)

it made us believe it was only us

THE THING about being a hockey girlfriend is that you will, most certainly, get cheated on.

When you first heard that, you thought it was just bullshit— not all men are the same and all of that. Some people were just unfortunate to have shitty boyfriends, but not you.

Or at least that’s what you thought before watching a viral video of your boyfriend of two years kissing three different girls at a party.

The video was blurry, and maybe if you were a little bit more naive, you wouldn’t have noticed that the man eating those girls’ lips was, in fact, Cole Caufield, the man you swore to be the love of your life.

“Maybe it’s not him, Y/n,” your friend said, voice soft and gentle, as she put your phone down and locked it. ��Cole wouldn’t do that… right?”

Right, you want to say. Of course he wouldn’t do that.

But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to lie and betray your own trust. You sat there, on your couch, thinking about what you were going to do.

Your relationship was public, Cole had already posted pictures of you several times over the years, but now, so was the fact that he cheated on you with not just one girl, but with two more.

Now, everyone knows that you got cheated on, and that you weren’t an exception to the Hockey rule.

“‘s okay,” you sniff, cleaning your nose with your sweater’s sleeve. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, really, but what else could you do?

Truth is, even though you love— loved?— Cole a lot, you had been feeling a little bit weird. Cole didn’t seek you anymore, he didn’t look at you the same way he used to do when you first started dating.

You thought it was just the fact that he was tired and feeling responsible for his team’s recklessness, but clearly, it wasn’t just that.

Days passed after the terrible, awful video, and even though you hadn’t spoken to Cole in probably two weeks— he was away and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer his texts—, you wanted to break things up with him in person.

“Why would you do that?” Your friend asked over the phone, and you sighed.

“Because I’m better than he is,” you say. “And because I need to get closure.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs, and then she’s quiet for a few seconds. But, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” You ask, rolling to your side. “What is it?”

“There’s going to be a party at Zegras’ place tonight,” she says. “Heard Cole shit ass is going.”

“Who told you that?”

“I was talking to one of his new buddies, and he invited me to the party. Said I could go if I kept my mouth shut to you,” she scoffed. “I thought about telling him to go to hell and then telling him to fuck himself but I thought it might be more useful to pretend I wasn’t going to tell you anything and then tell you everything.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. We’re going, then?”

“We so are going,” she giggles. “I’ll bring the eggs.”

“I’ll bring the flour.”

𖧷

THE PARTY looked more like a frat party than anything, which lowkey disgusted you.

You knew the majority of the players were young and still in their teenager mindset, but whenever you went to a party, it usually had more decorum than whatever this was.

The music was so loud you couldn’t hear your friend talking next to you. People were grinding against each other like they were in heat and ready to fuck in front of everyone, and the room had a strong smell of marijuana and cheap beer.

You rolled your eyes but focused on your reason to be there: find Cole, break up with him and maybe even embarrass him in front of all of his friends.

You tried to warn your friend about where you were going, but since the music was too loud, you just signaled to the door on your right. She nodded, and you moved around the room, feeling with your feet the way the floor shook with the song’s thrumming.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to walk much. Cole’s stupid ass seemed to have forgotten to close his room’s door, and now you were staring at the 5’8” man you thought was going to be the father of your kids, kissing another girl.

“So, this looks really fun, huh?” You said, closing the room’s door, and suddenly, all of the eyes were on you. Cole’s included.

“Y-Y/n, what,” he stutters, removing the girl from his lap and getting up. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“No, what are you doing here?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling yourself start to burn with anger. “Weren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

“No, you see—”

“Is your name New York, sweetie?” You ask the girl who was previously kissing him, who looks like a scared, little kitten. Little does she know you’re not going after her— you couldn't care less about her. “Uh, I guess not.”

There were at least eight other people in the room, sitting there and goofing around. But now, all of them looked like they would pay a hundred thousand bucks not to be in Cole’s shoes.

“Y/n—” he tries again, reaching for your arm.

You step back, flinching away from his touch. “Don’t fucking touch me, Cole. You’re fucking sick. I hope y’all have fun,” you hiss, turning around and heading towards the room’s door again. You look over your shoulder, watching Cole’s sorrowful face. “Enjoy as much as you can, darling. I know his dick won’t make you happy.”

You leave the room with fast steps, not before hearing Cole’s so-called friends laugh out loud with your words. You could feel yourself burning with anger, which made you happy. You thought you were going to feel destroyed, sad and depressed when you confronted him about the fact that he cheated on you regularly.

But after seeing his pathetic expression and actions, you realised you weren’t the one who should be feeling that way.

Your legs were moving on their own, and when you noticed, you were on the second floor, barging in another room, opening its door with full strength.

Only to blush even more, this time not with anger, no.

“Oh, hey there, Y/n. Where’s the fire?”

Jack’s sarcastic tone made you hold the door’s handle tighter, and when you looked around, you felt like a fish out of its tank.

The room was poorly lit, only the yellow light from the lamps reflected on the dark walls of the room, making the environment seem more intimate than it really was.

There were sofas along the room, and low music was playing, probably coming from one of the cell phones.

Because not only Jack Hughes was there, but his oldest brother, Quinn and Juraj Slafkovský.

You didn’t even know Quinn and Jack got along with Slaf, yet there they were, sitting and chatting with each other like they weren’t all rivals during the weekdays.

They laughed with Jack’s little remark before Quinn said: “You can come in, we don’t bite.”

“Unless you want to.” Juraj was the one who said this, to your ultimate surprise, and you rolled your eyes, doing as they said and getting in, closing the door behind you.

“Dude, come on,” Jack laughs. “She has a boyfriend.”

“Not anymore,” you say, for the first time since you opened the door. You eyed the drink cart in the corner of the room, taking full steps towards it and opening the first bottle you say. Whiskey. Great. “I just broke up with Cole, actually.”

There was a second of silence before you heard some clapping behind you, which made you turn around and stare at the grown men sitting across the room.

“What’s this clapping for?” You ask.

“It was about time, Y/n, what the hell,” Juraj says. “Guy’s been cheating on you for months.”

“And you guys didn’t think of, I don’t know, maybe give me a heads up?” You ask, sarcasm pouring out of your mouth while you pour the alcoholic drink in the glass sitting on the wooden surface. Then, you walk until you’re sitting beside Quinn and Juraj. “Would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, poking your shoulder. “In my defense, I wasn’t around enough to know he was cheating.”

“In my defense,” Jack starts. “I don’t like him.”

“In my defense,” Juraj finishes, opening his legs and resting his arms behind his head. “I couldn’t do it, because I would’ve been called a homewrecker.”

You almost choked on your drink. “What?!”

“You know I’ve been wanting to fuck you for ages now,” he sighs, like he’s tired of saying that; like he’s been saying that for a long time now. “But you can’t exactly fuck your homie’s girlfriend, can you?”

“Word.” Jack says, leaning forward to fist bumping Juraj. Quinn only chuckles and you can’t believe your eyes.

You’ve known all of them for basically the same amount of time, and you liked them a lot. Jack was a little, teasing shit, way too different from Quinn, but he was funny and so were his brothers— hanging out with them was always fun.

Quinn was private but sweet, probably one of your favorite people in the league. His soft spoken demeanor had made its way into your heart and was now stuck there, for the rest of your life, probably.

And Juraj was an old friend, someone you knew even before you started dating Cole— he was the reason you and Cole got together in the first place.

So hearing that one of your closest friends wants to have sex with you is weird, especially because he had just confessed that in front of two other men.

You stare at them, incredulous. “What are you even talking about?”

“Come on, Y/n, you can’t be this oblivious,” Jack grunts, and you tilt your head, confused. “You didn’t notice the way he looks at you?”

“Fuck you, Hughes,” Slaf curses, giving him the middle finger. “Like you’re one to talk. Everyone knows you’re head over heels for her and you know which head I’m talking about.”

Quinn laughs like what Slaf said had been the funniest thing he’d heard in a while, while Jack simply shrugs and looks at you with expectant eyes.

“You are all drunk. That’s the only explanation I can find,” you say, still choosing not to see what is right in front of you. “And I’m about to be the next one.”

You took just one sip before Quinn wrapped his hand around your glass and took it out of your hands. You were about to complain and ask him what happened when he shook his head, clicking his tongue. “We are not drunk, Y/n. And we don’t want you to be.”

“What? Why not?” You ask. “I promise I’m not that type of person who talks about their love life when they’re drunk. I might talk about Tik Tok memes, though.”

“That’s worse than talking about your shit ass love life,” Jack murmurs and you turn around to look at him with angry eyes. “What?” He asks, grinning, with his hands in the air.

“It’s not my fault I can’t find the right guys,” you sigh, resting your head on Quinn’s shoulder like you’re used to doing. “Why do men suck?”

“Not all of them do, sweets.” Quinn says, placing his hand on your naked thigh, making you blush faintly.

“We don’t.” Juraj murmurs beside you, and you hum.

“Well,” you say, measuring your words. “Unfortunately, I can’t have any of you. So, yeah, I still have the same problem.”

“Who said you can’t have any of us?” Juraj says, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows at him. “Or even better, all of us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The room is suddenly too warm for you, and even if you’re just wearing a skirt and a crop top, you still feel yourself starting to get sweaty.

The song is still playing, an unknown melody reverberating through the room, and what once felt big and spacious suffocates you now.

“You guys. You can’t be serious… right?” You ask, looking at each and every single one of them in the eye.

Jack is the first one to break the silence. “Come on, Y/n. Haven’t you ever thought about us like that?”

You can feel their eyes on you as you think of what to answer. You can’t say you haven’t— that would be a lie. You were loyal to Cole and you loved him, but you weren’t blind.

And now that you’re really thinking, these guys hadn’t been particularly sleek either; Jack with his obsession with calling you pet names, Quinn finding any and every excuse to touch you whenever you were in the same room and Juraj eye-fucking you from afar while you cuddled with his teammate.

So yeah, you have wondered about it before, but it all sounded so insane you didn’t think about it twice. The odds of all four of them liking you were pretty low, so why bother fooling yourself with these kinds of thoughts?

But now, you were sitting in the same room as them, with Juraj’s arm touching yours, Quinn’s hand running up and down your leg, and Jack’s eyes on you, like you were a prey or something similar.

“We can’t do that,” you whisper, trying your hardest to hold onto that single piece of sanity and morals you still had. “You guys are insane. Jack, Quinn’s your brother.” You reason, expecting to knock some sense into them.

Quinn squeezes your thigh slightly. “It wouldn’t be our first time.”

“Besides, it’s fine because we’re not going to fuck each other,” Jack says, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“We are going to fuck you,” Juraj corrects, and you close your eyes, holding your hands together on your lap, trying to keep them still. “What do you say, chéri?” He asks, getting dangerously close to your neck, his strong, masculine scent making your head spin. His lips briefly touch your neck, the contact so light you wouldn’t feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of your surroundings.

Quinn’s warm, big hand is moving up, up and up, and that startles you.

You get up, panting as hard as if you had ran an entire marathon, and you stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by them. By your friends who had just asked to fuck you.

“I can’t— I can’t do this,” you whisper. “What about Cole, what about—”

“Sweetheart, Cole is probably balls deep inside someone else right now,” Quinn replies, and the others hum in agreement. “If you don’t want it because you don’t want to, it’s fine, you know we’d never force you. But,” he spreads his thighs, the outline of his cock is visible and right there for you to see. You gulp, not sure of what to do. “If you don’t want to do it because you still believe Cole deserves your kindness, then I have to say—”

“You’re being dumb,” Juraj finishes Quinn’s sentence, smirking. “You’ll be crying over one small cock when you have three waiting for you. It’s your pick, really.”

Your head is spinning and you feel aware of your body, which is something you hate. You can feel your arms and legs starting to give in, and to your absolute horror and panic, you can feel your underwear start to get sticky.

You walk towards the door, ready to leave, ready to put this night behind and pretend this was all a fever dream, and never think about this again. But, as you grab the handle, you know you won’t be able to forget this, not even if you wanted to.

So, you stop being a hypocrite, and grab the door’s key, locking the door once, and then twice, before exhaling and turning around again.

All three of them are staring at you, with the same expression; lust. It’s sinful and you are certain that you’re going to hell for this, but as you start to get undressed, right there, in the middle of the room, for all of them to see, you can’t help but feel like what you’re doing is nothing but right.

You remove your crop top, pulling the fabric over your head and dropping it on the floor, shivering slightly when the cold breeze hits your naked skin. You do the same with your skirt, letting it fall around your feet like a river, leaving you standing with only your bra and lace underwear in front of them.

“Fuck.” You hear one of them say, you’re not sure who, the word nothing but a whisper.

Juraj is the first one to get up, and get his hands on you. He’s rough, hungry and not careful at all, something you’re not used to but like it anyway.

His lips are on yours almost instantly, and his hands are holding you down while he licks and sucks your mouth. He tastes like some kind of candy you’ve had before, and your brain is screaming that what you’re doing is wrong, so wrong and that you literally just broke up with your boyfriend of two years not even thirty minutes ago but you can’t stop.

It’s maddening, it’s addictive and you want more.

It gets worse when you feel another pair of hands on your back, unclamping your bra. You hear a soft tud, which you can only assume is your bralette hitting the floor. Then, there are hands squeezing your tits, hands almost as rough as Slaf’s, and it has you moaning inside his mouth.

“So fucking soft,” you hear Jack say behind you as he gets closer, his hard dick poking your ass over your underwear. “Tits so fucking soft for us, baby.”

And he pinches both of your nipples, making you whimper loud and separate your lips from Juraj’s. There’s a saliva string connecting both of you and it makes you feel nasty.

He gives you a brief peck before gently slapping your thighs twice, silently asking you to remove your underwear, which you promptly do. You slide your lace panties over your legs, shyly throwing them away from you.

It’s only then that you notice Quinn staring at you from the couch, half naked with his dick out of his boxers— the thought of him getting off only by watching you makes you squeeze your thighs together, to stop your hole from clenching around nothing.

“Let’s get you wet and ready, alright?” Juraj says, manhandling you around like you were just a toy for him to break, until your back touched the cold, wooden surface of the table sitting in the middle of the dark room. You arch your back, pouting with the coldness and Slaf coos at you. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything more comfortable than this.”

“Like she cares about comfort,” Quinn snorts. “The only thing she’s worried about it’s whether she’s taking one or two cocks in that greedy pussy of hers.”

The humiliation Quinn’s words bring you is almost unbearable, yet it has you dripping anyway. Their laughs, the way they’re all staring at you like some piece of meat makes you feel hot all over.

Juraj lays you down carefully, only to spread your legs open with the same roughness he used before, when his lips were on yours. You yelped, feeling exposed and embarrassed— your bare, glistening pussy was on display for all three of them to see.

“Holy shit,” you hear someone say, Juraj maybe, and you cringe, hiding your face with your hands. “She’s perfect.”

“We’ll see about that,” you hear Jack say behind you and you remove your hands from your face. Suddenly, he’s sliding his pants down, his dick touching his covered abs as wraps his fist around his length, slowly jerking off in front of you.

You’re watching it in awe, even as you stare at him upside down, since your head is hanging off the table’s edge. He smirks down at you at the same time Juraj licks your clenching hole, making you moan for the first time, loud and involuntary.

“Ah.”

“Shit,” you hear Slaf say. “Pussy so fucking wet and sweet. Y/n, you’ll drive me crazy.”

You don’t answer; not because you don’t want to but because Jack places his hands on both sides of your cheeks, squeezing them together until your mouth forms the perfect O and he can slide his entire dick inside it.

He moans noisily as you gag on his long dick. It’s an unexpected feeling, to have your throat fucked like this— Cole wasn’t a big fan of messy, rough blowjobs— but fuck if it doesn’t get you wetter.

Juraj is still working hard on your pussy, licking your folds and throbbing clit, eating it with a loud slurp, the sound of your wetness making you close your eyes with pleasure and shame.

“Your mouth feels so good, pretty,” Jack moans behind you, still holding your head in place while he drags his dick through your throat. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears and you feel your mouth so full it is starting to hurt. “Almost as tight as a pussy.”

It’s overwhelming to try to manage the feeling of Juraj’s tongue and Jack’s cock on you. You feel warm, your hands are gripping the table like your life depends on it, and you can feel yourself start to slip more and more.

“She’s wet enough already,” Quinn states, and the fact that he’s referring to you like you’re not even there makes you whimper loudly around Jack’s cock.

Next thing you know, you’re being manhandled again; Jack’s rough hands leave your cheeks to hold your waist instead, taking you to the nearest couch and laying down with you on top of him.

You’re facing him, those blue eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n,” he starts, his tone gentle for the first time that night. You hum, adjusting yourself on top of him, until you have both of your legs on each side of his body, almost on fours on top of him, highly aware that Quinn and Slaf could see everything. “We are going to be rough.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking for permission, baby, do you understand that?” He talks to you like one would do to a child, using a tone so soft it could put you to sleep, if it were any other situation. You bite your lips, feeling Slaf’s long fingers sliding up and down your pussy, rubbing circles on your swollen clit while Jack speaks. “We are going to be rough. Tonight, you’re nothing but a toy for us to play with, alright? A hole for us to fuck.”

You nod, closing your eyes momentarily as Juraj pinches your clit, hard. He tugs it and it feels like he just placed a clothespin on you. It hurts so. Good.

“I need your words, baby.”

“I u-understand that,” you sob, hot tears running freely down your face as you continue to speak. “I w-want it.”

Jack chuckles, touching your face with care. “It would be so nice if we actually cared about what you want, huh?”

You bit your lip again, suppressing a loud moan. It would be even more embarrassing if they realized how wet you got every time they were mean towards you.

“Bitch gets wetter and wetter every time you say shit like that, Hughes,” Juraj says, and your entire face burns with shame, as you hide it in the crock of Jack’s neck. “Come see this shit, Quinn.”

You tremble as you hear a pair of steps echoing through the room, and without warning, you feel your hips getting lifted, just slightly, at the same time you feel two fingers being inserted inside deeply in your pussy.

You whine loudly, not even feeling pain with how wet you were. His fingers were moving around like you were nothing but a sex doll, making you hold Jack’s arm to steady yourself.

“Look at this tight, little thing,” Juraj says, twirling his fingers around, scissoring them inside you. “Merde. She’s milking my fucking fingers, bro.”

“I can see that,” Quinn hums. “Pussy so fucking greedy she’s taking you without complaints.”

You were about to moan again when Juraj removed his fingers from you, leaving you clenching around nothing, once again. “Let’s start, then.”

After that, it’s hard to tell what really happened. You were thrown around, and suddenly, Slaf was laying under you, Quinn was standing beside you and you assumed Jack was behind you.

You could feel one of them poking their cock through your slit, gathering all your wetness to use as lube. Then, he slowly started to insert it, the stretch making you whimper inside Slaf’s mouth, as he bruised your lips roughly again.

Jack had barely given you time to adjust to his length when you felt Juraj’s tip poking at your entrance too. You gasped inside his mouth, feeling his dick joining Jack’s inside you and.

Oh.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

You opened your eyes, glistening with tears, and stared at Quinn standing beside you, who was looking at you with fond eyes. He chuckles while staring down at you, taking his dick out again and grabbing it with his right hand, running the tip over your mouth.

The salty taste of his precum painting your lips white distracted you momentarily from the fact that Juraj was still trying to put his dick inside you, accompanying Jack’s.

But it wasn’t enough, of course— even if Juraj's thick, long fingers had stretched you, it didn’t compare to having both of their cocks inside you, together.

“Oh,” you heard Quinn coo. “She’s crying. Maybe she can’t take it?”

You shook your head immediately, not even acknowledging how desperate you looked. Quinn put his thumb inside your mouth at the same time Juraj completely bottomed out inside you, making you scream around the brunette’s finger.

“Sh, sh,” Juraj mumbled under you. “Take it, hm?”

The stretch hurt, yet you couldn’t ask them to stop— you felt so full and you swear you can feel them rearranging your guts, reaching so deep inside your body that if you were to look, you’d probably see a bulge in your stomach.

“Holy shit, man,” Jack moaned, dragging his dick slowly until only the tip was in, so that he could slam it back into you again. “She’s so fucking tight.”

“Move, Hughes.” Juraj hissed under you, and after that, everything fell into a pure state of lust.

Jack and Juraj slammed their cocks inside you rhythmically, like they were dancing a well rehearsed dance. Your body jolted forward as they pounded inside you, rough hands— you didn’t know who's— holding you by your waist and pulling your hair at the same time.

Quinn, who had just been jerking his cock while looking at you, decides to take the opportunity and shove his dick inside you, making you gag around his thick length.

“Shit, Y/n,” he moans, throwing his head back. “I’m going to wreck your mouth like they’re doing with your pussy.”

And he wasn’t lying. He tilted your head to the side and thrust his dick deep inside your mouth, until your nose touched his crotch area. You gagged, still not used to the reckless act, but you were far too gone to complain.

The room smelled like sex, lust and sin. The dark walls watched as you laid on top of Juraj’s much bigger body while you took their cocks in two of your holes, with your pupils blown and wide. Your face was destroyed, it didn’t need to be a genius to realize that; your mascara had smudged under your eyes and the tears had spread the black ink almost everywhere.

Your legs hurt, and so did your jaw, but the pleasure was bigger than any pain. You had never felt this dirty, this raw before, but you feared that after this night, you wouldn’t ever be the same; nothing besides them would ever be enough.

“She feels so good,” Jack says, voice filled with need. “She was born for this.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Juraj says, kissing your neck while you gagged around Quinn’s dick. “Born to take cock inside her tiny pussy.”

After that, you keep slipping and slipping. You come on their dicks at least twice, falling apart each time you feel your wetness coating their dicks.

Your throat is raw, your jaw is hurting, but Quinn is close to his climax, like his brother and Slaf.

Jack and Slaf are the first to come, both painting your walls white with their seed. It’s maddening, your belly feels full of them, but you don’t have time to acknowledge that properly, not when Quinn is also coming deep inside your throat.

You lay limp on top of Slaf’s broad chest, closing your eyes, tired.

But—

“Y/n, hey,” you hear Quinn calling, and you open your eyes, just barely. “Can you stand up, just for a bit?”

“Don’t let it go to waste, baby,” Juraj warns you, and you keep clenching even after they remove their dicks. It’s hard, you feel so open you should be disgusted at yourself but you still try to do as they said.

You feel a pair of hands lifting you, and you sigh, exhausted. They manhandled you until you were laying on top of the couch, head resting on your arms. A rough pair of hands— Jack’s— spread your legs open, leaving you exposed once again.

“Go on,” he commands, and you let it go, feeling their sticky cum pour out of your used, gaping pussy. You sob, feeling dirty.

“Jesus fuck.”

“I think I’m hard again.”

“Lowkey, yeah.”

You collapse on the couch once you feel like there’s nothing left, blacking out as soon as your head hits the leather.

𖧷

YOU WOKE up with a light touch on your cheek.

It takes a while for you to manage to open your eyes, but when you do, you thank whoever decided to put a yellow, warm lighting in that room.

“Hi.”

Jack’s voice brings you back to the present, and you lift your head, only then realising that you were in his lap, fully clothed— with clothes that weren’t yours— and covered with something heavy that felt like a blanket.

You frowned.

“What… what happened?” You ask, looking around. There was Juraj, who was placing a few takeout bags on the table, and Quinn, who was holding an old piece of cloth. “Oh my God.”

It was real. You fucked Jack, Juraj and Quinn.

“Oh my God,” you groan, hiding your face in Jack’s chest.

“I hope these exclamations of yours are because you’re wearing Zegras’ hideous clothes and not because you realized you fucked the three of us.” Jack says, sarcasm taking over his face.

“Why would we do that,” you mumble. “Gosh. That’s wrong in so many ways, I can’t even begin to—”

“Y/n,” Quinn calls you, dropping the cloth on the table— the same table Juraj had eaten you out on— and walking towards you, lifting your chin with two of his fingers. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I— Well— We—” you stumbled over your words, not sure of what to say.

He applies pressure on your chin, sapphire eyes squinting at you. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“I—” you sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

He smiled.

“Then we’re fine.” It’s all he says, before pecking your lips, briefly. It was your first time kissing him and you secretly didn’t want it to be the last.

“We liked it too,” Jack says once his brother lets you go. He winks at you, smirking. “I’ll never forget the sight of you full with my—”

You put your hand over his mouth, red as an apple. “Okay, alright, shut up.”

He chuckles, taking your hand away and kissing you, exploring your mouth with his tongue, just like his brother had done, barely two minutes ago.

“You guys are no fun,” you hear Slaf’s voice. “In my opinion, we should just keep doing this.”

“No,” you say. “This was a one time thing. We can’t keep fucking each other like this.”

“As I said, no fun.”

“She’ll change her mind in a few days, I just know it.” Jack says under you and you roll your eyes at his cockiness.

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” you say. “I smell Chinese food. Can we eat?”

“Yeah, we should probably do that,” Quinn says, nodding. “It’s late already. Let’s eat and take Y/n home.”

Juraj and Jack agree with just a few more complaints, and while you watch them take turns to feed you, you realize, with shame, that Jack was wrong about one thing.

It wouldn’t take a few days for you to change your mind.

You had already done it.

NHL MASTERLIST.

JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST.

QUINN HUGHES MASTERLIST.

[lovecla]

FAVORITE KIND OF NIGHT ; HUGHES, SLAFKOVSKÝ

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader, quinn hughes x fem!reader, juraj slafkovský x fem!reader, ex-cole caufield x fem!reader

SUMMARY when you found out your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you the entire time, you do what every girl does when they get cheated on: you fuck his best friends.

WORD COUNT 5,5k

WARNINGS taboo content, cheating, foursome (f/m/m/m), p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, mention of stomach bulge, creampie, double p in v, rough sex, manhandling, dirty talk, humiliation, subspace, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), gagging, dacryphilia, brief aftercare.

FROM ME TO YOU my loves, listen to your clara very carefully: if you do not agree with ANY of what’s written here, please consider not reading. this is just a silly idea i had a few days ago and i wanted to write about it. i have zero intentions of offending anyone: this is pure fiction! none of this is real! anyways, thank you @cyberhughes for listening to my naughty thoughts about this plot and for having my back. love you juni baby, this one’s for you <3 and for those who are still here, have a nice reading!

𖧷

on that lonely night, said it wouldn't be love

but we felt the rush (fell in love)

it made us believe it was only us

THE THING about being a hockey girlfriend is that you will, most certainly, get cheated on.

When you first heard that, you thought it was just bullshit— not all men are the same and all of that. Some people were just unfortunate to have shitty boyfriends, but not you.

Or at least that’s what you thought before watching a viral video of your boyfriend of two years kissing three different girls at a party.

The video was blurry, and maybe if you were a little bit more naive, you wouldn’t have noticed that the man eating those girls’ lips was, in fact, Cole Caufield, the man you swore to be the love of your life.

“Maybe it’s not him, Y/n,” your friend said, voice soft and gentle, as she put your phone down and locked it. “Cole wouldn’t do that… right?”

Right, you want to say. Of course he wouldn’t do that.

But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to lie and betray your own trust. You sat there, on your couch, thinking about what you were going to do.

Your relationship was public, Cole had already posted pictures of you several times over the years, but now, so was the fact that he cheated on you with not just one girl, but with two more.

Now, everyone knows that you got cheated on, and that you weren’t an exception to the Hockey rule.

“‘s okay,” you sniff, cleaning your nose with your sweater’s sleeve. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, really, but what else could you do?

Truth is, even though you love— loved?— Cole a lot, you had been feeling a little bit weird. Cole didn’t seek you anymore, he didn’t look at you the same way he used to do when you first started dating.

You thought it was just the fact that he was tired and feeling responsible for his team’s recklessness, but clearly, it wasn’t just that.

Days passed after the terrible, awful video, and even though you hadn’t spoken to Cole in probably two weeks— he was away and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer his texts—, you wanted to break things up with him in person.

“Why would you do that?” Your friend asked over the phone, and you sighed.

“Because I’m better than he is,” you say. “And because I need to get closure.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs, and then she’s quiet for a few seconds. But, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” You ask, rolling to your side. “What is it?”

“There’s going to be a party at Zegras’ place tonight,” she says. “Heard Cole shit ass is going.”

“Who told you that?”

“I was talking to one of his new buddies, and he invited me to the party. Said I could go if I kept my mouth shut to you,” she scoffed. “I thought about telling him to go to hell and then telling him to fuck himself but I thought it might be more useful to pretend I wasn’t going to tell you anything and then tell you everything.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. We’re going, then?”

“We so are going,” she giggles. “I’ll bring the eggs.”

“I’ll bring the flour.”

𖧷

THE PARTY looked more like a frat party than anything, which lowkey disgusted you.

You knew the majority of the players were young and still in their teenager mindset, but whenever you went to a party, it usually had more decorum than whatever this was.

The music was so loud you couldn’t hear your friend talking next to you. People were grinding against each other like they were in heat and ready to fuck in front of everyone, and the room had a strong smell of marijuana and cheap beer.

You rolled your eyes but focused on your reason to be there: find Cole, break up with him and maybe even embarrass him in front of all of his friends.

You tried to warn your friend about where you were going, but since the music was too loud, you just signaled to the door on your right. She nodded, and you moved around the room, feeling with your feet the way the floor shook with the song’s thrumming.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to walk much. Cole’s stupid ass seemed to have forgotten to close his room’s door, and now you were staring at the 5’8” man you thought was going to be the father of your kids, kissing another girl.

“So, this looks really fun, huh?” You said, closing the room’s door, and suddenly, all of the eyes were on you. Cole’s included.

“Y-Y/n, what,” he stutters, removing the girl from his lap and getting up. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“No, what are you doing here?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling yourself start to burn with anger. “Weren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

“No, you see—”

“Is your name New York, sweetie?” You ask the girl who was previously kissing him, who looks like a scared, little kitten. Little does she know you’re not going after her— you couldn't care less about her. “Uh, I guess not.”

There were at least eight other people in the room, sitting there and goofing around. But now, all of them looked like they would pay a hundred thousand bucks not to be in Cole’s shoes.

“Y/n—” he tries again, reaching for your arm.

You step back, flinching away from his touch. “Don’t fucking touch me, Cole. You’re fucking sick. I hope y’all have fun,” you hiss, turning around and heading towards the room’s door again. You look over your shoulder, watching Cole’s sorrowful face. “Enjoy as much as you can, darling. I know his dick won’t make you happy.”

You leave the room with fast steps, not before hearing Cole’s so-called friends laugh out loud with your words. You could feel yourself burning with anger, which made you happy. You thought you were going to feel destroyed, sad and depressed when you confronted him about the fact that he cheated on you regularly.

But after seeing his pathetic expression and actions, you realised you weren’t the one who should be feeling that way.

Your legs were moving on their own, and when you noticed, you were on the second floor, barging in another room, opening its door with full strength.

Only to blush even more, this time not with anger, no.

“Oh, hey there, Y/n. Where’s the fire?”

Jack’s sarcastic tone made you hold the door’s handle tighter, and when you looked around, you felt like a fish out of its tank.

The room was poorly lit, only the yellow light from the lamps reflected on the dark walls of the room, making the environment seem more intimate than it really was.

There were sofas along the room, and low music was playing, probably coming from one of the cell phones.

Because not only Jack Hughes was there, but his oldest brother, Quinn and Juraj Slafkovský.

You didn’t even know Quinn and Jack got along with Slaf, yet there they were, sitting and chatting with each other like they weren’t all rivals during the weekdays.

They laughed with Jack’s little remark before Quinn said: “You can come in, we don’t bite.”

“Unless you want to.” Juraj was the one who said this, to your ultimate surprise, and you rolled your eyes, doing as they said and getting in, closing the door behind you.

“Dude, come on,” Jack laughs. “She has a boyfriend.”

“Not anymore,” you say, for the first time since you opened the door. You eyed the drink cart in the corner of the room, taking full steps towards it and opening the first bottle you say. Whiskey. Great. “I just broke up with Cole, actually.”

There was a second of silence before you heard some clapping behind you, which made you turn around and stare at the grown men sitting across the room.

“What’s this clapping for?” You ask.

“It was about time, Y/n, what the hell,” Juraj says. “Guy’s been cheating on you for months.”

“And you guys didn’t think of, I don’t know, maybe give me a heads up?” You ask, sarcasm pouring out of your mouth while you pour the alcoholic drink in the glass sitting on the wooden surface. Then, you walk until you’re sitting beside Quinn and Juraj. “Would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, poking your shoulder. “In my defense, I wasn’t around enough to know he was cheating.”

“In my defense,” Jack starts. “I don’t like him.”

“In my defense,” Juraj finishes, opening his legs and resting his arms behind his head. “I couldn’t do it, because I would’ve been called a homewrecker.”

You almost choked on your drink. “What?!”

“You know I’ve been wanting to fuck you for ages now,” he sighs, like he’s tired of saying that; like he’s been saying that for a long time now. “But you can’t exactly fuck your homie’s girlfriend, can you?”

“Word.” Jack says, leaning forward to fist bumping Juraj. Quinn only chuckles and you can’t believe your eyes.

You’ve known all of them for basically the same amount of time, and you liked them a lot. Jack was a little, teasing shit, way too different from Quinn, but he was funny and so were his brothers— hanging out with them was always fun.

Quinn was private but sweet, probably one of your favorite people in the league. His soft spoken demeanor had made its way into your heart and was now stuck there, for the rest of your life, probably.

And Juraj was an old friend, someone you knew even before you started dating Cole— he was the reason you and Cole got together in the first place.

So hearing that one of your closest friends wants to have sex with you is weird, especially because he had just confessed that in front of two other men.

You stare at them, incredulous. “What are you even talking about?”

“Come on, Y/n, you can’t be this oblivious,” Jack grunts, and you tilt your head, confused. “You didn’t notice the way he looks at you?”

“Fuck you, Hughes,” Slaf curses, giving him the middle finger. “Like you’re one to talk. Everyone knows you’re head over heels for her and you know which head I’m talking about.”

Quinn laughs like what Slaf said had been the funniest thing he’d heard in a while, while Jack simply shrugs and looks at you with expectant eyes.

“You are all drunk. That’s the only explanation I can find,” you say, still choosing not to see what is right in front of you. “And I’m about to be the next one.”

You took just one sip before Quinn wrapped his hand around your glass and took it out of your hands. You were about to complain and ask him what happened when he shook his head, clicking his tongue. “We are not drunk, Y/n. And we don’t want you to be.”

“What? Why not?” You ask. “I promise I’m not that type of person who talks about their love life when they’re drunk. I might talk about Tik Tok memes, though.”

“That’s worse than talking about your shit ass love life,” Jack murmurs and you turn around to look at him with angry eyes. “What?” He asks, grinning, with his hands in the air.

“It’s not my fault I can’t find the right guys,” you sigh, resting your head on Quinn’s shoulder like you’re used to doing. “Why do men suck?”

“Not all of them do, sweets.” Quinn says, placing his hand on your naked thigh, making you blush faintly.

“We don’t.” Juraj murmurs beside you, and you hum.

“Well,” you say, measuring your words. “Unfortunately, I can’t have any of you. So, yeah, I still have the same problem.”

“Who said you can’t have any of us?” Juraj says, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows at him. “Or even better, all of us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The room is suddenly too warm for you, and even if you’re just wearing a skirt and a crop top, you still feel yourself starting to get sweaty.

The song is still playing, an unknown melody reverberating through the room, and what once felt big and spacious suffocates you now.

“You guys. You can’t be serious… right?” You ask, looking at each and every single one of them in the eye.

Jack is the first one to break the silence. “Come on, Y/n. Haven’t you ever thought about us like that?”

You can feel their eyes on you as you think of what to answer. You can’t say you haven’t— that would be a lie. You were loyal to Cole and you loved him, but you weren’t blind.

And now that you’re really thinking, these guys hadn’t been particularly sleek either; Jack with his obsession with calling you pet names, Quinn finding any and every excuse to touch you whenever you were in the same room and Juraj eye-fucking you from afar while you cuddled with his teammate.

So yeah, you have wondered about it before, but it all sounded so insane you didn’t think about it twice. The odds of all four of them liking you were pretty low, so why bother fooling yourself with these kinds of thoughts?

But now, you were sitting in the same room as them, with Juraj’s arm touching yours, Quinn’s hand running up and down your leg, and Jack’s eyes on you, like you were a prey or something similar.

“We can’t do that,” you whisper, trying your hardest to hold onto that single piece of sanity and morals you still had. “You guys are insane. Jack, Quinn’s your brother.” You reason, expecting to knock some sense into them.

Quinn squeezes your thigh slightly. “It wouldn’t be our first time.”

“Besides, it’s fine because we’re not going to fuck each other,” Jack says, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“We are going to fuck you,” Juraj corrects, and you close your eyes, holding your hands together on your lap, trying to keep them still. “What do you say, chéri?” He asks, getting dangerously close to your neck, his strong, masculine scent making your head spin. His lips briefly touch your neck, the contact so light you wouldn’t feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of your surroundings.

Quinn’s warm, big hand is moving up, up and up, and that startles you.

You get up, panting as hard as if you had ran an entire marathon, and you stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by them. By your friends who had just asked to fuck you.

“I can’t— I can’t do this,” you whisper. “What about Cole, what about—”

“Sweetheart, Cole is probably balls deep inside someone else right now,” Quinn replies, and the others hum in agreement. “If you don’t want it because you don’t want to, it’s fine, you know we’d never force you. But,” he spreads his thighs, the outline of his cock is visible and right there for you to see. You gulp, not sure of what to do. “If you don’t want to do it because you still believe Cole deserves your kindness, then I have to say—”

“You’re being dumb,” Juraj finishes Quinn’s sentence, smirking. “You’ll be crying over one small cock when you have three waiting for you. It’s your pick, really.”

Your head is spinning and you feel aware of your body, which is something you hate. You can feel your arms and legs starting to give in, and to your absolute horror and panic, you can feel your underwear start to get sticky.

You walk towards the door, ready to leave, ready to put this night behind and pretend this was all a fever dream, and never think about this again. But, as you grab the handle, you know you won’t be able to forget this, not even if you wanted to.

So, you stop being a hypocrite, and grab the door’s key, locking the door once, and then twice, before exhaling and turning around again.

All three of them are staring at you, with the same expression; lust. It’s sinful and you are certain that you’re going to hell for this, but as you start to get undressed, right there, in the middle of the room, for all of them to see, you can’t help but feel like what you’re doing is nothing but right.

You remove your crop top, pulling the fabric over your head and dropping it on the floor, shivering slightly when the cold breeze hits your naked skin. You do the same with your skirt, letting it fall around your feet like a river, leaving you standing with only your bra and lace underwear in front of them.

“Fuck.” You hear one of them say, you’re not sure who, the word nothing but a whisper.

Juraj is the first one to get up, and get his hands on you. He’s rough, hungry and not careful at all, something you’re not used to but like it anyway.

His lips are on yours almost instantly, and his hands are holding you down while he licks and sucks your mouth. He tastes like some kind of candy you’ve had before, and your brain is screaming that what you’re doing is wrong, so wrong and that you literally just broke up with your boyfriend of two years not even thirty minutes ago but you can’t stop.

It’s maddening, it’s addictive and you want more.

It gets worse when you feel another pair of hands on your back, unclamping your bra. You hear a soft tud, which you can only assume is your bralette hitting the floor. Then, there are hands squeezing your tits, hands almost as rough as Slaf’s, and it has you moaning inside his mouth.

“So fucking soft,” you hear Jack say behind you as he gets closer, his hard dick poking your ass over your underwear. “Tits so fucking soft for us, baby.”

And he pinches both of your nipples, making you whimper loud and separate your lips from Juraj’s. There’s a saliva string connecting both of you and it makes you feel nasty.

He gives you a brief peck before gently slapping your thighs twice, silently asking you to remove your underwear, which you promptly do. You slide your lace panties over your legs, shyly throwing them away from you.

It’s only then that you notice Quinn staring at you from the couch, half naked with his dick out of his boxers— the thought of him getting off only by watching you makes you squeeze your thighs together, to stop your hole from clenching around nothing.

“Let’s get you wet and ready, alright?” Juraj says, manhandling you around like you were just a toy for him to break, until your back touched the cold, wooden surface of the table sitting in the middle of the dark room. You arch your back, pouting with the coldness and Slaf coos at you. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything more comfortable than this.”

“Like she cares about comfort,” Quinn snorts. “The only thing she’s worried about it’s whether she’s taking one or two cocks in that greedy pussy of hers.”

The humiliation Quinn’s words bring you is almost unbearable, yet it has you dripping anyway. Their laughs, the way they’re all staring at you like some piece of meat makes you feel hot all over.

Juraj lays you down carefully, only to spread your legs open with the same roughness he used before, when his lips were on yours. You yelped, feeling exposed and embarrassed— your bare, glistening pussy was on display for all three of them to see.

“Holy shit,” you hear someone say, Juraj maybe, and you cringe, hiding your face with your hands. “She’s perfect.”

“We’ll see about that,” you hear Jack say behind you and you remove your hands from your face. Suddenly, he’s sliding his pants down, his dick touching his covered abs as wraps his fist around his length, slowly jerking off in front of you.

You’re watching it in awe, even as you stare at him upside down, since your head is hanging off the table’s edge. He smirks down at you at the same time Juraj licks your clenching hole, making you moan for the first time, loud and involuntary.

“Ah.”

“Shit,” you hear Slaf say. “Pussy so fucking wet and sweet. Y/n, you’ll drive me crazy.”

You don’t answer; not because you don’t want to but because Jack places his hands on both sides of your cheeks, squeezing them together until your mouth forms the perfect O and he can slide his entire dick inside it.

He moans noisily as you gag on his long dick. It’s an unexpected feeling, to have your throat fucked like this— Cole wasn’t a big fan of messy, rough blowjobs— but fuck if it doesn’t get you wetter.

Juraj is still working hard on your pussy, licking your folds and throbbing clit, eating it with a loud slurp, the sound of your wetness making you close your eyes with pleasure and shame.

“Your mouth feels so good, pretty,” Jack moans behind you, still holding your head in place while he drags his dick through your throat. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears and you feel your mouth so full it is starting to hurt. “Almost as tight as a pussy.”

It’s overwhelming to try to manage the feeling of Juraj’s tongue and Jack’s cock on you. You feel warm, your hands are gripping the table like your life depends on it, and you can feel yourself start to slip more and more.

“She’s wet enough already,” Quinn states, and the fact that he’s referring to you like you’re not even there makes you whimper loudly around Jack’s cock.

Next thing you know, you’re being manhandled again; Jack’s rough hands leave your cheeks to hold your waist instead, taking you to the nearest couch and laying down with you on top of him.

You’re facing him, those blue eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n,” he starts, his tone gentle for the first time that night. You hum, adjusting yourself on top of him, until you have both of your legs on each side of his body, almost on fours on top of him, highly aware that Quinn and Slaf could see everything. “We are going to be rough.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking for permission, baby, do you understand that?” He talks to you like one would do to a child, using a tone so soft it could put you to sleep, if it were any other situation. You bite your lips, feeling Slaf’s long fingers sliding up and down your pussy, rubbing circles on your swollen clit while Jack speaks. “We are going to be rough. Tonight, you’re nothing but a toy for us to play with, alright? A hole for us to fuck.”

You nod, closing your eyes momentarily as Juraj pinches your clit, hard. He tugs it and it feels like he just placed a clothespin on you. It hurts so. Good.

“I need your words, baby.”

“I u-understand that,” you sob, hot tears running freely down your face as you continue to speak. “I w-want it.”

Jack chuckles, touching your face with care. “It would be so nice if we actually cared about what you want, huh?”

You bit your lip again, suppressing a loud moan. It would be even more embarrassing if they realized how wet you got every time they were mean towards you.

“Bitch gets wetter and wetter every time you say shit like that, Hughes,” Juraj says, and your entire face burns with shame, as you hide it in the crock of Jack’s neck. “Come see this shit, Quinn.”

You tremble as you hear a pair of steps echoing through the room, and without warning, you feel your hips getting lifted, just slightly, at the same time you feel two fingers being inserted inside deeply in your pussy.

You whine loudly, not even feeling pain with how wet you were. His fingers were moving around like you were nothing but a sex doll, making you hold Jack’s arm to steady yourself.

“Look at this tight, little thing,” Juraj says, twirling his fingers around, scissoring them inside you. “Merde. She’s milking my fucking fingers, bro.”

“I can see that,” Quinn hums. “Pussy so fucking greedy she’s taking you without complaints.”

You were about to moan again when Juraj removed his fingers from you, leaving you clenching around nothing, once again. “Let’s start, then.”

After that, it’s hard to tell what really happened. You were thrown around, and suddenly, Slaf was laying under you, Quinn was standing beside you and you assumed Jack was behind you.

You could feel one of them poking their cock through your slit, gathering all your wetness to use as lube. Then, he slowly started to insert it, the stretch making you whimper inside Slaf’s mouth, as he bruised your lips roughly again.

Jack had barely given you time to adjust to his length when you felt Juraj’s tip poking at your entrance too. You gasped inside his mouth, feeling his dick joining Jack’s inside you and.

Oh.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

You opened your eyes, glistening with tears, and stared at Quinn standing beside you, who was looking at you with fond eyes. He chuckles while staring down at you, taking his dick out again and grabbing it with his right hand, running the tip over your mouth.

The salty taste of his precum painting your lips white distracted you momentarily from the fact that Juraj was still trying to put his dick inside you, accompanying Jack’s.

But it wasn’t enough, of course— even if Juraj's thick, long fingers had stretched you, it didn’t compare to having both of their cocks inside you, together.

“Oh,” you heard Quinn coo. “She’s crying. Maybe she can’t take it?”

You shook your head immediately, not even acknowledging how desperate you looked. Quinn put his thumb inside your mouth at the same time Juraj completely bottomed out inside you, making you scream around the brunette’s finger.

“Sh, sh,” Juraj mumbled under you. “Take it, hm?”

The stretch hurt, yet you couldn’t ask them to stop— you felt so full and you swear you can feel them rearranging your guts, reaching so deep inside your body that if you were to look, you’d probably see a bulge in your stomach.

“Holy shit, man,” Jack moaned, dragging his dick slowly until only the tip was in, so that he could slam it back into you again. “She’s so fucking tight.”

“Move, Hughes.” Juraj hissed under you, and after that, everything fell into a pure state of lust.

Jack and Juraj slammed their cocks inside you rhythmically, like they were dancing a well rehearsed dance. Your body jolted forward as they pounded inside you, rough hands— you didn’t know who's— holding you by your waist and pulling your hair at the same time.

Quinn, who had just been jerking his cock while looking at you, decides to take the opportunity and shove his dick inside you, making you gag around his thick length.

“Shit, Y/n,” he moans, throwing his head back. “I’m going to wreck your mouth like they’re doing with your pussy.”

And he wasn’t lying. He tilted your head to the side and thrust his dick deep inside your mouth, until your nose touched his crotch area. You gagged, still not used to the reckless act, but you were far too gone to complain.

The room smelled like sex, lust and sin. The dark walls watched as you laid on top of Juraj’s much bigger body while you took their cocks in two of your holes, with your pupils blown and wide. Your face was destroyed, it didn’t need to be a genius to realize that; your mascara had smudged under your eyes and the tears had spread the black ink almost everywhere.

Your legs hurt, and so did your jaw, but the pleasure was bigger than any pain. You had never felt this dirty, this raw before, but you feared that after this night, you wouldn’t ever be the same; nothing besides them would ever be enough.

“She feels so good,” Jack says, voice filled with need. “She was born for this.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Juraj says, kissing your neck while you gagged around Quinn’s dick. “Born to take cock inside her tiny pussy.”

After that, you keep slipping and slipping. You come on their dicks at least twice, falling apart each time you feel your wetness coating their dicks.

Your throat is raw, your jaw is hurting, but Quinn is close to his climax, like his brother and Slaf.

Jack and Slaf are the first to come, both painting your walls white with their seed. It’s maddening, your belly feels full of them, but you don’t have time to acknowledge that properly, not when Quinn is also coming deep inside your throat.

You lay limp on top of Slaf’s broad chest, closing your eyes, tired.

But—

“Y/n, hey,” you hear Quinn calling, and you open your eyes, just barely. “Can you stand up, just for a bit?”

“Don’t let it go to waste, baby,” Juraj warns you, and you keep clenching even after they remove their dicks. It’s hard, you feel so open you should be disgusted at yourself but you still try to do as they said.

You feel a pair of hands lifting you, and you sigh, exhausted. They manhandled you until you were laying on top of the couch, head resting on your arms. A rough pair of hands— Jack’s— spread your legs open, leaving you exposed once again.

“Go on,” he commands, and you let it go, feeling their sticky cum pour out of your used, gaping pussy. You sob, feeling dirty.

“Jesus fuck.”

“I think I’m hard again.”

“Lowkey, yeah.”

You collapse on the couch once you feel like there’s nothing left, blacking out as soon as your head hits the leather.

𖧷

YOU WOKE up with a light touch on your cheek.

It takes a while for you to manage to open your eyes, but when you do, you thank whoever decided to put a yellow, warm lighting in that room.

“Hi.”

Jack’s voice brings you back to the present, and you lift your head, only then realising that you were in his lap, fully clothed— with clothes that weren’t yours— and covered with something heavy that felt like a blanket.

You frowned.

“What… what happened?” You ask, looking around. There was Juraj, who was placing a few takeout bags on the table, and Quinn, who was holding an old piece of cloth. “Oh my God.”

It was real. You fucked Jack, Juraj and Quinn.

“Oh my God,” you groan, hiding your face in Jack’s chest.

“I hope these exclamations of yours are because you’re wearing Zegras’ hideous clothes and not because you realized you fucked the three of us.” Jack says, sarcasm taking over his face.

“Why would we do that,” you mumble. “Gosh. That’s wrong in so many ways, I can’t even begin to—”

“Y/n,” Quinn calls you, dropping the cloth on the table— the same table Juraj had eaten you out on— and walking towards you, lifting your chin with two of his fingers. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I— Well— We—” you stumbled over your words, not sure of what to say.

He applies pressure on your chin, sapphire eyes squinting at you. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“I—” you sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

He smiled.

“Then we’re fine.” It’s all he says, before pecking your lips, briefly. It was your first time kissing him and you secretly didn’t want it to be the last.

“We liked it too,” Jack says once his brother lets you go. He winks at you, smirking. “I’ll never forget the sight of you full with my—”

You put your hand over his mouth, red as an apple. “Okay, alright, shut up.”

He chuckles, taking your hand away and kissing you, exploring your mouth with his tongue, just like his brother had done, barely two minutes ago.

“You guys are no fun,” you hear Slaf’s voice. “In my opinion, we should just keep doing this.”

“No,” you say. “This was a one time thing. We can’t keep fucking each other like this.”

“As I said, no fun.”

“She’ll change her mind in a few days, I just know it.” Jack says under you and you roll your eyes at his cockiness.

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” you say. “I smell Chinese food. Can we eat?”

“Yeah, we should probably do that,” Quinn says, nodding. “It’s late already. Let’s eat and take Y/n home.”

Juraj and Jack agree with just a few more complaints, and while you watch them take turns to feed you, you realize, with shame, that Jack was wrong about one thing.

It wouldn’t take a few days for you to change your mind.

You had already done it.

NHL MASTERLIST.

JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST.

QUINN HUGHES MASTERLIST.