#quinn hughes x you

[electricgoldtendercare]

Baby…?

summary | Quinn is the best braider

warnings | none!

just a short blurb I felt like writing….it has been a while so please go easy on me. I do take requests too for if I ever get into the mood!

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“Baby…” You call, stepping out of the steamy bathroom with a towel wrapped tightly around you. “In here!” Quinn calls as you peek your head around the corner into your bedroom. Laid out on the bed, shorts riding up while he focused on the video game in front of him. You admire his focused look for a moment, smiling to yourself before grabbing a few things from the drawer and walking over to him. He glances up, doing a double take when he notices the towel wrapped around you. Interest suddenly peaked on you instead of the screen. Putting the brush and hair ties down, you disappear to the closet to throw on the comfiest clothes you can find.

You walk back in, kneeling on the bed and putting on your best puppy dog eyes. “Bear will you pleaaaseeeeee braid my hair?” From the moment you heard Ellen mention that your boyfriend knew how to braid you were finding any possible time to put that skill to use. Game now forgotten, Quinn spreads his legs a bit and pats the bed “C’mon then” He says with a crooked smile and a nod, letting you lay back against him and get comfortable. The moment Quinn gathers your hair and starts to brush through it you feel your eyelids grow heavy. The rhythmic motion of the brush through your hair, the warmth of his body against yours, you would describe it like as close to heaven as you could imagine.

Once all the knots were out, you feel his fingers start to part your hair. “One braid? Two?” He asks, leaning over to meet your eye. “Mmm, you choose..” You murmur, curling into his thigh. You feel his lips press against your forehead before he continues to braid. One braid later, you have the faint feeling of Quinn moving you to his other leg. Second braid done and you’re nearly knocked out, Quinn sliding down the bed to wrap himself around you. His faces nuzzles into your neck, warm breath against your skin as the comforting feeling of being surrounded by Quinn encompasses you and sleep takes over.

[onlyquinns]

Hi!!! Could you write a Quinn x Popstar fic? Like it’s her first time going to one of Quinn’s game or meeting the family? (Hughes bowl???)

you walk between the rows of bleachers in roger's arena, hair down to cover your face, and your friend trailing after you. you're holding a beer, dark red nails curling around the aluminum can in a way that looks borderline sinful. before you can get even see the seat number, you're suddenly bombarded with an enthusiastic welcome.

"oh, my gosh! hi, hon!" mrs. hughes--ellen--greets. you look up at her with a warm smile, remembering that quinn said he'd got you seats next to his parents.

ellen wraps you into a tight hug, pressing you to her chest with more love than you should be given by someone you've just met. you hold her back, inhaling her shampoo and gentle perfume and feeling like everything's right in the world.

when she pulls back, she keeps you at arm's length and takes you in. her eyes aren't scrutinizing or judgmental as she sweeps over your form, filled only with care and something like admiration. she introduces you to jim, quinn's dad, and you introduce her to your friend. conversation flows way too smoothly; the four of you talk nonstop, never leaving a silence empty, even though comfort rests in it.

when it's finally time for the game, the scoreboard timer countin gdown to a few seconds, ellen turns to the ice. her hand rests over your's, squeezing as the announcer calls out her boys' names: jack, luke, and--finally--quinn.

he looks ethereal on ice, hair tucked under his helmet and his face glowing with a smile. he goes through all the pictures so easily, reveling in his role as captain and as an older brother getting to play with his younger siblings—even if he's playing against them.

your friend squeals next to you as the game starts, waving the smallest new jersey devils flag you've ever seen. you laugh at her antics, elbowing her teasingly for rooting for the other team.

when the first period ends, the devils winning thus far, the arena suddenly fills with loud cheers--louder than when the buzzer went off. your friend shakes your arm and points, drawing your attention to the jumbotron as the announcer says your name.

"looks like we've got a rockstar in the house!" he says, earning more cheers and applause. you wave at the camera, ruby red lips curling into a gorgeous smile. you adjust the collar of your leather jacket, making a little enamel '43' pin suddenly visible in the thick fabric. "and it looks like pop idol, y/n, is cheering for our captain; canucks fans lets make some noise!"

you giggle behind your palm as the arena suddenly doubles in volume, your face disappearing from the big screen. ellen chuckles next to you, pulling you into a warm side hug.

"ugh, so proud of you," she says as she lets go.

your face warms at her words and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling bashfully. "thank you, but you should be proud of your boys--they're incredible."

ellen smiles and turns back to the ice, players getting ready for the second period. "oh, i am."

after the game, you wait in the parking garage for quinn. you're leaning up against the passenger side of his car, phone in hand as you scroll through twitter, when he finally turns the corner. quinn's exhausted face morphs into a warm smile at the sight of you, large hands reaching up to pull his hair free from the dark beanie on his head, and long fingers brushing through the thick locks.

"hi," he murmurs softly as he approaches. his smile doesn't falter as he settles warm palms over your hips, beanie still between his fingers.

quinn leans forward and your eyes flutter shut, uncaring of paparazzi in the moment. you feel the rush of air as he lets out an airy chuckle before slotting his lips over yours, humming softly at the taste of your fruity lip gloss. before you can tilt your head to deepen the kiss, quinn slides his lips off of yours and you hear the car door behind you click open. he's got one hand on your hip, squeezing and protective, and the other holding the door open behind you.

"continue this at home?" he asks softly, all sour thoughts of the game gone just for now. he's got all the time in the world to mull over what-ifs and poor plays, but time with you is rare due to messy work schedules.

you nod and let him help you into his dark porsche. "of course, baby," you say, and quinn shuts the door after you.

[be4chywritez]

trophy boyfriend | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x actress!reader

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

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

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

Across the room, Quinn is struggling with his cufflinks.

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

With an amused sigh, you wave off your team.

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

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

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

He huffs. “These things are impossible.”

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

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

And then, before he can stop himself—

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

Your fingers pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Sounds like a riveting lifestyle.”

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

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

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

And maybe… maybe he does belong here.

Or at the very least—he belongs with you.

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

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

Quinn follows.

And immediately freezes.

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

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

Except—when he looks at you.

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

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

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

The interviewers try.

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

He blinks. “Uh… it’s cool?”

A beat of silence.

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

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

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

You make a quick decision.

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

Quinn doesn’t hesitate.

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

Like a silent thank you.

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

It’s the first real one of the night.

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

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

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

And then—

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

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

You don’t move.

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

Then—Quinn’s hand tightens around yours.

You glance over.

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

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

Your pulse steadies. You squeeze his hand back.

The presenter opens the envelope.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

The pause stretches.

Your stomach flips.

And then—

They say your name.

For a moment, the world stops.

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

But Quinn?

Quinn is already on his feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t take long.

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

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

You run straight into him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “You definitely should.”

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

You look at Quinn. He looks at you.

And then—

You kiss him. Soft, sure, just enough.

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

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

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

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

The press room bursts into laughter.

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

-

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

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

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

Before he can respond, your phone starts buzzing.

Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you?

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

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

The Oscar sits on the dresser.

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

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

He hums. “Not as tired as you.”

You yawn—completely proving his point.

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

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

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

[ruinix]

The think fast I'm a random girl tik tok with Will Smith or Quinn Hughes?

Hello, lovely. With Quinn, yes, yes. (Sorry, I don't write for Will 😞 he's my child). I doomscrolled for this and another challenge in my inbox. I tried, of course. I always do. I hope you’ll like this. My bad for taking so long! You asked this back in April. I hope you’re still there. We thank @mrshelenhoran for sending me the picture on the left (of the banner). It visually screams QUINN—the facial hair, the nose, the plump lower lip.

Outfits & Evasions

TW/CW: 18+, Fluff, lots of kisses, Tiktok Challenge: Think fast, I'm a random girl. Slight suggestive tones.

Count: 1907 words | Masterlist

You are blasting songs in your shared walk-in closet. Hearing you sing along in some verses perfectly eases Quinn while he prepares for your date.

He combs through his hair with his fingers. When his hair keeps poking out by his ears in an uncomfortable way, he puts the tiniest bit of hair wax to tame his waves, tucking them behind his ears. After doing his hair, he washes his hand, drying them soon after.

He stares at himself, examining his beard. He runs his hand over it, tilting his head from side to side, his fingers feeling its length along his jaw, his chin. He squints at his moustache which is the same length as his beard. It is more than a stubble now but still tamed in his opinion. He wonders if he should’ve shaved it earlier.

You did tell him that you liked his beard, but that was two days ago. What if you don’t like his beard for your date? What if you prefer him to be clean shaven? Or maybe a shorter beard? Maybe he should trim it. Will you hate him for his facial hair? Why the fuck is he getting antsy right now?

He should stop.

So he does.

Sighing, he exits the bathroom, still hearing you rummage through your things behind the slightly ajar door beyond music. He wants to peek in and ask about his beard, but he also doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re doing. He knows that you take your preparations seriously, especially for dates.

However, he is curious if he is matching you. He likes it when his outfit matches yours, or at least, compliments it. He holds himself back because he also wants to be surprised if you are, so he doesn’t peek. Besides, despite being so proud of his fit—a safe combination of white linen-shirt with sleeves rolled up and khaki colored dress pants—he is open to change when he finally sees you. He doesn’t want you to change because of his clothes. He can do it himself. It will take him less than a minute to put on a new outfit. It will be easy. Well, he hopes it will be.

After he put on his dress shoes, ignoring the call of his sneakers, he sits down on the couch, throwing a slight glance to where he hid a bouquet of flowers he got delivered an hour ago. He lets the minutes pass, patiently waiting for you.

He scrolls through the messages from his family and replying to them while ignoring the “important” mails from Canucks management. At some point, he is humming a tune of one of your songs as he goes to Instagram. He instantly goes to your profile, staring hard into your posts like it’s his first time seeing them. He undoes the second button of his shirt after his body heats at the simple sight of your beauty. What can he do? You’re marvelous. While he is a simple man who easily gets turned on by you.

He hears your footsteps, halting his horny thoughts. He looks up, his jaw dropping instantly. You’re wearing a cream-colored dress with light brown ribbons crisscrossing down your sides, cinching the waist before it comes down to a flowy skirt that ends just a couple inches from your knees. Your neckline is low enough to hint your cleavage, giving ample space for your well-coordinated necklaces—some he had gifted you throughout the length of your relationship. You wear a particular flower-shaped earring with tiny diamonds on their centers and a few bracelets. . You looked amazing, so comfortable and pretty.

The shoulder bag that is perfectly the same shade as his pants is brimming with keychain trinkets, loudly blinking against each other. Quinn bets those trinkets weigh heavier than your bag and its contents. He will, for sure, carry it by the end of the night and he won't mind that. He’ll be delighted to carry your stuff for you.

You are matching him. The colors of your outfits fit and compliment one another. It makes him feel giddy, a slight blush coloring the tops of his cheeks the more he looks at you. He wants to say that you’re beautiful, but his words keep getting stuck on his throat as he stares while you set up your phone against the window. He’s utterly mesmerized by the way your skirt moved with your steps. You look ethereal.

"Quinny. Come." You grin, beckoning him with your hand and especially with your sweet smile.

That smile distracts him. He doesn't notice that you have this devious look in your eyes. That your phone is already recording, red circle blinking as time increases. That you are giggling, not just because of him following you without protest, but also because you are clearly concocting something. Quinn usually can see when you are planning something, but not now.

All he can think about is that you are calling him, so he needs to come to you.

He’s so lost in your smile, in the sparkle in your eyes, in you.

"You look handsome," you praise him the moment his hand touches yours.

Now, Quinn is full-on blushing. Your compliments truly hit him down to his core. There was something about compliments when they came from you. They mean so much more, because he knows that you mean your words. You are pure like that. The light of his life.

"You're beautiful," he throws back, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him, sighing when you wrap your arms around his nape. It emphasizes how perfectly you fit against him, in his arms. “We match., my Love.”

“Yes,” you murmur.

Quinn gazes at your lips that shine with your tinted lip gloss. He’s getting too focused on them, his mouth watering. His need to kiss you grows by the second, so he does. Just a soft peck. Then another, his tongue darting out to lick your glossed lips, groaning at its taste mixed with you. Again, another, slipping his tongue past your pretty lips, meeting your tongue. Perfect. You taste perfect.

He cups the back of your head. He feels absolutely greedy as he kisses your lip gloss off your lips, as he keeps on deepening the kiss when you want to take pictures with him. He can’t help it. He needs to kiss you. All the time.

"Quinn," you murmur, smiling into the kiss.

You giggle when he groans a whimper, because you’re torturing him now. You pull away just enough to not allow him to slip his tongue into your lips again, to make him be at ease with small desperate kisses. He needs to kiss you as deep, so he tries to beg his way with those kisses, panting as you reciprocate some kisses but not all. His brows furrow together as confusion settles in his gut.

Your hand presses on his chest, pushing him away, so he backs off. Hesitantly. Tears almost burn their way out of his tear ducts. He finally notes the evil glint in your eyes. What the fuck is happening—

"Think fast, I’m a random girl,” you say in a raspy tone that almost draws him in.

No, it does draw him in. He almost kisses you again, your words not sinking into his hazed mind until they do. They sink in a snap. The hair at the back of his nape stands. Sharp shivers ran down his spine as you lean in, luring him in like a siren singing to lure weak-willed men who don’t know they are walking to their deaths.

He instantly recoils from you, instantly six feet away. Maybe even more. Especially when you try to chase after him.

“No,” he grits out.

The word almost doesn’t come out because he never likes saying no to you, but he has to right now, because you’re a…random girl?  Honestly, he’s confused as fuck. He only wants to kiss you and you’re not you? This is fucked. He doesn’t like this. Is this a test? He doesn’t like this test.

“Come on, let’s kiss, Quinn.” You manage to grip his arm. Your nails graze his skin. “Just one kiss.”

Quinn nearly folds. How can he not? You are looking at him with such wide eyes. Your touch electrifies his whole body down to his soul. You’re telling him to kiss you, the one thing he wants to do right now. Your tongue licks your lip before you bite down on it. You blink up at him, your hand running up and down his arm. He’s so close to doing what you ask.

Instead, he grips your hand, firmly pushing it away, then he turns away. His heart pounds in his chest from the adrenaline, from the sting of the mere act of putting his back on you. His body tenses. His whole being is protesting. He hates this.

When you try to touch him, he moves away, refusing to look at you directly. He side-eyes you, but even then, he is only looking at your hands to avoid them. He can’t look at your face. He knows he’ll lose it. He tries to be mad at you for trying this test on him, but he can’t. He is only upset that he wants your hands to touch him again. The sound of your giggle is making him cave.  

“So this is what you’ll do when you have a persistent girl on you?” You ask, stepping back, holding your hands behind you. “Saying no and not letting them touch you?”

Quinn finally looks at your face. He’s refusing to speak, his lips pursing together. He’s getting annoyed by the distance between you two more than he should be annoyed that you are laughing at him doing his best because this is literally unfair. You are never going to be a random girl. Not when you’re you. He will easily just walk away if there is an actual random girl trying to kiss him. Fuck, he might even just call security, wherever he is. He should say that, but he is really upset that you’re too fucking far.

He knows you can see him being upset, because your laughter dies down, your lips pouting. “It’s a TikTok challenge, you know.”

He grunts, his hands twitching from the need to pull you in his arms.  

“Aww, come on, Quinny.” You spread your arms for him to which he squints at. “I’m no longer a random—”

He rushes to you, hugging you tightly.

“Kiss me,” he demands. He melts when you kiss him, appeasing him. Your proximity pushes his upset out of his system. “If you’re going to test me, don’t do it when I’m desperate for you. Is that clear?”

“Okay.” You shiver, nodding, gripping and crumpling his shirt.

Quinn doesn’t care about his fucking shirt. He only cares that he gets his point across. It’s clear that it is. So, he punishes you with a deeper kiss, holding you to him with a hand on your lower back and on your nape.

He doesn’t stop.

He kisses and tastes you for minutes, until he feels you rubbing your legs together, until he hears your tiny whines and moans.

It's his turn to tease you. Not with a challenge. Just with a promise of more.

He stops kissing you, grinning when you groan.

“Time for our date, my Love.”

[elliehughesyapss]

take mine off me

hey cute jeans

[softsunnyy]

when two people are obsessed.

i think this series is a warning in itself, but well. This contains:

🚨 insecurities, some angst, rough sex, tying him, not letting him (and you) cum, babytrapping, jealousy, obsession, thoughts of him cheating on you, using a vibrator on him, sub and dom Quinn, and i think that's most of it. 🚨

as always, poorly written.

you've been staring at the same photo for 15 minutes; frozen, feeling a pain in your stomach that makes you want to get out of bed and leave the house to find Quinn.

he went to a party with his teammates, and you were fine, trying to live with the idea, even though you weren't too happy about it. And you tried, really tried not to look at the tracker so often; not to constantly search for the insta stories of the people at that party, but you did it anyway.

and those who search can find things they might not want to know.

like that photo, where you see his reddish eyes, his huge smile, his slightly raised shirt, his messy hair, and his arm around his friend's shoulders, who looks even drunker than him.

but everything would have been relatively fine if it had only been that. If it had only been a photo of your stupid drunk boyfriend.

but who is she? who´s the girl next to him, standing too close for your liking?

her dress is short, her smile´s too big, and one of her hands is near his chest, near him. And you wanna rip her hand off, find out who the hell she is, and ruin her life, make her regret ever touching him, ever even looking at him.

and him, oh, what did he do? why would he do that? he knows you'd see him, that you'd freak out, that this would be too much for you. So, why put you through this?

you try to think, to reason, but your body is frozen, your mind is foggy, your hands are clenched tightly, and you feel like your teeth are going to explode from how tightly you're clenching your jaw. You're upset, you're paranoid.

is this what he wanted? did he do it on purpose?

you don't know, and that bothers you even more, so you spend the next few hours planning, gathering inspiration, thinking about what to do to make him pay for this. So that he learns his lesson.

and so you fall asleep, not noticing when he arrives, stumbling, too dizzy and barely aware of his own existence; making so much noise that he's surprised he doesn't wake you, and then lying down next to you, as if he deserved it. As if he hadn't done anything wrong.

so, when you wake up, the first thing you see is his body, as he's on the bed, snoring softly, and asleep enough that he doesn't feel your movements, like when you get up to get the things you need, or when you return, tying his wrists to the headboard with his own ties, then slipping one of those thick necklaces he bought for you around his neck, securing it with delicacy.

and you feel annoyed again, seeing his exposed chest, since he apparently decided taking off his shirt before sleeping was a good idea; But before doing anything you made sure to take off his pants and underwear, letting the cold air hit his cock, watching him shudder in his sleep, completely unaware of what's happening in his body right now.

and you wanna punish him, to make him pay. You want him to suffer for the awful time you had the night before, watching him let another woman touch him, as if he belonged to everyone, as if he didn't belong to you. So you took that familiar chain in your hand, tying it to the clasp of his collar, doing a small test, gently tugging at it, watching how each slightest tug makes it tighten even more around his neck, taking away a bit of his air.

then you took off your clothes, taking your time, feeling the warmth begin to reach your body little by little, seeing his expression so calm, unaware of what's about to happen. And you see how his chest rises with each breath, how his eyelashes rest delicately, brushing his cheeks; and you see how his cock hardens just a little and how his skin prickles with goosebumps in the cold air.

you just know he´s gonna look beautiful gasping for air, and you wanna see the way his eyes will be wide open, his face growing redder and his neck marked by the leather. Still, with his rock-hard cock, surely dripping with pre-cum, wanting to bury himself in your walls, take you, as if he's earned it.

because he doesn't know what he did. Because he'll surely wake up not understanding, not remembering. And the thought alone makes your blood boil, filled with jealousy, with fury.

and now you put your hands on his chest, scratching, leaving red lines up to his v line, watching his pale skin change color, irritated. And the sight is arousing, so you watch yourself do it a couple more times, too lost in how your nails dig into his skin, marking, scratching, harder and harder, until small dots of blood appear on his skin. And you see him stir, a little disturbed, but still dreaming, and the mere thought of waking him from the burning is enough to make you lean in, replacing your hands with your mouth, leaving bites, from his pelvis to his collarbone, some harder than others, knowing it would leave bruises, which would later turn a deeper shade of purple, and make it painful for him to even move.

and his white skin is now marked, in a mix of your drool, the wounds, and the bites. But that doesn't wake him, not completely. You only see his cock harden little by little, as if feeling pain is a turn on for him.

still, you try not to linger too long, forcing yourself to leave his chest so you can climb onto one of his thighs, panting softly at how cold his skin is compared to your hot, dripping, completely soaked pussy, solely from the sight you have now.

and you begin to move, subtly at first, for your own enjoyment, but it's not enough, so you start to roll your hips, rubbing yourself like a whore, making your juices fall, while your clit is stimulated, drawing small moans from you.

and you remember it, you remember the photo, the way her hand was on him, and she was smiling, triumphant, as if she'd taken everything from you and felt no remorse. That made you move faster, fiercer, your brows furrowed, and your hands unconsciously clutching his chest, digging your nails into him once more, but this time causing enough pain to make him wake up. And Quinn gasps, trying to move his hands to rub his eyes, but immediately noticing they're tied. This makes his eyes widen, staring at you as if you'd betrayed him. As if you were doing something wrong.

“what…?” he tried to ask, but was interrupted by the intense burning sensation in his body, as well as the feel of his soaked leg, now heated by your arousal, dripping onto his skin, making a mess. He whimpered, in pain, and tried to read your expression, but nothing came to mind. His mind was too foggy.

“well, look who decided to wake up,” you said, in a dry, mocking tone, stopping moving, lifting your body a little and letting a thread of your fluids join you to his skin for a few seconds before you rolled off him completely.

your gaze is terrifying, and Quinn tries to remember, to think, but everything distracts him, and his mind is so lost that he can't put his thoughts together.

nothing. It's like he woke up completely stupid, and you're not helping him. Your actions are only confusing him more.

and he watches you walk to your closet, pulling out a box he knows perfectly well, making him gulp nervously.

he watches you take out a small object, but you don't give him time to ask, to beg, because you return to him, this time sitting on his lap, being careless with his cock, which is getting harder by the second.

“did you have fun last night?” you asked, wanting to hear his answer. You want to know how much he remembers. How much he's capable of telling you.

and you see the doubt on his face; the way he tries to think, until he decides to speak, hesitating.

“i did… yes.” He decided to be honest. A normally smart choice, though now it only makes your mind go red, thinking once again about the thousands of things that could have happened while you weren't around.

Quinn sees your jaw clench, how you seem to be trying to contain yourself before turning on the small vibrator in your hand, starting on a low intensity, but still not moving it.

“you know, i tried not to mind you leaving. I really tried,” you started, finally moving your hand, bringing the vibrator to one of his nipples, watching him shudder, and hearing his whimpers.

his nipple hardens, aching, overly sensitive as the vibrations hit his skin, tickling him, making him try to pull away.

it's too much, and you're just getting started, he knows.

“but there's something i don't like, Quinn, and that's watching a whore even lay eyes on you.” He tries to remember, to think of what you mean, but he can't, and you press the vibrator a little harder, now touching a different button, making him feel stronger vibrations.

his nipple is slightly reddish, his skin burns, and his cock is too hard, so much so that it hurts, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“i don't know what…” you increase the intensity once more, and he can't finish his sentence, moaning, groaning, and making his hands into fists.

“that's the worst part. You don't even remember.” Your words are laced with venom as you shift the vibrator, moving it to his other nipple, watching it harden immediately. Quinn can't even speak, too lost in the sensation. His nipples are now numb, overstimulated.

“i really don’t know…” he whimpers, opening his eyes to try to look at you, to make you feel sorry for him, but he can’t. He only receives a cold stare, while you move the vibrator in circles, circling his nipple.

and his skin feels on fire, as if everything were burning, as if he were in hell itself, although at the same time it's too exciting. Thick white stripes emerge from his tip, showing how sensitive he is; his veins showing, and he's too swollen, yearning to slide into your walls and fill you with his cum.

“please…” he tries to beg, but you're not surprised. You don't even blink, though your eyes are too revealing, and he knows you're enjoying this, how you have him right where you want him, without even being able to move.

and for a moment he thinks you'll show mercy when you decide to remove the object from his nipples, giving him a break. But no. That wasn't your plan.

“you're gonna eat me. And you're gonna do your best,” you commanded, and he nodded, willing to do anything you want for your forgiveness.

besides, eating your pussy would never be a punishment for him... right?

at least that's what he thought, until you positioned yourself on his face, your pussy dripping as you grabbed the chain of the collar in your right hand, your left hand still holding the vibrator.

and you don't give him much time to think, sitting down, feeling his tongue immediately on you as you begin to move your right hand, pulling at the chain, slowly tightening the collar, until you can feel him sucking your clit wildly; desperately.

then you lean down, resting your tits on his chest, and stretching your left arm to bring the vibrator to the tip of his cock; the vibrations make him moan against your skin.

and he acts almost on instinct, devouring you, running his tongue between your folds; sucking, playing, teasing you, and swallowing every drop of your fluids as he feels you stimulate his cock and cut off his air, making it increasingly difficult to think.

and he feels dizzy, increasingly lost, and he can't even rest his hands on your body for support, because you decided to be a bitch and tie his wrists to the headboard.

and you moan, you enjoy it, letting him do all the work, trying to control the sensations, his desires. Not knowing what to do, and doing everything on automatic, seeking your pleasure because he knows you're in control.

and you move, riding his face while he eagerly devours you, like it's his only way of asking for forgiveness.

but no, you're not going to fall for that.

so you let him continue, watching his cock turn slightly red, his veins too prominent, his balls tense, and his legs spasming until you know he's at his limit; removing the vibrator, watching weak white stripes emerge from his tip, a failed orgasm. The first of several you had planned.

and you feel him choke, how he can barely swallow your juices because of the lack of air; but you don't stop, not until you feel the knot forming; when you feel how excited he is about eating you out. Because now he's trying to enjoy it, to take advantage of the situation.

and no. That can't happen. So before you can cum you pull out of his face, dripping, your hole throbbing and your clit swollen.

your pussy hates you for this, and you feel sore and sensitive from not being able to cum, but it's all worth it when you turn around and see his face, his chin glistening with your juices and his heartbroken, haunted, betrayed, and offended look, as if you'd taken away his favorite toy.

"what? you think you have the right to enjoy and cum after what you did?" you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your heavy breathing. And Quinn just shook his head; his face slightly red from the lack of air.

and you decided to loosen the grip on his neck just a little, watching him gasp, trying to fill his lungs once more.

you sit back down on his lap, right over his cock, watching it slide between your folds, spreading both of your fluids and teasing you, making you both gasp, sensitive.

the sight is obscene, and you know Quinn will spend days complaining about the pain in his body, and how much you took advantage of punishing him, as if you were getting rid of every time you've been angry with him.

but does it really matter?

not to you, so you don't hesitate, taking his cock in your hand, hearing him gasp, his skin burning against yours, as if your mere touch were a welcome to hell.

and at first you play, spreading his fluids with your finger, seeing his tip so shiny, calling you to suck it, to swallow everything he has to give you. But you don't give in to temptation, taking his cock to your hole, feeling how you throb, how your body cries out for it, so you can heal your heart, and everything you felt when you saw the photo.

you wanna remind him who he belongs to. Who he chose. Because there's no going back now. No way to get away. You won't allow it, even if you have to do crazy things to keep him by your side.

you'd do whatever it took to have Quinn forever.

and with that thought, you sit once more, sliding his cock inside your walls, expanding them, opening you just the way you needed to, causing a moan to escape your throat, momentarily breaking the dominant character you'd created, drawing Quinn's attention.

he looked at you with hungry eyes, as if you were his prey again. As if for a moment he'd regained control.

but you're not gonna give him the win so easily, so you try to distract him, starting to bounce on his cock, watching as his breathing becomes heavy and his legs tense.

and he tries to be patient, because he doesn't want to break his ties, doesn't want to make a mess by grabbing your hips and making you move faster, the way he'd normally force you to move. But you don't help him, and it seems like you move slower on purpose, enjoying how desperate he is, how this is making him even more sensitive.

because you both feel everything.

you can feel every inch sliding in and out of you, his tip gently hitting your sensitive spot. And he feels like his cock might explode, suffocated by your pussy, which welcomes him like it's home.

and he can feel you throbbing, squeezing him tighter and tighter with every hit he delivers to that spot inside you that makes you arch your back and lose a little control.

and Quinn wonders if he should beg, if his desperate eyes aren't enough, or his bitten lips, or his hands completely red from the effort.

he needs to know what to do to make you move faster. And soon, though he doesn't get a response, he notices you starting to get desperate, bouncing faster, your tits moving, and your hands trying to grip his body.

his cock hammers inside you, making you feel dizzy, full, so satisfied that for a moment you almost forget your plan. However, the knot forming in your belly reminds you of it. And you try to be alert to when he starts to get nervous and tense, until he does, giving you the signal to stop your movements.

frustrating both of your orgasms once again.

and he grunts, his gaze annoyed, and this stops feeling like a game.

what the hell could have been so bad that you feel you have to make him pay like this? it frustrates him that he can't remember it well, since your words weren't even enough. Nothing comes to mind.

and you wait, you wait until the pain is so much that he begs again, imploring you to move, to forgive him, to let him come.

and he asks for your forgiveness, but you know it's an empty "sorry", because he doesn't remember yet. So you wait a bit before moving again, this time rolling your hips, feeling him hit your cervix because he's so incredibly deep inside you.

“you did this to yourself, you know that, right?” you said, breathless, staring at the small bulge forming in your belly because of him. “We could have been enjoying, you could come inside me as many times as you wanted, but you decided to be a whore, and leave, and let another woman near you.” Your words were laced with venom, and you couldn’t help it, slapping him across the face.

but he doesn’t react badly. You know it by the way his cock throbs inside you, feeling bigger.

and he really tries to remember, but only has vague memories.

“why would you do that to me, love?” you ask, a slight insecurity too evident in your voice. “How can i trust you every time you go out from now on?” you said, trying to make him feel guilty, even though your words held some truth.

and you see him swallow, nervous and distracted, searching for the right words, only to pathetically beg you to forgive him, to trust him.

begging you to believe how much he loves you.

and that sentence makes you move fiercely again, riding him, drawing a moan from him as you bring your face close to his neck, kissing his collar, then leaving bite marks just above it, too close to his jaw, where his beard is starting to grow.

and you have him whimpering, increasingly sensitive, wanting to fill you with his cum, until your hole can't hold it all and you start making a mess.

the thought alone is printed in his mind, making him try to break the ties, failing miserably as he tries to shift his pelvis a little, so he can move with you, even though you don't let him.

and too soon he feels close again, and his cheeks turn red. He doesn't think he can hold it, and he truly prays silently that you don't notice.

but you do, and you stop again.

and he grows desperate, moving his hands violently, trying to break the ties once more, watching his skin turn bright red from the friction of the fabric against his wrists. And still, nothing seems to work.

and he feels you smile against his neck, licking his wounds as if you hadn't made them yourself, as you roll your hips again, this time slower, deeper, knocking the air out of him.

and you know he needs you. God, you've never seen him so broken from not being able to come, and you know that normally he would have used your body until you fainted, but he can't, and the mere thought of what might happen when you're satisfied is arousing, making you keep going, rolling your hips and stopping when you feel he's about to come.

you do it again, and again, and again. Not noticing how each time the ties loosens his grip more and more, while you moan, taking advantage of his body, and using his cock like it's your new sex toy.

and you're lost. He knows it, from the way you drool, with your eyes closed and your breath against his skin. So he takes advantage of that moment to loosen his ties completely, bringing his hands to your waist, turning you so fast you don't have time to react; feeling him slide off you as your face hits the pillow.

you feel him position himself behind you, pushing his way between your legs, not giving you a second to think before burying his cock deep inside your pussy, drawing a sob from you at the intense burning sensation in your hole.

and he shows no mercy, moving fast, hard, using his hand to tug at your hair as his chest touches your back.

you know he's searching for his own orgasm, but you can't stop yours from building, making you moan louder, desperate, feeling him hammer inside you, hitting your cervix, and taking over every part of you like he's in charge again.

and you let him, you let him take over again, because you can't resist it. God, you don't even know how many hours you've been playing with him, taking him to his limit, until you've exhausted your body too.

and it hurts, he moves so hard that your hole burns, and all you can hear in the room is your loud moans, along with his and the sound of his hard cock sliding into your completely soaked pussy.

and your knot appears at just the right moment, and you know you should probably reveal the final part of your plan to him. Your idea that could change things. But you don't.

he has to be yours forever.

so when you cum, you moan his name, feeling him start to cum inside your pussy. Thick. Heavy. More than ever, quickly filling you, though he doesn't intend to end there. And he moves again, overstimulating you both, but with an idea in mind that won't stop him.

he's going to abuse your body like you abused his, but he's going to make you cum so many times you pass out.

and he's going to use you so much your body can't handle it. And he'll keep fucking you, filling you as many times as he wants, even if your body has given up.

and maybe you should have warned him in the first round... but it's too late now.

he doesn't need to know that you officially stopped taking your birth control pills. Even with all the times you skipped them, you always found a quick fix.

but now? he doesn't need to know.

he has to be yours forever.

and you'll be able to rethink that part of your plan when hours and hours have passed, and the two of you, more relaxed, talk about what happened at that party, and he apologizes wholeheartedly.

but... will you tell him?

[kawhh]

look i love dark quinn as much as the next person but sub quinn? that just does something for me

I adore every single version of Quinnifer.

Warnings: Quinn is a puppy dog with his behaviour, badly written, skin licking, jerking him off, cleaning cum off your hand.

It's him giving up his captain role and the weight of the leadership off his shoulders. The long exhale drawn out of him the minute he can collapse on you making your eyes furrow in concern with how painful it sounds coming from him.

The way he'd run his hands under your clothes, curving up your skin until he can rest his hands under your bra to relax against you, getting the skin contact he needs from you, his mouth apologetic against your shoulder when you hiss from the temperature change.

His tongue softly lapping at you like a puppy wanting attention, a complete attitude flip from his usual behaviour with you, pleading into your skin as he makes a mess, begging for you to give him your attention, your love, your touch.

Resting his forehead against your shoulder when he feels you sliding your hand into his sweatpants, panting against your skin, your name on his lips as he softly grinds against your hand, trying to chase his pleasure.

Hair sticking to his skin with his need for your touch, whining until you grip him directly, your hand instantly soaked from his precum, feeling his head throb against your hand.

Whispered praise leaving him, nuzzling his head against your skin when you tighten your grip around him, his head catching against your thumb with every jerk, his hips speeding up against you while he chases his relief.

Kissing the sides of his head, his eyelids, everywhere you can reach while he tenses and jackhammers into your head, losing himself in you, knowing you have him, knowing he's safe to give in with you.

The way he'd spill into his sweatpants and your hand, soft swears leaving his parted lips as his hips stutter. How'd he'd watch your cum covered hand pulling back to your mouth, how your tongue slides around the digits to clean them up, burying his head against your chest.

[jo-speaks]

hi i love your writing 🥰i was wondering if u could do quinn with a clingy gf who just wants to be around him all the time

WITH YOU

OVERVIEW: in which being with quinn is where you feel best.

warnings: none!

You weren’t sure if it was his constant traveling or his natural charm that drew you to him like a magnet every time you were with him, but you just couldn’t get enough of your boyfriend. You were infatuated with him. His touch, his smell, everything. His presence wasn’t a want. It was a need.

As the sunlight shone through the blinds, Quinn’s eyebrows furrowed, his sleep disturbed by the slowly rising sun. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, hoping to reach for his phone to check the time. However, his mobility was limited as your cheek rested on his chest, the rest of your body splayed above him as soft snores escaped your lips. 

Quinn smiled, the feeling of your warmth being something he constantly missed when he was away. The six-game-long roadie was enough to have him stilling his body completely, fully immersing himself in the moment. He brought his hand from where it rested lightly on the small of your back up to your hair, entangling his digits into the loose strands of your bun. 

The feeling of his touch – even in your sleep– had you sighing softly, your body melting impossibly into him. 

As much as he wanted the moment to last forever, that, unfortunately, wasn’t the reality for Quinn Hughes. Instead, his alarm went off, interrupting the complete and utter stillness of the morning. 

He let out a groan, rolling from his back to his side in order to move you off his body, allowing him to reach up and shut off the alarm, stretching his limbs with a lengthy moan. 

Standing up, he bid you one last look before sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed, grabbing his phone before making his way to the shower. He had always been one to play music while in the shower, his mind needing to be occupied with something else on the days where his mind felt scrambled and out of control.

He settled on a calmer playlist, a few jazz instrumental songs on the queue, not wanting to disrupt the calmness of the morning with heavy sounds before turning on the water to let it warm up.

As he stripped his boxers off, never having been one to sleep with much else, he could hear the slight rustling of the sheets. He didn’t think much of it, figuring you were just moving around to find more comfort in the sheets. The mirror began to fog up, the heat of the water engulfing the bathroom and allowing Quinn to step in the shower. 

The heat was nothing compared to yours, but it was enough to make his muscles relax, a soft sigh of relief slipping past his lips. 

His fingers ran through his hair, getting rid off all the sweat he had developed in his rest. Before he could even reach for the shampoo, he could hear the bathroom door open. A small smile appeared on his lips as he heard your sleep riddled voice call out to him.

“Quinn?” 

He let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah?” 

You said nothing in response, but he could hear you shuffle forward a little, the sound of your weight sitting down on the lid of the toilet. Your eyes blinked slowly, still not fully awake and in the moment. The bathroom was humid, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. All you cared for was feeling his presence close to you, even if it meant being a little too warm for a few minutes.

Quinn could hear your breathing relax and slow down before it picked up to a normal pace again. He was surprised that it was audible over the running water, but that was beside the point. He pulled the curtain to the side just enough to take a peek at you. He saw your eyes close slowly before shooting open again as your body started to slouch again. Your eyes met his, smiling at the sight of water dripping from his hair.

“You wanna join me, or are you gonna keep falling asleep on the toilet?” He teased.

You snorted, standing up and stripping off Quinn’s shirt from your body. He pulled the curtain open far enough for you to step in with him, his hand coming to your waist to guide you in. His grip tightened a little as he pulled you closer, your body flush with his. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the warmth you had woken up lacking. Relaxing further into him, you could feel his arms wrap around you, one hand rubbing up and down slowly on your back. 

Quinn stepped backwards, allowing the water to fall onto you. Still, you buried your face into his chest, your arms looping around his wet torso. “When are you leaving?”

His skin absorbed the volume of your words, but he could still make it out. “Once I’m done in here. I wanna get to the rink early.” 

He could feel the vibrations of your hum before you lifted your chin up to meet his eyes. He let out a laugh as the water dripped down your face, your eyelashes doing an okay job at keeping it out. His hands came up to cup your face, thumbs gliding over your eyes to clear them up a bit. 

Those same hands pulled your face closer to his, his lips softly pressing against yours. There was no ulterior motive, no lust behind the kiss. It was warm, sweet, and full of love. You sighed into the kiss, melting into him as you silently prayed to stay in this moment with him.

Quinn pulled away first, earning a whine from you even though he had only pulled away enough to speak, his lips still resting against yours but without the pressure. “I love you, sweet girl.”

Those words alone had your heart pounding, no matter how many times he would say it. His smi;e grew as he could feel it through your chest, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too, Q.”

[trevuorzegras]

IF YOU EVER LOOK BACK 　QUINN HUGHES

　　　quinn hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY 　as love withers in the shadows of neglect, y/n walks away from the man who once made her believe in forever, leaving only a letter behind.

contains 　angst, no happy ending, themes of emotional neglect, emotional!quinn, relationship breakdown, heartbreak, distress, use of y/n.

note 　thank you for 500 followers <3

　　Y/N WASNT SURE when the drift between her and Quinn had started. But she knew it had finally boiled over. She’d reached her breaking point.

Y/n wasn’t naive — far from it. She had seen Quinn slipping away before he even realized how much his distance was hurting her.

It didn’t happen overnight. It started small. Quinn would leave earlier for practice, no longer waking her with a soft kiss on the forehead. They hadn’t gone on a date in months. Conversation had become rare, even though they lived under the same roof.

Y/n made excuses. He’s busy, she told herself. It’s the season. It’s the pressure. Anything to avoid placing blame on him, on herself, on the widening rift between them. Maybe she should’ve expected it. She’d always been told love was just something in movies, and for most of her life, she believed it.

Until Quinn. He made her believe. Made her feel. Made her hope.

And now she wasn’t sure again.

There was a time she thought Quinn was it. Her person. Her future. But with each passing day, they danced silently around the truth — that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing left.

Quinn felt the shift too. He knew he’d been pulling away. He just didn’t want to admit it. The season was weighing on him. The injuries. The pressure. The expectations. It was too much, and he hated that he let it bleed into everything. Especially into them.

He was angry at himself. Y/n had always been his safe place, the one person who could read him without a word. And now he was watching her fade, piece by piece, and he did nothing.

So when he came home to find every trace of her gone, he wasn’t shocked. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hit him like a freight train.

The once warm, lived-in space now felt cold. Hollow. Like a hotel room no one ever really checked into.

He dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and stepped into what used to be their kitchen.

His kitchen now. Not theirs.

He’d made sure of that when he started taking her love for granted.

Her love had been the only constant in his life. She’d been there for him — without fail, without question. And slowly, unknowingly, he’d worn her down. Worn away her spark. She had been bright and full of life, and now, all that remained was someone guarded and quiet.

And that was on him.

His eyes caught the folded piece of paper on the counter. His name, Quinn, scrawled in her familiar handwriting. His throat tightened as he picked it up.

He unfolded it with trembling fingers, already knowing this would be the part that made it real.

‘Quinn,

I know this is the worst way to do this, but I had no other choice. If I’d tried to say it in person, I don’t think I could’ve left. This is what’s best for both of us. Deep down, we both know that.

I don’t blame you, and I hope you don’t blame me. If it’s meant to be, we’ll find our way back to each other.

You’ll always be my person, Quintin Jerome Hughes. Never forget that. You hold a special place in my heart. Thank you for showing me what love is and for proving that I’m capable of being loved. I love you. Always.

Y/n.’

Quinn read the letter once. Then again. And again.

He traced his fingers over her handwriting like it could somehow bring her back. Like he could hold on to some part of her just a little longer. But it was already slipping away — her voice, her laugh, her warmth.

The silence in the house was deafening. Not just quiet — empty. It screamed everything he didn’t say, everything he should have noticed sooner.

The memories came like a flood. Her humming while making coffee. The way she’d tug gently on his hoodie when she needed comfort. The way she’d curl up beside him on the couch — soft, trusting, safe.

And he’d let that girl with the bright eyes and big heart wilt in the shadows of his neglect.

He stumbled into the living room and sank to the floor, the letter clutched to his chest like it might anchor him. But there was no anchor. Just waves. And guilt. So much guilt.

He wanted to scream. To punch something. To go back and wake her up with a kiss. To take her out on a Tuesday night for no reason. To tell her she mattered more than the game. More than the noise. More than anything.

But she was gone. And this time, he had no one to blame but himself.

Tears streamed down his face, hot and angry, as he whispered her name into the silence. “Y/n…”

The name used to feel like home. Now it felt like a goodbye.

He didn’t know where she was, or if she cried when she wrote the letter. But he hoped, God, he hoped she could feel him breaking. That maybe somewhere out there, she knew he was sorry.

Truly sorry.

And if she ever looked back — even just once, he hoped she’d remember the best parts. The laughter. The late nights. The love.

Because despite everything, that part had always been real.

He stayed there, on the floor, until the sunrise filtered through the blinds. The world kept turning, even as his heart stood still.

And with shaking hands, he folded the letter and placed it back on the counter — not because he wanted to let her go, but because he finally understood:

Love isn’t about holding on when it hurts.

Sometimes, real love is knowing when to say goodbye — and meaning it.

Even if it shatters you.

NAVIGATION　　 ✶ 　　NHL MASTERLIST

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

[lcvecove]

Quinn Hughes would love making out in his car after a big win.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ this man could literally ruin my life and i’d say thank you 😫

quinn practically sprints to the car after the game. eager to get home. one hand holding his phone and car keys and the other holding your hand, gently leading you along.

“have a good night mr. hughes. ma’am” a parking lot security guard greets you and you send him a friendly smile

quinn opens the passenger door, making sure you’re settled before he presses a kiss to your cheek and closes the door.

you begin to get a little restless when a few minutes pass and he still hasn’t gotten into the car. “what took you so long?” you ask when he finally gets behind the wheel.

“had to slip phil a few bucks to look the other way while I kiss my girl” quinn says with a grin, referring to the security guard as he slips a hand onto your hip and pulls you towards him

he carefully maneuvers you over the console and onto his lap, one hand cupping your jaw and the other pulling your body close to his with a firm grip on your waist

“you’re beautiful” he says casually, admiring you as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

your cheeks heat at the compliment, lowering your head to press your lips to his, his hands sneak beneath the ‘hughes’ jersey you were wearing, running up your spine

“it never gets old” he mumbles against your lips, casually gathering all your hair in one hand as he twists it around his fist and adjusts your head like he wants it

“what?” you question breathlessly, craning your neck back more as he trails his kisses down to your collarbone

“seeing you in my jersey. my last name on your back. fuck, it does things to me” he groans, pressing more kisses to your neck

you let out a breathy laugh, the sound quickly turning into a soft sigh as quinn's lips find that one spot on your neck that always makes you melt. his grip on your waist tightens, holding you against him like he's afraid you'll slip away.

"quinn," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair as he hums against your skin, clearly in no rush to stop.

"yeah baby?" his voice is low, rough with want, but there's something tender in it too-like he's savoring this moment just as much as you are.

"you gonna take me home, or are we staying in the parking lot all night?" you tease, brushing your nose against his.

quinn grins, his hands slipping from beneath your jersey to settle firmly on your hips. "tempting," he admits, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips. "but if we don't leave now, phil's gonna start charging me every time l touch you."

you laugh, giving his chest a playful shove as you move back to your seat. "would serve you right."

quinn shakes his head with a smirk, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt for you before finally starting the car.

as he pulls out of the parking lot, his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together effortlessly. he lifts your joined hands to his lips issing a soft kiss to vour knuckles.

[oraltraditionfiction]

We listen and we don’t judge | QH43

Quinn Hughes x f! reader (fluff)

Summary: You and Quinn do the We Listen and We Don't Judge challenge.

WC: 453

Author's Note: Tbh we're not really on tiktok, but we thought this was a cute idea!! This is my first ever fic/blurb/piece of fanfiction so I would love to hear any feedback :-) Enjoy! - 🐇

You set the camera up on the kitchen counter, swiping under your eyes before backing up to Quinn. 

“Ok! Are we ready?” You say, clapping your hands together. Quinn nods, arms slung around you and an indulgent smile on his face. 

“This is the weird habits thing from TikTok, right?”

You nod, laughing, as you lean forward and press play.

“We listen and we don’t judge!” You say as you spread your hands theatrically, Quinn only jumping in halfway through the sentence.

You side eye the man next to you, leaning in close to the camera, “Sometimes,” a conspiratorial whisper, “I cheer for the Bruins when you aren’t home.”

Quinn drops his arms from around you, and turns towards you wide eyed, “Babe, that’s practically treason… they’ll kill you…” you laugh and shove him lightly, a finger in front of your mouth to mime secrecy. 

“Ok your turn!” you push him forward.

“We listen and we don’t judge!” said together.

He chuckles, rubbing his neck, “Sometimes I use your face towel as a hand towel” You whirl towards him in shock, hitting his arm with the back of your hand. 

“Quinn! I have acne because of you!” He dodges your playful hits, laughing at your mock outraged face.

Through giggles you spit out, “Sometimes I dog-ear our book pages because you lost all of our cute bookmarks.” 

“Oh my god, babe, find a receipt or some shit. They don’t have to be cute” Quinn puts his head in his hands, heaving out a dramatic sigh. You laugh, tugging his hands away from his face as he thinks of his next one.

“One time I put your favorite bra in the dryer and it got ruined and instead of telling you I just bought a new one” 

You gasp, actually floored. “You told me that I had probably just missed that tag! I can’t believe you!” 

Faking indignation you turn away from him and say, “Sometimes I don’t wash our fruit before we eat it” 

“You’re going to actually give us brain worms. Oh my god, babe… we could have brain worms right now.” He says hand over his mouth, your laughter ringing out across the kitchen. 

Quinn wraps his arms around you, holding you close, “Sometimes when you aren’t here, I don’t use coasters.” You gasp, turning in his hold. He laughs as you begin gesticulating wildly, 

“Quinn, that is so bad for the wood!” You begin lecturing him, saying that his apartment is much too nice for moisture rings to be on his nice wooden coffee table. He buries his face in your neck, smothering his laughter so he can listen attentively to your voice.

[be4chywritez]

red red wine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

the week leading up to Quinn proposing to you, and the chaos that follows him.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

One Week Before

You stand in the kitchen of the lake house, absently scrolling through your phone while Jim and Ellen sit at the table, chatting over their morning coffee. Quinn is perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Jack and Luke beside him, all three listening in as you think out loud.

“I think I’m gonna get my nails done,” you say, mostly to yourself, glancing up from your screen. “I found this cute place nearby on Instagram. Might go check it out.”

Quinn freezes. Luke and Jack do the same, exchanging quick glances before all three of them force identical, strained smiles.

“Here?” Quinn asks, a little too casually.

You nod and turn your phone to show Ellen the pictures. “Yeah, thought it’d be nice to get a little pampered. Ellen, want to come with?”

For a split second, her eyes flick to Jim before she shakes her head with a warm—if slightly nervous—smile. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I think I’ll stay back, got a few things to tidy up around the house.”

You frown slightly, glancing between them. “I mean, I don’t have to go either. I could just hang—”

“NO!”

The entire Hughes family responds in unison, voices overlapping in a loud, comically panicked outburst. Even Jim, who’s been silent all morning, leans forward, wide-eyed like you just suggested setting the house on fire.

Quinn is the first to recover. He clears his throat and plasters on a quick, reassuring smile. “No, honey, you should definitely go. Treat yourself.” He waves a hand toward the door, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant. “Have a nice day out.”

Your eyes narrow. “Okay…?” You drag the word out, suspicious, but slide your phone into your bag anyway. Grabbing your keys, you head for the door, throwing one last curious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Luke lets out a long breath. “Close call.”

Jim shakes his head, grinning. “She almost caught on already. We need to be more careful, boys.”

Downtown is quiet, the main street lined with flower boxes and little local shops. Lakeside Nails sits nestled between a café and an old bookstore, its windows decorated with delicate white lettering.

A nail tech waves you over with a friendly smile. “Hi! You must be my one o’clock.”

“That’s me.” You settle into the chair as she sets up.

“I’m Maya. What are we doing today?”

You pull up a photo. “Something like this? Just a clean, neutral look.”

Maya nods approvingly. “Pretty! So, just a little solo pampering trip?”

“Sort of. I’m staying at the lake house with my boyfriend and his family. Thought I’d take a little break and explore.”

Maya hums, focusing on your nails. “How’d you two meet?”

You smile, thinking back. “Through mutual friends. He was quiet at first, but then he made me laugh when I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know… I just felt comfortable with him.”

“Those are the best ones,” she says with a grin. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “He really is.”

When you walk back into the lake house, Quinn is stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glances up as you come in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up. “Let’s see the nails.”

You plop down beside him, holding out your hand. He takes it, running his thumb lightly over your fingers. “Looks good,” he says, approving.

“Glad you think so.” You lean into him as his arm wraps around you, the warmth of his touch settling you into an easy quiet.

The rest of the evening is simple—pasta and salad for dinner, laughter when Quinn drops a handful of cherry tomatoes and watches them roll across the counter. Later, you curl up under a blanket with an old movie on, his fingers absentmindedly running through your hair. The house is peaceful, filled with the soft flicker of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you. The way his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing everything. Like he’s counting down.

Five Days Before

You wake slowly, the warmth of morning light filtering through the curtains. Quinn’s arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, his breathing steady and close. He stirs, his nose brushing against the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You smile, rolling over to face him. His eyes are still half-closed, messy hair falling over his forehead. You trace your fingers along his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours before bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don’t realize how he looks at you—like you might disappear if he blinks.

“Honey, we’re on breakfast duty,” you remind him.

Quinn groans, shoving his face into your collarbone, stubble tickling your skin. He mumbles something, voice muffled.

You laugh. “No, we can’t let your brothers do it. Unless you want the house to burn down.”

Another grunt, but this time, he shifts, reluctantly getting up. You follow, falling into your usual morning routine.

As you pull on a sweater, he watches from the bathroom mirror, hoping you don’t dig too far into his sock drawer.

Hoping you don’t find the velvet box.

You don’t, thanks to a the higher power, but it only puts more pressure on Quinn to pop the damn question.

Four Days Before 

The lake house hums with its usual morning energy—Jack and Luke bickering over who gets the last pancake, Ellen moving around the kitchen with effortless ease, and Jim sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper like he’s immune to the chaos around him.

Quinn, however, is focused on one thing.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you sit at the kitchen table, scrolling absently through your phone. Every few seconds, you look up to add something to the conversation, laughing as Luke launches a grape at Jack’s head. Quinn should be listening, should be jumping in with a comment of his own, but instead, his mind is caught on a single thought: How do I get her to buy the dress?

The dress—the one he wants to see you in when he finally asks the biggest question of his life. He saw it a few days ago when you were flipping through your phone, showing Ellen some boutique you wanted to check out. You hadn’t bought anything yet, just admired a few pieces before getting distracted by something else.

Now, with only four days to go, he needs to make sure you pick the one.

Quinn exhales through his nose and glances toward his brothers. Perfect.

Jack notices first, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Quinn silently glare at him. What? he mouths.

Quinn jerks his head toward the living room, signaling them to follow. Jack and Luke exchange a glance but don’t argue, trudging after him as he disappears down the hallway.

Once they’re out of earshot, Quinn turns to them, hands on his hips like he’s about to give them the most important assignment of their lives.

“Alright, I need you two to do something for me.”

Jack immediately groans. “Oh my god, what now?”

“It’s important,” Quinn says, leveling them with a look.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Like, life-or-death important? Or are we talking Quinn-important, which means it’s about the love of your life?”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, do we need to prepare a eulogy?”

Quinn ignores them. “I need you guys to get her to buy a dress.”

Both of them stare at him.

“A dress,” Jack repeats flatly. “You dragged us away from breakfast for that?”

“Not just any dress,” Quinn says, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels stupid saying it out loud, but if there’s anyone who can pull this off without making it suspicious, it’s these two. “She was looking at this one the other day. It’s perfect for when I—” He stops himself before finishing the sentence, clearing his throat.

Luke catches on first. His eyes widen slightly before he grins. “Ohhh. You mean the dress.”

Jack still looks lost. “What—Oh. Ohhh.”

Quinn nods.

“Okay, so you want us to, what? Trick her into buying it?” Jack asks, crossing his arms.

“Not trick her,” Quinn corrects. “Just… steer her in the right direction.”

Luke grins. “You want us to gaslight her into thinking she needs it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You basically did,” Jack says.

Quinn sighs. “Can you two just do it?”

Luke claps a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Q, we got this. She’ll be buying that dress by the end of the day.”

Jack cracks his knuckles. “Time to be annoying.”

“Just don’t make it obvious,” Quinn warns.

Luke grins. “No promises.”

–

You hadn’t really planned on buying anything today.

The town’s little boutique district is charming, with its cobblestone paths and flower boxes hanging from the windows, but you were mostly browsing—taking in the sights, enjoying the crisp summer air, and, apparently, getting bombarded with very strong opinions from Jack and Luke.

“I’m just saying,” Jack starts, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, “you’ve been talking about wanting a nice dress for a while.”

“Have I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Luke, walking on your other side, nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. All the time. Constantly.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Jack ignores you. “And look at this!” He gestures dramatically toward one of the boutique windows. “A whole store dedicated to dresses! What are the odds?”

“Crazy,” Luke deadpans.

You give them a suspicious look. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re great,” Jack says. “But you’d be even better if you had a new dress.”

Luke nods. “The best version of yourself, really.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “What is wrong with you two?”

“Nothing,” Jack says quickly. “We just care about you. And your wardrobe.”

“Especially that one dress you liked the other day,” Luke adds casually. “That was a good one.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know about that?”

Jack elbows Luke. 

He gives you a pained smile, “intuition?” 

Luke sighs dramatically, turning toward you. “Look,, all I’m saying is that you should try it on. No pressure. No commitment. Just try it on and see how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Worst case? You hate it, and we all move on with our lives. Best case? You look amazing, and you thank us forever.”

You roll your eyes but, against your better judgment, let them lead you inside. The boutique is small but elegant, with soft lighting and carefully arranged racks of clothing. A sales associate greets you warmly, and before you know it, Luke and Jack are pushing you toward the exact dress they’ve clearly been scheming about.

You sigh, running your fingers over the fabric. It is beautiful.

“Just try it,” Luke urges. “For science.”

“For science,” Jack echoes.

You huff a laugh. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, you both owe me coffee.”

“Deal,” they say in unison.

Ten minutes later, you step out of the dressing room, smoothing your hands over the fabric. The dress fits perfectly, hugging in all the right places, flowing just enough to feel effortless. You glance at your reflection in the boutique mirror, tilting your head slightly.

“Well?” Jack asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Luke grins. “Yup. That’s the one.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You guys are the worst.”

“And yet, we just helped you find your new favorite dress,” Jack points out.

You sigh. “Fine. But you’re still buying me coffee.”

Luke claps his hands. “Worth it.”

Meanwhile, back at the lake house, Quinn gets a text.

Luke: Mission accomplished.

He exhales, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Three more days.

Three Days Before

The morning sun spills through the windows of the lake house, casting warm golden hues over the kitchen. You hum softly to yourself as you pour a cup of coffee, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. Ellen is at the stove flipping pancakes while Jim reads the newspaper at the table, occasionally sipping his coffee. Jack and Luke sit across from him, bickering over who gets the last piece of toast.

Quinn stands by the fridge, looking unusually tense as he scrolls through his phone. You don’t think much of it—he’s always been the quiet, deep-in-thought type—but there’s something about the way he keeps glancing at you that makes you pause.

"Morning," you say, leaning against the counter as you take a slow sip of coffee. "What's up?"

Quinn's head snaps up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His fingers tighten around his phone, and for a second, he looks almost guilty.

"Uh—nothing. Just checking something." His voice is too quick, too casual, and you narrow your eyes.

Before you can push him further, Ellen calls over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, could you grab the syrup?"

You nod and step toward the pantry, but just as you do, Quinn leans closer to Ellen and whispers something.

You freeze mid-step.

It’s barely audible, just the faintest murmur of his voice, but you catch it. Ellen’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she quickly schools her expression into something neutral.

Jim, who’s been mostly uninvolved in the morning chaos, suddenly folds his newspaper with a snap and clears his throat. Jack and Luke immediately stop arguing and sit up straighter, the air shifting ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. "Okay, what was that?"

Quinn immediately shakes his head. "What was what?"

"The whispering. The weird glances. Why do you all look like you just got caught committing a crime?"

Jack lets out a bark of nervous laughter. "Pfft, what? No crime here."

Luke elbows him, and he winces. "We were just—uh, talking about, um—"

"The weather," Jim supplies, nodding sagely.

"The weather?" you repeat flatly.

"Yup," Quinn says, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it aggressively like that’ll somehow sell the lie.

You cross your arms, skeptical. "And what, exactly, about the weather required a top-secret family meeting?"

Ellen waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, just—just how lovely it's supposed to be this weekend! Perfect for, um, outdoor activities."

Jack nods. "Yeah, so perfect. Like, suspiciously perfect."

Luke elbows him again.

You squint at them, taking a slow sip of your coffee, watching as they all sit a little too still, looking a little too casual.

Something is definitely going on.

But before you can press further, Quinn suddenly steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Hey, didn’t you want to go into town today?" His voice is soft, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hip.

You blink up at him. "I mean, yeah, but—"

"Perfect," he says quickly. "You should go. Take your time. Enjoy yourself."

Jack and Luke nod in unison. "Yes. Enjoy. Take hours if you need."

Your eyes dart between them. They are terrible liars. But you sigh, deciding to let it go—for now.

"Fine," you say slowly, grabbing your bag. "But if I find out you guys are hiding something from me—"

"You won’t!" they all chorus at once.

You stare for another long beat before shaking your head and heading for the door.

As soon as it closes behind you, Quinn lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

Luke whistles. "That was way too close."

Jim chuckles. "You boys need to step up your game. She's sharp."

Quinn groans, rubbing his face. "I know. And we still have two more days of this."

Jack claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, bud. You're gonna need it.

Two Days Before 

The lake stretches out before you, calm and glassy under the moonlight. It’s late—too late to still be outside, but the warmth of summer lingers in the air, and neither of you wants to go in just yet.

You sit beside Quinn on the dock, your legs dangling over the edge, bare feet skimming the cool water. The night is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the distant rustling of trees.

Quinn hasn’t said much in the last few minutes.

He sits close—so close that your shoulders press together, his warmth seeping into you. His hand is resting between you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but is too lost in thought to do it.

You nudge him gently. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He exhales, a soft, slow sound. "Just thinking."

You tilt your head, watching him. His profile is illuminated by the glow of the moon, sharp angles softened by the night. His jaw flexes, and his fingers tighten slightly against the dock.

"About what?"

He hesitates, then turns to you. "The future."

Your chest tightens, a warmth blooming there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I was just thinking about... where we'll be, years from now." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What it'll look like."

You smile, leaning into him. "And? What does it look like?"

He glances down at his hands. "Us," he says simply. "Still together. Maybe a house. Maybe a dog." His lips twitch. "You always talk about wanting a golden retriever."

Your heart stutters.

"You actually listen when I say that?"

His brow furrows. "Of course I do."

There’s something so earnest about the way he says it—so completely sure.

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I like that version of the future," you say softly.

Quinn looks at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable, something heavy sitting behind them. For a second, you think he’s about to say something—something big.

But instead, he squeezes your hand.

"Me too."

He presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, then rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes, breathing him in, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.

Neither of you says anything else.

But Quinn’s already made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he finds the perfect spot.

And in two days, he asks you to be his forever.

One Day Before 

The lake stretches endlessly before you, a shimmering expanse of deep blue beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. A gentle breeze tugs at your hair, and the rhythmic rocking of the boat lulls you into a peaceful state. The water is calm, only disturbed by the occasional ripple from a passing jet ski or the soft lapping against the side of the boat.

You inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you lean back against the cushioned seat. The warmth of the sun kisses your skin, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like time has slowed down.

Jim sits at the helm, hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the open water. His expression is relaxed, a rare sight considering the chaos that usually follows whenever all three of his boys are together.

Ellen sits beside you, sunglasses perched on her nose, a soft smile on her lips as she watches the water shimmer.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she muses, her voice light with contentment.

You nod, shifting slightly to soak in more of the sun. “Yeah, it really is.”

It’s not often that you get moments like this—just the three of you. Usually, Jack and Luke are wreaking havoc, Quinn is rolling his eyes fondly at their antics, and everything is a blur of chirps and laughter. But today is quiet. Peaceful.

You glance around the boat, taking in the emptiness where Quinn should be.

Your chest tightens slightly.

This morning, when you asked him if he was coming, he had been vague—mumbling something about needing to run an errand and promising he’d see you later. You hadn’t pushed, but now, with the afternoon stretching on without him, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Ellen asks gently, tilting her head toward you.

You blink, realizing you had been staring at the empty seat beside you. Forcing a smile, you nod. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Ellen hums knowingly. “Quinn will be back soon, don’t worry. He’s probably just making sure whatever he’s doing is absolutely perfect.”

Jim chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Sounds about right.”

You frown slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Do you guys know something I don’t?”

Ellen and Jim exchange a quick glance, but Ellen’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Oh, honey,” she says, reaching over to pat your hand. “We always know something you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of warmth and comfort. You soak up every moment—the way the sun reflects off the water like scattered diamonds, the sound of Jim’s easy laughter, the way Ellen insists on reapplying sunscreen to your shoulders even though you swear you’re fine.

And for a little while, you let yourself forget the strange feeling in your chest.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Quinn is on a mission.

Your absence is a weight he feels in his chest, but he knows this is worth it.

His boots crunch against the forest floor as he makes his way through the secluded clearing he stumbled upon earlier. The air smells like pine and fresh earth, the quiet only disturbed by the rustling of leaves in the wind.

It’s perfect. Tucked away from the main trails, surrounded by towering trees, with a small opening where the lake peeks through.

This is it.

Carefully, he unrolls the string of photos he printed last week, each one capturing a frozen moment in time—the two of you at your first hockey game together, laughing with noses pressed close; a blurry snapshot of you mid-laugh, taken when you weren’t looking; a quiet moment in bed, tangled in the sheets with sunlight painting your skin.

Every single one tells your story.

His hands shake slightly as he fastens them to the branches, adjusting them until they drape just right.

“Dude, this is insanely romantic,” Jack mutters behind him.

Quinn steps back, hands on his hips as he surveys the clearing. The photos sway gently in the breeze, catching the fading sunlight. Everything is almost perfect.

Except for Jack, who is standing in the middle of the setup like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This is so weird,” Jack complains, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know why I have to be her.”

Quinn sighs, rubbing his temples. “Because I need to make sure everything looks right, and you’re the closest to her height.”

“That’s actually so offensive,” Jack deadpans. “I don’t even know how, but it is.”

Luke snorts from behind the camera. “Just shut up and stand there, man. You’re ruining the vision.”

Jack groans dramatically but doesn’t move. “You owe me for this, dude. Big time.”

Quinn ignores him, stepping closer to adjust the positioning. He takes a deep breath, trying to picture you standing there instead of his little brother, who is doing a horrible job of being still.

“This is where I’ll kneel,” Quinn murmurs, mostly to himself. He drops down, testing the angle, the feel of the moment. His heart races, imagining the way you’ll look—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, the way your breath will hitch right before you say yes.

Jack stares down at him, unimpressed. “I feel like I should be flattered, but mostly I feel like an idiot.”

Quinn huffs, looking up at him. “Can you at least pretend to be in love with me?”

Jack stares blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. “Dude. Dude. I cannot take this seriously.” He turns to Luke, who’s adjusting the camera settings. “Are you getting this? The absolute desperation in his eyes?”

Luke barely glances up. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making this worse?” Jack gestures at the setup. “Quinn is professing his undying love to me right now, and I’M the problem?”

Quinn groans, running a hand over his face. “Just shut up and look moved or something.”

Jack schools his expression into something vaguely serious and stares dramatically into the distance. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, voice overly soft. “We’ve been through so much together.”

Luke nearly drops the camera laughing. “Oh my god,” he wheezes.

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate both of you.”

Jack smirks, but he does settle down a little, standing a bit more still as Quinn makes the final adjustments.

After a few minutes of adjusting the lighting and the placement of the photos, Luke finally lifts the camera. “Alright, let’s get a test shot.”

Jack sighs dramatically but stays put. Quinn watches as Luke moves around, snapping photos from different angles. He frowns slightly, tilting the camera to check the preview.

“It looks good,” Luke says slowly, adjusting the focus. “But I think we need—Jack, stop standing like that.”

Jack scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like a dude who is about to ask another dude to prom,” Luke deadpans. “You look so uncomfortable.”

Jack throws his arms out. “Because I am uncomfortable! I am literally standing in the middle of a fake proposal, playing the role of my brother’s girlfriend.”

Quinn shakes his head. “Fine. Just—stand normal.”

Jack exhales sharply but follows instructions, his posture finally settling into something less stiff.

Luke snaps a few more photos before nodding. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the shot.”

Quinn steps back, taking in the clearing one last time. The photos, the lighting, the atmosphere—it’s all exactly how he pictured it. His heart pounds as he exhales, the reality of it hitting him all at once.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you will be standing here.

Tomorrow, you will be the one in front of him when he kneels.

And tomorrow, you will say yes.

Jack claps him on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, Romeo. Can we go now? I have literally never felt more single in my life.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness behind it. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Luke stretches, shoving the camera back into his bag. “You better make this the best proposal of all time, bro. Because if we went through all of this for nothing—”

Quinn grins, confidence settling in his chest. “She’s gonna love it.”

Jack sighs dramatically. “You owe us.”

Quinn just laughs, already imagining how perfect tomorrow will be.

That night, you’re curled up in bed when Quinn finally slips into the room. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he slides beneath the covers, pulling you into his arms.

“You have fun today?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you hum, half-asleep. “Missed you.”

His chest tightens.

He buries his face in your hair, arms tightening around you. “Missed you too.”

You sigh softly, relaxing into him.

Quinn stays awake long after you drift off, heart thudding with anticipation.

One more night.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Proposal Day

The morning sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting a golden glow over the lake house. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air as you lean against the counter, watching the Hughes family settle into their usual breakfast chaos.

Jack is the first to steal the last piece of toast off Luke’s plate, and Luke retaliates by flicking a grape at his forehead. Quinn sighs, stirring his coffee like he’s debating whether it’s worth intervening. Ellen is at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Jim nurses his coffee at the table, reading something on his phone.

Ellen turns toward you with a smile. “I was thinking,” she starts, “since everyone’s here, we should do a nice family dinner tonight.”

Luke perks up. “Ooh, like a fancy dinner? Do I have to wear a button-up?”

“Yes,” Ellen says firmly.

Jack groans dramatically. “Can I at least wear my nice hoodie?”

Jim barely looks up. “No.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee. “A dinner sounds nice.”

Ellen nods. “Good, because I already bought all the stuff.”

Quinn finally speaks, glancing at you. “You should wear that dress you got.”

You arch an eyebrow. “The one you definitely weren’t scheming to get me to buy?”

Jack and Luke both snicker, and Quinn glares at them before turning back to you, feigning innocence. “What? I just think you’d look really nice in it.”

Luke leans in conspiratorially. “You should do it. Mostly because if you don’t, Quinn will spend the entire dinner sulking and staring at you like a sad puppy.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Jack smirks. “Nope. That’s how we end up with emo Quinn, and nobody wants that.”

Quinn groans. “I hate all of you.”

Ellen hides a smile as she flips another pancake. “You love them,” she corrects.

Quinn sighs, shooting you a hopeful glance. “So, the dress?”

You shake your head, amused. “Fine. But if I do, Luke and Jack owe me dessert.”

Luke claps a hand over his heart. “Done.”

Jack nods. “Easiest deal of my life.”

Quinn smiles to himself, satisfied. One step closer.

Dinner starts out promising enough. The table is set, the food looks amazing, and the sunset paints the lake in warm hues. It should be perfect.

And then… things start to go sideways.

First, Luke—being Luke—tries to help bring the dishes to the table and nearly drops the salad bowl. In his panic to save it, he elbows Jack, who’s carrying a basket of rolls. The bread goes flying, one roll landing directly in Jim’s drink.

“Nice,” Jim mutters, plucking it out with a sigh.

Ellen shakes her head, clearly unimpressed but used to this kind of chaos. “Can we go one meal without something ending up on the floor?”

Jack, unfazed, shrugs. “Technically, it landed in Dad’s glass.”

You try to hold back a laugh as Quinn pulls out a chair for you, but the moment you sit, you realize something is… off. The seat wobbles, just enough to be noticeable, and before you can react, one of the legs gives way entirely.

“Shit—”

You barely manage to catch yourself before fully hitting the ground. Quinn moves fast, steadying you before you can completely fall, but the damage is done. Luke is doubled over laughing, and Jack is wheezing so hard he can’t breathe.

“I—” Jack tries, but he’s laughing too hard to finish. “I swear—we didn’t—touch—that chair—”

Quinn glares at them before looking at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, face burning as you straighten up. “Just my pride taking a hit.”

Ellen sighs. “That chair was wobbly this morning. I told you boys to fix it.”

Jack wipes a tear from his eye. “Well, now we know it was definitely broken.”

Dinner resumes, and for a few blessed minutes, everything is normal. The conversation flows, the food is delicious, and you almost forget about the earlier chaos.

Until Luke, in all his wisdom, decides he needs more steak sauce. He reaches across the table, miscalculating just how close his elbow is to your glass of wine.

The second the glass tips, it’s over.

Red wine splashes everywhere—your dress, the table, Quinn’s sleeve.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, pushing back from the table as the cold liquid soaks into the fabric.

Luke freezes. “Oh—oh, shit. Oh, no—”

Ellen is already up, grabbing napkins. “Luke.” Her voice is the kind of exasperated that only comes from years of dealing with sons who can’t sit still. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luke looks at you with pure panic. “I—I can fix this—”

Jack leans back, shaking his head. “Man, you just ruined her dress.”

“I know!” Luke groans, looking like he genuinely feels terrible. “I’ll—uh—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

Quinn, who’s been silent through all of this, takes one look at you and then turns to Luke with the calmest voice imaginable.

“Get up.”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“Get. Up.”

There’s a long pause before Luke, sensing the very real possibility of Quinn throwing him into the lake, slowly pushes his chair back and stands.

Quinn doesn’t hesitate—he grabs Luke’s napkin and dabs at your dress, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I told you not to sit next to her.”

Luke throws his hands up. “How is this my fault?!”

Ellen sighs again. “Alright, alright, it’s just a little wine.” She turns to you. “Honey, let’s go see if we can salvage your dress.”

You follow her inside, but despite her best efforts, the stain refuses to come out.

You sigh, looking at Ellen through the mirror. “Ellen, I think it’s unsalvageable.”

She looks up at you, guilt evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

When you return downstairs, Luke looks like a kicked puppy, eyes glued to the floor. Quinn scans your dress, his jaw tightening.

“Goddammit, Luke,” Quinn mutters.

You step beside him, nudging Luke lightly with your foot. “It’s fine, really,” you say softly.

Quinn exhales, rubbing his jaw before looking at you. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice quieter now, more certain. “Right now.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of the lake. The sound of crickets hums in the background as you and Quinn walk in comfortable silence, his fingers laced through yours. The chaos of dinner fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

“You okay?” you ask softly, glancing up at him.

Quinn exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… today didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

You squeeze his hand. “You had a plan?”

His smile grows slightly. “Believe it or not, yeah. Kind of.”

You smirk. “Well, that was your first mistake.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

You keep walking, but the farther you go, the more familiar the path becomes. It’s only when the trees thin, revealing a quiet clearing, that you realize where he’s leading you. Your steps slow as you take it in.

Strung between the branches, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon and the fairy lights Quinn must have set up earlier, are dozens of photos—memories captured and preserved in time.

Your breath catches as you step forward, reaching out to gently touch one of them. It’s a picture from your first hockey game together, noses nearly pressed together as you grinned at the camera. Another of you mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with joy. One from a lazy morning in bed, sunlight spilling across your tangled limbs.

Every single one tells your story.

You turn back to Quinn, your chest tight with emotion. “You did all this?”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I—I wanted you to see what I see. Every time I look at you, it’s just… it’s all of this. Every moment, every memory, everything that makes us, us.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” he continues, voice quiet but steady. “I had this whole idea in my head—this big, perfect moment. The dinner, the dress, the way tonight was supposed to go.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “And then Luke knocked wine all over you, and Jack wouldn’t stop chirping, and everything kind of fell apart.”

You smile, tilting your head. “Sounds about right.”

Quinn looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah. But then I realized… this is perfect.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost like he’s realizing it in real time. “The chaos, the interruptions, the fact that nothing ever goes exactly how we plan it. That’s us. That’s our life.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He takes a deep breath, then lets go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. And suddenly, he’s kneeling before you, a small velvet box in his palm, slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

“I don’t need the perfect moment,” he says, looking up at you. “I just need you.”

Your heart pounds, your vision blurring as you try to take in everything at once—the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers tremble just slightly around the box, the way the entire world feels like it’s tilting on its axis.

“Marry me?” he asks, voice soft but sure.

You let out a shaky breath, a laugh breaking through the tears already forming in your eyes. “Quinn, of course I’ll marry you.”

A breath of relief escapes him before he grins—grins in that rare, open way he only does when he’s truly happy. He stands quickly, slipping the ring onto your finger before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

You bury your face in his shoulder, laughing through your tears. “God, I love you.”

His grip tightens around you, his voice warm against your ear. “Love you more.”

By the time you and Quinn make it back, hand in hand, the Hughes family is waiting—Jack and Luke perched on the couch, Jim leaning against the counter, and Ellen practically bouncing in place.

Jack spots the ring first. “Oh my god—”

Ellen claps her hands together, her eyes shining. “You said yes?”

You hold up your hand, and the room erupts.

Jack groans dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “I can’t believe this. Quinn won at life.”

Jim claps Quinn on the shoulder with a proud nod, and Ellen pulls you into a tight hug, murmuring how happy she is for you both.

Luke hangs back, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes darting toward you before dropping to the floor. His face is tight, like he’s been debating something in his head.

You don’t give him the chance to overthink it. Without a word, you step toward him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Luke stiffens in surprise before slowly relaxing, exhaling a breath. “I—I really didn’t mean to ruin your dress,” he mumbles, voice small.

You smile against his shoulder. “I know, Luke. It’s just a dress.”

He hesitates before hugging you back, his grip a little tight, like he’s still worried about the whole thing. “I felt really bad.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving a really good speech at the wedding.”

His eyes widen. “Wait—I can do a speech?”

Quinn sighs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I never said that.”

Luke smirks. “You didn’t have to.”

Jack groans. “Oh god, this is gonna be unbearable.”

Quinn shakes his head, pulling you back to his side. “I should’ve proposed in private,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Nah. This is perfect.”

And as the Hughes family falls into their usual rhythm of chirps and laughter, as Quinn’s hand tightens around yours, you know that nothing—no chaos, no spilled wine, no wobbly chairs—could have made this moment any better.

beachy’s notes: hello babes please please, please send me fic requests

[ruinix]

wondering how quinn would react if he read a situation wrong and invited someone to bed w you but you didn’t actually want it. idk it feels like prime opportunity for hurt/comfort.

like maybe you start to feel insecure and wonder if what you give him is enough and he just feels so bad about fucking up like that

Hello, lovely. It took me so long. March to May timeline is so 😭 sorry. Sorry. This is kinda hard to do ngl. [I had this in my draft (here in tumblr after festering in my blurb file) for months 😭]. Anyway, it's always best to talk with your partner before you consider trying new things—inviting someone, new kinks, anything—in bedroom or not.

18+. Thoughts. Hurt/Comfort. Miscommunication (aka Quinn jumped the gun and thought he was doing what's best), unnamed friend/character. Angst. ⬇️

The moment he saw your frown, the tears welling up in your eyes, the tremble of your hands, as you stared him then at his friend then back at him from the doorway, Quinn knew he fucked up. Hell, even his friend was gaping at him before glaring, taking offense from this shitshow. Because it was a shitshow. A miscalculation. A huge fuck up.

Quinn thought you were hinting that you wanted to sleep with his friend—let him join you two or at least do things with him—in chance to "spice things up". He saw your growing library of why choose novels. He saw how you interact with his friend, how you smile and slide your arm through his, how you laugh at his jokes, and how melt against his friend when he hugged you as a greeting. Quinn thought…he thought that you wanted him too. Clearly, you did but not in a sexual way. Fuck. He was so fucking stupid for thinking more about your friendship.

The weirdest thing about you interacting with his friend was that if it turned sexual, he didn’t fucking mind it. Not a single drop of jealousy. Not even discomfort—

No, that wasn't right. Those were lies. Lies he tried to feel. He felt them all. He was jealous, only wanting to keep you to himself. He hated the way his friend for touching even if it was only platonically. But he did force himself not to mind it. He had to or he would go insane. He kept reminding himself that you were happy. He wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to have everything you wanted. That it should be enough for him. Quinn realized now that he was just too fucked in the head.

Now his heart ached like it was being split in half especially when your tears drop, when you hold the doorframe like you were ready to bolt because you were too scared of him, when you were clearly spiraling in your head. All because of him.

Idiot. He was an idiot. He ruined everything. Everything between you two. Plus with his friend. Fuck.

His friend continued to glare at him, because, of course, Quinn didn’t directly say anything to him—or you. He only told him to come up to you and Quinn’s shared bedroom. Only when you arrived did Quinn drop the proposal which encompassed giving him a free pass at you. Not the exact words, but it was basically what he said.

Asshole, that was what he was. He should've talked to you before hand, should've checked if he wasn't just making shit up in his head.

He should apologize. He should. But his throat suddenly felt dry and heavy like a lump forming there. His chest squeezed the more tears escaped you. He couldn’t breathe. He did this. He felt the crack forming, cleaving his connection with you like it was simply a dry piece of wood for fodder. He would lose you. He was—is—losing you.

His friend was cussing him out now, before turning towards the door, grabbing at your hand which made you flinch. Now, that alarmed him. You were getting scared and his friend doesn't seem to see how you cower, how your skin paled when his hand wrapped around your forearm. You were scared, so scared, that you still looked towards Quinn for help after what he had done.

"Come on. Let’s leave Quinn to his delusion—"

"Let go of her." Quinn kept his voice levelled, not wanting to scare you further. When his friend looked like he was about to say something, not realizing that he had tightened his grip on you, Quinn stepped forward. He felt like he was being thrown into space. He felt both present and not, like a film was blurring his vision now. His body got heavier and heavier as he tried not to pummel the guy for his death grip. "Let her go. You're hurting her."

Instantly, you were let go and you immediately stepped back against a wall, eyes going to Quinn and his friend, again and again.

"I know that I fucked up. I blindsided both of you, but I need to talk to Y/N first. Please." It took all of Quinn not to drop to his knees. He wanted to seek your forgiveness and his friend's. "Please. My love, please."

Quinn collapsed onto the bed, utterly defeated. He stared at you. Only you. He could barely hear his friend cursing him out after you finally nodded. He left but his absence only emphasized the rift Quinn made between you two. He didn't know where to begin.

"I thought you would want it. I viewed your friendship differently. I was jealous, but I don't want to lose you. I just thought if you...we... if I let him in, I could still have you. Fuck. I'm sorry, my Love." He could see exactly how his words cut through you. "I am wrong."

"You are," you gritted out, moving to the chair in the corner of the room, glaring at him now. "Even if you're right, the first step to these things were to tell me. He'll only be my friend. Nothing more. I don't even know if I can face him again after this..." Your anger simmered back down to hurt. "Have I ever shown that I only love you? Just you, Quinn? Have I not shown my love enough that you think I want anyone else? Am I not enough?"

"You are," he said, faster than he would like, his heart breaking when it made you flinch. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Don't be scared of me." His voice cracked. "You're always enough."

'I'm not,' was what he wanted he add. But he kept that to himself. He had done enough damage. Heavy. He felt heavy. He doubted what he felt was worse than what you were feeling. It would never be. He could see the shutters coming down your eyes. You were shutting him out and it was all deserved.

"Let me fix this." He offered his hand to you. When you only stared, for seconds turning into minutes, his hand shook, his tears finally falling. His throat was closing up. He closed his eyes to prevent more tears from escaping. He leaned forward, head bowing in all the shame he felt. "I beg you."

Still, nothing. No warmth of your hand on his. No you in his arms. This was it. He had lost you. Slowly, his hand started to fall as the weight on his shoulders and chest doubled.

Then it happened. Your shaky hand grabbed his. Before he could say anything, you sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his torso. Your legs followed. Your sniffles were so loud in his ears that he couldn't stop his own from falling anymore.

"I don't want to sleep with anybody other than you, Quinn. I don't to. Don't even suggest it again. Please." You sobbed, burying your face on the crook of his neck. "Don't give me away."

"I don't want to." He hugged you tightly. "I don't want you to leave me," he finally confessed. It made you look at him, so he continued, "I tried to give you what I thought wanted, because I feared that you may leave me if I can't do it."

"Why would you even think that?" You asked, extremely confused.

"Your books. You being so at ease with him." It all sounded so fucking dumb when he said it outloud, but it was the truth. He held your cheeks. He wiped your tears, prying your lip from your teeth. "I was jealous and I coped wrong. Instead of talking to you, I made assumptions. I blindsided you and my friend. I'm sorry."

"I made you jealous?" You asked. He nodded. "Tell me what I did. Please."

He did. He told you, averting his gaze when he explained how sometimes he felt upset when you have prolonged hugs with your friends—men, women, anyone—but most especially with his friend. He explained that when he saw your increasing library of why-choose novels added flame to his jealousy. That only thing his fogged up brain came up to keep you was to invite his friend over.

"I know it's dumb. I hurt you because of it. I hate myself for hurting you. I'm sorry. I don't want you change. You can still read your books. You can still hug my friend and yours. You can do everything you want. You have every right to do anything." He inhaled, pausing. "I feel your love every day. You're always enough. Not me. I don't think I'm good for you if I get jealous. Especially now, after I fucked up—"

"You fucked up," you cut him off. As if you saw how much he was waiting for more harsh words to cut him down, you grabbed his cheeks, making him face you, "But that doesn't mean I love you less. I hear you, Quinn. I wish this didn't happen but if it didn't, I wouldn't have known that I'm hurting you. I wish you've told me this sooner."

"Yeah, I should've told you," he said it, not only pertaining to his issues, but also to his fuck up. Now, he sees your eyes, so clear, so open for him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know."

"But I did." His tears fell.

You nodded. "I understand now." You inhaled a deep breath. "I hurt you too."

He shook his head.

"I did," you insisted, willing him to agree. He kept quiet, because it was his own issues. "Quinn, I did. I was too touchy and it made you uncomfortable and jealous. I didn't even realize. I'm sorry. I will be less touchy, limit my books—"

"I don't want you to change." Quinn's breaths picked up.

"Slight changes, Quinny. I will still hug my friends but not as long. I will read my books, and tell you," you pause, "every male character is always you. Different forms of Quinn. I will tell you exactly how I picture the different characters in your form."

His heart picked up. He was slightly confused about what you said about the books, but hearing you say the slight limits of your physical contacts with your friends eased his soul.

"Okay." He nodded.

"Good." You nodded too. "You communicate here, Quinn. Promise me."

"I promise." He gripped you tighter. "I only wanted you for myself. I don't to give you away. I love you. I'm sorry."

You smiled, sniffling, letting him dry your tears. "You still have to make up with your friend. Tell him I don't want him, hmm?"

Quinn agreed, savoring your feel on his lap. While you were kind, letting him speak his mind, understanding where he was coming from, he didn't think his friend would. He knew that he might get a punch across his jaw, but Quinn would take it. He deserved it. But he wouldn't let this—himself—break his friendship. He would say his apologies. He would do it all.

But for now, all he wanted was to bask in your attention. Because this was what he wanted. Your attention on him. Your love pouring out to mend the pieces of his heart together. He only wished he was doing the same for you.

So while you two hugged one another, he kept whispering his 'sorry's and his 'i love you's.

He wouldn't stop until you were physically pushing him so you could get off him. So he could mend his friendship.

Still, he would linger by the doorway, gazing at you like you would disappear, only turning away when you smiled at him and when you told him your encouragement.

He was lucky to have you. He would spend the rest of his life to prove himself to you.

Through his love. Through his words. Through his actions.

Sorry if it's not that great. I did my best 😔😔😔

[lovecla]

STUCK WITH YOU ; QUINN HUGHES.

❄︎ pair: quinn hughes x y/n.

❄︎ synopsis: of all the things y/n thought she was going to do on christmas eve, being stuck with her sister’s brother-in-law, quinn hughes, wasn't one of them.

❄︎ word count: 5.6k

❄︎ chapter warnings: unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, use of the word slut (once), softdom!quinn, dirty talk.

💌 from me to you: merry christmas, babies 🩶 i hope all of you had a great time and lots of delicious food. 1st of all, i’d like to apologise bc i got carried away with the word count! 2nd of all, i’m sorry about how dirty this is… this was supposed to be wholesome and cute but i don’t know what happened 😭 sorry…. anyways, as always, forgive me for this poorly written smut and share with me your thoughts! i love you! ♡

𖧷

Ever Since your sister started dating one of the most known hockey players, Luke Hughes, your life changed— for the better, that is. It’s not like you’re used to all the attention, but it’s nice to attend parties and meet your favorite hockey players for free.

But, the only issue you didn’t see coming when she announced that she was, in fact, very much in love with the youngest of the Hughes brothers is that now you have to constantly coexist with your long time celebrity crush, Quinn Hughes.

It’s an old thing, your situation with Quinn Hughes. You first started noticing him during his time in college, when he was just eighteen.

None of your friends understood what was so special about him but you just told them they didn’t have to: Quinn Hughes is one of the most attractive men you have ever seen, and you’ll stand by that until the end of your days.

When your sister decided that she would make Luke Hughes hers, you remember laughing and saying: He’ll be yours when Quinn Hughes’s mine.

Turns out, Luke is your sister’s.

And, well. Quinn’s not yours.

When you’re around him, during dinners and parties, you almost don’t even acknowledge him. It’s just because you don’t know how to be around him without immediately blushing and cringing at your own words.

It’s like you’re a teenager all over again, but what else can you do, really. He’s attractive, he’s funny and he cares about the people he loves; you cannot not be in love with someone like him.

But now you’re his brother’s sister in law and have been for the past year. You have been doing a great job at not staying in the same room as him for too long, and even if you can come off as rude or mean, it’s better than to get caught while watching him with lovey eyes.

It’s December 24th, and you’re on your way to your sister’s house, where you’d spend Christmas with her— and since she’s only arriving later that night because of work, you’ll be there earlier to arrange things for her.

You’re annoyed by the fact that she has to work until late during Christmas time but at least you’ll get to spend the night with at least one of your family members, since your parents are out of town.

What’s also annoying is the fact that it’s cold and snowing. Not just normal, winter type of snow but North-Pole type of snow. You’re shivering inside your car, because your heater is broken and you stupidly decided that it’d be a great idea to wear just leggings and a sweatshirt.

You park in front of her house, sighing and trying to move as fast as your frozen limbs could. You’re also carrying a hundred bags with you, because decorating is your favorite part of Christmas and knowing your sister and her workaholic personality, you know that she probably doesn’t even have her tree out of her attic yet— so you’ll have to do the whole decorating thing by yourself.

Which you silently prefer because there’s nothing you hate more when people try to dictate where your ornaments should go.

You ring her doorbell first, before dumbly realizing that she’s probably at work already, so you just start looking for the spare key she gave you when the door opens, making you lift your head up with a smile, only to drop it two seconds later.

“Oh.”

Quinn’s looking back at you with a polite smile, and you’re not sure that what you’re seeing is actually real because why the hell would Quinn Hughes be at your sister’s house during Christmas?

“Hi, Y/n.” He says, leaning against the door frame.

You frown without even noticing it. Why didn’t she warn you that he would be at her house?

You’ve been staring at him for what feels to be hours, when he speaks again: “Aren’t you… cold?”

You realize that he’s right and you are cold. Cold and tired because you’re still holding the heavy bags, so you just nod and watch as he opens the door more and reaches for the bags in your hand, picking all four of them up like they’re not heavy at all and letting you in.

You’re still in shock and shivering when you close the door behind you, welcoming the warm air inside the house, thankful for your sister’s amazing heating system.

Quinn walks back to the living room and you grab your phone, dialing your sister’s number and putting the phone against your ear.

“Y/n? Are you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me he would be at your place?!” You shout slash whisper, hiding behind her clothes rack.

“Who’s he? Why are you whispering?”

“What do you mean who’s he?” You hiss. “I’m talking about him!”

“Who’s… Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Her laugh makes you blush. “I didn’t think he’d arrive so soon. I told him he could come later because you’d be the only one there so I just guessed… well. Nevermind.”

“What do I do?!” you sound so desperate it’s almost funny. “I can’t be here! You know I—”

“Y/n, stop freaking out. It’s just Quinn,” you can almost hear her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Go decorate and do all that stuff you like to do during Christmas. I’ll pick up the food goodies when I leave work, so please just… be normal.”

“What do you mean be normal I can’t—”

“I gotta go. I love you. Bye.”

She hangs up the call and leaves you staring at your phone screen, contemplating how you would scape when it was so cold outside and Quinn’s already seen you so—

“Y/n? Are you playing hide and seek?”

You immediately get out of your sister’s clothes and smile awkwardly, almost opening the front door and standing in the middle of the road, waiting for someone to run you over.

“No, I—” you stutter, looking everywhere but him. “I was just… talking to my sister…”

“I see,” he says. “Is she okay? It’s snowing outside, and you’re still shivering.”

How the hell did he notice that?, you ask yourself, before nodding.

“She is, yeah. She’s working.”

You step further inside the house, walking past Quinn like he’s some type of virus. Besides the huge tree sitting in the corner by the TV, your sister’s house is poorly decorated, just like you predicted, so at least you’ll have something to busy yourself with until she arrives.

“She told me she’d work until late and she said I could come and help you out with your decorations until she and Luke arrive.” He explains, and you turn around, raising your eyebrow at him, confused.

“Luke’s coming?” You ask.

“He is, yes.”

“I thought… I thought you guys would spend Christmas with your parents.” You say, because that’s what you heard your sister saying.

“Well, they’re coming too,” he chuckles, putting his hand inside his front pockets. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you anything?”

“No, I thought—” you start, but then you bite your lips, giving up mid-sentence. You didn’t want to sound rude by saying I thought it’d be the two of us only so you just stay quiet. “Nevermind. It’s nice that you all get to spend Christmas together.”

Quinn stares at you for a few seconds before nodding. “I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

You frown, shaking your head.

“I’m not, I promise. I just wasn’t expecting all of you,” you reply, embarrassed. “I brought my Grinch sweater…”

He laughs, and you have to stop yourself from smiling too.

“It’s okay. I’ll wear my Cindy Lou one.”

You want to yell at him and tell him to stop being nice, but you already know that’s just how he is. That’s one of the reasons you like him so much.

You look outside your sister’s big window and frown, noticing that the snow is only falling faster, and the street is white everywhere now. Even your car is barely visible.

“It’s getting ugly,” you say, pressing your lips into a line. “I hope it stops soon.”

“I don’t know about that…” he comments, sitting on the couch next to your bags. “I did see a blizzard warning in my weather app today.”

“What?” you almost shout. “Are you sure it was for today?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s why I came earlier. I thought it was dangerous for you to stay here alone.”

You want to ask him what one thing has to do with the other but you’re too busy blushing over his sentence to do anything else.

“I’d be just fine, but thank you,” you mumble. Sighing, you look down at your clothes. “I’m going to change and then start decorating.” You announce, not even sure why.

“You should probably put on something warmer,” he looks down at your clothes before running his fingers through his hair. “It’d be a shame if you caught a cold.”

You don’t say anything, just nod and make your way to your sister’s bedroom, happy that you’re both the same size. Once you find a comfort, two piece set wool outfit, you grab it and change, immediately welcoming the warmth it brings.

You also spend more time in your sister’s bedroom than you should, sitting on her bed and contemplating what you should do.

It’s not like Quinn’s a bad person or someone difficult to be around, but you get shy really easily and he happens to master the art of making you embarrassed, even if it’s not in a bad way.

He’s probably not even aware of it, too, because he’s just a really kind person and that’s just how he treats everyone he likes.

He doesn’t like us, your brain reminds you, he’s just polite.

Whatever.

You get back to the living room and find him still sitting on the couch, watching some random, Christmas movie. You reach for your bags, trying to open them as silently as you could, not wanting to disturb him.

You remove the plastic boxes full of ornaments and distribute them around you, separating them by color and size. It’s therapeutic to you, and it helps to calm your brain down.

Soon, the fact that Quinn’s in the same room as you, alone, doesn’t even cross your mind. You’re having fun decorating your sister’s empty tree, making it beautifully decorated and ready for the night.

After what’s probably thirty minutes, you reach for the last item inside your boxes, which is a bright, yellow star, heavily bedazzled. It’s been yours since you and your sister moved out of your parents’ house and you love it more than all of your other Christmas decorations combined.

The only issue is that it should sit on top of the tree, and usually it wouldn’t be a problem, because your sister had been letting you decorate her tiny tree for the past years, and you’ve been able to reach it just fine. But this year she decided that she wanted to challenge you and she bought a tall one, so now you can’t really reach the top, and you only realize it after jumping for a few minutes and not even touching the top once.

“Do you need any help?”

Quinn’s calm voice startles you, and you hold back a scream. You had forgotten that he was sitting just behind you, and probably had been watching you embarrassing yourself for the past three minutes.

You’re feeling your cheeks warm when you answer: “No, I… well. Maybe?”

He chuckles, getting up. “Does your sister have a ladder?”

“No, she doesn’t,” you roll your eyes. “She says someone as tall as her should do just fine without one.”

“I don’t understand,” he laughs. “She’s just a few inches taller than you. There’s barely a difference.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” You say, annoyed. “I can just grab a chair—”

“No, let me help you.” He walks towards you, and when you’re just about to tell him he’s not going to reach the top by himself either he does something that sends you to another world.

He picks you up effortlessly, putting you down on his left shoulder, and hands you the star like he wasn’t holding another human on one of his shoulders.

You put the star on the top of the tree, moving automatically because your brain hasn't been working properly ever since you stepped into your sister’s house.

“Are you done?” he asks, and he doesn’t even sound tired. “Do you need me to hand you anything else or—”

“No, you can… put me down, please.” You mumble, blushing as he grabs your waist and slowly pulls you down until your feet are touching the floor.

He’s standing behind you, chest glued to your back, and you hold back a yelp, stepping away like his touch is deadly.

“Uh, thanks?” It sounds like a question, but you don’t repeat it again. You turn around, watching as he smiles and nods.

“It looks great, Y/n.”

You also smile, because you always do it whenever people compliment your decorations skills. “Thanks. Again.”

“Well,” he shrugs, looking around. “What do you want to do now?”

You mimic his move, looking around your sister’s living room.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you hum. “Maybe set the table? I know it’s early but—”

“Yeah. We can definitely do that.” He starts walking towards the kitchen and you freak out.

“What!” you yell, and he stops, turning back around and looking at you with confused, pretty eyes. “I mean— what do you mean we?”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I thought I could help.”

“Are you… like… serious?” You frown.

He frowns back. “I was, yes… are you one of those people who don’t like when people try to help because you’re afraid they’ll end up messing up with your arrangements?”

“Well, yes and no,” you laugh, only to shake your head after. “But it’s not that. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never seen a man get up to help before. Especially during Christmas.”

He seems to take a while to process what you had just said, but then he laughs, beautifully you’d say.

“They weren’t raised by Ellen Hughes, Y/n. I was.”

You smile, realizing you were utterly fucked. And not in a good way.

You and Quinn worked in silence, and even though you almost dropped the plates twice with how nervous you were, this moment will probably keep repeating itself forever inside your head, from the moment you wake up to the moment you'll go to sleep.

He’s calm and he listens to each one of your orders without hesitation, just nodding and doing as you say. He carries the heavy stuff and just lets you busy yourself with making everything pretty, which you do.

You’re about to tell him that you’re done when the TV catches your attention.

“Good evening, and Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. This is Nicholas Edwards reporting live with an urgent weather alert. It’s shaping up to be a Christmas Eve like no other—because we are in the midst of a blizzard that shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.”

“Oh my God,” you hear someone saying, and realize that it was you. You move until you’re standing in front of the TV, covering your mouth with your right hand.

“Right now, snow is coming down at an incredible rate, with visibility dropping rapidly. Winds are gusting up to 40 miles per hour, creating near whiteout conditions in many areas. And the latest forecast? The snow isn’t expected to stop until early tomorrow morning—Christmas Day! That means we’re looking at significant snowfall totals, possibly more than 18 inches in some spots.”

“Oh my God,” you repeat, looking at Quinn before looking back at the TV again.

“Officials are urging everyone to stay indoors tonight. If you don’t absolutely need to be out, don’t risk it. Roads are treacherous, power outages are a real possibility, and emergency crews are working hard to keep up.”

“What about my sister and your family?” you ask, almost rhetorically, because you know Quinn knows just as much as you. “They can’t come now because it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll try to call my parents,” he says, reaching for his phone already. “Can you call your sister, please?”

“Already doing it.” You say, dialing your sister’s number.

“So… you saw the news.” Is the first thing she says after picking up and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Quinn and I did,” you say. “What are we going to do? It’s not safe for you to drive around and you’re definitely not driving thirty minutes back to your house in this weather.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs. “Luke and I are together, though. He saw the news before I did and drove me to his and Jack’s apartment since it’s closer to my workplace…”

“So, you’ll stay at their place?” You frown.

“What else can I do, right?” she chuckles, but you can tell she’s just as upset as you. “At least you’re stuck with the sibling that knows how to cook.”

“Hey!” You hear one of Quinn’s brothers, probably Jack, yelling in the back.

“You’re probably right,” you mumble. “Well. We’ll see each other tomorrow then?”

“‘Course we will, bubba,” she sounds joyful again. “Merry Christmas, Y/n. I love you. Tell Quinn I said Merry Christmas to him too!”

“I will,” you nod, even though you know she can’t see you. “I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You stare at your phone screen until it turns black, and sigh. Quinn finishes his phone call and stares at you, blue, fond eyes looking at you with care.

“I guess you heard the same thing as me.” He says and you nod.

“They’re not coming.”

“And neither are my parents,” he sighs. “They’re stuck in their hotel. They’re not letting people leave.”

“God, this sucks,” you grunt, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “We don’t even have food. My sister was supposed to pick it up after she finished her shift but…”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” Quinn says and you can tell he’s trying to sound positive. “Come on, stop pouting.”

You frown. “I wasn’t pouting.”

“Yes, you were,” he smiles. “You do that whenever something doesn’t go your way.”

“I— how do you even know that?” You ask, genuinely amused. He just shrugs and walks back to the kitchen, leaving you and your one hundred thoughts about him alone. “Quinn!”

Dinner goes well. It’s silent and calm, but not in an embarrassing, awkward way. Quinn knows how to cook really well, and his food makes you hold yourself back so you won’t kiss him.

His lips probably taste amazing, just like the rest of him. Sometimes, when your thoughts about how Quinn could make you feel good are too much, you slip your hands under your covers and touch yourself, while imagining your hands are his.

You always feel so deeply embarrassed afterwards, and it takes you a while to convince yourself that you’re not a maniac and getting horny after thinking of your sister’s boyfriend's incredibly hot brother is lowkey expected, because he looks like a God.

You both returned to your bedrooms after the clock hit midnight and you both called your families, with you sleeping in your sister’s room and Quinn sleeping in the spare bedroom.

Although, you haven’t even thought about closing your eyes and going to sleep, because you know you won’t be able to— not when Quinn has been nothing but kind to you the entire night and definitely not when he’s only two doors away from you.

You can feel your body starting to get hot, and you want to shout at it, telling yourself to let it go, because you and Quinn won’t ever be a thing.

You look at the clock sitting on your sister’s bedside table and sigh, reading the late hours. Two thirty-six a.m. and you’re nowhere near Dreamland.

Even though you’re basically at the entrance of Hornyland.

Shaking your head, you get up, deciding to brew some chamomile tea for you, since it always helps you feel sleepier and, hopefully, less horny.

The lukewarm air hits your bare thighs and you’re reminded that you’re not wearing any pants— just one of your sister’s oversized sweaters and panties.

You look around the dark house, watching as snow continues to fall outside, and make your way to the kitchen, walking past Quinn’s closed door and trying not to make any sound.

And you would’ve been successful with your task, if it weren’t for the one plastic cup that fell out of the cupboard when you tried to grab your sister’s kettle.

It fell on the floor and bounced three times before you managed to grab it again. You waited to see if you would hear Quinn’s door open, but since you didn’t, you moved on with your task. While you waited for your water to boil, you leaned against your sister’s island, resting your chin in your hand.

“I thought you were asleep.”

This time, you don’t hold back the yelp that comes out of your mouth. You were so worried about waking Quinn up that you hadn’t considered the fact that he, just like you, might as well not have been able to sleep.

He’s sitting on your sister’s couch, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, looking at you with an indecipherable expression. His entire body is illuminated by the moonlight, and he looks gorgeous.

“Quinn. You scared me,” you put your hand over your heart, feeling your cheeks warm when you realize the movement made your sweater go up, and now Quinn probably saw your underwear. “Uh—”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he gets up, and he does look apologetic. He gets closer to where you were standing and you can help but take a take back. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “No. You?”

“I can’t either,” he says. “Too many thoughts.”

You desperately want to ask him what kind of thoughts are keeping him away from his bed, but you remember that it isn’t your place. And the best thing you can do for yourself right now is stay away from him.

“I— I’ll leave you to it then—”

“Why are you always running away from me?”

His serious tone makes you stop. You look up and stare at his eyes, looking like a child who had just been caught eating sweets before dinner.

Your answer is only natural: “I’m not?”

“Yes, you are,” he steps closer, and the distance between the two of you is now shorter. “Did I do something?”

“What?” you gasp. “No, of course not!”

“Then, you just don’t like me?”

“Gosh, why is it with the Hughes that you’re always so straightforward?” you mumble, frustrated. “I promise you, nothing’s wrong.”

“Is it because you want me to fuck you?” He raises his brow and you almost drop dead in front of him.

“What.”

It’s almost comical how your eyes double in size and how your mouth opens, just like in the cartoons. You’re trying really hard not to pack your things and leave, because you’re sure something possessed Quinn.

“I’m not dumb, y’know,” he starts. “I can tell when someone’s interested in me, and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Quinn—”

“At first,” he continues, paying you no mind. “I thought you were just shy. Then, I realized you only acted that way with me, but I thought you just didn’t like me. But…”

He lifts his hand up and caresses your cheek, the touch making you shiver instantly.

“Would someone who doesn’t like me stare at me like you do?” He keeps touching your face, the light feather touches barely there, but keeping you restless anyway. “It’s so sweet when you blush like that.”

“Quinn…” you try, once again. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I—”

“Uncomfortable?” he chuckles, like the word alone is enough to make him laugh. “No, sweetheart, you made me hard.”

You blush, thankful that the moonlight isn’t enough to show your red cheeks. “O-Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he smiles, lifting your face just slightly with his thumb on your chin. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

I thought you’d never ask, you think. “Yes,” is what you say.

His lips taste like peppermint and his touch on your skin feels like fire. He presses your body against the counter, the cold marble hitting the back of your naked thighs and making you shiver.

It was a pleasant contrast, though: the warmth of his hands holding you close with the coldness of the stone making you shiver.

He kissed you fervently and you moaned inside his mouth, forgetting your shyness and running your fingers through his silky, soft hair. It was like opening presents on Christmas morning, because ever since you were a teenager you’ve been wanting to get your hands on him and now—

“You were right,” you say, breathless. Quinn tilts his head to the side, confused. “I want you to f-fuck me.”

He smirks, mischievously, and it’s probably one of the hottest things you have ever seen.

“Here?” he asks, chuckling.

“No,” you laugh. “My sister would kill me.”

“Mhm.” It’s all he says before picking you up once again, manhandling you however he wanted for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

His bed is untouched when he lays you on it, a clear signal that he hadn’t even laid on it yet. Your sweater rode up, leaving your belly and your panties exposed.

Even though you’re not the type of girl to get embarrassed while having sex, you can feel your cheeks getting warm under Quinn’s lustful gaze. You have imagined this situation so many times before but you never actually thought your dreams would come true, so all of this is still hard for you to take in.

“I can actually hear your brain thinking, Y/n,” Quinn chuckles, standing in front of you. The outline of his dick is so noticeable it has your mouth dry.

“It’s not everyday your crush of years take you to bed,” you let out, only realising what you had just said when you watch his eyebrow going up, and a malicious smile decorate his beautiful face. “I mean—”

“Trust me, Y/n, if I hadn’t spent the last year thinking you hated me, you would’ve ended up in my bed from the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

He leans forward, then starts to pull your panties down. It’s embarrassing to say the least because you know that the fabric which was once pearly, cotton white, is now transparent and ruined. Quinn doesn’t seem to mind that— in fact, the smirk on his face just continues to grow.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby,” he says, and you almost choke on your own spit. “Been thinking about you for so long I’m half convinced this is just another dream.”

He drops your underwear somewhere, and places his index finger between your wet folds, the cold touch contrasting with your hotness. He rubs, up and down, slowly and steady. It has you biting your lips, hard.

“Was it like that with you too, Y/n?” he asks, tone one octave deeper. “Endless dreams of how I would fuck you senseless, leave you wet and whimpering in my sheets, pussy dripping with my cum.”

He kept getting closer to your clit each time he opened his mouth to talk, but he still wasn’t touching it, which was starting to frustrate you.

“Quinn—”

“I’d always wake up hard, with my dick throbbing inside my pants, and you know what I’d do?”

He places his finger on your engorged clit, but doesn’t do anything, just— waits.

“Ask me what I would do, Y/n.” He orders, and you moan before complying.

“What, ah, what would you do?” you ask, and he starts moving his finger again. “Ah.”

“I’d fuck my hand. Wrap my dick around them, holding it tightly, imagining it was your cunt squeezing me like that,” he confesses, opening your legs more, leaving you spread in front of him like you’re nothing but a cheap whore. “And I’d come so hard, imagining I was filling you up. In the next morning, I’d shake hands with you, watching you give me that sweet smile of yours, not even knowing that I had just used it to touch myself while imagining it was you.”

He pressed two fingers on your hole, making you clench around nothing while he seemed to be having fun with your struggle.

“Was it like that with you, too?” he asks again, but you can tell by his reaction that he wasn’t expecting you to answer. Yet, you do it anyway.

“N-not dreams,” you breathe, as he inserts two of his fingers inside you, blue eyes never leaving yours. “When I couldn’t sleep, I’d, ah, touch myself, and pretend it was you.”

“Yeah?” he hums, sinking his fingers deeper inside you, the wet sound of sex leaving you dizzy. “Such a naughty, little slut.”

You moan, and Quinn stops holding back as he starts finger fucking you, finding your sweet spot and curling his fingers up until he had you trashing under him. You took pride in knowing your body and mastering the art of touching yourself, but not even in your wildest dreams you’d imagine that having something inside you could feel this good.

You’re not even holding back your sounds, you just let Quinn hear how insane he drives you, and good you’re feeling. You have your eyes closed— because holding eye contact with Quinn might be too much for you to handle— and your boobs exposed, since your sweater rode all the way up.

You can feel your orgasm starting to build up and just when you’re about to warn Quinn about it, he pulls his fingers back, making you cry, loudly.

“Wha— why?” you sound needy and desperate but you pay it no mind.

Quinn smiles, so sweet and kind that you wouldn’t even imagine what came out of his mouth afterwards.

“You’ll come on my cock tonight, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

The rest of what happens is basically history.

He removes his sweatpants and his dick hits his stomach, the tip almost purple with how red it was. The precum leaking from it made you lick your lips, imagining how good it would feel to have that in your mouth.

He throws the pants somewhere, and lays on top of you, right in the middle of your spread thighs. He looks down and holds his dick, rubbing it up and down on your folds, mixing your wetness with his, and just the view is almost enough to make you come.

He rubs the tip on your clit, and you watch as your swollen, needy button throbs under the nasty touch, and how your pussy leaves his dick glistening with how wet you were.

“I’ll fuck you now, okay?” His voice is calm, and soft, different from previously. You nod, smiling shyly. “Words, baby.”

“‘Mkay,” you answer, closing your eyes as he inserts himself inside you, slowly.

You can feel your walls opening up for him, and even though you’ve had sex before, nothing will ever top this. He’s thick, and you can feel him everywhere, deeper and deeper.

“Holy shit, Quinn,” you say, turning your hands into fists.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he hisses, putting his hands on each side of your face. “Squeezing me so good, fuck, Y/n, I might come in seconds if you keep squeezing me like that.”

He removes his dick from you, leaving just the tip, only to slam it back in you, fucking you senseless, just like he told you. The smell of sex and sweat filled the room almost as quick as the tears fell from your eyes, the feeling of finally getting what— or who— you wanted making you cry tears of joy.

He kept fucking you, and once his lips found yours once again, you knew you were done. You came on his dick, like he said you’d do, moaning inside his mouth and pulling his hair, harshly.

“Fuck, Quinn, uh,” you inhaled his scent as his naked body engulfed yours completely. “Fuck, fuck.”

“It’s like you were made to, uh, take my cock,” he grunts, his thrusts getting sloppier, a clear sign that he was about to come. “Say it, baby, tell me what you were made for.”

“Quinn—”

“Say it, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“I was made to take y-your cock,” you sob. “O-only yours.”

“Only mine?” you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Only yours.”

“Good,” thrust, “Girl.” Thrust.

He takes his dick out of you just a few seconds before he comes, and the loss of it makes you whimper and hide your face in his neck. The warm feeling of his come against your used, swollen cunt is enough to get another orgasm out of you, even if a little bit weaker this time.

You both stay silent, only the sounds of your breaths filling up the room. The weight of his body on top of you is comforting, and even though you know he’s not putting all of his weight on top of you, you feel safe either way.

“Thank you,” you mumble, barely audible, since your face is still in his neck.

He chuckles, breathless. “What are you saying thank you for, baby? I should be the one saying thank you.”

“You just made all of my wet dreams come true,” you explain. “Even if we’re probably going to hell because no one should be having sex on Christmas.”

Quinn laughs and rolls to the side, resting his head on the pillow. “Touché, sweetheart, touché,” he turns his head to the side and looks at you. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Quinny.”

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist.

[puckinghischier]

Hiiii happy new year! I absolutely adore your quinnxreader fics! I loved the one about his brothers asking her questions and calling her all the time because they love her so much! Would you consider writing more about that?

Maybe about their dynamic in person, meeting over Christmas or summer or something!??

Have a great day!

oh listen when the four of you are together for long periods of time? you’re convinced you and quinn will never have to have kids, because you’re gonna be parenting jack and luke for the rest of your lives.

like meeting at the lake house over the summer. even if ellen and jim are there with everyone, luke and jack still bug you with any and every question they have.

“y/n! what should i eat for lunch?”

“y/n! where’s the remote?”

“y/n! have you seen my swimming trunks?”

every time you take a breath, one of them is yelling for you for help, or advice, or nothing at all. jack is a regular at shouting your name from wherever he is in the house just to show you some video on his phone, or ask you how to spell a word for a text he’s sending.

quinn and ellen have both scolded them numerous times to leave you alone and quit treating you like a maid, but you don’t tell them you secretly love it. you hate that they’re acting like toddlers that can’t fend for themselves, but you love the comfort level they have with you to do it all.

and it’s not like they don’t return the favor.

you always manage to get a summer cold when you come to the lake house. you don’t know if it’s the water mixed with the chilly nights or the fact you’re always on the go and never resting, but you somehow always get a case of the sniffles for a few days each summer.

whenever it happens, jack and luke dote on you like you’re bedridden. constantly bringing you snacks and meds and juice. asking if you need anything, watching movies with you and quinn while all four of you cuddle on the couch.

ellen never fails to snap a picture of the occasion, all of her kids (you included) safe and sound under one roof, a rare occurrence in her world.

now, you have your own moments visiting the two youngest brothers, missing them just as badly as they miss you sometimes. when quinn is away on a particularly long road trip and jack and luke have a few home games, you’re booking a flight and off to see them.

you can always see how excited they are to have you at their games, making sure you have the best seats and even buying you a custom split hughes sweater, so you never have to choose one over the other.

they tell all of their teammates you’re coming and gesture to you throughout the whole game, making sure you saw that save, or watched them score a goal.

you go out with them after games and send quinn lots of pictures of his drunk, idiot brothers singing karaoke and displaying terrible dance moves.

quinn loves seeing you have the friendship with his brothers that you do, but he always reminds them to keep you safe, his protective side coming out, even though he knows they would never let anything happen.

still, it doesn’t keep them from finding sunglasses from god knows where, drunkenly waltzing you out of bar on either side of you, gesturing for people to move out of the way like they’re your bodyguards. every move you make, they’re sending (blurry) pictures of you safely outside the bar, getting into the uber, getting out of the uber, walking into their apartment building, in the elevator, unlocking their door, walking through their door, walking to the guest room, and one final shot of you in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, to the groupchat you’re in with them and your boyfriend.

and once the apartment is quiet and their voices are reduced to light snores, you sneak into their rooms and take pictures of them, too, feeling just as much of a responsibility to keep them safe and cared for.

christmases? now those are an event, truly.

luke and jack are on you for months to help them pick out the perfect gift for quinn and ellen, claiming you know gifts way better than they do. you even fly out to jersey for a couple days in the middle of december, finding a stretch where they have a couple home games.

you take them out shopping, coaching and making sure they don’t pick out some random scarf for their mom or striped tie for quinn and jim. they take you to do all the touristy christmas things around the city (even if you’ve done it a million times before) and make fun of how you still can’t skate, even after all the years of being with quinn.

when you all finally make it back to michigan for the big family christmas, quinn steals you away for some one on one time, of course, but it’s never long lived. one of the two man-children, as quinn so affectionately calls them, comes barging in your room eventually, flopping down onto the bed right in-between you and quinn. and once one is in there, the other gets jealous and fights his way into the dog pile happening.

“can you two go annoy mom and dad or something? you just had her for four days, it’s my turn,” quinn huffs, your quiet bubble now burst.

“well, mom and dad told us to come annoy you guys, they have to wrap presents,” luke pouts to quinn, causing him to roll his eyes and accept his fate.

christmas morning with them is always your favorite, though.

jack and luke are always so high energy, wanting everyone to open their presents from them first so they can see the reactions.

they’re just like little kids, almost blurting out what it is as the person is opening it. they always tell ellen and quinn and jim you helped them, not wanting to take all the credit for themselves. but when it comes to their gifts to you? you start to think their claims that they’re terrible at gift giving is just a rouse to get you to visit them each year, because they never fail to give you the most heartfelt gifts.

like this christmas, they had gone in together on paying an artist to paint a collage of your favorite pictures of you and quinn together, the canvasses each in the shape of yours and quinn’s initials. you had noticed the canvas shaped like a plus sign in-between the two letters is blank, not knowing why they would leave such a large section bare.

when you look up to ask them, you notice they’re standing on either side of you, gesturing you to stand up. quinn is nowhere to be found, looking around for him as you stand and follow their lead to the back door of the large house.

when they open the door you’re met with the michigan snow, falling perfectly onto a beautifully decorated archway that you hadn’t noticed the night before. you noticed the poinsettias forming a walkway to the arch, finding quinn standing there under the perfectly hung mistletoe, waiting for you.

jack and luke walk push you on, staying behind in the warmth of the house.

you walk down the snow covered path, focusing on not falling the whole way.

once you reach the end of the path, quinn grabs your hand and plants you right in front of him.

he launches into a speech about how much he loves you, and how much he loves watching you with his family, how easily you’ve become a part of it, intertwined so deeply into his soul he couldn’t let you go, even if he wanted to, before dropping down on one knee, asking you to spend the rest of your life trusting him and loving him.

you immediately tell him yes, launching your body to his once he stands, tears streaming down your frozen face. right as you go to share a kiss to seal the intimate moment, you’re broken apart by the woops and hollers of none other than jack and luke, turning your head to see them barreling down the walkway towards you two.

“oh my god! we’re getting a sister! she’s actually gonna be ours now!” jack screams, crushing you two in a bear hug that would give quinn a run for his money.

“now quinn can’t use the excuse she’s his anymore, because now she’s ours. she’s gonna be a hughes! no more stingy quinn!” luke follows up, another weight added onto the already crushing hug.

“oh god, i didn’t think this through,” quinn groans, not enjoying his brothers’ newfound claim on you.

you giggle, encased in all the hughes love.

“also, we helped plan this, don’t let him hog all the credit, here. we planned our gift so it’d be the perfect segway into the proposal!” luke rushes out, too excited to keep it in any longer.

“the blank canvas is for engagement pictures!” jack confirms, beaming from ear to ear.

they finally release you and quinn from their clutches.

“okay, you guys have had your moment, now go back inside. she might getting ready to be your sister-in-law,” quinn emphasizes the last two words, “but she’s my fiancé, so we’ve earned some alone time.”

the two brothers huff and pout as they walk off, grumbling about how they can’t wait until you’re a hughes so he can’t claim you’re just his.

before you allow yourself the time with quinn, you run after your two best friends, tackling them in their own bear hug, despite how much larger they are than you.

“thank you guys. for this, for accepting me into your family, for sharing quinn with me,” you giggle at their scoff and luke’s mumble of ‘more like we share you with him’ before continuing. “i love you two. i’ll always be your big sister, yeah? as long as you’re always my two obnoxious little brothers.”

they squeeze you back so tightly you can’t breathe, telling you again how much they can’t wait for you to officially be part of their family.

quinn watches you with them, his own heart warmed despite the snow falling, wondering how in the world he got so lucky with such an amazing family, and now an even more amazing woman to bring into it.

[softsunnyy]

Okayokayokay

But how do we think each of the Hughes boys would react to you squirting for the first time? (On their cock, face fingers, doesnt matter)

Or you can just pick one!

-🐥

hi sweetie, i tried not to get too carried away, but i wrote it based on my versions of each one !!

🚨 mean!Luke, cocky!Jack, and slight dark!Quinn 🚨

LUKE HUGHES

he's obsessed, capable of forgetting everything just so you can do that again.

oh, you don't even remember when it started, how long you've been fucking. Luke slides in and out of your pussy, a ring of his cum surrounding the base of his cock, your pussy drooling, wanting to cum, but he doesn't let you. You made him angry, you'd played a joke on him and thought you wouldn't get any punishments, but he wasn't going to let you get away with it.

he's going strong, hard, like he's forgotten how big his cock is, like he's ignoring the bulge in your belly because he's so deep inside you, bruising your walls, touching that sensitive space that makes tears run down your cheeks.

you babble, begging him to slow down, to let you cum. You apologize. You try to form coherent sentences, but he just moves, punishing you, making your pussy ache and red, with your swollen clit and bite marks decorating your body.

you should have known better than to tease him, than to play with his patience, but now here you are, learning your lesson, feeling like you're going to faint, while he hammers inside you, using his strength, moving you to his liking, using your body like you were a doll.

your sweet boy was completely gone, and your hole is burning, you want to cum, you wanna release all the pleasure you feel.

and now you start to feel a little strange; it's not the same knot as all the other times, your legs spasm harder, you feel the urge to pee—it's stronger, it's much more intense. You feel like you can't hold it, and your whimpers become more desperate. Your clit aches...

and then it happens.

Luke's eyes widen, your walls squeeze him, suffocating him. You started to make a mess. Your juices spurting everywhere, your body much weaker, more sensitive. You missed the smile that formed on your boyfriend's face. It was a huge grin. He made you squirt. God. He didn't even know you could do that.

now he wants you to do it again. His stamina renewed. Fuck the punishment, i think you've learned your lesson.

he's not going to stop. He's like a kid with a new toy. And all he can think about is getting you to do it again, giving him that pleasure.

you see the hungry look in his eyes, and even though mean Luke's gone for a moment, you know he won't let you rest, not now, not ever, so you'll have to prepare yourself.

JACK HUGHES

he's totally cocky about it, he'll say he didn't even have to try very hard to get you like that.

it was a completely normal day. You were lying in bed, on a relaxing morning, until you two started making out, and then you couldn't stop. It always feels too good with him.

your legs are over his shoulders now, you feel him everywhere. He slides in quickly, leaving kisses and bites on your thighs, without care, but giving you that beautiful smile that makes you melt inside.

your mind is foggy, your back arches. Jack knows how to move to have you right where he wants you. He even took his time at the beginning, when he ate you out, making you cum, making you wet enough to be able to receive him without any problems.

he's fast, and his hand goes to your clit, rubbing it, overstimulating you, making you feel on cloud nine, and he teases you, asks if you're gonna cum yet, even telling you to hold it, but you don't think you can. Not when you feel this good. Not when his cock seems to kiss your cervix, taking over your walls, marking his name on your pussy with each time he slides in.

you feel the knot, and it's intense, making you squeeze your eyes shut, and your legs are shaking. Jack feels it, so he moves his hand faster, even gently slapping your clit.

that's when you cum, but it's not like usual. Jack watches, amused, as spurts of your cum make a mess, wetting your thighs, his. Your walls clench, spasm, and he moves his hand as fast as he can, making your juices spurt further, soaking his body, your body, everything in their path.

he grins, proud, cocky. And he doesn't stop moving. God, he doesn't even stop moving his hand, even though you whimper and try to push him away. He takes both of your hands and keeps you from touching him. He overstimulates you. He looks into your eyes and shows you how much he loved it.

now that he knows you can do this, he won't stop, he can't. You need to prepare yourself, because now he will want to do it all the time.

and he's cocky about it, you know he'll remind you, he won't stop smiling. It's like he's unlocked an achievement, and now he'll think of all the possible ways he can get you to do it again.

he's the man, he feels that way, more than ever.

QUINN HUGHES

he was just playing with you, now he's entertained. The obsessive part of him is ignited.

his face is pressed against your pussy. He's devouring you, sucking, licking. He's using his tongue to run over your folds, sucking the way he knows you like, feeling drops of your juices run down his chin.

he uses his nose to nudge your clit and slides his tongue inside your hole, feeling your warmth, how tight you are. God, you two are supposed to be hurrying, you're supposed to be on your way to an event, but now he's lost. He can't get away from your pussy. He doesn't care how much you beg, how much you whine and try to push him away.

you've come at least two or three times in his mouth, and he hasn't even given you time to rest. He hasn't even taken the time to take off his pants and free his cock. He can spend hours just giving your pussy attention, swallowing your juices, making a mess of you without even having to use his fingers or his cock.

your hand tugs at his hair, but he only growls, now bringing his tongue to your clit, feeling how swollen it is, knowing you're desperate, struggling internally, not knowing if you want him to continue or stop. Knowing it's his decision either way.

the event is forgotten; he doesn't even remember it anymore. All he cares about is eating you out, bathing himself in the scent of your arousal, and claiming your body as his own, because it is. He's obsessed with the way your body reacts, how you moan his name like a broken record, trying to maintain consciousness, which is a hard task.

and you feel something in your belly. You feel desperate, your eyes squeeze shut, and you're close to screaming his name to get his attention. You wanna warn him, warn him that you feel different, that there's something stronger. But he knows it, he can feel it on his tongue, and yet he continues to devour you, drunk on your taste. He wants to see what's coming next, whatever it is, and to do that, he doesn't need to leave your pussy. You won't be able to push him away.

your toes curl, you try to close your legs, but nothing stops the pleasure from exploding. Your juices fill Quinn's mouth, and he swallows desperately, unconsciously rubbing his cock against the blankets, feeling on the edge, at his limit.

he licks, swallows, never stopping stimulating you, and tears start to fall from your eyes, feeling the sharp tickle on your clit. You try to stop him by tugging at his hair, but he moves closer again. It's an addiction, like it's his last meal.

for Quinn, it's like a wire has snapped, it's like he's found an answer he didn't know he was looking for. In his head, he replays the image of your fluids flying, making a mess just for him.

he's gonna make you do that again, and again, and again. He doesn't even care about anything else. He doesn't see you whining, how overstimulated you are. No. He doesn't see his phone lighting up with missed calls. He doesn't see the clock. He can only see your pussy.

a feeling of pride in his chest, which is obsessive, unlike his brothers', is dark. He wants to do this. He wants you to feel this good, of course. But he wants to do it more for himself, for his own pleasure.