#the other is oh god I barely escaped with my LIFE huh

[turtleblogatlast]

Big Mama must have lost some serious standing in the yokai underworld because it’s gotten apparent that she keeps being beaten by a small group of teenagers and the occasional rat man, and when it’s not them then she’s taking L’s from her own schemes working against her.

And in the ensuing power vacuum, the Hamatos accidentally become the most feared crime family known to all the big bads of the Hidden City.

After all, they’ve publicly outplayed Big Mama multiple times, a couple of them have taken out the heads of two of the most well known criminal organizations, one took out Heinous Green, two are responsible for the destruction of Witch Town, they have ties to both the infamous Baron Draxum and Captain Piel, they won the Doom Dome death race, they’re Battle Nexus Champions, they’ve displayed insane feats of power and defeated impossibly strong enemies, most of them have been to jail, and they regularly mingle with humans.

You can just imagine the notoriety they’d accumulate from word of mouth alone.

[fushiguho]

can’t rid the horrible thought of sitting on nanami’s lap, your backside pressed to his bare chest while that pretty, aching pussy just drools down the entire length of his cock. one big hand keeps your trembling thighs pried while the other is everywhere else—tracing delicious shapes onto your clit, greedily trailing up your writhing body, groping your bouncing tits, pinching your hardening nipples, choking you.

studiedly, he’s following the depraved arch of your back as you gasp out his beautiful name like it’s the only prayer you’ve ever known, gone with brimming pleasure and overstimulation. god, how he can hardly help the sinful drag of his palms as he feels you all the way up; nothing but thorough, ensuring not a seraphic inch of your body is left untouched.

“yeaaah, arch that back for me, pretty girl.” his lips settle just below your ear, kissing over the warm, thudding pulse that beats like a drum. “you like my hands all over you, huh?”

you’re delirious as you nod to him, sinking further into his embrace while he fucks you onto his big, fat cock no differently than a measly little toy. a breathless laugh escapes him when your head woozily lolls back, resting within the muscular divot of his shoulder. a warm hand is pulling at your face, deft fingers brushing your cheeks as he brings you close, kissing you deep.

the prettiest whine leaves your lips and he swallows it, along with every other moan and wince and gasp and cry. and it’s just so fucking sloppy—teeth clashing, tongues lapping, breaths heaving. nanami lets off a thick groan, his big fingers hot and steady, rubbing at your poor, twitching clit with intention.

“more,” it’s greedy, mumbled into your honeyed mouth while his lips remain pressed to yours. he’s spreading you wider, hooking an indulgent hand beneath the crook of one your wobbly knees, forcing you to slump further against his searing body. “give me more, sweetheart… wanna feel that cumming pussy, yeah?”

“n— nanami,”

“i know,” he coos, shutting you up with a dizzying kiss. “i know how close you are… can feel you tightening up like you want it.” the soft pads of his fingers are slapping against your aching clit thrice, encouraging your looming orgasm. “cum for me,” a warm, openmouthed kiss to the shell of your ear. “cum on my cock like i know you’re about to.”

and god, do you. your pretty mouth stupidly gaped as you meet the desperate buck of his hips with shallow movements, chasing that cock like the prettiest whore. he watches as your face screws up, brows knitting in nothing but overwhelming pleasure as you choke on your own breath, sobbing. those wide eyes welling with tears as you whimper and whine and curse, all while creaming down the entirety of his shaft like you’re life depends on it.

“thaaat’s it, always cum so pretty for me,” he plants a sweet, loving kiss to your racing temple, allowing you to ride out your orgasm for as long as you need. “but i think you can give me more than that.”

oh.

[backinmyphase]

You didn't even know how this happened and if you were in your right mind, you would be embarrassed to no end, but somehow you ended up laying in fratboy! Satoru's bed with him on top of you making out, and god who knew what would happen after a few drinks at one of his parties?

But even now you still were wondering why his kisses felt so passionate, why his hand on your waist held you so securely and steady and why were you imagining a faint blush on his cheeks?

What a few drinks do to you, huh?

"Fuck, you are so hot..." he was mumbling into your lips while his other hand explored your body. You felt yourself burning up at his words and after a small whine escaped your lips, he chuckled while creating a small gap between you two.

"Says you..." a poor attempt to flirt really, but it did draw a small laugh from him.

"Soooooo..." he started to lightly pull at your shirt and a bit of panic ignited through your body. "Is this okay?"

He stopped in his tracks and looked at you through his dazed eyes. Blue eyes. Really, really pretty eyes.

Fuck, why were people always judging other girls for spending the night with him? You would do it for the rest of your life if you could...

"Hey, if you don't want to, it's alright-" after your lack of response, the famous fratboy! Satoru really got nervous and looked at you with no of his usual confidence.

"No no, I want this but..." you cleared your throat while looking away. "Could you please turn off the light?"

He blinked at you two times. Then three times. His mouth slowly opening and closing again, making you feel smaller under his gaze and almost clutch onto your clothes. He then sat up while shaking his head. "Why?"

"Oh you know..." you followed him and sat up yourself, while letting out a nervous laugh. "Don't want you to be turned off."

...

That wasn't what Satoru wanted to hear, no never. He looked at you with so much confusion he genuinely thought you were joking at first. But when he saw your awkward smile he couldn't believe you really meant it.

"Me? Turned off? By you?"

"Oh I know how it is, sometimes the imagination is better than reality, I don't want to ruin the fun-" you let out another nervous laugh. You already ruined this didn't you?

"Me? Turned off? By you??" he groaned as he saw the genuine confusion on your face.

"I don't understand..." you muttered while he studied your face with a critical look.

"Listen to me sweetheart." he pulled you close again and you could just barely surpress the little sigh that was about to leave you.

"You're literally the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid my eyes on. And I won't be turned off by any part of you, okay?"

Now it was your turn to blink at him. And it was probably just the lightning, but he seemed even more red.

"You are telling that every girl." you accidentally muttered what was supposed to stay in the safe and deadly space of your head, but he heard it and now almost seemed to glare at you.

"Jesus we need to work on your self esteem." he started to hide his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling at the skin. "And I won't fuck you, if I can't admire you, just to be clear. I waited to long for this moment to not see you moaning my name."

Now you were really burning up, what the hell?

"Please, I just don't want this to be ruined by my not so great loc-"

"I waited to long, seeing you every day at campus, admiring you, listening to your sweet voice, to only get a dark room for my first time worshipping you."

"Gojo, stop it-" you felt like dying from his words, feeling him touching you everywhere wasn't helping you in any way. Even if you will dream of this.

"Satoru. You know the name." he groaned into the crook of your neck. "Sweetheart, I think we have to just cuddle for today."

It was stupid but your heart sank at his words because, fuck, you really did ruin it. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I have to take you out at first so you get that I'm serious."

What a few drinks do to you, huh? If only you knew fratboy! Satoru wanted to ask you out since last year.

Listened to bed chem while writing this hehehe

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

I’m just a kid (and life is a nightmare)

dad!Nanami & kid!Yuji

commissioned this amazing piece from @yuutaguro for chapter two of my teen papamin au in which Nanami reluctantly adopts Yuji right after graduating from Jujutsu High and leaving the sorcerer world! [chapters 1-3 on ao3]

Everything had been going so well. Nanami would begin his office job on Monday, the same day that Yuji’s school year started. He had just taken Yuji to buy his uniform, and a shiny new backpack. It wasn’t until he was going back over the supply list and dress code that the trouble started.

“Yuji, you have to cut your hair! It’s not me, it’s the school’s stupid rule.”

Yuji stuck out his tongue and ran around the table, avoiding Nanami’s grasp. “Don’t wanna!” He shouted back.

“I know! But you have to anyway!” Nanami chased him back around the other side. “It’s not up for debate!”

“DON’T WANNA!”

Nanami stopped running and covered his face with his hands, taking deep breaths. The kid was driving him crazy. Hell, he agreed with him. He probably would’ve been just as pissed about cutting his hair at that age, but damn if it wasn’t frustrating on the other side. “Look, I’m sorry the dress code is annoying. I am! But you’re gonna get in trouble if we don’t tame that pink mop on your head!” God, I sound like my dad, Nanami thought glumly.

Yuji flung himself around the corner and peeked out. “But I don’t wanna , Nanaminnn!!”

“I know.” He gave a long sigh. “Can you tell me why?”

“I wanna look like you!”

“You- what?” Nanami was thrown for a loop. Yuji could barely see through his hair at this point, it looked nothing like… oh no. Nanami skidded into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Yuji came hurtling behind him, just barely able to peek over the countertop on his tiptoes.

“See, Nanamin? We’re the same!”

The kid had a point. Nanami stared at his face, noticing for the first time that he had let his hair get quite long. It just didn’t seem like a priority, not after…well. He shook his head, tossing the long shock of blonde hair out of his eyes. Yuji peered up at him, looking annoyingly smug.

“See, you see?”

“Yeah, I see, Yuji.” Maybe it was time that he matured his look. At least a little. “I guess I have a mop up there too, huh?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Yuji imitated his nod. “I have an idea for how we can fix this.”

Everyone in the barbershop couldn’t help but smile at the strange pair that walked in, the serious, blonde teenager and his hyper, pink-haired companion.

“Awww, is this your little brother?” The receptionist cooed.

“Uh, no, this is my…Yuji.” Nanami cringed at himself, but the kid holding his hand beamed.

“Yeah, I’m his Yuji!!”

The two boys politely requested the same haircut, and Nanami went first to reassure Yuji. “See? Doesn’t hurt at all, okay? Bet you’re gonna look cooler than me.”

Nanami watched himself in the mirror as the barber went to work. It wasn’t like he was attached to his look or anything, at least he told himself so. But change was weird. By the end of it, he could see more of his forehead than he had in years. He looked older, like a salaryman.

“What do you think, kid?” Yuji looked at him thoughtfully.

“You look like a grown-up, Nanamin!”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He laughed. “Your turn, Yuji. Think you can be brave?”

“Yeahh! Brave like you!” Yuji slid into the seat and reached out a hand, which Nanami held tight.

By the end of it, Nanami’s hair was slicked into a deep side part, with a few stubborn strands escaping into his eyes. Yuji’s hair still spung up at all angles. It suited him, though. And more importantly, fit the school dress code.

Nanami took Yuji out to their favorite bakery on the way home as a reward. The boy eagerly gobbled down a pink-frosted doughnut with extra sprinkles while Nanami sipped coffee with a slice of lemon cake. “We did well today, huh kid?”

Yuji nodded proudly with a faceful of frosting. “Yeah, we did great! And we still look the same as each other!”

Nanami squinted at him, but couldn’t bring himself to burst the kid’s bubble. “We sure do. Maybe we could switch places, and you could go into work for me!”

Yuji doubled over with laughter. “No way Nanamin!”

“You sure? I could go to school for you, do all your homework…” he teased.

Yuji appeared to be considering the offer, then shook his head, still giggling. “Nuh-uh!”

“Ah, well.” Nanami pretended to sigh. “Worth a try.”

[hearts4sturniolo]

𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨, 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

where your love for a very specific accessory does wonders for you

warning: foul language, oral f!receiving, p in v, rough sex, degradation, praise, use of pet names, overstimulation

notes: happy halloween sexies, guess whose back ;) story fully written for my wife, her inspo brought me back from the grave <3

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

you didn't consider yourself a weak person by any means, mentally and physically. life had thrown enough at you and you had handled it with grace until now. you were a few dates in with a guy you had just recently met, attire usually casual clothes and nice, fixed hair that usually ended up messy by the end of the night. after some time spent alone on this friday evening, you get a call from said guy asking to come to his place for the first time and how he was on his way to get you.

simple enough right? wrong.

matt pulled up to your house as you are locking your front door. his windows were tinted so you could never really see inside until you were opening up the passenger door. when you did, you practically turned into a puddle as you found out your one weakness.

very attractive men in backwards hats.

which led you to where you were now, half naked on this mans bed, straddling his lap as he sat against his headboard. "fuck honey," matt groaned, hands gripping your bare thighs as you sucked his neck "what's gotten into you tonight?"

"mm nothing." you whimpered, his hands forcing you to grind down on his dick. the panties you had on doing very little for you as they were soaking wet, just causing you to feel him in a more intense way.

your lips pressed into his as an act to get him to shut it, tongue pushing its way into his mouth. a groan escaped matt's lips as he continued to grind against your pussy, his fingers digging into you with brutal pressure. you didn't give a fuck if he left bruises, you were an empty canvas begging to be turned into art.

his tatted arm came up to grip your jaw, "you gonna tell me the truth or are you gonna keep lyin' to me."

your face turned beat red and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to turn away and hide but his grip on you remained steady. his cock flush against you making it harder to think by the second, but you mustered enough courage to mumble incoherently.

"what was that baby? cmon speak up for me." matt spoke gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he used the other hand to slowly grind you back down on him.

your head spun in circles as you tried to ground yourself and take control back of the situation, "that slutty fuckin' hat."

"what?" he questioned, jaw slacking up.

"don't make me say it again matt, please." you pleaded, desperately trying to squirm out of his grasp but to no avail.

"my hat huh?" matt questioned again, moving to hold you as he flipped you onto your back, caging you to the bed. his lips trailing kisses down your body between sentences. his fingers intertwined with your lacy panties as he dragged them off you. "gotta watch that pretty mouth though."

"it's true though, 'knew what you were doing when-" his mouth enveloping your core, cutting you off and causing a strangled moan to come out of you.

he messily sucked on your clit as your hands flew to grip the sheets next to you. "told you to watch it, mouthing off isn't gonna make this go any quicker." it felt like within seconds you were already so close to finishing. "fuckin' soaked f'me baby, god, i wanna ruin you."

his words definitely weren't helping.

"ruin me, please." you begged, his eyes looking up at your from his place in-between your legs. his backwards cap still sat nicely around his head as you nearly came from the sight.

he propped himself back up, away from you, as he threw his hat somewhere in the room and pealed off the sweatshirt from his back with one hand. smirk plastered on his face as he began to tug off his sweatpants and boxers in one motion, cock springing free. "oh baby, if this is how i get you, i'll wear that hat every fucking time i see you."

you whined pathetically as you watched him stroke his cock, hovering over you. there was no possible way of hiding your arousal now, you were soaked just from the sight of seeing him in a hat and now you were whining at the slightest glimpse of his dick. grabbing a pillow, he lifted your hips off the bed to slide it underneath you. beads of sweat starting to form just barely between his eyebrows as he zoned in on you.

he tapped his tip against your clit, smearing his precum and mixing it with your slick. your eyes fluttered closed as he eased himself into you, sighing with content as he pushed himself to the point of bottoming out. the way you squeezed around him could've caused him to cum on the spot, your scrunched up face making him painfully harder. he thrusted into you at an antagonizing pace, "atta girl, fuck, this pussy was just made for me wasn't it?"

"mhm, all yours baby," matt's thrust became more rapid as he positioned himself closer towards your body, "god, fuck me."

your legs wrapped instinctively around his back, pulling him even closer towards you as he pounded into you. his hands flew to your waist to hold himself stable and to hold you in place, fingernails digging into your skin. the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room as you felt him hit your g-spot. "fuck."

"so fuckin' tight, so fuckin' perfect." his eyes roamed up and down your body. tits bouncing back and forth as one hand grabbed your thigh to pull a leg over his shoulder. the feeling of his dick throbbing inside of you, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, was sending you into a blissed out state.

"matt, please, g'na cum soon." you moaned, legs clenching around his figure.

"take it, that's my good girl, fuckin' take it." the pace he's fucking you at forms that familiar tight coil in your gut, threatening to spill over at any second. matt reaches down and thumbs your clit, your thighs tremble as your orgasm rushes over you in an instant. you try to wriggle out of matts hold on you, but he continues to thrust in and out of you.

he grunts as he speaks, "you're funny if you think that's the only one im gettin' outta you tonight, wanna call me a slut? you're gonna see what its like to be treated like one."

taglist: @sweetangelgirl7 @hanbinics @mattscoquette

[daeniradraconis]

Unexpected Overtime - Q. Hughes

Hey Lovelies! 💖

Sooo, here’s Quinn’s story in The Hughes Effect Saga. You can read this one on its own, but trust me—it’ll make way more sense if you check out Luke & Jack’s stories first!

I LOVED writing this one, but ngl, I also kinda hated it —I just wasn’t sure if I fully nailed Quinn’s personality. But hey, I gave it my best shot, and I really hope you enjoy it! Summary: Quinn Hughes is injured, spiralling, and sinking into a darkness he can’t escape. But the worst part? He’s in love with his best friend—and he doesn’t even realize it yet.

Warnings: Mention of rape! I included Olivia & their past relationship in the story, but it’s pure fiction! I don’t know anything about what actually happened, so this is just my imagination running wild. Also, this story is 18+ because... well, the ending speaks for itself. 🔥

Happy reading! For more fun: masterlist

--- Being friends with Quinn Hughes was a test of patience, persistence, and an alarming amount of forced conversations.

Blanca still remembered the first time they met—at Brock Boeser's girlfriend Bella's birthday party. She and Bella had hit it off months earlier in a Pilates class, bonding over their shared love of overpriced smoothies and their mutual inability to take life too seriously. Through Bella, she met Brock a couple of times, but the rest of the team? Completely new territory.

She felt like an outsider, and that annoyed the hell out of her. But in hindsight, maybe it was the luckiest thing of the night, because Quinn Hughes felt the same way.

Unlike the other guys, who were comfortable and relaxed, Quinn hovered near the edge of the party, practically trying to blend into the wallpaper. He was the team’s rookie, still adjusting, still figuring out his place. Awkward and reserved, he kept attempting to join conversations but never quite sank into them. Every now and then, he’d let out a short laugh at something one of the guys said, but Blanca could tell it wasn’t real—just a filler response to keep people from noticing how uncomfortable he felt.

It was written all over his face. What the hell am I doing here?

He looked like he wanted to bolt.

Blanca knew that feeling all too well. And she hated standing alone and awkward. So, she did what she thought was her best option for the night—she forced her presence on Quinn Hughes.

Without hesitation, she plopped down next to him on the couch, drink in hand.

"You have the face of a man plotting his escape," she noted, taking a sip.

Quinn blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, unless this is just your natural resting broody face, in which case—my bad.”

For a second, he just stared at her. Then, to her surprise, he let out a short laugh. “I don’t brood.”

"Mmm, debatable. The way you're sitting here all tense, barely talking to anyone, looking like you're regretting every life choice that led you to this exact moment? Kinda broody."

Quinn shook his head, amused. "I'm just… not really a party guy."

"Not shocking," Blanca teased. "You seem more like a ‘watch highlights and stress about the next game’ kind of guy."

His eyebrows lifted. "You got that from watching me sit here for five minutes?"

She grinned. "I'm very observant. Also, you're wearing your stress on your face, buddy."

Quinn exhaled through his nose, shaking his head again, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. Blanca took that as a win.

"So, how do you know Bella?" he asked after a beat.

"Pilates class. We bonded over our shared suffering."

Quinn gave her a skeptical look. "You willingly do Pilates?"

"Listen, don't judge me. I like pain."

He smirked. "That explains why you're talking to me."

Blanca gasped dramatically. "Oh my god, you do have a sense of humor. I was worried."

Quinn chuckled, shaking his head again. "You're a lot."

"And yet, you haven't told me to go away."

He didn't have an answer for that—just took a sip of his drink, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. Blanca knew then that she had cracked something, even if just slightly.

By the end of the night, she had done most of the talking while Quinn just sat there, listening, watching, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark that only encouraged her more. She found him difficult—hard to read, stubbornly reserved—but also fascinating. Quinn, for his part, seemed amused by her relentless energy.

In a lot of ways, Blanca reminded him of his younger brother, Luke—clumsy, chatty, and filled with an almost annoying amount of enthusiasm. But somehow, instead of feeling overwhelmed, he found it… oddly comforting.

And that was how their friendship started. Or, as Blanca would put it, how she forced her friendship on Quinn Hughes.

Because as much as Quinn would later act like she had been an inconvenience that night, she knew—knew—that he had been grateful. He wasn’t the best with words, but Blanca had a knack for reading between the lines.

Which was exactly how she knew Quinn was pissed right now.

“Jesus Christ, Hughes. You could drive a saint to swearing.”

“Sorry, Blan, but I don’t need you to baby me.”

"Quinn." She folded her arms, standing her ground. "I know you hate being injured. I know you hate that you can’t play. I know you bottle things up and don’t want to talk about it. But this is why I moved in with you. You can't deny that you need help."

She pointed at his arm, frustration bubbling over. “You can’t even lift a goddamn fork, Quinny.”

His jaw tightened as he glared at her. She stared right back.

Yeah, Quinn Hughes was stubborn as hell.

Good thing Blanca had never been the type to walk away from a challenge.

"Open your mouth, Hughes." She dangled a tortilla chip loaded with guacamole in front of his face.

Quinn sat at the table, leaning back in his chair as if the mere suggestion of it was an insult. "No."

Blanca rolled her eyes. "Quinn."

"I can feed myself."

"Really? Barely."

"I'm not a child."

"You sure? Because you’ve spilled salsa on your hoodie twice in the last ten minutes."

Quinn scowled, glancing at the small red stain near his ribs. "It’s not my fault. My left hand is useless."

"Exactly." Blanca pushed the chip closer. "So stop being a pain and eat."

His jaw clenched, but after a beat, he snatched the chip from her hand, awkwardly gripping it with his left fingers, trying not to drop it. He shoved it into his mouth, chewing angrily.

Blanca smirked. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

Quinn muttered something under his breath and reached for his glass of water, but his hand fumbled against the rim, almost knocking it over. Blanca caught it just in time, sighing dramatically as she steadied the cup.

"Wow," she said. "Super graceful."

Quinn exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t just about the injury—and she knew it. Blanca could see the weight of it all in his eyes. The endless mess that was Quinn Hughes’ life, and how tired he was of trying to hold it together. His team was struggling, the locker room was tense, and he felt like he was holding it all together with duct tape and a prayer. The JT trade was supposed to be a breath of fresh air, but the chemistry was poisoned, and the vibe in the locker room only got worse. As captain, he felt responsible for the disaster, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.

Blanca noticed the change in his mood, and to distract him, she shifted the conversation. "How are your brothers doing? I heard you talking to them this morning."

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, relieved for the change in topic. "Luke and Thea are apartment hunting."

Blanca raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. With Jack’s girlfriend around, four people in one place was too much."

Blanca laughed, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. "Took them long enough to figure that out."

Quinn huffed. "Seriously." He hesitated, then added, "And I think Luke's gonna propose."

Blanca nearly dropped the wooden spoon she was using. "Shut up."

"I’m serious."

"Luke Hughes? The baby of the family?"

"He’s twenty-one, Blan."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, that still makes him a baby. But damn, Thea must be special."

"She is," Quinn admitted, leaning back in his chair. "Luke's different with her. More mature. It's… weird."

Blanca smiled as she flipped a tortilla on the stove. "Weird in a good way?"

"Yeah." Quinn’s voice was thoughtful, almost surprised. "It’s good. He’s happy, really happy."

Blanca stole a glance at him. He was staring at the counter, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the marble table, lost in thought. His expression was distant, like he was a million miles away. Blanca knew exactly what was going through his mind. He wanted what his brother had—the love, the stability, the certainty. And it frustrated him to no end that he wasn’t even close to having something like that.

"And Jack?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "How’s he handling having a girlfriend?"

Quinn let out a low chuckle. "Honestly? Better than I thought. I didn’t think Anja would stick around, but she has. I mean, it's Jack."

"You mean Jack ‘manwhore’ Hughes?" Blanca teased.

Quinn smirked again. "Yeah. But he changed a lot. He is more… grounded, I guess. I don't know how to explain it. He's still Jack, but... toned down."

Blanca flipped another tortilla, nodding. "Miracles do happen, Quinny. Here’s the proof." Then, before she could stop herself, she added, "Maybe you should take notes."

Quinn's head snapped up. "What?"

Blanca shrugged, feigning innocence. "I mean, if Jack can leave his hookup phase behind, maybe you should think about it too."

His jaw clenched. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." His gray eyes darkened.

Blanca gave him a knowing look. "Quinn..."

His expression hardened, defensive. "Drop it."

So she did. For now. But worry lingered, heavy in her chest.

Because she knew exactly what she was talking about.

Quinn had never been like this. Even when he was younger, he was never the typical NHL player—the one who used fame to collect one-night stands. Sure, hockey had always been his life, but Quinn was also a hopeless romantic. He might not have been great with words, but his actions spoke volumes. He was the kind of guy who remembered the little things—how someone took their coffee, the way they fidgeted when they were nervous, the songs they liked but never admitted to. He cared deeply, even if he didn’t say it out loud. And he wanted to be a father more than anything. They’d talked about it before. He really wanted a family. 

Blanca and Quinn had been friends for seven years now. They’d been through a lot together. Quinn had been there for her when she’d dealt with her trauma caused by her sexually abusive stepfather, when her first love broke her heart, and when she wrecked her car in the middle of a snowstorm and needed him to pick her up in the dead of night. She had always been there for him too. But with Quinn, it was harder. She knew his desires, his dreams, but he hated sharing his burdens. When things went wrong, he shut down, bottling everything up until it exploded. She wished he would let her in. She knew how bad his coping mechanisms were. She understood, because she’d done the same, and she’d nearly lost herself in depression. She knew firsthand how damaging this could be.

Quinn was cold, detached. He hooked up with random girls like it didn’t matter. Like they didn’t matter. And Blanca knew why. She knew who had broken him.

Olivia.

The girl who had shattered him, made him question everything, and turned him into someone who didn’t believe in love anymore.

Quinn wouldn’t talk about it. He avoided the subject like the plague. But Blanca wasn’t stupid. She saw the way he moved through life now—jaded, disillusioned, cynical. She was there when things went south with Olivia. She knew things had ended badly, but Quinn refused to share the details. He claimed hockey was his priority and that he needed to make a decision, but that was only part of the whole story. Everyone knew it—his mom, his dad, his brothers, and his friends. He wasn’t ready to share more. But it had been a year now, and he was still closed off.

And Blanca was afraid.

Afraid that if he kept this up, he would lose something in himself. Something he wouldn’t be able to get back.

She swallowed hard, pushing the lump in her throat down as she slid a plate of tacos in front of him.

"Eat," she ordered.

Quinn didn’t argue. He picked up a taco—with his left hand, struggled, cursed under his breath, and took a bite.

Blanca almost smiled. Almost.

But the worry didn’t go away.

Because Quinn Hughes was spiraling.

And she had no idea how to stop it.

—

Blanca clinked her glass against Bella’s, the sound of laughter and conversation buzzing around them in the crowded pub. The atmosphere was warm, filled with the hum of Friday night energy. She leaned back against the bar, letting the buzz of excitement settle in, though a quiet unease lingered beneath her skin.

“So, what do you think about that guy over there?” Bella gestured toward a group of men at a nearby table, one of them flashing a grin in their direction.

Blanca smiled faintly, her gaze drifting over to the group. The guy Bella pointed out had messy hair, a confident smile, and an easy charm about him. He looked good, but even as she saw him, a wall rose up inside her, the same wall she couldn’t seem to break down, no matter how hard she tried.

“The one with the messy hair?” Blanca asked, her voice light, though she could feel the hesitation bubbling up in her chest.

Bella nodded, a grin spreading on her face. “Yeah. He’s been eyeing you for a while.”

Blanca glanced back at him. He was cute, definitely her type—tall, with that rugged, effortless charm. But as she met his gaze and saw the way he looked at her, a familiar ache twisted in her stomach. She couldn’t do it—not tonight. 

“Hmm,” Blanca murmured, raising her glass to her lips. “Maybe, but I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

Bella raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You’ve been working hard on yourself, Blan. You’re allowed to have some fun."

Blanca’s fingers traced the rim of her glass, trying to push down the weight in her chest. “I know. But... I don’t know. It’s just—sometimes it feels easier to keep people at arm's length, you know?”

Bella’s gaze softened, the understanding clear in her eyes. She didn’t need any further explanation—she knew about Blanca’s past. She knew about her stepfather, the abuse, the aftermath. And, more than anyone, she understood the pain of trying to rebuild after something like that. Blanca had been through years of therapy, working through the trauma, and she had made incredible progress. But some days, like tonight, the scars still felt raw.

"I get it," Bella said quietly, leaning in a little. "But you’re in a good place now, right? You’ve come so far. You deserve to let someone in. You’re allowed to feel worthy of love."

Blanca’s lips pressed together, a bittersweet smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah, I’m okay. As okay as I can be." She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her glass, the quiet reminder of her past lingering in her thoughts. "It’s just hard sometimes. I want to feel… normal. But…then…it’s like I forget how to even let someone close.”

Bella gave her a sympathetic look but didn’t press. “It’s a process. But you’re getting there.”

Blanca nodded, grateful for her friend’s patience. “Thanks. Really.”

Bella shrugged, as if brushing off the deep conversation. "No biggie. Now, what about that guy with the plaid shirt? He’s been eyeing you all night.”

Blanca chuckled, pushing herself to be more present in the moment. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

Bella winked. “A girl’s gotta look out for her best friend.” She then raised her drink and gave a mischievous smile. “You know, if you're not going to make a move, I'll just ask for his number for my sister."

Blanca laughed, shaking her head. "Go ahead. I’m not stopping you."

They continued their teasing and lighthearted chatter for a while, the pub’s lively hum almost drowning out the more complicated thoughts swirling in Blanca’s mind. It was easy to get lost in the fun, in the banter, in the sense of normalcy. 

As they shared another round, Bella pulled out her phone, her eyes scanning the screen. Blanca didn't think much of it at first, until Bella’s expression shifted. Her fingers froze mid-scroll, and she lifted her gaze, a quiet frown forming on her face.

“What’s up?” Blanca asked, a little concerned.

Bella didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes told a different story. Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with that familiar note of understanding. “It’s Olivia.”

Blanca tried to keep her tone light, though she could feel her insides twisting. “What about her?”

Bella’s voice dropped a little. “She just posted a picture. With her new boyfriend.”

The words hit her like a blow to the chest. It was like a jolt of electricity shot through her body. The weight of it all—the reminder of Quinn’s heartbreak, the way Olivia had left him behind without a second thought—it all came rushing back.

Blanca’s hand tightened around her glass. She could already picture Quinn, alone, staring at his phone, the pain in his eyes growing darker with each passing minute.

She looked at Bella, her expression shifting. “I have to go.”

Bella immediately understood. “Blanca... you don’t have to—”

“I do,” she interrupted, standing up quickly. “Quinn’s going to see that and—he’s not going to handle it well. I can’t just leave him like that.”

Bella nodded, her expression softening with concern. “Go. I get it.”

Blanca shot her a tight smile and grabbed her purse, throwing a few bills down on the table. "I’ll check in with you later. Thanks for tonight, B."

Bella didn’t say anything more, just gave her a quiet nod, watching her leave. As Blanca made her way out of the pub, the chill of the night air hit her skin, but inside, the warmth of the crowd and the music faded into the background. She could already feel the familiar weight of worry settle on her shoulders.

Quinn had been struggling, and tonight, it was about to get worse. She needed to get to him before he spiraled completely. She couldn’t just let him shut down again.

Her breath was shallow as she pulled her phone from her bag, quickly typing out a message to Quinn: I’m going back. Don’t do anything stupid.

She didn’t wait for a cab to pull up in front of the pub; instead, she hailed the first one she saw and climbed in without hesitation.

The taxi rolled to a stop outside their building, and Blanca could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she rushed up the stairs, her mind only on Quinn. The elevator felt like it would take too long, so she took the stairs two at a time, her breath shallow as she pushed through the door into the apartment.

She didn’t need to see much to know that Quinn was in a bad place. The dark living room was only dimly lit by the soft glow of the TV, and there he was, sprawled across the couch, eyes red, face drawn. His jaw was clenched tight, fists occasionally twitching like he was fighting against himself.

Blanca hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway. She could see it in his posture—the way he held himself tight, like he was trying to keep something from spilling out. The anger, the sadness, the frustration.

“Quinn…” Her voice was soft, unsure how he would react.

He didn’t look up, but he scoffed. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone right now.”

Blanca’s stomach twisted, the words cutting through her like they always did when he shut her out. She stepped forward slowly, placing her purse down on the table. “Quinn,” she said again, firmer this time, her voice carrying the weight of everything she needed to say. “You’re not fine. And you’re not going to shut me out this time.”

He finally glanced up, his eyes wild, almost defiant. “I’m not in the mood for your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” she shot back, moving closer, refusing to back down. “I’m here because I care. You’ve been there for me, you’ve held me when I thought I couldn’t stand anymore. And now it’s my turn to do the same for you.”

Quinn let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “What’s the point? You don’t get it. You’ve got your life together. You’ve got—” He cut himself off, his voice lowering, and he looked away, staring out the window into the night.

Blanca stood there for a moment, her chest tight with emotion. She knew better than anyone what it felt like to be stuck, to be at the mercy of your own mind. But Quinn’s pain was different. He was drowning in it, and no matter how much he tried to convince everyone—including himself—that he was fine, it was clear he wasn’t.

“Quinn,” she began, her voice softer now. "I get it, I really do. I know what it feels like to fall apart, to have your entire world crumble and not know how to fix it. And you know that because you were there for me through it all.”

And that was it. Quinn finally broke down, the tears that had been building up spilling over, his sobs raw and unrestrained. He buried his face in his hands, his entire body trembling.

Blanca didn't say anything. She just sat down next to him, letting him cry, her heart breaking for him, for everything he was carrying, and for everything he felt he had lost.

Quinn’s shoulders shook with each breath, his sobs raw, like the sound of someone unraveling piece by piece. His fists clenched and unclenched in his lap as if he were trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep himself together. But nothing could hold the pieces back any longer. Not when the weight of everything was pressing down on him with such unbearable force.

Blanca held him as he broke apart, and her heart cracked for him. But she knew this moment wasn’t just about comforting him—it was about letting him speak, to let him be seen in all his brokenness, something he rarely allowed himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his sobs started to quiet down, though he still trembled under her touch. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t want to. His voice, hoarse and broken, barely came out in a whisper.

“I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t plan for any of this,” he muttered, his words barely audible. His eyes, red and bloodshot, stared at the floor as though looking at the mess of his life, but unable to find a way to fix it.

Blanca didn’t speak, knowing that he wasn’t done, that this was only the beginning of the avalanche that was about to pour out.

Quinn rubbed a hand over his face, dragging it down slowly, the exhaustion from everything he was carrying weighing heavily on him. “I’m twenty-five, Blanca. Twenty-five. And I feel like I’m falling behind. I should have more. I should be… I should be someone by now. Not just a fucking captain who can’t keep his team together. Not just a guy who spends his nights alone in this apartment.”

He looked at her then, his gaze empty, almost pleading. “I thought I’d have it figured out by now. I thought by the time I was in my mid twenties, I would have the house. The job. The family. I would be set, you know? I’d have a plan, I’d have a life.”

His hands clenched at his sides again, his nails digging into his palms like it would somehow ground him in this sea of uncertainty. “But I don’t have any of that. Nothing. Just a failing career, a broken relationship, and—” he paused, swallowing hard. His chest tightened as if the words were caught in his throat, too painful to say. “And I’m just... so fucking tired of watching everyone else live the life I thought I would have. My teammates, my friends, even Jack—who never even wanted a girlfriend. He has everything.”

Blanca felt her heart ache at the raw honesty in his words. He’d never expressed it like this before. He had always been the one who held it all together, the one everyone looked to for strength, for leadership. 

He shook his head, looking lost. “Luke’s getting married soon. Conor’s got a kid now. Hell, even fucking Elias is settling down. It feels like everyone is out there getting what they want—what they deserve—except me. And I thought... I thought I could handle it. But... I’m not handling it. I’m just sitting here, alone in this apartment, and I can’t even look at my own career without feeling like I’m failing. I’m so fucking lonely Blan.”

Blanca could feel her throat tightening as she watched him struggle, his pain radiating off him in waves. He was a man who had built up this image of himself, this strong, capable leader. But now he was torn apart in front of her, vulnerable and uncertain.

“I know I fucked up with Olivia,” he said, his voice bitter as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I put hockey first. I always did. It’s my fault. And now she’s gone, and part of me is happy she’s found someone, but a selfish part of me hates it. I know we weren’t healthy for each other. I know… I just believed…"

Blanca’s heart clenched at the rawness in his voice. This was the first time Quinn had opened up about Olivia, and the weight of his words hit her harder than she expected. "I thought she would understand," he continued, voice shaking slightly. "I knew it wasn’t fair to expect her to give up her life in New York. I asked her to move in with me, and when she said no, my ego got bruised. She wanted to take things slow, but I... I wanted everything right away. So, I pushed harder with hockey. But all it did was make me more miserable. I was putting everything into the team, but we were still failing. And in the process, I lost her."

Quinn ran a shaky hand through his hair, eyes wide with frustration. "I wanted it all, Blanca. The career, the family, the love. But now... now I feel like I can’t even balance being captain. I’m not holding the team together like I should. Maybe I was never good enough. Maybe I’ll never figure out how to make all this work. And that... that fucking kills me."

Blanca’s breath caught as she saw the sheer depth of his self-doubt. He was looking for validation, for some sign that he wasn’t completely broken. But he wasn’t asking for sympathy. He wasn’t asking her to fix him.

He was simply looking for someone who understood.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he continued, his voice quivering. “I don’t know how to make it all work. The media only makes everything worse, and I can’t quiet the dark thoughts in my head.

Maybe I’m just not meant to have it all. I don’t have that… balance. That ability to chase what I want without falling apart. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t.”

He paused, swallowing hard. The sadness in his eyes was raw, as if admitting it to someone else made it feel even more real. “I want a family, Blanca. I’ve told you before, but I need you to understand—it’s not just about having kids. It’s about finding something real. Something... home.”

He looked down for a moment, then back up at her, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “I want someone who’s there when I come home from a road trip. A smile on their face like they’ve missed me. I want to walk into an apartment that feels warm, where I can just collapse and know I’m not alone.”

A distant look crossed his face, and he spoke softer now, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “I want weekends spent doing nothing but lying on the couch, cuddling. I want to wake up next to someone. I want to feel like I’m part of something that’s mine. And yeah... I want the crying baby, the sleepless nights, the chaos. Because I’m so tired of the emptiness, the silence that fills the space around me. I want to feel like I belong somewhere. To someone.”

His gaze drifted, softening as a faint, faraway smile tugged at the corner of his lips. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right now, I don’t feel like I belong. Not in my career. Not in my relationships. Not in my life.”

Blanca reached out, her hand trembling as she placed it gently on his arm, but he didn’t pull away.

“I miss my family... so much,” he said quietly. “But I can’t just go back to them. They have their own lives now. And all I have here is me.” He paused, his words lingering. “I don’t even know if I like who I’ve become… I don’t know if I like...” He hesitated, as if admitting something he wasn’t ready to say. “…me.”

He let out a long sigh, slumping back into the couch, looking defeated. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever get this right. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to carry all of this. And I don’t even know if anyone’s gonna be around to help me when I fall apart.”

Blanca’s chest tightened as she saw how lost he truly was, how much he was carrying, and how alone he felt. But there was one thing she needed him to understand—one thing that she needed to make clear.

“Quinn,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her heart. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to carry this alone. You’re not a failure. And you’re not broken. You’re just... human. And you’re allowed to not have all the answers right now. You’re allowed to not have it all figured out.”

His eyes met hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he seemed to soften. The rawness of his pain was still there, but the weight of it seemed to ease, if only for a moment.

Blanca squeezed his arm gently. “You’ve been there for me when I was at my lowest. I’m here for you now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Quinn didn’t respond immediately, but she could see the flicker of something in his eyes—hope, maybe. Or at least, the first inkling of it. His breathing slowed, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension drained out of him.

They sat there for a moment in silence, the weight of everything still lingering in the air, but it felt… lighter somehow. Like finally letting the words out had loosened the tight grip around his chest.

Then, Blanca exhaled, clapped her hands together, and announced, “Alright. Now that we’ve had our big, dramatic breakthrough moment—I’m sending your ass to therapy.”

Quinn groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious.” She crossed her arms. “You just hit rock bottom on your living room couch, and I am not doing this every week. I’m putting you in professional hands.”

Quinn gave her a flat look. “I am not going to therapy.”

Blanca raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Because I distinctly remember a certain someone forcing me to go when I was a complete disaster. Ring any bells?”

“That was different,” he muttered, but he refused to meet her eyes.

“Oh, it was so different,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “I was spiraling, you were worried, you made me go, and—shockingly—it actually helped.” She nudged him. “I’m just returning the favor.”

Quinn groaned again, flopping back against the couch. “I hate you.”

Blanca grinned. “Love you too, buddy. Now, I’m gonna find you a good therapist, and if you try to fight me on it, I will drag you there myself.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am, saving your life.” She stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Now, do you want to order takeout or do I have to force you to eat something, too?”

Quinn huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus, you’re relentless.”

Blanca smirked. “Damn right.”

For the first time that night, there was something close to a smile on Quinn’s face. Maybe he wasn’t completely okay yet—maybe he was still drowning in all of it—but at least he wasn’t alone in it. And, for now, that was enough.

– 

Blanca was laying on the couch, lazily flipping through her phone while Quinn sat on the other end, his leg still propped up on a pillow. It had been a few weeks since his breakdown, and though things weren’t magically perfect, she could see a difference. Therapy was helping—not that he’d ever admit it—but she saw it in the way he actually talked to her now instead of shutting down. The way he put in effort.

And apparently, the way he now had homework from his therapist.

“So,” Quinn said, clicking his pen open. “I need a hobby.”

Blanca raised an eyebrow. “You don’t already have one?”

“Reading doesn’t count, apparently.” He rolled his eyes. “I need to do something outside of my apartment.”

She smirked. “That’s rough, buddy.”

Quinn shot her a look before flipping open the notebook on his lap. “Anyway. I have to pick five hobbies to try. And since you’re the reason I’m in therapy, I’ve decided you’re doing them with me.”

Blanca blinked and sat up quickly. “Excuse me?”

He leaned back against the couch, smirking. “Payback.”

“That’s not how this works.”She groaned. 

“That’s exactly how this works.”

She squinted at him. “So what, I just have to go along with whatever you pick?”

“Yup.” He grinned as he wrote Hobby List at the top of the page.

Blanca sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if you make me do something ridiculous like…I don’t know, bird watching, I’m out.”

Quinn snorted but ignored her as he tapped the pen against his chin. “Alright. First up… bowling.”

She made a face. “Bowling?”

“It’s easy and I can still do it one-handed.” He lifted his injured hand slightly. “Therapist approved.”

She hummed. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. What’s next?”

Quinn scribbled down another one. “Dancing.”

Blanca grinned. “Oh my God. You’re serious?”

“Yes.” He exhaled. “I suck at it, and every time I get invited to a wedding or some fancy event, I just stand there like an idiot while everyone else has fun.”

Blanca smirked at his discomfort. “So you want to learn?”

“Yes.” He shot her a look. “But only if you suffer through it with me.”

She shook her head, laughing. “This might be the most shocking thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

“Glad I can keep things interesting,” he said with a flat voice without looking up from his notebook.

Still grinning, Blanca watched as he moved on to the third hobby.

“Okay… number three… biking.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You do realize you have an injury, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. But my legs work fine. And my therapist said low-impact cardio would be good.”

She hummed. “Alright, I’ll allow it.”

Quinn shook his head, smiling as he scribbled down the fourth one.

“Pottery.”

“Pottery.”

Blanca blinked. “Wait, like… pottery pottery?”

“Yup.”

She stared at him. “You, Mr. Captain Serious, want to play with clay?”

He shrugged. “Could be fun.” Then he glanced up at her, a slow, almost teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Plus, I wouldn't mind getting my hands a little dirty.”

Blanca’s brain short-circuited.

For a second, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Quinn never flirted. At least, not like that. His version of charm had always been quiet, subtle—more awkward than smooth. But this? This was dangerously close to an actual line.

She squinted at him. “Okay. Who are you?”

He grinned, all smug and amused. “What?”

“You just—you never flirt. Like, ever.”

Quinn leaned back, tapping the pen against his chin. “Maybe therapy’s helping me relax a little.”

Blanca huffed, crossing her arms. “Great. Now I’ve got to deal with flirty Quinn?”

“Maybe.”

She groaned. “I take back everything. You can quit therapy.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he wrote down the last hobby.

“Okay, last one… rock collecting.”

Blanca let out a loud laugh, dramatically placing a hand to her forehead.  “You were doing so well.”

“This is gonna be fun! We can do it while we hike!”

Blanca shot him a disbelieving look. “I should’ve known this was a trap. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut that night at Bella’s birthday. And now, look where that’s got me.”

“But it’s too late now, Blan. You can’t just unfriend me after seven years.” He said with a grin—enjoying himself far too much for Blanca’s liking.

"Ughhh..." Blanca groaned, flopping back onto the couch, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

But despite her complaints, she couldn’t help but smile. Quinn was trying. He was pushing himself, even if it meant dragging her along for the ride.

And, as much as she hated to admit it… maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

—

The car hummed softly as it rolled down the dimly lit streets, the evening air just crisp enough to make Quinn turn up the heat a little. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming lazily against his thigh. Blanca sat in the passenger seat, her legs tucked up slightly, scrolling through her phone while the soft tunes of whatever playlist Quinn had thrown on played in the background.

Blanca smirked, glancing over at him. “I still can’t believe you actually went through with this whole dance lesson thing.”

Quinn scoffed, eyes fixed on the road. “Psychologist’s orders.”

“I mean, I get it,” she continued, “but out of all the hobbies in the world, waltzing still feels like a stretch for you.”

Blanca already knew the real reason behind Quinn’s decision, but she never imagined he’d actually go through with booking a dance lesson. Still, she could see why he’d choose this. Quinn was a maximalist—and a terrible dancer. Quiet, awkward, and never fully comfortable in big social settings, especially at weddings where he always felt out of place. He hated looking stupid and dreaded being the guy just standing there while everyone else had fun. So, naturally, when it came to picking a hobby, he had to choose something that would make him better. Always about improving, even in the most unexpected ways. Classic pro athlete with an ego to match.

“Listen,” he sighed, adjusting his grip on the wheel, which somehow caught Blanca’s attention. Did he always have such long, nice fingers?! “I’ve been to, like, five weddings in the past year, and I have two more coming up. Ever seen a guy just standing awkwardly by the dance floor, sipping whiskey and nodding to the music? That’s me, Blan!”

She laughed. “So what, you’re learning to dance to become the life of the party now? Planning to sweep some ladies off their feet with those killer moves of yours?”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “No, I just don’t want to look like an idiot. And if I ever have a wedding of my own, I should probably know how to dance, right?”

“Ohh, now we are talking,” Blanca sing-songed, shifting in her seat. “Tell me, what’s the dream Hughes wedding looking like?”

Quinn hesitated, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, obviously, Luke and Jack would be there. Probably causing some kind of disaster.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” Blanca said. “I give them ten minutes before one of them spills something on the bride.”

“Five minutes,” Quinn corrected. “And that’s being generous.”

Blanca cackled, throwing her head back. “Okay, what else?”

Quinn paused, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know. Something simple. Family, close friends. Good food, good music. No gimmicks. Just… nice. And probably in Michigan.”

Blanca hummed in thought, staring out the window. “That sounds nice.”

Quinn glanced at her quickly before focusing back on the road. “What about you?”

She shrugged, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Something similar. I don’t really have family to invite… just friends, I guess. After everything that happened, I don’t really keep in touch with them anymore.”

Quinn’s grip tightened on the wheel for just a moment. He recognized that tone—the quiet sadness she tried to mask with a casual shrug.

"Yeah, that’s true," he replied softly, his voice light but carrying an unspoken understanding. "But obviously, I’ll be there!"

Blanca shot him a teasing grin, brushing off the sadness as though it had never been there. "Oh? You’re assuming you’ll be invited?"

"Blanca, I’ve survived hours of The Vampire Diaries, Gossip Girl, and Pretty Little Liars—all because you forced me to. After enduring that emotional chaos with you, you better invite me to your wedding, or I swear I’ll show up uninvited like one of those dramatic plot twists you love so much."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Fine, fine, you’re in. But only if you promise not to let Jack and Luke ruin everything."

Quinn huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, that’s impossible. But I’ll try."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Blanca sighed dramatically. "God, imagine us at our weddings, actually dancing like we know what we’re doing."

"Miracles do happen," Quinn deadpanned.

Blanca elbowed him, giggling. "Shut up. You’re going to be so sappy at your wedding, I just know it."

Quinn smirked. "And you’re gonna cry. Like, full-on ugly cry."

"Obviously," she said without hesitation. "That’s a given."

Blanca glanced at Quinn, and they both erupted into laughter. After a beat, Quinn casually added, "If I ever get married, though... I still have no idea who I’d pick for my best man."

Blanca blinked, surprised. "What? Why not?"

Quinn sighed, shaking his head. "It’s not that simple. Luke and Jack have been fighting over it for years. And it’s been more than a year since I had a girlfriend, Blan. But they’re still at it, like it’s some weird competition, and I’m just stuck in the middle."

Blanca raised an eyebrow, her smile shifting to something more knowing. "That sounds like a nightmare."

"It really does," Quinn muttered. "I just don’t know how I’m supposed to pick."

Blanca drummed her fingers on her thighs, pretending to be deep in thought. "Well, if you’re stuck, I think you should just name me your best woman."

Quinn blinked, caught off guard. "Wait... what?"

"Seriously," she said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Who else has stuck by your side since you moved here? Who stayed by you when you were grumpy after bad games? Who tolerated your terrible taste in books? Plus, I’m the only one who can keep Luke and Jack from burning the place down."

Quinn stared at her for a beat, then chuckled. "You know what? You’ve got a point. You’d probably be the only one who can handle those two when they are together. But my taste in books is amazing, just so you know."

Blanca rolled her eyes, letting his last comment slide. "Then it’s settled. I’ll be your best woman."

Quinn grinned, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. You’re officially my best woman. But you better keep my brothers in check."

Blanca gave a mock salute. "Oh, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about it. I know them well enough to blackmail them into submission."

Quinn was taken aback for a moment, then snapped his head back and laughed heartily. "Sometimes even I’m afraid of you. You crazy latina," he said with a grin. "Although, I’ll need one more favor..."

"Oh, what now?" she teased.

"You have to let me play my sad country playlist at my wedding," he said, completely serious.

Blanca stared at him in disbelief. "What? No way, Quintin! You can’t be serious."

"Those are my favorite songs, Blanca," he said with a slight pout.

"Nope," she shot back firmly. "You’re not subjecting people to that. Your wedding isn’t a sad country song marathon."

Quinn groaned, but there was a grin on his face. "Fine. You win. But I’m still playing one country song."

"Deal," Blanca said, holding up a finger. "One country song. The rest of your playlist better be happy!"

They grinned at each other as Quinn pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio, the warm glow of the building’s lights spilling onto the pavement. He killed the engine and turned to look at her with a lazy smirk.

"Ready to make fools of ourselves?"

Blanca grinned. "Always."

And with that, they stepped out into the chilly evening, side by side, just as they always had been.

—

The sleek, modern apartment felt unusually quiet when Blanca returned home from her first week back at work. The hum of her computer screen, the soft click of her mouse, and the occasional buzz of her phone were constant reminders that life had to go on. But the first week back after an extended break, especially one spent by Quinn’s side during his recovery, had been draining. It didn’t help her mood that she was still sore from their dance lesson last week. Her legs were killing her, and her job was a pain in the ass.

Her graphic design clients were patient but demanding, and the pace at the office felt overwhelming after so many weeks of focusing solely on Quinn. Now, though, he was getting better. And she found herself overwhelmed with the weight of the world outside their little bubble.

Blanca shut the door behind her as she entered the apartment. The cool marble floors, the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, and the soft lighting all seemed to create the same polished sense of calm. Quinn was on the couch, propped up with a cushion, his hand still in a brace but his mood lighter than it had been in weeks.

He was scrolling through his phone when she walked in, looking up with a smile as he noticed her tired expression.

“How was your week?” he asked, pushing himself up a little to sit straighter.

Blanca let out a long, exhausted sigh and tossed her bag onto the side chair. “Crazy. I didn’t think I’d miss the quiet of this apartment so much until I went back to work. I swear, I don’t remember my clients being that demanding.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “But you're good at what you do, right?”

“I am, but it’s the pace,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It’s not like when I could just...take a break and work on other things. I’ve been caught up in designs for days, and the deadlines are starting to stack.” She threw herself onto the couch beside him. “I didn’t realize how much I needed time away from all of it.”

Quinn shifted, turning his phone face down. He’d always been someone who showed his appreciation through actions—whether it was doing something for her or offering little gestures of thanks. But today, he felt like he needed to put things into words, something he rarely did. And for some reason, now seemed like the right time.

“I get it,” he said softly, giving her a sympathetic look. “But listen, you’ve been carrying a lot lately, haven’t you?”

Blanca paused, turning her head toward him. There was something in his voice—something different—that made her pause. Normally, Quinn would have given a teasing remark or distracted her with a joke. But today, his tone was serious, sincere.

“I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a while,” she admitted quietly. “And this week felt like a reminder of how hard it can be sometimes.”

Quinn smiled, but it wasn’t the teasing smile she was used to. This was soft, almost apologetic. “I know it’s not easy…And hey, I’ve been doing better, right?” He paused, then added, his words measured, “I thought we could take the weekend and get out of here for a bit. Go hiking.”

Blanca blinked, surprised. “Hiking?” she said, her voice full of disbelief. “You’re seriously asking me to go hiking?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, trying to sound casual, but the underlying sincerity in his voice was clear. “You’ve been working hard all week, and I’ve been stuck in this apartment. You could use a change of scenery.” His eyes held a mischievous twinkle, but there was something more genuine beneath it now. “Besides, I think you owe me. You’ve been forcing me to go to therapy and actually do the things on the hobby list. I deserve a little payback.”

Blanca stared at him, a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “You're trying to get me out of the apartment to go on a hike as payback for forcing you to go to therapy?”

Quinn’s grin softened, and he leaned back into the couch, giving her a more open, vulnerable look. “Exactly. But, honestly, it’s also a way for me to thank you.”

She tilted her head, surprised by the shift in his tone. “Thank me? For what?”

He met her gaze, his eyes holding hers for a beat too long. “For being here. For everything you’ve done. You didn’t have to take all that time off to be with me. You could’ve stayed at work, kept your routine, but instead, you were here, making sure I didn’t lose it completely. I know it wasn’t easy. I know I was snappy at times. And I don’t say it enough, but I’m grateful. More than you’ll ever know, Blanca.”

Blanca felt her breath catch in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. Quinn was the type of guy who showed his appreciation through small, silent gestures rather than words. But here he was, actually saying it—being vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen before. It caught her off guard, and for a moment, she was unsure of how to respond. The sincerity in his voice made the air feel thick with something unspoken between them.

Her heart fluttered, and she quickly averted her gaze. “Quinn…” she started, her voice soft. “You didn’t have to—”

But he cut her off gently, his hand moving to rest on her shoulder as he gave her a small, reassuring squeeze. “I wanted to. I know I’m not great at talking about this stuff, but I appreciate you. I really do.”

Blanca’s pulse quickened, the unexpected tenderness in his voice making her feel something she wasn’t prepared for. She had always seen Quinn as her friend—her best friend, even—but there was something in the way he was looking at her now, something deeper, that made her pause.

To deflect the unexpected intensity of the moment, she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, if this whole hockey thing doesn’t work out, you could always become a therapist. You’ve got the touch.”

Quinn’s lips curved into a teasing smile, but there was still that warmth in his gaze. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly, “I mean it, Blan. You’ve been a real lifesaver.”

Blanca swallowed, her heart still racing. She tried to shake off the strange new feeling creeping up on her, but when Quinn's hand shifted slightly, massaging her shoulders with his good hand, she froze for a moment. The warmth of his touch made her pulse quicken, and she instinctively tensed before forcing herself to relax.

It was nothing like the drunken kiss they’d shared years ago, that awkward, sibling-like kiss after the Vancouver Chucks Christmas party, where they’d both laughed it off as a mistake. No, this felt different. More…real. As if the tension between them had shifted into something else entirely.

His hand was gentle, massaging the stress from her shoulders, but his touch felt heavier somehow. She caught her breath, feeling a flutter of heat run through her veins, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

“Okay, okay, you’re good at this,” she finally said, her voice a little breathless, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Quinn.”

Quinn smirked but kept his touch gentle. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

But something in his eyes held her there, and Blanca, despite herself, couldn’t look away..

—

Blanca adjusted the straps of her backpack and exhaled, glaring at the uneven dirt path ahead. The towering evergreens were picturesque, the crisp mountain air refreshing, and the sunlight filtering through the branches was nothing short of beautiful. If it weren’t for the possibility of bugs crawling on her at this very moment, she might have admitted that this wasn’t completely terrible.

But there was something else making this hike harder than expected.

Or rather, someone.

Quinn walked ahead of her. His dark curls peeked out from under his cap, slightly damp from exertion, and the snug fit of his t-shirt did nothing to hide the solid muscles beneath it. His broad shoulders, strong back, and those damn thighs—thick and powerful, flexing with every step—were unfairly distracting.

Blanca swallowed.

Since when was she noticing Quinn’s thighs?

She had seen him in workout gear a million times before. Hell, he practically lived in compression shorts during the season. But out here, in the middle of the forest, in his fitted hiking gear and the sun highlighting the veins running down his strong forearms, he looked… different.

Focus, Blanca!

She shook off the thought, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. This was Quinn. Her best friend! The same guy who used to steal the last slice of pizza just to mess with her. The same guy who once kissed her at a Christmas party years ago and immediately made a face like he’d just licked a lemon, declaring they had zero chemistry.

So why the hell was she looking at him now?

Blanca gritted her teeth and picked up her pace, determined to push the thought away.

Quinn glanced back at her and smirked. “What’s with the face? You look like you’re contemplating murder.”

“Because I might be,” she shot back.

He chuckled, waiting for her to catch up. “Come on, admit it. This isn’t that bad.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Give me five minutes. I guarantee I’ll have at least two mosquito bites, and then we’ll talk.”

His smirk deepened. “I’ll personally carry you back down the mountain if that happens.”

Blanca crossed her arms. “With what? One good arm?”

Quinn grinned. “Fine. I’ll leave you for the bears.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at her lips. He looked lighter today—more like his old self. And despite her initial complaints, she had to admit… it was nice to be out here.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sound being their footsteps on the trail and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Blanca was just starting to enjoy the quiet when Quinn let out a slow breath.

“Therapy’s been…interesting.”

Blanca glanced over at him. He wasn’t looking at her—his gaze was focused straight ahead, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t like him to bring this up on his own.

“Yeah?” she said carefully.

He nodded, running his good hand through his hair. “I fought it at first. You know that. But…” He hesitated, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Turns out, talking about your problems doesn’t make them disappear, but it does help make them feel a little less… impossible.”

Blanca softened. “That’s progress.”

Quinn shrugged, stepping over a tree root. “I guess I didn’t realize how much pressure I put on myself. How much of my life I’ve spent thinking ten steps ahead, stressing about where I’ll be in five, ten years. Whether I’ll still have a career, whether I’ll have done enough, whether I’ll—” He stopped, shaking his head as if frustrated with himself.

Blanca frowned. “Whether you’ll be enough?” she finished quietly.

Quinn halted mid-step.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then he turned to her, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his expression.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower. “Something like that.”

Blanca exhaled, her chest tightening. “What does your therapist say about it?”

Quinn smirked, though there was no humor in it. “That I need to stop trying to control everything. That life isn’t a game where I have to plan ten plays ahead just to survive.” He let out a slow breath. “That if I keep living that way, I’m going to wake up one day and realize I never actually lived at all.”

Blanca’s stomach twisted.

“That’s… really good advice,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” Quinn muttered. “Easier said than done, though.”

They walked a little further, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. Then Quinn turned toward her again, tilting his head slightly.

“What about you?” he asked.

Blanca blinked. “What about me?”

He smirked. “How’s the boyfriend hunt going?”

Blanca groaned. “Jesus, Quinn.”

“What?” He laughed, nudging her with his shoulder. “You told me months ago you were finally ready to start dating. That you were past all the—” He hesitated, his voice softening. “—the stuff with your stepdad. And you wanted to find someone.”

Blanca sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m trying. I went on a couple of dates, but I don’t know. It’s hard.”

Quinn watched her carefully. “Hard how?”

She exhaled. “Hard to trust. Hard to open up. Hard to even want to put myself out there like that.”

She hesitated, then, before forcing herself to admit the real truth. “And honestly? I can’t even think about sex.”

She expected him to joke, to tease, but he didn’t. Instead, he just studied her, like he was actually listening.

“That makes sense,” he said simply. “You went through a lot, Blanca.”

She swallowed. It wasn’t often that people really acknowledged it.

“I just…” She hugged her arms around herself. “I don’t know how to move past it. How to be normal about it.”

Quinn’s gaze softened. “You are normal.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You know what I mean.”

They stood there for a long moment. Then Quinn did something unexpected.

He reached out and, with his good hand, squeezed her shoulder gently—just enough to ground her. Just enough to remind her that he was here.

And Blanca felt it.

The warmth of his palm. The slow, comforting pressure. The way his fingers lingered for just a second too long before he pulled away.

She swallowed, her pulse skittering in her throat.

Since when did this feel different?

Since when did Quinn touching her feel like… something?

“Maybe you don’t have to force it,” Quinn murmured. “Maybe it’s not about trying to be ready all at once. Maybe it’s just about… letting things happen when they’re meant to.”

Blanca stared at him.

There was something in his voice—something careful. Something unspoken.

And suddenly, she wasn’t just noticing his thighs or his arms anymore. She was noticing the way his dark eyes softened when he looked at her. The way his lips curved ever so slightly, like he was waiting for her to say something.

She swallowed hard.

“Since when do you give such good advice?” she asked, voice a little unsteady.

Quinn smirked. “Since therapy.”

Blanca forced a laugh, but her pulse was still racing.

This was Quinn—her best friend.

So why the hell did it suddenly feel like so much more?

– 

Blanca paced back and forth in Quinn’s luxury apartment, phone pressed to her ear, her heart still racing from the hike earlier. She needed answers. She needed help.

The line barely rang twice before Bella picked up.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Blanca didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “I think I’m going insane.”

There was a pause. “…Okay, but like, is this a normal Blanca ‘I hate humans’ kind of insane or an ‘I just committed a crime’ kind of insane? Because I need context before I react appropriately.”

Blanca groaned. “Neither! It’s—” She stopped, dragging a hand through her hair. “It’s Quinn.”

Bella’s pause was even longer this time.

Then, like the absolute menace she was, she let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god.”

Blanca winced. “No. Don’t ‘oh my god’ me. That’s not—”

“You like him.” Bella’s voice was smug.

“I do not!” Blanca snapped, immediately defensive.

Bella burst out laughing. “Babe. You called me two seconds into a crisis because of him. If that’s not liking him, then what is?”

Blanca groaned again, flopping down on her bed and covering her face with a pillow. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

“What’s bad about it?” Bella asked, way too delighted by this. “Quinn’s hot. He’s smart. He treats you better than any other man in this city. Oh, and let’s not forget—you’ve literally been living with him.”

Blanca groaned louder. “That’s the problem. We’ve been friends for so long, and now suddenly, I’m—” She waved her hand wildly in the air, despite the fact that Bella couldn’t see her. “Noticing things.”

Bella snorted. “Like what?”

Blanca sat up, gripping the pillow. “Like how his arms are stupidly big. Or how his thighs are just—rude. Or how he looks way too good in a freaking hiking outfit. And worst of all?”

Bella gasped dramatically. “There’s worse?”

“Yes!” Blanca hissed. “I felt something when he touched me today. And not in a ‘we’re best friends, this is totally normal’ way. In a ‘holy shit, I might be attracted to Quinn Hughes’ way.”

Bella screamed.

Blanca immediately pulled the phone away from her ear. “Jesus, Bella, calm down!”

“I KNEW IT!” Bella howled. “I CALLED THIS YEARS AGO! BROCK! BROCK, GET OVER HERE!”

Blanca’s eyes widened in horror. “NO—DO NOT INVOLVE BROCK!”

Too late. She could already hear Bella yelling at her boyfriend, Brock Boeser, in the background.

“BABE! GUESS WHAT? BLANCA FINALLY REALIZED SHE’S IN LOVE WITH QUINN!”

“I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH QUINN!” Blanca shrieked.

Brock’s amused voice rang through the speaker. “Took her long enough.”

Blanca wanted to die.

“Bella, I swear to God,” she hissed. “If you don’t shut up, I will personally fly to your house and strangle you.”

Bella was still cackling. “Oh, babe. You know I can’t keep a secret. Why are you even telling me this?”

Blanca groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Because I thought you’d be a supportive friend and help me figure out how to stop this before it ruins everything!”

Bella’s laughter softened into something a little more sincere. “B, listen to me. There’s no stopping this. You and Quinn? It was always gonna happen.”

Blanca frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ridiculous is that every single person in our friend group knew before you did,” Bella said smugly. “There were bets, Blanca.”

Blanca nearly choked. “WHAT?!”

“Oh yeah. Jack bet it would happen last year, but I said it would take you at least another hockey season. I knew you two were blind, but damn, I didn’t think it would take this long.”

Blanca was going to pass out. Or maybe throw herself off the nearest balcony.

“Bella,” she said through gritted teeth, “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone else.”

“…Define promise.”

Blanca screamed.

—

Quinn had always loved Blanca.

Not in the way people assumed, though.

Not in a way that ever made him question things before.

It was just… Blanca. His best friend. His person. The one who had been in his life for over seven years, through every high and low, through every moment of absolute chaos and quiet. He loved her the way you love the person who knows your worst days and stays anyway. The way you love the person who never lets you drown alone.

But now?

Now, sitting next to her in this pottery class, watching the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way her brows pulled together in focus, the way her lips curled in satisfaction when her hands worked the clay into a vase—he was realizing with something close to panic that he might be starting to love her in a very, very different way.

And Quinn had no idea what to do with that.

Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Blanca was his Blanca. She was the one who dragged him to therapy and made him take his healing seriously. The one who moved in with him after his injury without hesitation. The one who stood by his side even when he was at his absolute lowest. She had always been strong—so strong that sometimes Quinn felt like she carried the weight of the world, even when she didn’t have to. And he adored that about her. He adored her.

But now?

Now he was noticing things he shouldn’t be noticing.

Like the way her hair caught the light, strands shining under the warm glow of the studio.

Or how the curve of her smile made something tighten in his chest.

Or how her laugh—soft, genuine, so completely Blanca—made his entire body warm in a way he did not want to analyze.

Quinn forced himself to focus on the sad excuse for a clay bowl in front of him, trying to shove down the realization clawing its way to the surface.

Nope. Not happening. This was fine. He just needed to get through this class without doing something stupid.

Blanca, completely unaware of his spiraling, glanced over at his clay with an amused look. “Are you murdering it or shaping it?”

Quinn scowled. “It’s clay. How the hell am I supposed to know?”

She smirked, hands moving effortlessly over her own piece. “You have to be patient. You can’t just force it.”

Quinn shot her a dry look. “That sounds like my therapist's advice.”

Blanca laughed, bumping her shoulder into his. “Maybe because it is.”

And Quinn?

Yeah. He was screwed.

Because he’d never had trouble being this close to her before. Never had a problem with the way she nudged him or leaned into him when they joked around. Never once thought twice about the way she invaded his space like she belonged there.

But suddenly, all of it was different.

Suddenly, his entire body was hyper aware of her.

And when she turned to him, smiling like she always did, something inside Quinn tilted.

She must have noticed something off in his expression because her smile softened, her voice quieter when she asked, “You okay?”

Quinn swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie.

But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

Because Quinn had always loved Blanca.

But now?

Now he was falling.

And for the first time in their friendship, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself.

—

Quinn was losing it.

He wasn’t the type to freak out.He played in front of thousands of people. He led a team. He had dealt with injuries, losses, and the crushing weight of expectations.

But this?

This was Blanca.

And he was freaking the hell out.

He didn’t even think—he just grabbed his phone and called the one group chat he usually muted unless absolutely necessary.

Jack 💀, Luke 🦦, Quinn 🙄

The FaceTime rang twice before Luke’s face popped up first, slightly confused but not overly concerned. “Hey, what’s up?”

Then Jack’s face joined, looking like he had just woken up from a nap, his hair a mess. “This better be good, man. I was having a dream where I won the Hart Trophy, and I swear—”

“Guys,” Quinn cut him off, voice urgent. “I think I’m in love with Blanca, and I’m going to die.”

There was silence.

Then—

“Oh, finally,” Luke said with a knowing sigh, rubbing his face.

Jack, on the other hand, howled with laughter. “Oh my God. Oh my God. This is so good.”

Quinn scowled. “How is this good? I’m spiraling! This is bad! This is—this is the worst possible—”

Jack ignored him completely, grinning as he turned to someone off-screen. “Anja, babe, get over here! Quinn’s having a crisis about Blanca.”

A muffled laugh came from Jack’s side before a voice—Anja’s, Quinn assumed—responded, “Oh, this I need to hear.”

Quinn groaned. “This is not a joke. This is—”

“You’re in love with your best friend and don’t know what to do about it?” Luke finished, unimpressed.

“Yes! Because it’s Blanca! We’ve been friends for seven years. And I—I can’t lose her over this.”

Jack smirked. “Or maybe you just finally pulled your head out of your ass and realized what literally everyone else knew would happen.”

Quinn blinked. “What?”

Luke sighed again, shaking his head. “Dude, we all knew. Our entire family knew. Her friends knew. My girlfriend knew. Hell, even Jack’s dumb ass knew—”

“Hey!” Jack cut in, offended.

Luke ignored him. “—you and Blanca were always going to end up here.”

Quinn felt his stomach drop. “No. No, that’s—”

“Yes,” Jack interrupted. “Yes, it is. You’ve been obsessed with her since, like, forever. You just convinced yourself it was some kind of special friendship love, when really, you’ve been down bad since the moment you met her.”

Quinn opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, realizing he had nothing to argue with.

Because… maybe Jack wasn’t entirely wrong.

Luke leaned forward, eyes serious. “Quinny, listen. What’s actually freaking you out?”

Quinn let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just—I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want to lose her. Blanca… she deserves everything. Someone who can show her love in every way possible. She’s been through so much, and she deserves to be cherished. And I—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know if I can be enough.”

For once, Jack wasn’t smirking. He was quiet, watching him closely.

Luke, the annoyingly wise youngest brother, spoke first. “Quinn. The fact that you’re even thinking like that? That’s why you are enough.”

Jack nodded, a rare moment of sincerity in his expression. “Dude, you’re the best guy she could ever find. And let’s be real, you already show her love in every way. You just didn’t realize it.”

Quinn swallowed. “But what if—”

“Quinny,” Luke interrupted. “You love her. She loves you. You guys are just stupid.”

Jack grinned. “Exactly. And honestly? This is way more fun for me than watching Luke be disgustingly in love with Thea.”

From Luke’s side, a voice—Thea’s—called out, “I heard that, Jack!”

Jack only cackled.

Quinn sighed, shaking his head. “So, what do I do?”

Jack leaned back, looking smug. “Oh, you’re sooo far gone, dude. Just accept it.”

Luke smiled, softer this time. “And stop thinking about what she deserves and start realizing you already give it to her.”

Quinn barely had a second to process his brothers’ words before another voice chimed in from the background—Thea’s, calm and knowing.

"Once, a wise man told me: if you start believing you only deserve love and kindness if you prove it every day, it’ll eat you alive. Maybe you should listen to this."

Quinn’s stomach dropped. Because he had said that.

To Thea.

Around a year ago, when she was struggling with self-doubt, convinced that because she was older than Luke, because she had baggage, because she wasn’t perfect, she somehow had to earn the love Luke gave her so freely. Quinn had told her those words because, to him, it was so obvious.

Now?

Hearing them said to him felt like getting hit in the chest.

The call went quiet for a second. Even Jack didn’t say anything—he just watched, eyebrow raised, like he was waiting for Quinn to get it.

Luke, leaned forward. “You got this Quinn.”

Quinn exhaled sharply. His head was spinning.

Thea spoke again, softer this time. “You told me that, because you saw my worth so clearly, Quinn. Why is it so hard to see your own?”

Quinn opened his mouth, then shut it.

Because it was different when it was him. Because Blanca deserved so much, and he—

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe… maybe they had a point.

Maybe he had been doing to himself exactly what Thea had done back then—convincing himself that love had to be something he earned instead of something he just deserved.

Maybe Blanca already knew who he was and still chose to be here, just like Luke had chosen Thea, not because she had to prove anything, but because he wanted to.

Jack clapped his hands together, shattering the silence. “Well. I think that’s enough wisdom for one night. Now, Quinn, stop panicking. And if you’re still freaking out, go make out with Blanca and deal with it later.”

Jack barely had time to smirk before there was a loud thwack from his side of the call.

“OW! Anja!”

Anja’s voice came through, unimpressed. “That’s what you get for being an idiot.”

Luke snorted. Thea chuckled under her breath. Quinn just sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Jack grumbled, “You guys are so ungrateful for my genius advice.”

“Jack, I will personally hit you again if you open your mouth one more time,” Thea deadpanned.

Jack scoffed. “Oh, shut up, Miss. Old Enough to be His MILF.” But then he seemed to reconsider. Pretty quickly. “…Actually, you know what? I will shut up. You’re in the next room with Luke, which is way too close for comfort. And you’re on your period, which means you’re even more bloodthirsty than usual.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

Thwack.

“OW! Seriously?!” Jack yelped.

Luke sighed dramatically. “Dude, you had that one coming.”

Thea’s voice was flat. “Let’s see if you still have something to say after I really hit you.”

Quinn exhaled, shaking his head, but for the first time since making this call, he wasn’t completely spiraling. His brothers were annoying as hell. His family was loud, chaotic, and absolutely relentless.

But maybe… that was exactly what he needed.

—

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of Molho de Carne, the savory Portuguese beef stew that Quinn had once taught Blanca to make, and now, it was her turn to prepare it for him. Quinn stood at the counter, his hand in a brace, leaning against it with his weight shifted slightly forward, his body still restless. Blanca moved around him, her movements fluid and practiced as she worked with a quiet focus, but Quinn couldn’t help but watch her. It was hard to ignore the shift that had happened between them these past few weeks—the quiet, unspoken change that lingered after each day they spent together.

“So,” Quinn began, his voice light but laced with that dry humor they both loved, “how’s the stew looking this time? You’re not planning to ruin it again, are you?”

Blanca shot him a playful, sideways grin. “It’ll be perfect this time,” she replied, but the teasing glint in her eyes matched his. “Unlike your ‘amazing’ attempt last time. Remember that?”

Quinn scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “That was your fault, not mine. You distracted me with all your... fangirling over Matt Rempe. The New York Rangers, Blan. Really?”

Blanca snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. I can’t help that the only thing I enjoy in hockey is hot guys.” She flashed him a teasing grin before continuing. “And I know you’re not that guy, Quinn. But even you have to admit—Matt Rempe is eye candy.”

Quinn let out a short laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. He’d be lying if he said a bit of jealousy didn’t flicker through him, but deep down, he knew Blanca was just messing with him. “Yeah, that’s why you love being at every home game, right? Who are you watching there?”

His voice was casual, but there was a hint of challenge in it. He knew he was pushing the limits a bit, hoping for something, maybe a reaction. A glimpse of how much she cared—or didn’t.

Blanca’s grin faltered just for a moment, but she recovered quickly, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, you know, just the hockey players,” she said with a shrug, but there was a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “They’re all pretty easy on the eyes, don’t you think? I just get lost in their talent... mostly.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer as he crossed his arms. “Talent, huh? Or is it something else you’re getting lost in?”

Blanca’s eyes flickered to his, and the playful energy between them shifted, crackling in the air. She could feel the change, that thin line between friendship and something... more. Something neither of them had fully explored before.

She took a step back, trying to maintain the banter, but her heart was racing. “I’m just saying, I’m all about appreciating good looks and skill. What’s the harm?”

“Well, for one,” Quinn said, stepping closer, “I’ve been pretty patient with you, watching you gawk over every ‘hot’ player in the league. But now? I’m starting to think maybe I’ve been the one you should be watching.”

Blanca let out a quiet laugh, though her pulse picked up. “Oh? You think you’re the one who should be the focus of my attention now?”

“Maybe. I’m just saying—I deserve a little more of your attention than some guy who’s three years younger than you.”

Blanca’s breath caught in her throat, surprised by his sudden boldness, but she couldn’t deny the flutter in her chest. She tilted her head, meeting his gaze with a playful challenge. “You think you deserve my attention, huh? What’s so special about you?”

Quinn smirked, his eyes darkening slightly as he took another step closer. “Well, for one, I’m the one who taught you how to make this stew. So maybe you should appreciate that, too.”

Blanca’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she crossed her arms, leaning just a bit into him. “Hmm, you might be right,” she said, voice soft but laced with flirtation. “But I’m also thinking that I’ve learned a lot from you in other areas. Like... how to handle your ‘world-class’ attitude.”

Quinn’s lips twitched, a mix of amusement and something more dangerous in his gaze. “World-class, huh? Maybe I’ll show you what else I can handle.”

Before she could respond, he was there, stepping so close that there was barely an inch of space between them. His breath was warm against her skin, and she could feel the tension between them rise, a pulse of electricity in the air.

Blanca swallowed, suddenly aware of how much she didn’t want to pull away. Her heart raced, her body instinctively leaning into him. The playful teasing had been fun, but this? This felt like something else entirely.

“Quinn—” she started, but her words faltered when he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss.

It was brief, just a taste, but it sent a shock through her, and before she could think, her hands were already at his chest, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, his lips more insistent now, and in an instant, all the unsaid things between them—the years of friendship, the quiet nights, and the fleeting touches—collapsed into this one moment. Despite the brace, his injured hand found its way to her waist, gripping her with a need that matched her own, as if he couldn’t quite control the surge of heat between them.

Blanca didn’t fight it. Her hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the dark, tousled mess of his hair. He smelled like pine and something deeper, a hint of his cologne mixed with the faint scent of fresh air from their earlier walk they did together in the park. His body was solid against hers, the broadness of his shoulders and the lean muscle beneath his T-shirt undeniable. She could feel his pulse beneath her fingertips as their kiss grew more desperate, more urgent. His lips were soft but insistent, moving against hers with a hunger that startled her—he wasn’t holding back, not now.

Blanca let out a soft gasp when his lips left hers, his breath harsh in the space between them. He was leaning in again, his eyes dark, his expression a mixture of need and disbelief at what they’d both let slip past the point of no return.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before pulling her into another kiss, this time with even more intensity, more urgency. It was as if he couldn’t get enough—like he was starved for this, for her. His lips were demanding and unrelenting, pulling her deeper into the storm they’d started.

Blanca lost herself in it, her hands gripping his shirt, her body pressing into him with the same desperate energy. 

—

The air in the kitchen was still thick with the remnants of their kiss, but both Quinn and Blanca knew they needed a break. They pulled apart, a silent agreement passing between them as they finished the rest of their dinner, the conversation light and awkward, avoiding what had just happened.

After they cleared the table, neither of them spoke about what they’d just shared. But the tension between them was undeniable—like an electric current that ran just under the surface.

Blanca had barely set foot in the living room when Quinn reached for her again, his fingers grazing her wrist gently but insistently, pulling her back toward him. The kiss was immediate, their mouths finding each other with an intensity that had been building for months, maybe longer. She melted into it, her body responding in ways she didn’t understand, but neither of them pulled back this time.

Without thinking, they moved together—Blanca letting Quinn lead her toward his bedroom, his hands never leaving her as he guided her. They stumbled inside, a breathless mess of urgency and anticipation. The door clicked shut behind them, the room suddenly feeling too small, the space between them shrinking with every kiss, every touch.

“Blanca,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his heart was racing. “We don’t have to… I mean, if you’re not ready, we can stop. I’d never—” He swallowed, searching her face. “I just want you to feel safe.”

Blanca’s eyes softened, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as if trying to ground herself in the moment. For a moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze tracing the lines of his face—the familiar curve of his jaw, the concern etched into his brow. He was so careful with her, always had been. And that was exactly why this felt different.

“Quinn,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re not that man. You’ve never been that man in my life.” She lifted a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. “What happened… it’s still there, yeah. It probably always will be. But you? You’re the one who’s made me believe I can let someone in. That I want to.”

His breath hitched, relief and something deeper flooding through him. He leaned into her touch, his forehead resting against hers. “I just need to know you’re sure,” he whispered. “Because I want you, but only if it’s right for you.”

Blanca smiled, a small, real thing that broke through the tension. “I’m sure,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “With you, I’m sure.”

“Before we… I need to know. Are there lines for you? Things you don’t want, or—” He paused, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’d never hurt you. You know that. But I need to hear it from you.”

Blanca’s breath caught, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. For a second, the past flickered behind her eyes—her stepfather’s shadow, the years of locking herself away from trust, from touch. But Quinn wasn’t him. Quinn was the one who’d sat with her through nightmares, who’d waited patiently until she was ready to let him closer. She exhaled, steadying herself, and met his gaze.

“No hardcore stuff,” she said, her voice clear despite the flush on her cheeks. “Nothing too rough—none of that choking shit. That’s… that’s a no-go for me.” She swallowed, then softened, her lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. “But I—” She hesitated, glancing away for a beat before looking back at him, a spark of heat in her eyes. “I actually like a little dominance. A little… push, you know? When it’s you, it feels good. Safe.”

Quinn’s eyebrows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into something warmer, more intent. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, testing the waters. “You want me to take the lead?”

Blanca nodded, her fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair. “Yeah. I never thought I’d feel that way after everything. I thought I’d always be too scared to let go, to want someone to… to lead, you know? But with you—” She leaned closer, her lips brushing his as she spoke. “With you, it’s okay. I trust you. So if you want to, you can. I want you to.”

That was all the permission he needed. Something shifted in Quinn’s eyes—respect still there, but now laced with a hunger he’d kept reined in for too long. He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was deeper, fiercer, his hands sliding up her back to pull her flush against him. She gasped into it, her body arching instinctively, and he took the cue, guiding her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against her lips, his tone a mix of command and care as he pressed her down onto the mattress. His hands were firm but not forceful, one sliding under her shirt to grip her waist while the other braced beside her head. “You say stop, we stop. Always.”

“I know,” she breathed, her hands tugging at his shirt, pulling it up and off in one fluid motion. “But don’t stop yet.”

The room hummed with tension, the kind that had been simmering between them for years, now boiling over. Quinn stood just inches from Blanca, towering over her with a presence that seemed to fill the space between them. His tall frame loomed, his jaw tight, his eyes dark as they held hers, searching for any trace of hesitation. He reached out, his hand firm under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. The air felt thick, charged, as if the very world was holding its breath.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, laden with a quiet command that sent a shiver through her. His thumb brushed her lips, tracing the outline of her mouth in a way that made her pulse race.

Blanca swallowed, the words barely a whisper as she met his gaze. “Completely.”

That was all he needed. His control slipped away, replaced by a raw hunger that surged between them. He closed the distance, crashing his mouth to hers in a kiss that was all heat and fire. His lips moved hard and deliberate, as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t claim her fast enough. His tongue swept in, tasting her, savoring her, and she melted into the kiss, her hands fisting in his shirt as she kissed him back just as fiercely.

The world around them seemed to vanish—there was nothing but the feel of his body against hers, the burn of his kiss, the heat building between them like a slow storm. His groan rumbled into her mouth, sending a shiver down her spine. He deepened the kiss, tilting her head to take more, his teeth grazing her lower lip before soothing it with a slow, wet press that had her gasping against him.

Minutes passed in a haze of kissing—hard, then soft, then hard again—until Blanca’s lips were swollen, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She pulled back, her chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, and Quinn’s eyes darkened, his expression filled with a fierce desire that only intensified the heat pooling in her core.

“This needs to go,” he muttered, his voice rough, each word filled with urgency as his hands slid to the hem of her sweater. He yanked it over her head in one swift motion, tossing it aside like it was nothing, and then his hands slid down the sides of her body, pausing at the clasp of her bra. With a quick flick of his fingers, he released it, and the garment fell away. Her breasts spilled free, and for a moment, Quinn just stared, his gaze devouring her as his chest rose and fell with the effort to stay in control. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with desire. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending a wave of heat through her that made her arch into his touch. The sensation was almost too much, yet she craved more. He squeezed gently, then firmer, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers, watching her face, savoring the way her breath hitched. His mouth followed the path of his hands, trailing kisses from her mouth to her jaw, then down her neck. He kissed and sucked at her collarbone, and then lower, pausing just above her breast to look at her with a teasing smirk before taking her nipple into his mouth.

Blanca moaned, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Quinn switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, nipping and sucking until she was squirming beneath him, her body trembling with need.

“Your turn,” she panted, her voice husky, her breath ragged as she pushed at his chest.

Quinn hesitated, letting her take control for just a moment, standing back as she reached for his shirt with eager hands. Her fingers were shaking slightly, betraying her nerves, but her eyes were filled with determination as she yanked it off, revealing his broad chest, the muscled lines of his abdomen, and the faint scars that told of battles fought and won on the ice. Her fingers traced over his chest, the heat of his skin sending sparks of desire shooting through her. She ran them over his abs, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath her touch before they dipped lower, her fingers halting at his jeans.

She hesitated there, but Quinn gave a slight nod, his voice a low rasp. “Go ahead.”

Her fingers moved with growing confidence, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding the zipper down. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, and her breath caught in her throat. She let her gaze travel over him for a moment, taking him in, her lips parting as a sly smile curved her mouth.

She wrapped her hand around him slowly, stroking him with tentative, deliberate movements, testing the weight of him in her palm. Quinn’s head tipped back with a rough exhale, his jaw clenched as he groaned, his hands covering hers to guide her pace, tightening her grip as he hissed in pleasure.

For a moment, he let her play, savoring the feel of her hands on him, but then he pulled her hand away, his mouth crashing down on hers in a kiss that was filled with urgency. His body pressed her back toward the bed, and she complied, lying down as Quinn climbed over her, his weight sinking onto her, keeping her pinned beneath him.

He didn’t strip her jeans off just yet—he was in no rush. Instead, he pressed himself between her thighs, still clad in denim, and ground his hips against hers, the rough fabric creating a friction that sent shocks of pleasure racing through her. She gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him closer, desperate for more. Quinn smirked against her mouth, his movements deliberate and slow, grinding his hips harder against hers, teasing them both with the sweet, slow burn of desire.

“Gonna take these off now,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear before he kissed her again—deep, sloppy, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he sat back slightly, his hands sliding down to peel her jeans and underwear down her legs, leaving her bare beneath him.

Blanca’s body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Quinn settled back between her thighs, skin on skin now, and he slid a hand down her stomach, pausing just above where she wanted him. His eyes never left hers, dark with desire as he hovered just above the place she ached for him most.

“Tell me what you need,” he growled, his voice a low rumble.

She gasped, her hips bucking toward his hand, desperate. “Touch me,” she pleaded, her voice strained, raw with need.

Without hesitation, he obeyed. His fingers slid lower, circling her clit with slow, deliberate circles, the pressure firm but tender, each stroke sending a spark of heat racing through her. She was already wet, and Quinn groaned at the feeling, slipping one finger inside her, then two, curling them deep as his thumb kept working her.

“Fuck, Quinn—” she moaned, her back arching, her hands clutching his shoulders as her body shook with the overwhelming pleasure he was giving her. He didn’t stop, increasing the pace, thrusting his fingers in and out, deeper and harder, his eyes locked on her face as she unraveled beneath him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride, kissing her again as she gasped and moaned against him. “Let me feel you.”

Quinn’s lips lingered just above hers, his breath hot and uneven as he kissed her again, deep and consuming, his tongue tangling with hers in a way that left her dizzy. His fingers were still inside her, two thick digits pumping steadily, curling just right to hit that spot that made her toes curl. Blanca’s hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pressure, and he smirked against her mouth, pulling back to watch her writhe beneath him.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled, voice low and rough with approval, his free hand sliding up her body to cup her breast again. He squeezed, thumb flicking her nipple, then pinched it lightly, rolling it between his fingers as she gasped, the dual sensation of his hand between her legs and on her chest lighting her up. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes—God, yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back into the pillow, hands gripping his shoulders as he worked her higher. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, the slick sound of her arousal filling the room, and then he added a third, stretching her just enough to make her breath catch. His thumb pressed harder on her clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles, and she shuddered, her thighs clamping around his wrist.

“Stay still,” he ordered, his tone firm as his other hand left her breast to grip her hip, pinning her to the mattress. He leaned down, kissing her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark before trailing his lips lower. His mouth found her breast again, tongue swirling around her nipple, then closing over it with a firm suck that sent a jolt straight to her core. He grazed it with his teeth, teasing, and she whimpered, her body arching despite his hold.

“Quinn—fuck, I’m close,” she panted, her voice breaking as the heat coiled tighter inside her. He didn’t let up—his fingers curled harder, thrusting with a rhythm that was almost punishing, his thumb relentless on her clit. His mouth moved to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, licking and sucking until her moans turned desperate, her nails digging into his skin.

“Look at me,” he commanded, lifting his head to meet her gaze, his eyes dark and piercing. “I want to see you when you come.” His voice was a low rumble, masculine and unyielding, and it pushed her closer, the weight of his stare as intense as his touch. He shifted his hand, angling his fingers deeper, pressing his palm against her clit now, grinding it with every thrust, and she couldn’t hold back.

“Quinn—” Her cry broke off as her climax hit, a sharp, overwhelming wave that had her shaking, her walls clenching tight around his fingers. Her vision blurred, body bowing off the bed as pleasure ripped through her, and he kept going, drawing it out, his hand steady and unyielding until she was gasping, oversensitive and trembling beneath him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his tone softening as he slowed his movements, easing his fingers out of her with a gentleness that contrasted the intensity of moments before. He kissed her lips, soft and lingering, then her forehead, his hand sliding up to cradle her face as she caught her breath. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her cheek, his touch tender now, grounding her as she came down.

Blanca’s chest heaved, her body still buzzing as she looked up at him, a dazed smile tugging at her lips. “You’re… really good at that,” she managed, voice shaky, and he chuckled, low and warm, pressing another kiss to her mouth before resting his forehead against hers.

Quinn’s breathing was still heavy, his hand resting lightly on Blanca’s hip as he watched her come down from her high, her cheeks flushed and eyes hazy. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender, and leaned in to kiss her softly, a quiet check-in after the intensity. Pulling back, he met her gaze, his voice low and steady. “You ready for more?”

Blanca nodded, her lips parting as she caught her breath. “Yes,” she said, then hesitated, a flicker of nervousness crossing her face. “But… I want to try something first.” She shifted, sitting up slightly, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she looked at him, vulnerable but determined.

“Anything,” Quinn said, his tone warm, encouraging, though his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. “What is it?”

She swallowed, glancing away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I’ve never… I want to suck you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t really know how. I—I’ve never done it, not really. Not by choice.” Her words faltered, and she took a shaky breath. “My stepfather… when he—when he hurt me, he forced me to. I hated it. It’s why I’ve never tried since. But with you… I want to. I just need you to show me.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, a flash of anger darkening his eyes, and Blanca saw it—the way his fists clenched briefly, the muscle ticking in his cheek. She knew that look; it wasn’t aimed at her, but at the man who’d stolen so much from her. For a second, she thought he might say something, let that fury spill out, but he didn’t. He exhaled sharply, reining it in, his focus shifting back to her. This wasn’t about him—it was about her, about giving her what she needed. He reached out, cupping her face gently, his thumb stroking her cheek.

“You can tell me anything, Blanca,” he said, voice firm but soft, grounding her. “Anything you want to share, I’m here. And if you want this, I’ll make it good for you. I’ll show you—step by step. It’s your choice, always.” He paused, searching her face. “You sure?”

She nodded, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“Okay,” he said, a hint of warmth breaking through the intensity in his eyes. He shifted, sitting back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, his cock still hard and waiting. “Come here,” he beckoned, patting the space between his thighs, his tone taking on that commanding edge she liked. She crawled over, settling in front of him, and he reached for her hand, guiding it to wrap around his base. “Start slow. Just get used to it. Touch me first.”

Blanca’s fingers tightened around him, stroking tentatively, and he let out a low hum of approval. “Like that,” he said, his hand resting over hers, showing her the rhythm. “Now, when you’re ready, use your mouth. Lips first—just the tip. No rush.” His voice was steady, patient, though the heat in it betrayed how much he wanted this.

She leaned in, hesitating only a second before pressing her lips to him, soft and experimental. He groaned quietly, encouraging her, and she grew bolder, taking the head into her mouth, her tongue brushing against him. “Fuck, that’s good,” he rasped, his hand sliding into her hair, not pushing, just resting there. “Suck a little—yeah, like that. Use your tongue too.”

Blanca followed his lead, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked, her tongue swirling around him, tasting him. It was clumsy at first, unsure, but his low moans and the way his fingers tightened in her hair spurred her on. “You’re doing so fucking well,” he praised, voice rough with restraint. “Take more if you want—just what feels right. Breathe through your nose.”

She did, sliding down further, her lips stretching around him, and he guided her gently, his hand steadying her head. “Good girl,” he murmured, hips twitching slightly as she found a rhythm, bobbing slowly, her hand working what she couldn’t fit. The power of it—the way he responded, the way she controlled his pleasure—started to feel good, reclaiming something she’d thought was lost forever.

But Quinn’s breathing grew ragged, his control slipping, and he tightened his grip in her hair, voice firm. “Okay, Blanca—stop now.” She pulled back instantly, lips wet and eyes wide, and he exhaled hard, steadying himself. “I want to finish inside you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument but still soft with care. “This was perfect—better than perfect. You don’t know what you do to me. But I need you now.”

She nodded, a flush of pride mixing with anticipation as she wiped her mouth, meeting his gaze. “I liked it,” she admitted quietly, and he smiled, pulling her up to kiss her deeply, tasting himself on her lips without hesitation.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured against her mouth, his hands sliding to her hips. “Ready for me?”

Quinn’s grip was iron on Blanca’s hips as he maneuvered her into position, pulling her astride him with a rough tug that left no room for hesitation. His broad frame dominated the space beneath her, muscles taut, his cock hard and pressing against her as he held her there, suspended just above him. His eyes—dark, commanding—locked onto hers, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re mine right now,” he said, voice low and gravelly, a statement, not a question. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” Blanca breathed, her hands braced on his chest, fingers curling into the solid muscle there. His smirk widened, a flash of masculine satisfaction, and he didn’t wait—he yanked her down, impaling her onto him in one swift, deep thrust that stole her breath. She gasped, her body stretching to take him, and he growled, a primal sound of approval as he filled her completely.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his tone sharp, hands clamping tighter on her hips as he started to move. He thrust up hard, setting a rhythm that was slow but forceful, each roll of his hips deliberate, claiming. “Don’t look away.” She obeyed, caught in his stare, the intensity of it pinning her as much as his hands did. His fingers dug into her skin, guiding her to ride him, lifting and dropping her with a strength that left her no choice but to follow.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotions as he watched her, taking in the way her lips parted, the flush spreading across her chest. He shifted one hand, gripping her ass to angle her just right, driving deeper, hitting that spot that made her whimper. “Move with me,” he commanded, and when she faltered, he slapped her thigh lightly—not hard, just enough to sharpen her focus. “Like that. Harder.”

Blanca moaned, her hips rocking to match his pace, and he rewarded her with a rough groan, his other hand sliding up to her breast. He squeezed, firm and possessive, thumb and finger pinching her nipple until she arched into him, a soft cry escaping her. “That’s it,” he said, voice dripping with control as he thrust up again, relentless, his gaze never wavering. “Take it. Show me you can handle me.”

Her breaths came in pants, her body trembling under his guidance, and he slid his hand between them, fingers finding her clit with precision. “You don’t come ‘til I say,” he warned, rubbing tight, slow circles that made her thighs quake, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent. She squirmed, overwhelmed, but he held her steady, his grip unyielding. “Stay with me, Blanca. Look at me.”

“Please—” she gasped, her voice breaking, and he smirked again, a glint of triumph in his eyes as he felt her tighten around him, teetering on the edge. “Not yet,” he growled, slowing his fingers just enough to keep her there, dangling, his hips snapping up with a force that shook the bed. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Quinn—let me—” she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he relented, his tone shifting to a rough command. “Now. Come for me.” His fingers pressed harder, his thrusts deepened, and she shattered, her climax hitting with a sharp cry, her body clenching around him as she shook, eyes still locked on his.

He didn’t hold back—watching her fall apart pushed him over. With a guttural sound, he gripped her hips bruisingly tight, slamming up into her once, twice, then burying himself deep as he came, spilling inside her with a low, possessive groan. His eyes stayed on hers, fierce and unblinking, claiming her in that moment completely.

When it was over, he didn’t soften immediately—he pulled her down onto his chest, still inside her, his arms wrapping around her with a firm hold. “You did so good, Blan,” he murmured, voice quieter now but still filled with raw emotions, as he pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. His hands loosened, stroking her back once, twice, a gentleness breaking through as he let her settle against him, their breaths syncing in the stillness.

The air settled around them. His breathing was slowing, his hands shifting from their earlier firmness to a softer touch, one arm wrapping securely around her waist while the other traced lazy circles along her spine. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips brushing her sweat-damp skin, and she nestled closer, her cheek resting over the steady thud of his heartbeat.

For a moment, they just lay there, the silence comfortable but charged with unspoken words. Quinn shifted slightly, tilting her face up with a gentle hand under her chin, his eyes searching hers—soft now, but still carrying that quiet strength she’d always known. 

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and warm, a thread of concern woven through it. “Everything we did… was it alright? Did I overstep anywhere?”

Blanca’s lips curled into a soft, satisfied smile as her fingers traced lightly over his chest. She met his gaze, shaking her head. “No,” she murmured. “You didn’t overstep. It was perfect.”

She hesitated, her breath hitching as she searched for the right words. Then, with quiet certainty, she leaned up and kissed him—slow and tender, pouring everything she felt into it. When she pulled back, her voice was softer, more vulnerable.

“I was so afraid to admit this, but I love you, Quinn. I’ve never felt this way before—like I can just… let go and be safe. With you guiding me, making me beg… I love it. I want to be good for you.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering before something deeper, warmer took its place. He exhaled, a soft sound of relief and adoration, then pulled her closer, his fingers threading through her hair as he cradled the back of her head.

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering before something deeper, warmer took its place. He exhaled, a soft sound of relief and adoration, then pulled her closer, his fingers threading through her hair as he cradled the back of her head.

“Fuck, Blanca,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion as he kissed her again, slow and unhurried, like he wanted to memorize the feel of her. “I love you too. More than you know.” He let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers. “And that’s what scared me. You’re my best friend. The most important person in my life. I was so fucking afraid of losing you, of screwing this up. But I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t just want you in my life—I want this. Us.”

His thumb brushed along her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. She smiled, a little shy now, and burrowed into the crook of his neck, breathing him in—the familiar scent of him wrapping around her like a safety net.

“I’ve never wanted this with anyone else,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his skin. “Never thought I could. But with you… it feels right. I like when you take control. It’s… freeing.”

Quinn exhaled softly, his grip on her tightening. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I love guiding you. Watching you let go, knowing you trust me that much—it’s insanely hot.” He adjusted slightly, pulling the blanket higher over them, tucking her securely against his chest. “We’ll figure everything out tomorrow, I promise. But for now, just let me hold you.”

She nodded, sinking into him as his hand settled on her hip, grounding them both.

“Rest now,” he whispered, his fingers combing through her hair. “I’ve got you.”

And as she drifted off, wrapped in his arms, she knew—deep in her bones—that he truly did.

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

Simon Riley is an enigma—a brooding, complex man with a shadowed past that he can’t escape. You’re just an ordinary person until he claws his way into your life and you can't help but give in to him. The only problem is that you try to keep things casual, while Simon's never been one to settle for that.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 3

(He longs to be) Close to you

***

You freeze, heart pounding, the moment shattered. Who the fuck is that? You think to yourself, panic creeping in. Another knock then a familiar, playful voice from the other side of the door.

“Bitch! I know you're home!”

“Oh my God. Ishta.”

You completely forgot about your little watch party with her. This can't be happening now. Of course it's happening right now.

“Hm, that a girlfriend I don't know about?”

Simon murmurs, nuzzling his face to your neck.

“You need to go.”

Your voice is low, urgent, but it only seems to amuse him. His hands wrap around your waist, pumping his hips upwards, rubbing himself against your soaked underwear.

“What, you're kicking me out? Just like that?”

He nips at your neck, making you yeep. He tightens his hold, long arms locking you in.

You tense, trying to wiggle from him but him and his stupidly defined arms aren't budging.

“I'm serious; you need to leave, now.”

You twist in his arms, your anxiety growing as Ishta's knocking gets louder. She's never been patient.

You can feel his lips curve into a smile.

“You're tense, should relax a bit.”

“Relax?! Oh my God, I'm gonna kill you.”

You snap in a hushed tone, yanking yourself free (well, more like he finally relents and lets you go). You tug your shorts up while he follows suit, much more leisurely than you. He quips while letting you drag him towards the fire escape,

“Can't believe I'm the other woman, thought I was special, angel.”

“You're not making this easy.”

“Mistresses rarely do.”

Simon smirks, while you pull him to the window. Ishta knocks again, louder this time.

“Stop jerking off, the ice cream is melting!”

Simon snickers and you push him through the window onto the fire escape. His large frame steps out, stretching out while he turns to you.

“What? No kiss goodbye?”

“Simon!”

He doesn't budge until you lean out the window, planting a quick, chaste kiss on his scared lips. His hand cups the back of your neck, practically shoving his tongue down your throat, before you wrench yourself away.

“Bye.”

The words come out harsher than you mean while you shut the window, watching him slip into his place, not trusting him to sneak back into yours.

Ishta's voice whines from behind your front door. You smooth out your clothes, pasting a sheepish, wide smile. You take a deep breath before opening your door.

“Hey girl! Sorry I-”

“Was jerking off thinking about your neighbor? I know girl. Get that nut in friend.”

She empties her tote, sets some wine bottles down and grabs two cups from the kitchen before bending to sit on the couch. You wince watching her try to sit where his bare ass was.

“Oh! No don't-”

She looks at you curiously, frozen mid-squat— your brain scrambling to find something remotely plausible.

“I spilled tuna juice there earlier.”

She narrows her eyes at you, searching your face. She must be satisfied with what she sees because she shrugs and moves to the other side.

“Can't smell fishy. Got a date later.”

She pops open a bottle, pouring a generous amount into each cup. You grab the one she offers and take a seat on the arm of the couch.

“A date, huh? Is it that finance guy from last month?”

She rolls her eyes, turning on the TV.

“Oh God, no. He was so fucking annoying, trust fund baby.”

You laugh a little, grateful for her not pressing you on the couch thing.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

She waves her hand vaguely, her attention already on the TV, looking for a show.

“Met him at the park. He was jogging—shirtless, obviously—and tripped over his own fucking shoelaces. Adorable. Total himbo vibes.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling into your glass.

“Thought you liked nerds.”

“That's the thing,”

She turned to you, grinning like a fool.

“Ok so, we were talking about showers,”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. Anyways, he starts going on about different hypotheses of 'the shower curtain effect' with this dumbass smile on his face. I'm trying not to stare at his tits and just ask him if he wants drinks before I start drooling. Obviously, he says yes, and here we are!”

She finishes her glass and helps herself to another. You lean closer to her.

“So what's the plan? Drinks, talk about nerdy shit, and then stumble into his place and ogle at his star wars figurines?”

“First off all,”

She raises a finger.

“He’s an artist, so get it right. And secondly, he's Scottish. So like, the accent makes everything hotter.”

You hum curiously.

“My apologies, I clearly underestimated his international flare.”

“You did. Also, you're welcome for letting you live vicariously through me, by the way.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, oohh my goodness. Thank you for your graciousness.”

You say in mock appreciation, hand over your heart. Her eyes twinkle when she winks at you.

“Freely granted, my dear. I'll text you all the juicy details.”

“Lucky me.”

You say dryly, swirling your wine glass. Ishta lightly hits your knee.

“Look at us. You got your English guy, I got my Scottish one. Just gotta snatch up an Irish and Welsh one, and we've got a whole set!”

“Please be serious, girl. Also, he's not ‘my guy’, he's just a neighbor.”

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. We'll see how long that lasts.”

***

You've been more moody lately. From Ishta unintentionally cock-blocking you, to work being particularly demanding, and finally, Simon terrorizing you relentlessly.

Ever since ‘the incident’ he's been on you like white on rice. He'll stop you in the mornings in the foyer and casually talk about how he came to the thought of you last night or stand behind you in the elevator and grind up against you, laxly apologizing.

“Sorry. It's just such a tight fit here, right angel?”

You silently thank God Simon has the sense to pull these stunts when no one else is around to witness his brand of debauchery (he doesn't, you just got lucky no one's there when he pulls that shit).

You're barely holding onto your patience. Every word he says, every deliberate touch grates on your nerves. He has you on edge, dangling by a thread. A simple nudge could send you tumbling— yet he never quite gives it. Instead, he leaves you like this, toeing the line.

Waiting. Waiting on you to make the jump.

It kind of surprises you, given the whole…incident. You expected him to follow you into your apartment one day and finally consummate whatever twisted, simmering thing you had going on. But he didn't. Seemed to enjoy making you squirm.

***

You could almost forget about him during the day. Almost. Work has been a circus lately, thanks to your boss—the museum curator who seems to thrive on chaos. She’s brilliant, yes, but she’s also impossible. Barking orders, demanding perfection, treating every missed detail like a personal betrayal. You spend your mornings running errands and your afternoons fielding phone calls from artists who need their egos stroked. The only moment of reprieve is when you’re in the gallery itself, away from the madness, the artwork pulling you into a quiet, timeless space.

But even that doesn’t last. Today, you spent hours installing a new piece—a massive, fragile sculpture—and as soon as it was in place, she decided it needed to be moved six inches to the left. Six inches. By the time you got home, your nerves were frayed, your patience long gone.

He’d been waiting in the lobby when you arrived, as if he knew you’d had a long day. His presence suffocating, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he stood too close, his hand brushing your hip when you reached for the elevator button.

“You look tense, angel.”

“Simon, please.”

“‘Please?’ Wow, must've been really bad today.”

He chuckles to himself, like he's so fucking funny.

You rub your eyes, the tired dryness a reminder of the day you'd had. He sees this as an invitation to step behind you and wrap his arms around you. Large frame towering over you, long arms sliding around you.

“Not in the mood for this today, Simon.”

You mutter, void of its usual bite.

You don't even have the energy to push him away when he plants a kiss on the side of your neck, softer than the last time his lips touched your skin.

“So sweet when you're tired out. Wonder if you're like this after-”

The elevator dings and you pull away, pushing his head off your shoulder and trudging to your place. At this point, you're too drained to care about his games, too tired to rise to the bait.

If he wasn't going to stop playing, wasn't going to do anything but pussyfoot around, you had better things to do—like collapse on your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight.

You reach your door and fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when they decide now is the perfect time to be elusive in your bag.

“Need help?”

You don’t jump. You’re too used to that voice coming from behind you, low and amused. His words echo in your head more than you’d like to admit these days.

“No.”

You say, sharp enough to bite through the air as you finally fish the keys out and shove one into the lock.

It sticks. Of course, it sticks.

He says something you ignore while he leans against the side of the doorframe, watching you struggle. Your head lands on the door with a soft thud, forehead pressing against the cool metal.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Not like you to let me have the last word.”

“I’m too tired for this.”

“For what?”

“For your bullshit.”

You spit, jiggling the key rougher than necessary.

Simon hums, entertained.

“There she is. Was worried I lost you for a minute.”

The key refuses to turn. Between him looking over your shoulder and the fucking door mocking you, your patience starts to shred, gossamer-thin.

When the door finally opens, you turn to him.

“Do you ever shut up?”

He shrugs.

“Not when I’m having this much fun.”

“You call this fun?”

“Watching you fight with a door? Yeah, a little bit. Had my money on the door though, unfortunately.”

You swear his grin is almost audible under that mask.

Your eyes narrow, heated.

“Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

He doesn't miss a beat.

“No, actually. Not tonight.”

“Of course not, when do you ever?”

You mutter, yanking your keys out of the lock.

“Just keeping the schedule free for you, love.”

“Free to annoy me?”

“Something like that.”

Your eyes drift from his face down to his arms crossed over his chest. His compression shirt doesn't help, the material stretching in a way that feels obscene.

Then while he watches you stare, he flexes subtly.

It pulls a laugh out of you, the sound slipping out before you can help it,

“Whore.”

He pulls his mask down, showing off his own smile. His canines sharp and slightly crooked, but somehow it makes him more attractive. Like he doesn't just accept his imperfections, but wears them proudly, fully aware of their charm.

“Just for you, angel.”

“Your persistence is coming off pathetic.”

You huff half-hearted, crossing your arms.

“Doesn't seem to bother you much.”

Simon goads. You think this is the happiest you've ever seen him.

“It does.”

You lick your teeth, feigning irritation. He mirrors the movement, finishing it off with a smile that makes your face hot.

“Go on then,”

His voice drops lower, thick and languid, molasses poured slow on a hot day.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

It's quiet for a moment. He tilts his head, eyes glinting and the edge you've been teetering on crumbles underneath you, all reservations and restraint gone. You grip the strings of his hoodie and pull him down to your face.

“You're insufferable.”

“Yes.”

“A tease.”

“Mhm.”

“Worst neighbor I've ever had.”

“Ouch.”

He says, though his tone is anything but wounded. If anything, it sounds downright gleeful.

“Makes me wanna do awful things to you.”

You say in a hushed tone, a newfound energy pumping through your veins. The space between you grows smaller as you tug him even closer, his hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you.

“Yeah,”

His voice is low, molten. A scorching heat that flows from his mouth down your chest and stomach.

“Probably use those pretty little hands, leave marks. Bruises I'd feel every time I breathe.”

You twirl the strings around your fingers, leading him into your place. It feels like tugging on a leash tied to a dangerous dog— wild and unpredictable, tethered to you and you only. He catches the door before it slams shut, closing it without looking, dark eyes honed in on you. Makes your stomach do flips.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

His silence is answer enough, a smirk playing on his face. You muse, shoving him toward the couch with a playful push,

“Maybe I'd keep it simple, knife to the heart. If I could find it.”

He spreads out on the cushions, pulling you to him, making you straddle one of his thick thighs.

“Sounds painful, tell me more.”

“Maybe I'd tie you up. Make you beg for your life.”

When you say that, he groans— an honest-to-god groan and his grip on your hips tightens.

“It’d be hard, getting through all that muscle and bone,”

He grabs your wrist, making you press two fingers on the hard, fast pulse right under his jaw.

“Be quicker and easier to hit it right here. Faster way to go out.”

You cock your head to the side, biting back a moan feeling the beat of the vein under his skin go impossibly fast when you hum.

“Think I'm gonna go easy on you?”

His response is instant, almost desperate if you thought he was capable of that emotion.

“I hope to God not.”

He wraps himself around you, pressing you up against his solid frame like he's trying to meld his body to yours.

***

He's been at this for long, too long. He hasn't even taken off either of your pants, all too happy to have you grinding your pants against his denim. It's got you so pent up, you're half crazed, panting in the crook of his neck and mumbling pleas for relief.

“Want you, Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head and you groan in frustration.

“Been a real brat lately, can't reward that kind of behavior.”

“Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Sound so pretty, begging for me.”

You're trying anything at this point. Anything but ripping his clothes off. Or yours.

“Don't you wanna feel good too?”

Your tone is so dulcet, it's almost too sweet in your mouth, words dripping with a carefully calculated innocence. You play with the waistband of his jeans, before you can get too far he takes hold of your wrist.

“I know what you're trying to do.”

There's a pause while you pull back to look at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Is it working?”

“Hmm…”

“Simon!”

You huff, almost whiny. He relents, only a little, bouncing you on his thigh once before forcing your hips to grind down harder on him. It makes you lean into him again, he presses a soft kiss on your temple, the kind of gesture that feels almost like he's mocking you with a false sense of soothing. As if he feels bad for you—his touch gentle but somehow condescending.

“Poor thing, could've gotten it sooner if you wanted to. Closed mouths don't get fed, you know?”

He sounds amused, lips still brushing against your temple. Your mouth finds its way to his neck, he lulls his head back, giving you more access to it. It's sweet, tender, starting at his collarbone and moving up slowly until you get to the artery he made you press up against earlier. The moment your teeth press up against it, he comes undone.

“Gaggin’ for it that bad?”

The sound of his belt clicking makes you downright giddy, you lick his neck, feeling his heartbeat under your tongue.

“Mhm…”

He grabs your hand to shove it down his pants and your brain goes static for a moment.

“Had me waiting all this time, and now you want it?”

It's growled into your ear, something about the way it's almost spat out, mean—it sends jolts of electricity between your legs.

“C'mon, show me how much you missed it.”

Your face heats up at his words and he lets out an entertained huff.

“He missed you too, ya know.”

A breathless giggle escapes you when he flexes, making his dick jump in your hands. You pull him out of his pants, eyes going wide. You've felt how big he was before, but seeing it was a whole different thing. Made it all real. Something about the way his pink tip peeked out made you laugh a little, a fleeting thought of him blushing everywhere, even on his dick.

“What?”

He furrows his brows a little, curious.

The truth tumbles out of you before you can stop it. You think you've made a mistake until you see him. His face is unreadable at first, and you brace for some sharp quip or a look of annoyance.

But instead, Simon’s reaction is… different. His ears go pink first, followed by a deep flush creeping up his neck. You want to laugh again but he creeps a hand up your spine to the back of your neck, guiding you into light kisses. You still manage to slip out a few giggles in-between, a smile creeping up across his face. It's such a warm moment, you almost forget about holding him until he twitches in your hands.

“Got the prettiest laugh.”

“Is there anything that you don't think is pretty about me?”

You ask, teasing him.

“No.”

His answer is quick, unwavering, and so serious that it makes your breath catch. You search his face, expecting the usual smirk or a sly remark, but there’s nothing there but honesty. He clears his throat, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he tries to mask it.

“Right, let's get these off.”

He guides you off him so you can stand, he shimmies your pants and underwear off. Once you kick off the fabric pooled around your feet he leans forward, breath hot on your mons.

“Missed her.”

He says so quietly, almost to himself.

“Your pretty girl?”

You run a hand over his buzz cut, and he grips the sides of your bare thighs.

“Yeah…my pretty girl.”

A wet kiss on your most sensitive spot makes your legs tense up. He traces slow, indulgent circles, like this was more for him than you. The tension in your body mounting with every flick of his tongue.

He goes on like this until your knees almost give way from a quick, hard suck. He holds you up with a strong grip under the crease of your ass.

“Think you can stand on your own for a minute, love?”

You’re far past the point of throwing a smart remark his way, your body humming with the tension he’s left simmering under your skin. Instead, you nod quickly, eagerly.

“So good for me, angel. How'd I get so lucky, hm?”

It’s less a question and more an indulgence, the kind of thing he says to soak in the moment while he shoves his pants down to his thighs. When he pulls you towards him, guiding you to settle on his lap, just brushing his tip over your slick entrance, you follow without hesitation—soft, pliant, docile.

“Such a sweet thing. Only for me, right?”

Before you get to answer, he drags your hips down, pushing himself inside you. The stretch borders on discomfort—not just because it's been a while, but because he's thicker than anyone you've ever had before.

It's all so overwhelming— his voice, his touch, his body—all glut and heavy with want. The weight of it crashes over you, leaving you dizzy, untethered. Every word he speaks seeps into your skin, warm and lingering, while his hands, firm yet reverent, treat you like something both fragile and fiercely desired.

When he slides you down more, you tense up. Thighs flexing, clenching around him. It draws a curse from him,

“Fuck…yeah, only for me.”

The moment is so much softer than you imagined it to be—aside from him trying to lick the inside of your mouth. It's coos and words of encouragement,

“Look at you, taking it like a big girl,”

“Bet you needed this as much as I did,”

Big, rough hands gliding up and down your body, squeezing gently. Slow, deep strokes sink into you until you're a shaking mess, arms wrapped around him, clinging onto him like he's your lifeline, mumbling nonsense into his neck. He's taking full advantage of the moment, of course, his voice low and dripping with amusement as he watches you come undone for him.

"Gonna be like this all the time now, pet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Only like this for me, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You whisper, the words spilling out as easily as your control.

“No one else gets to touch you like this, huh?”

“Uhn-uh.”

Your lips brushing against his neck, your heartbeat hammering against his chest, sweat slick against the skin.

And it goes on like this, making empty promises with the devil. Signing yourself away with no hesitation, no second thoughts. Because he kisses you so tenderly it makes you flutter everywhere. Because the way he lifts you up just to buck his hips up into you makes your brain leak out of your ears. Because here, pressed against him, drowning in his voice and touch, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

He hits that spot that makes your nerves taught. You're a string wound up too tight, his name spilling from your mouth again and again, each time more ragged, a little more whiny and desperate, until it finally snaps. You shatter, the force knocking the air from your lungs while he throws his head back, your name leaking out like it's the only word he knows. You're overstimulated, thighs burning and shaking while he ruts into you. You're pushing him with flimsy arms, whining about how ‘it's too much’. That only seems to egg him on, though, spurring him to murmur filth between honeyed kisses,

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,”

“Split you apart everyday and you'll fucking thank me for it, won't you?”

He doesn't even look for an answer from you, more than happy to bask in the mess he made of you. A few more strokes has him choking mid-sentence, sinking so deep inside you think he might've been serious about splitting you apart.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breaths shared between the two of you

“You with me, angel?”

He sighs, his lips press against the skin right over your heart. He lingers, sucking softly, the kind of pressure that's going to leave the skin tender for days—a reminder of him.

You nod, barely able to find your voice, but he waits-patient, his hands wrapping around yours.

"Yeah…”

You finally manage, squeezing a hand that completely engulfs yours, brushing against it with your thumb.

"Good,"

He whispers, his lips brushing against yours again.

"That's all I need.”

And in the back of your mind, as his touch lingers, there's a small fleeting thought:

Oh, you're fucked.

prev | next

[mrs-hwangh]

a boxers heart.

chapter two

Kim Geonwoo x Fem!Reader

summary: one day was enough to change your lifes forever. Geonwoo is your best friend, you help his mother with her coffee shop and became part of a legendary trio with Geonwoo and Woojin. However.. nothing will ever be the same again after the Smile Company entered your lifes.

wc: 2,7k

an: I did not proofread this yet.. bare with me- aaaand... there's going to be some action in the next chapter ✨️

enjoy

The roads were busy, people wearing masks walked by each second as he came closer to his destination.

Opening this door.. it was the best feeling for him. Entering the place where he can work on fullfilling his dreams.

The gym.

Geonwoo mimicked the blows he'd train on as he punched against the air while he went up the stairs.

He was soon greeted by the last door that seperated him from his freedom.

However.. there was a note.

"Huh?"

Temporarily closed Due to a confirmed covid-19 patient

They had to be joking.. right??

He called his coach seconds after, hoping to get the permission to train a little bit on his free day.

'We had dinner last night with some of the other members at the gym'

'Apparently, one of them tested positive'

Geonwoo sighed.

"Oh.. do you think I should get tested too?"

'No, you're fine'

'Anyway, your match was just yesterday. Why did I hear that you're back at the gym?'

"To work out. Why else?"

His coach didn't know if he should be proud or worried at that moment.. isn't that kid.. tired?

'Geon-woo.'

'Please take a week off and rest.'

Rest? Why? Was there a need? All he knew was working hard each day to keep his disciplines up.

Why should he rest all of a sudden if he wasn't even tired?

"Rest doing what?"

His coach wished he could facepalm his student right now.

'Nothing. If you're doing something, you're not resting.'

'Just don't do anything and try to relax'

So.. no keys.. no approval of his coach.. man he really had to rest huh?

Geonwoo gave in.

"Okay"

He ended the call and was left alone standing, waiting for some miracle he knew would not happen.

The boy turned to the staircase and sat down.

He took a deep breath thinking of his options. What could he do.. wha- wait..

How didn't he think of it sooner??

"Come on pick it up already.."

The phone rang a few times until he saw the calls icon change into the timer.

"Uh.. what are you up to??"

Woojin was confused. He had the best sleep since a long time.. getting a call at this early hour confused him already.. having him check the callers ID twice before picking it up.

His eyes were closed, his phone lazily placed on his ear as he groaned.

'Sleep'

"Huh?"

'Sleeping'

Geonwoo was amazed. He didn't hear that right.. no no

"Uhh, I can't hear you"

'Sleep. Sleeping. I am sleeping'

"Well, do you want to work out?"

'No'

"Ah, but I'm bored"

Woojin could not believe his ears. Who in their right mind would wake up that early. The exact day after a win.. just to work out more??

'God, so clingy so early in the morning'

'Can't you ask y/n? I bet she'd love to wake up this early'

"She's helping my mother out.. they're at the coffee and the shift won't end until much later"

'Did you try?'

".. well no, she's busy and I didn't want to disturb her"

'Yeah I figured that much.. oh man'

Geonwoo wouldn't take a no as an answer. Who would he be if he gave up?

"Let's hang out. Hmm?"

Woojin sighed. This dude wouldn't let him rest huh..

....he gave in

'I'll send you my address. Come.'

A light chuckle escaped Geonwoo after hearing this. After all he did have company for now.

"Okay, sounds good"

They ended the call and Geonwoo stood up, leaving the heavy bag in one of the shelves before he left the building.

The door closed and he was greeted by a soft breeze of the wind. He opened his phone to enter the location but something else caught his attention.

Some older man was running down the street, yelling for help. Weird.

Just a few seconds later, another person appeared.

Someone dressed all in black chased him down.

Geonwoos instincts kicked in as he joined the chase to hopefully save the man from his attacker.

The road lead to another neighborhood but he couldn't see them anymore. Shit. Did he really lose them?

A few moments passed by as he stood there, gasping for air thanks to the sprint he did while wearing the mask.

He looked around, sharpened his senses and actually caught kn something.

A sound.

Wincing.

It was time to run once again, not long after he found the person lying down on the street, breathing heavily.

The attacker was already leaving the scene but Geonwoo wouldn't let the person get by that easily.

Their eyes met and the person started running away. Geonwoo was not losing any time, not wanting to get lost again.

He quikly checked the mans state and took off to catch the other stranger.

The chase lead him through tight alleyways, different openings of streets he never got to see until the person dissappeared between the bricks and doors.

Shit.

Shit where did they go??

He didn't stop and soon got to regret this.

A sudden pain surged from his side as the stranger attacked him from a hiding spot.

Was it.. did they.. was this electric?!

Whatever it was sent him on the floor and the stranger on top of him.

He groaned in pain and his breath was very uneven.

His eyes widened in shock as the strangers look turned from serious to disappointed when they saw him.

They took their mask off.. it was a girl?

"Who?"

....

"..huh?" "Why did you follow me? Who sent you?"

Her tone was serious and she put the electronical device dangerously close to his throat.

He was panicking, trying to get his neck as far as he could from that device.

"To help"

She pushed that thing closer.

"Help who?"

He was trying to keep his cool, not looking at the dangerous thing that was activated by now, ready to strike a very very vulnerable spot.

Closing his eyes.. starting to stutter.. this fear.. this was new to him.

"I thought that man was being chased, I didn't know what was going on"

A sudden sound caught her attention. It came from him.

Shit. It was his phone-

"What is that?"

"Was someone following you? Answer me!"

He shook his head as much as he could, facing the painful thing that awaited him.

"Show me the contact. Now."

"Okay.. okay but please-"

She came dangerously close. It came dangerously close.

"T-Take that away.. just a few inches- please"

Geonwoos voice was shaken but she listened, leaning back to give him the needed freedom.

He took his phone out, seeing the name that usually lit up his mood.. but today.. now he was worried.

"Don't wait? Turn it to me"

He hesitated but did as he was told to.

The display was facing her now and the caller indeed didn't seem like someone who'd harm people.

' y/n :) '

There was a picture of you, that smile, these eyes.

No, he was telling the truth. The girl she saw looked way to innocent to actually work for someone like him.

"God fucking damnit"

She shook her head in frustration.

"..huh?"

His eyes slightly widened at this while he noticed that you ended the call.

"That asshole is a fake.. Just butt out of things you don't know, Motherfucker"

She was pissed. Threatening him with the electro shocker and sighing once again before she stood up to leave.

Here he was, lying on the ground.. trying to calm himself from whatever happened right now.

- "Hmm.. he didn't pick it up"

You were cleaning the floor while Geonwoos mother prepared some sweets.

She asked you to call Geonwoo, wanting to know if he wanted her to prepare a special sweet for him.

"It's allright, thank you.."

.....

"So.. how was yesterday? Geonwoo told me a little about the day, but he didn't mention much because I was tired"

Her voice was filled with such kindness.. may this woman never have to suffer again..

"Hmm.. where do I even start.."

You recalled every memory you had from yesterday. From hearing Woojins voice at the call to walking back from the delicious food.

"He introduced me to Hong Woojin.. the one he fought against during the finals. Then.. well no no first I called him and then I heard the other guys voice. It was funny because he was mocking Geonwoo for not answering his question."

His mother smiled softly upon hearing this.

"Which question?"

"The first thing he asked was who he was talking to.. but he kind of ignored it. Shortly after he asked him if he was talking to a girl.. well, he obviously did and then he started saying something about Geonwoo smiling but that was the moment when Geonwoo turned to call off"

She was amused by her sons reaction.

"He also cursed at the guy.. first time I heard him say 'Damnit'.. like genuinely"

You tried to copy his voice during that moment, failing miserably which made his mother errupt into a heartfilled laughter.

"Cursing? Geonwoo? That was unexpected huh"

His mother went on listening to your yapping. You might have not realized it yet.. but she certainly understood what was happening to her son right now, and she was glad that he had you hy his side to support him.

"We should go there together some day, it's really fun"

"I'm pretty sure of that... now.. should we spoil ourselves with some sweets to kill the time?"

Sweets? Made by her godly hands? Oh yes.

You two sat down on one of the seats and enjoyed the lunch break together... ohh how you loved this place.

-

The sun was starting to set as Geonwok and Woojin sat on the rooftop.

They prepared something warm to eat, talking about different topics such as their favourite boxers.

"I do want to get money though, this is part of why I box"

Geonwoo and he compared their idols until they came to the conclusion that both of them had a different point of view.

Woojin though took Geonwoos words in.

"A boxers heart.. this.. this is important to me"

How was he this wise but still younger then him??

".. yeah.. you're right"

The noon went by as they continued their chatter.. they changed the topic.

Well.. Woojin did.

"The girl from yesterday.. who is she?"

Geonwoo was caught off guard, did he forget?

"You mean y/n? Didn't you just talk to her yesterday?"

Ohhh this dude was so oblivious..

"No.. I meant who is she, someone special to you?"

He smirked because he saw his friend slowly getting flustered.

"Oh man I knew that something was going on from the moment she called you"

"Oh shut up-"

"Bro you were smiling wiiiide, tell me! Is she your gi-"

"As I said, she's helping my mother out. This is how I came to know her"

Woojin did not believe anything of this though.

"Yeah yeah, oh man you're helpless aren't you?"

Geonwoo let out a chuckle and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Don't get me wrong, she is special.. but don't you dare say anything in front of her"

"No sir!"

Was he for real? A salute?

"You're going to be the end of me"

"Yes sir!"

-

The suns light gave in to the night.

A familiair darkness filled the streets and you and Geonwoos mother knew that the time had come.

Another day has come to it's end.

"The shift is over. Will you wait with me until Geonwoo returns?"

"Of course"

You too stood behind the counter and missed the black cars which drove up to the entrance.

The wooden door creaked as a man stepped in. Someone you didn't recognize.. but judging by the woman's reaction next to you, she did.

"Oh.. hello! Good evening"

The mans walk was slow but powerful. He was dressed in a black suit, elegant glasses reflecting the lights shine.

His look seemed annoyed, angry even.

"Why didn't you keep your promise?"

Your gaze shifted to her, a confused look spread across all over her face.

"..what?"

"You agreed to an extension fee"

"In exchange for an lowered interest rate"

"uh... what..?"

"But you needed to pay that extension fee which is 10% of the principal"

He walked closer, a few steps being already to many for your comfort.

"withing 24 hours of signing"

"It says on the contract, but because you failed to do so, your extension has accured to 40 million in interest."

His demeanor changed, the serious look turned into a manic one, wide eyes and a voice getting louder with each sentence.

"Not to mention your credit score has dropped so your interest rate has gone up to 20%" He chuckled.

"We really... started with the purest of intentions.."

He laughed.

"You ruined everything, damnit!"

His sudden yelling scared her and snapped you out of your thoughts.

You didn't know what he was talking about but judging by Geonwoos mothers face, the growing unease in you stomach and that guys appearance all together, he had to leave. Now.

"I'm sorry sir, but you have to leave now, I think there's a big missun-"

"Don't you dare to interfere!"

He snapped at you, pointing his finger towards your face and making a face you'd surely see in your nightmares.

This silenced you, but you still stepped closer to your best friends mother, shilding her from him.

"What are you going to do now? Do you have that kind of money?"

She looked at you, then at him.

"I.. I will call the police"

"Police?'"

He was unfazed.

"Yeah"

Silence.

Nor did he say or do anything.

Just standing there, staring at both of your faces until he took one.. then two.. and then many steps back to leave the shop.

Both of you left a breath you didn't know you were holding once you heared the door close.

"What the hell was this.."

She didn't answer you, instead calling her son.

"Oh my God.. oh my God..."

You saw the man standing outside the door, staring at you.. which made you panic a bit.

'Hey mom?'

She was relieved upon hearing his voice.

"Hey son, where are you?"

' I'm almost there'

"Okay, I'm at the store, with y/n"

His face lit up when she mentioned your name.. but not for long.

You.. You saw more of them getting grouped infront of the door.

"A bunch of strange people came over.." 

'Strange people? Who?'

"They're still here"

She wanted to tell him more but one of them suddenly threw a stone against the glas, shattering it completely.

You two flinched and shrieked from the sudden noise, shielding yourselves from what was happening.

'Mom? Y/N?  What's going on??'

All he could hear were your fear filled screams and the loud noise of glass being shattered, wood hitting the floor and people destroying the place his mother established with so much love.

Neither her or you could continue the call, the danger was way to high and your priority was to keep each other safe.

The counter..  the only thing shielding you two from the group of the men.

Wincing and flinching at every sound and glass dropping right next to you, a nearing shadow caught your attention.

Two men forcefully pulled you up, restraining you from moving.

You saw them going to get Geonwoos mother next.. she was shivering in fear..

"Don't you dare touch her! What the hell do you think you're doing in here anyway?!"

The guy holding you pushed you harshly to the wall and slapped you across your face.

A stinging pain filled your senses as you heared the muffled screams of the frightened woman you wanted to protect.

-

Unbeknownst to you.. the call didn't end when you both fell down.

Geonwoo could hear everything.

He was already sprinting, a rage burning deep within him against whoever attacked his special people.

But when he heard your voice? Wanting to protect his mother?

He got goosebumps.. not the good ones.. the ones you get when you're awaiting something bad.

Which happened.. he heard the sound of the slap. The scream of his mother as soon as she saw them hurt you.

He was furious. And one thing was sure. Whoever dared to lay his hand on you two would end up in the hospital today.

-

Taglist:

@asterizee @dripoftheseus

[targaryenluvs]

Idk if you are taking requests currently, but if you are…

Could you write a similar fic to our little dove, where Coriolanus doesn’t kill Lucy. I would’ve loved to see more of them arguing over who gets to spend time with the reader, and all three of them spending time together.

Or maybe a different ending where Lucy takes reader to pick up katniss with her. And whilst Coriolanus is in the cabin lucy convinces reader to run away with her… but Coriolanus finds both of them and takes them to the Capitol with him.

OUR LITTLE DOVE,, ALT ENDING

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

a/n: here’s for all who wanted a different ending! the full fic is here ( our little dove )this is just a detour for everyone who wasn’t happy with the ending! DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT READ THE FULL FIC!!!

the trek back to town had you dying. it usually didn’t take so long but with coriolanus’s arm practically glued to you, the sun beating down on your trio and your dress sticking to you? fainting seemed very fun right now.

the entire routine was rushed, food stashed, no goodbyes to your family nor friends, just lucy and coriolanus wanting you on the train asap. they’d sprung their plan of going back to the captiol on you quite abruptly once you reached town but at this point you had no hope in your body of escaping them. so you obliged and followed like a lost puppy.

being in the capitol was worse.

you were completely and utterly alone. coriolanus was busy running the country, lucy was always working and you always seemed to be stuck on your windowsill. staring out onto the streets as the world passed you by. stuck in a prison of marble and luxury.

at first you had to endure lucy and coriolanus’s never ending arguing, always over you. when you still had an inkling of freedom. “are you kidding me? you chose what she wore yesterday lucy. will you just back the fuck off?” lucy’s jaw was dropped open, “excuse me? she was my-” coriolanus’s head tilted back as he dragged his hands over his face, “oh my god how many times are you going to use that? who the hell got her here huh? who provides for all of us? sure as hell not you. now don’t make this any harder. she’s wearing the red dress.” you sat there the whole time, just waiting for someone to notice you.

it always led back to you. but apparently kidnapping you and uprooting your life wasn’t enough since after time the duo fed off of eachother, delusions enlarging. seemingly everyone was out to get you, be with you, but you were theirs. coriolanus wasn’t president long enough yet to go around killing people without raising suspicion and alert towards him and as much as people did respect him, he couldn’t exactly go around killing everyone who looked at you and lucy even if he wished to. so he settled for the next best thing. keeping you away from them, out of reach.

and here you ended up, alone.

you had everything you’d ever dreamed of yet it all meant nothing. you were a shell of your old self and the two of them knew it. but all they cared was that you were with them. whisperings of the president having two lovers were imminent, lucy gray the victor, and the other. the unknown. and you weren’t sure if they’d ever know you. if anyone knew who you were, what you looked like let alone your name. even the staff of your prison did what was necessary, nothing more nor less. food, water, changed bedsheets and drawn baths was all the interaction you had with people that weren’t corio nor lucy.

you wanted to die, anything was better than living the same day over and over. the little flickers of hope came in the form of broken promises whispered during the dark nights, barely heard over the heaving breaths originating from yourself and the other two. promises of people, of the sun and temporary escape from here. but you’d learnt not to believe them.

“sweetheart, it’s not good for you to sit there all day. come, eat.” coriolanus asked demanded from the doorway of your library. the book at your feet long forgotten. coriolanus led you to the dining room where lucy was already eating. “there you are baby. somethin’ wrong?” lucy’s eyebrows were creasing as she took you in, empty eyes, emotionless face, slumped shoulders. you were nothing like the girl from twelve.

y/n l/n. sweetheart to almost everyone. a smile on her face as she went about her day. opening up to people and allowing others to lean on her. making sure her friends were okay when she noticed the slightest shift in feelings. always the lover. the carer.

but the girl who stood in front of her was so different and it broke her heart.

but she knew if she wanted to repair you she’d have to let you go. and as the three of you cuddled together in bed, your soft breaths lulling coriolanus and herself to sleep, she knew it was worth it, as long as you were here.

how selfish! she thought, but at the end of the day.

you’re our little dove.

[iwriteiguessandiloveit]

THE LONG AWAITED 'PART 2'

HERE WE GO GUYS

BJ's gift (part 2)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BAM! You hit the ground hard, scratchy plastic grass stuck into your palms and you looked around, getting your bearings. You knew you were in the model, you expected it but everytime it was still a shock. 

Two arms grabbed you from behind, pulling you to your feet. 

“Hey, Babes. Welcome back to my home away from the Netherworld.” The specter grinned at you, throwing his arms up and spinning in a circle. “But not anymore, no, because I've got free reign over where I go now, thanks to you, Doll.” He was talking frantically, leaning in uncomfortably close. 

You stepped back a bit, a small flush across your face. “Yeah, um, you’re welcome. Have fun. Now, you-you said something about a gift?” You raised your eyebrows and put your hands on your hips, determined to either find out what it was or call his bluff. 

“Rightrightright-A deals a deal.” His already wide grin stretched even farther, baring all his sharp, yellow teeth. “Here it is.” 

He pulled you close to him and dipped you, causing a startled “-aoh-” to escape from you-

And then he kissed you.

His long fingers gripped your head and tilted it back, the other hand around your waist pulling you closer. His damaged lips met yours, The stubble from his scraggly beard tickled your cheeks.

 A gargled noise bubbled up in the back of your throat, turning into a low moan. The smell of moss and earth and faint cigarette smoke emanating from him, why on earth didn't you hate it? 

Your hands were on his chest, able to push away at any second; But like they had a life of their own, they stayed where they were. 

Despite your better judgment, you closed your eyes and leaned into him, feeling what you assumed was his tongue pushing past your lips and entering your mouth. another hand sprouted from his side and ran its fingers through your hair, tugging on occasion. 

Your heart was beating faster-this wasn't so bad maybe-just this once-how long had it been since you’d kissed someone-

He pulled his head away.

Stunned into forgetting all the things you were gonna yell at him, you just stared as he raised his eyebrows and ran his fingers through his hair with a goofy grin on his pale face. 

“That’d be enough to stop the old ticker-, y’know, if it was still beatin’. He pounded his chest and coughed for emphasis. A giggle bubbled up and spilled out of your mouth, a hot flush creeping over your face and neck. The strong taste of earth and smoke was still in your mouth, making it hard to think. 

He leaned on the plastic mailbox with a triumphant smile. “Tongue-tied, huh? I tend to have that effect on women.”

 “Yeah, c-cause your smell blocks t-their airways.” It was a weak jab, but the only thing you could think of right then. Your mind was still on his hand around your waist, his lips on yours, and there were a thousand other places you wanted those long fingers besides just in your hair-oh god no we’re not going there. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, making you flinch. ‘There we go, back to your old self. Now, I'll be around, but I'm gonna get my stuff from the Netherworld and stick it into those poor soul’s faces that I get'ta go back and they don’t. See ya real soon, Babes.”

He winked, snapped his fingers, and ‘poof’! He was gone. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading! ❤

-Rea

[grlzluvmyswag]

"Oh, my god, come on." You stand before him in the staff lounge, gritting your teeth and making a mental note to wipe that shit-faced grin right off that pretty-boy face of his soon. You irritably grab two fistfuls of your uniform shirt, as well as the lacy bra beneath it, and yank them both upwards so that they’re bunched up above your bared tits. For him, this should be adequate. It was adequate the last time, right? Men love boobs, surely he’ll just appreciate the gesture and give you what you need…? You almost groan in exasperation at his unpredictable nature and the apprehension it brings along with it. The man slinks back into the most ridiculously expensive chair you've witnessed the like of with a lazy sigh, proactively making you wish you could dropkick his lanky frame to the cold, hard floor.

"Ehhh..." Gojo taps his chin with a slender finger, giving the impression that he is "thinking about it", albeit in the most unconvincing way possible while making a face at the sight of his student in the same scenario she was in the previous week. At once, an apparently innocent smile brightens up his face, and those keen eyes peer up into yours as though you happened to be having a normal discussion. "Yeah, no, not good enough for me."

"Huh…!?" is what you yell in reply to his selfish conclusion. Naturally, you could've called that response, but that doesn't make it piss you off any less! Please, who does this cocky bastard think he is? Given the taboo element of your budding relationship, he should consider himself so lucky to be seeing your tits for the second occasion in a row.

Gojo, who was hoping for that exact reaction, grins more enthusiastically than ever. He shifts back in his chair, sets his polished boots on the desk in front of him, and interlaces his fingers behind his head. He looks a little too proud for your liking, you think to yourself with a scowl.

"I said... not good enough." He shrugs his shoulders, making fun of his agitated student and all that she's trying to do in order to acquire additional training sessions with him. His claims are contradicted by that dumb smile of his, but he'll keep this up just a while longer for the hell of it. Maybe he can get more than he originally bargained for?

"Why." you promptly ask, planting your fists firmly on your hips as you continue the heated interaction, playing right into his game. Gojo is determined to have you as on-edge as possible, and it's evident in his sparkling blue gaze.

"Why is this not good enough?"

"Yeah, why."

"You're asking me for more one on one training. You know that's gonna eat into my personal life, right?"

You sigh frustratedly at the way he forever finds a way and a will to skirt around the answer you expect from him, palms slamming upon the polished surface of his desk in a futile attempt to intimidate the man. Your movement is carried with such ferocity, yet all it accomplishes is to lure the idiot’s interest back to those exposed tits. They sway and jiggle a small distance from Gojo's face, and he finds himself beyond turned on. Enough that even his leg is beginning to bounce as a way to cope with the overwhelming urges he's suppressing inside.

"Can you ju-" you cut yourself off suddenly, frozen as ice once you register the sensation of your tender nipple being delicately rolled between his knuckles at the same time his other big, veiny hand squeezes at your chest. You swiftly shift forth for him in search of more touch even when your body's instinctual need to jolt away from the stimulation is activated. "Huh, w-wait..." before you can stop it, a soft whimper manages to escape you, and this automatically motivates the teacher to insist on continuing with an air of smugness up until you fiercely slap his hand away.

The sorcerer chuckles breathily at your harsh behaviour while he tilts his head. And to really gain your sympathy, he shamelessly adjusts and briefly strokes the throbbing bulge in his slacks, because look at him... he's already painfully hard at the sight of your perfect tits! You just have to let him get his way after what you've done to him!

"Oh dear, just drop that god-awful attitude already, would you? What I'm sayin'... is while the sight is good, more would be good enough."

"...What are you playing at, Satoru Gojo?" Your tone is cautious, slightly breathless as you gather yourself. It's only a question of making sure. You know he loves to take every advantage he can just to get under your skin. He’s already had the pleasure of fondling you just then, so maybe it’s only acceptable for him to want more from you. That’s what he wants you to think, anyways. The man huffs impatiently, crossing those long, lean arms of his.

"Tch. Come onnnnnn. Do I seriously have to spell it out for you?" He groans like an impatient child, a slight pout contorting his lips. "I want you to let me suck on your tits. Play with 'em."

Yep, there it is. Ever so determined to cross the line, isn’t he?

"…you’re kidding." You blink at the man. Once, twice. 

Gojo is bewildered. No, he's not kidding at all! If he didn't intend to act on  it, why would he state something so obscene? You look at him as though he were known for abusing your feelings or something... it’s almost hurtful!

"No, I’m not." He expresses his annoyance with an exaggerated sigh, running his fingers through locks of snow white, pushing back the strands that messily rest over the frames of his shades.

Oh, wow. He’s truly not kidding. What is this… self-entitled, utterly infuriatingly handsome man’s issue?! He must really enjoy the thrill of greedily sinking his teeth into more than he should chew, mustn’t he? And he’s just so shamelessly rude about it! Yet somehow that’s barely enough to keep you from actually, actually, considering the price he wants you to pay. What really gets you thinking about it is a quick peer at the teacher's (effortlessly aggravating) mouth. You have to admit that with those perfectly pink lips sucking, kissing and everything in between, your view could certainly gain just that little bit more oomph. And oh, you can only imagine how absolutely delectable that silver tongue of his would feel, lapping at your hard nipples till you feel weak. On top of that, the task ought to shut him up for a moment or so! A highly appealing aspect indeed.

But damn it all! If what you were doing were to be discovered by an unsuspecting member of staff or a fellow student who hadn't left yet, what in all hell would you do? Really, what would you say? "Sorry, I was just letting Gojo-sensei here suck on my tits so he'd continue to supply me with the additional training I need"? God, no! You're practically gasping for air at the mere notion of something so probable occurring, however you're struggling to determine if this is due to that sinking sensation of dread or… arousal.

"Thirty seconds." you place a time limit in a stern tone of voice, not wanting to allow the smug bastard to think he has the upper hand in this little negotiation.

"A minute." Gojo counters almost immediately, a challenging smirk curving the edges of his mouth much to your displeasure. It’s only natural for him to push the limit, after all, so how could you snap at him over something of such common knowledge. It’s not like you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here, is what he’s thinking.

"Thirty. Seconds." Yes, that’s right. Stand your ground, you! Show him who’s boss right here and now—

"Minute and thirty seconds."

"Deal."

He could have been so considerate as to try concealing the certainly antagonising snicker behind a hand, or at least disguising it with a little cough! But not even the most meager attempt!  Without so much as a small slant of his head to keep you from catching it, it simply slips by those sparkling pearly-whites. He knew you would cave eventually, but this quickly? Brilliant, really. No, truly! Brilliant. Ugh, and if you had thought ‘that ego couldn’t possibly get any more obnoxiously huge!’, it’s very well proven by that fucking smile that yes, yes it can get any more obnoxiously huge. Of course, the man can’t help but smirk at the dirty scowl on your face as you simmer, taking off his shades to get a better look.

I am your most strongest, most incredibly attractive downfall, sweetie. Those are the words that his sultry gaze conveys as he beckons you closer, firm thighs spread out on that damned rich-prick-vibe chair to accommodate your body between them. Having forgotten that your chest was bared free, you’re abruptly reminded once his open-mouthed breaths lightly fan over the soft and sensitive skin, not failing to direct your attention to his actions. Shit, the view’s pretty. It’s all so very pretty. Bright blue eyes peering up at you, sparkling and enthralling enough to the point where you study them too intently and catch your own reflection. Rosy, full lips that fluidly mould against the shape of your breast, planting slow kisses with his cupid’s bow prominent and glistening with a thin sheen of saliva. Stray locks of pure white that fall across his forehead, the ends getting caught on the tips of his long lashes when he blinks up at you. Flawless, yet such an entitled asshole.

With minimal thought, you carefully brush the flyaways from his face, carding your fingertips through the perfect mess that is his hair. It's so soft — soft enough that it could be mistaken for the feathers of an angel's wings.

"Mmph, fffuck… again." the sorcerer groans lowly against your dampened flesh, dancing his eager tongue around your areola and barely making contact with the stiffened bud at the centre, just enough to have your breath hitching. The heaviness of his palms caressing your waist is fucking dangerous, something you feel you could get addicted to very easily. Could? Will.

"For god’s sakes…" with a deep sigh and a roll of your eyes, you let him feel your nails grazing his head once again and gently tug on a loose fistful of hair, earning a genuine moan sent straight from the back of his throat. Oh, the noises he makes are downright delicious, you could just… "Ooph-…!"

Gojo swiftly pins you between the staff room’s large desk and himself, carefully bending you backwards until your head could rest on the surface if it wanted. The teacher’s deft hands leave no distance when it comes to your bare skin, greedily rubbing up and down over your ribs and stomach like nobody’s business. He’s thriving for the overwhelmed yet delightfully pleasured expression on your sweet face, chuckling to himself before happily leaning over and wrapping his warm lips around your nipple to suck on it.

"Uh, mnn..." you moan quietly within the otherwise empty lounge, nails instinctively sinking into the nape of his neck as his tongue swirls around your sensitive bud. He’s super into it now, teeth grazing and suction differing, so many techniques directed at one area until he decides to switch to your other nipple, only to mess around with your fleeting reactions. Every nibble, every hot caress of that silver tongue has you reeling. Even your toes curl at the sensations he brings you, causing you to feel more than ashamed of yourself for genuinely enjoying Satoru fucking Gojo.

He’s hovering you above the desk, marked papers, stationery, folders and god knows what else being knocked off by the force of his passionate movements. A string of little gasps, oh’s and ah’s escape your mouth, twitching and jolting in a pair of strong arms in response to his advances. It’s so sexy, the manner in which he goes about handling your body. Rough but not too rough, quick but not too quick for you still find yourself yearning for much more of him than you would ever like to admit. Realising you’re about to start thinking of him in a different light, you forcefully lay a hand on his chest and attempt to push him off. You’re way too paranoid about being caught right now, you lie to yourself for an easier, less aggravating excuse despite having just remembered where you were only a few seconds ago. Damn it, he’s too good and it’s tempting your inhibitions to jump out the window.

"Hold on, hold on-" the man murmurs in a concentrated state as his teeth are almost taken away from your sweet flesh, chest pressing against your hand in order to get closer again since he’s clearly not done the time. Actually, Gojo’s almost a little offended that you think he’d miss the chance to get the last few seconds in on such a perfect pair of tits.

"Hey, what the hell!" a vexed whisper leaves you when he doesn’t comply, kicking your legs in the air in a half-assed attempt to strike him.

"Four… mmff, three." he counts down the remaining seconds out loud and pays no mind to your thrashing, desperate flicks of his tongue and short, gruff moans occasionally interrupting the sequence of numbers, "Fu- two… mmnnn one."

Finally, he stops sucking. However, his warm mouth trails up to your neck as you reluctantly hold your shirt and bra as high as they can go for his access, and its only after the last couple of open-mouthed kisses that he allows his slicked lips to detach from your body. Gojo can feel his pulsing cock trying its very best to escape the irritating confines of his clothes now, pushing and jumping against the fabric as he effortlessly continues to hold you, a sign that he needs to leave before he lets himself get too carried away.

"Minute and a half, bam."

"A minute and thirty-seven seconds…" is what you retort snappily in return, glaring at that dumb smile he’s sending your way.

"Training on Monday." The man purrs in your ear before carelessly dropping you against the desk, humming obnoxiously as he strides out into the hallway on those string bean legs you’d love to kick in as of right now.

"Ugh!" you grunt loudly when your head bumps upon the hard surface, immediately scrambling to sprint to the doorway with a hand rubbing the bruise that’s definitely forming as you shout, "Prick!"

"…You say somethin’?"

[raineandsky]

#108

The girl in the closet entrance throws the pair inside a smirk. “This should be good—I’ve seen you guys staring at each other all night.” She raises her eyebrows at the villain. “Tell me all about it afterwards, yeah?” It’s a whisper, but she’s too drunk for it to actually be quiet. The hero pulls a face across from the villain.

And with that she slams the door with finality, throwing the tiny closet into shadow. The villain can barely see in here; she can just about make out the hero shuffling awkwardly opposite her.

She waits until she hears the bedroom door shut to ask the question that’s been rolling around her mind since she first spotted the hero downing shots several hours ago. “What the hell are you doing at a civilian party?”

“Some of the other heroes wanted some attention and dragged me along.” The villain can imagine the hero squinting at her suspiciously. “And what’re you doing at a civilian party?”

“Friends of friends. I actually have a life outside my work, unlike you.”

The hero scoffs dramatically and falls right into the villain trap. “I have a life outside of work, thank you.”

“Like what?”

“This,” comes out of the hero’s mouth a little too fast.

The villain laughs shortly in the way she knows pisses the hero off. “This one party consists of your entire social life?”

“No, that’s not—” She stops when the villain snorts amusedly. “You’re doing this on purpose, you asshole.”

“So what if I am?” The villain’s smile is loud in her voice. “What you gonna do about it? You gonna try and kick my ass in this tiny cupboard?”

There's a moment of silence where the hero seems to be weighing up her chances at the prospect. Then she clearly comes to the decision she’d win, because she lurches up from the wall to throw herself at the villain.

It catches the villain a little off guard, honestly—she wasn’t expecting her to actually do it. The hero shoves her back into the opposite wall, her hands balling in the front of her shirt. “What if I do?” she snarls.

Oh god, oh fuck, the villain’s had way too many drinks to be dealing with this. She leaps on the first survival instinct she can get a hold of.

“Then I think we’re in for a very passionate night.”

Fuck. Wrong instinct. The hero lets out some short breath of disbelief.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She pushes the villain down, settling her weight on her to pin her to the closet floor. “Bet you love the idea of seducing the enemy into submission, huh?”

Words are not exactly running through the villain’s mind right now. The hero’s hands are warm where they’re brushing against the skin of the villain's neck, her face much too close.

The hero doesn’t seem to mind the lack of reply; she’s more than content to continue into the villain’s silence. “Let me show you why that wouldn’t work, [Villain].”

The hero leans down before the villain can even process what she’s said, pulling her in by the collar slightly to push their lips together. It’s boring, it’s painfully chaste, and fuck, the villain’s hands are on the hero’s face. How did they get there? What is she doing?

The hero pulls back with a ghost of a smirk. “And I’m no more inclined to turn to evil,” she says softly.

Fucking hell, the villain might be in love. Or drunk. It’s very hard to tell at this point.

“That’s a shame,” the villain says weakly. She misses her own drunken confidence from two minutes ago. “We’re just going back to whooping ass, are we?”

“The moment I sober up I’m arresting you,” the hero says matter-of-factly.

The closet door sweeps open, and the hero pushes herself away so hard the villain somehow meets the ground harder than the first time. The hero’s bolt upright by the time their captor’s peering in, and the villain’s still winded on the floor.

“Hm,” the girl says approvingly. “Do we want me to… come back later?”

“No,” the hero and the villain say in unison.

The hero escapes the closet first, and she doesn’t hang around to watch as the girl hauls the villain to their feet. “So?” she asks pointedly.

The villain’s aware that she's a little breathless. Dishevelled would be a nice way to describe her right now.

“Yeah,” is all she can be bothered to give the girl. “Good.”

The villain makes her own break before she can see the girl's reaction. She doesn't need to, certainly doesn't want to.

Fuck, she needs a glass of water. 

[aliypop]

For The Heart

Word Count: 959

Writers Note: I've no idea what to write so I thought why not this! Also, I think it's time I jump on the 70s E train! Sorry it's short!

Warning: Fluffy SMUT

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: After an intense night of shows for Cecelia and Elvis the two only have one thing on their minds

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

Las Vegas 1970

"Alright Nat, Alright Jerry... See you two tomorrow," Elvis smiled, walking into his hotel room. His knees nearly gave out from all his dancing. It was his most intense show yet, but he was ready to celebrate, "Alright, Midge, Cheryl, same time tomorrow!" Cecelia smiled as she walked in and closed the door behind her, her eyes barely staying open, "Hey baby," Elvis smirked, pulling into him as he kissed her forehead, "Hey sugar..." She blushed at him as she looked at his messy hair and felt the remaining sweat on his skin, "Had a good show?" they asked each other, 

"A fan threw her necklace at me." Elvis smiled, "What about you?"

"Panties, men's underwear, and a bra?" Cecelia laughed as Elvis chuckled, "Some crowd," He joked as he unzipped her dress, his lips on the nape of her neck as she moaned, "Elvis, we're both sweaty..." She groaned,

"Adds more flavor." He kissed her cheek as she felt her dress fall to her knees, 

"Besides, we should be celebrating tonight..." 

"Sure, if you can keep your eyes open, Mr. Presley..." She joked as she lightly pushed him towards the bathtub. "Wait for me?"

"I make no promises!" She joked as she threw her bra, Elvis catching it as he winked, 

"I'm keepin this."

"ELVIS!" She laughed, buttoning up his silk pajama top. It was one of those nights where she didn't feel like putting her nighty on. Laying on the bed, Cecelia watched TV as she kept nodding off and waking up. It was as if the adrenaline from the show was keeping her up,

 "El, you okay in there?"

"Yeah, what's wrong, honey?"

"Adrenaline rush..." She playfully sighed, 

"You too, huh?" He chuckled, drying off as Cecelia handed him his pants, "See, you took the top." she shrugged, patting a spot next to her. Elvis was lying on her chest as her hands tangled into his hair, 

"What day are you going to see my show?" Elvis asked,

"I wanted to surprise you..." She sighed,

"Well, then I'll surprise you too." He kissed her wrist as she giggled,

 "El..."

"Hmm..."

"you ever wonder if there's life on Mars?"

"Cece?"

"Hmm..."

"Go to bed." He laughed,

"But I can't," she rolled over as her top road up, showing off her silk panties, his bottom lip under his teeth as he swatted at her ass, "El!" she blushed as he pulled her onto him, "Yes, honey?" He pretended to be clueless as Cecelia playfully swatted at him, 

"You think sex might..."

"It's the answer to everything." He winked as he kissed her with a firey, passionate frenzy. Her eyes closed as she gave him the same intense kiss back. His hand was massaging her breast as the other was on her thigh, 

"Still wanna celebrate?" Cecelia smirked,

"Do you have to ask?" He winked as she blushed, "Not really," She chuckled as Elvis trailed kisses down her neck, another moan leaving her sweet lips as he shuttered,

 "You know something..." 

"Hmm..."

"Every time I make love to ya. I feel like I'm young again,"

"Oh, Elvis..." She blushed, "You mean it?"

"Would I lie to you..."

Well... Oh!" She gasped as she felt his fingers plunge into her soaking wet cavern, small mewls and sighs escaping her. Sliding in and out between her thighs, Elvis had stopped, leaving her lips lonely as he then crawled between her legs,

 "Baby, you don't have to ah~ Oh~ God~" She began to drift off in between her moans as she felt him sucking on her clit. 

"Honey..." 

"Hmm?"

"Is my eatin putting you to sleep?"

"No, you've just got a soothing tongue is all," She giggled as Elvis smirked, "First I've heard that," He laughed kissing her inner thigh, "Should I keep going?" 

"Please..." She yawned as Elvis was wired for sound, taking his pants off and pulling himself out, he slid himself inside as his wife looked at him with a tired sexy haze,

 "Ready..."

"Ready." Thrusting his hips into her, Elvis could hear her soft moans, sweet and gentle, just like his thrust, "More..." she had begun to moan as Elvis was revved up like an animal in heat, "Like that baby..." He kissed her face, "Mhmm..." Picking up his pace he began to hear a sound he hadn't recognized from his wife before, her eyes were closed, and her stomach going up and down, she was asleep, and here he was buried deep inside his wife, pulling out Elvis went to the bathroom to finish off and clean up as he heard her whimper, 

"Yes, baby?"

"Come back..." She murmured, as Elvis held her close, the TV playing in the background. His fingers in her curls as she mumbled, 

"Love you~"

"Love you too..."

*Bonus* 

7 am

The birds began to chirp outside as the TV rushed back on with news about the Presleys in Vegas, but wired for sound was Cece who was kissing Elvis's kneck,

 "Baby... You up..."

"Hmm..." 

"Thought we could have round 2..." She said in his ear as he grumbled a bit from lack of sleep, "Baby we didn't even get to round one last night..." He flopped back into the pillow, 

"We didn't?"

"You fell asleep as soon as I got inside," He laughed as she blushed, "I did..." He nodded his head, Elvis wasn't much of a morning person due to his bad insomnia, but that would soon change, "Well, baby I'm gonna go back to-" Elvis felt something wet as he heard slurping noises his blood rushing through his veins as he jolted up, "Who's sleepin now..." Cecelia smirked looking up at him from under the covers. 

"Neither of us if you keep doing that..." He blushed,

[skylarstark4826]

warmth burns against pavitr's skin as he pants, running through the dark streets of mumbai, the sun beating against the bright colors of his suit as his hand grips his side. dark crimson blood bleeds through the brightly colored suit as he pants heavily, swinging through the city. he can feel the blood sticking to his body and he can't possibly imagine the pain of ripping the fabric apart from his raw skin. 

he can't handle any of this pain with the burning on his skin, the stinging of the blood against his own skin, the sounds of the bustling city, the wind blowing past him as he runs and swings away from danger. a whimper escapes pavitr's mouth as he limps to one of the many alleyways in the huge city that he called home. 

pavitr drops his exhausted body to the ground beneath him as he clutches at his wound, his hand stained with his deep red crimson blood. his breath hitches as the liquid drips off of his fingers, bleeding onto his suit. he feels like he can't breathe. 

his breath is shaky every time he inhales air, his ribs are sore and the skin above is probably littered with forming bruises. pavitr can't focus on anything but the burning of his skin as he tries to focus on anything else that would make his pain lessen but he can't– it's too much. 

he tries to think about how quickly he could get home from here without collapsing but that'd be impossible. he can barely stand without getting dizzy, let alone swing across the city. he doesn't even want to attempt it in the case that he gets attacked again or he just straight up collapses. he can't do anything except sit in silence and wait for himself to somehow limp himself over to his house that's on the other side of the city or just die. 

pavitr rests his head against the graffiti filled brick wall against him as he sighs, his body hurts. he feels a stinging pain everywhere he can feel. he's scared he might die, he's horrified at the fact. he hasn't done anything in his life– he hasn't graduated school, he hasn't told gayatri he loves her. he pauses as cold travels through his body– oh my god, gayatri. 

if he died, what would they tell her? that he just randomly bled out one day? or that he was spiderman and risked his life? she probably wouldn't believe them– she'd probably laugh at the news. she wouldn't believe anyone about that, he was doing just fine hiding it.

glass crunches closely in the distance, the clinking of the glass shards against the concrete. pavitr tenses up as he clutches his abdomen, trying not to groan in pain as he attempts to stay quiet. 

"pavitr?" a familiar soft, lively voice calls out for him. 

pavitr pauses in confusion– why was she here? how did she know he was even here? pavitr had so many questions but it's not like he could possibly ask them without explaining why he had on a spiderman suit and why he was nearly bleeding to what he assumed was his death.

he hears her shoes moving and soon she pops her head into the alleyway. 

"oh, there you are." she says and pavitr freezes in his spot, he feels like he can't possibly move at this moment. 

"huh?" pavitr asks as she walks closer to him, he wants to tell her to leave, to go– anything. she can't know. she can't. but a part of him wants her to stay and hold him closer than ever before. 

"i got worried about you." she says as she crouches in front of him, "you were fighting so well, pavitr." she chuckles softly as she ruffles his hair.

"i don't–" pavitr coughs as gayatri still stares at him as if he had hung all the stars in the sky, "who?"

gayatri stares blankly as pavitr pretends not to know that spiderman was himself. 

"i'm not stupid, i know you." 

pavitr nods slowly as she smiles at him and he knows she has won already. 

"do you, though?" pavitr asks and she rolls her eyes as she groans then she grins widely as she glances out of the alleyway before looking back at pavitr. 

"you don't." pavitr affirms her.

"really?" she lifts a brow, "let me see you then. without the mask, obviously."

pavitr hisses and he shakes his head, "defeats the whole purpose of the mask, you know?"

"i just need to confirm something, please." she says and pavitr can't help it. he knows that he has the mask for a reason and he can't have anyone knowing it's him but gayatri has him wrapped around her finger and he can't really resist her anymore. 

"i–" he stutters, unsure of what to even say, "i can't." 

"okay." she speaks softly before she eyes the wound on his abdomen, "let me see that."

pavitr can't resist her as she presses down on the wound with light touches and yet he's still hissing and flinching from the pain. gayatri looks up at him with her round eyes that remind pavitr of everything good in the world but he can't really say that, can he? 

"thank you." he says as she rolls down his suit to see a mess of his bloody injured torso. he watches her face, expecting her to tense up or even run away in disgust– but she doesn't. all gayatri does is stare at it as she examines it without ever touching it. her eyes are focused as she squints and stares at his bruised and bloody torso covered with his own and other dark crimson blood, but mostly his own. 

she purses her lips as she moves to roll the sleeves up on her blouse and pavitr freezes, "what are you doing?" 

gayatri furrows her brows, "helping you…?" she's clearly confused as she brushes his concern off.

"i don't want you to stain your clothes." pavitr says quietly. he thanks god that he still had the mask on because if he didn't gayatri would surely see him flushing so badly that his skin was practically painted pink.

"oh, how romantic." gayatri cooes and pavitr swears he can see her blush for a solid second before she continues, "well, i own a washing machine thankfully so i don't have to worry about that!" 

"right." pavitr nods, "of course." 

gayatri pulls something out of her purse that he had not even noticed she had with her. she purses her lips as her eyes trail over his scarred torso, his torso littered with small scars, yellowing bruises and two large scars underneath his pecs, those were definitely not from battle, she knows that. 

gayatri pulls out small wipes from her purse and pavitr doesn't even know why he tries to rationalize what she has or doesn't have in her bag at this point. her fingertips are pressing down around the wound, wiping off the excess blood of the wound as he hisses softly in pain, his eyebrows are eyes scrunching up at the pain. 

"sorry." she mumbles as she swipes the blood off of his skin. pavitr nods and mumbles something about it being okay even though deep in his heart it really wasn't because it hurt like hell. 

"i'm going to clean the actual wound now, okay? it's gonna hurt more now but i'll be here, okay?" she affirms pavitr who simply nods. he's already in pain so he can't possibly imagine how much worse it could possibly get. 

he watches as she pulls q-tips out of her bag and some sort of ointment for him. pavitr glances at it nervously and he watches as she looks up at him with her round brown eyes. 

"just breathe." she says as she demonstrates, breathing in and out slowly as pavitr shakily nods. 

pavitr is not excited as he watches her swipe the tip of the q-tip against the tube of ointment. she breathes slowly as she inches near pavitr's wound and as soon as he sees her breathe slowly in, he can feel the searing burning pain in his side. 

"shit!" pavitr whines as he grips on to gayatri's bicep, "gayatri, i can't do this. it hurts." 

he can only feel the searing pain in his side as she swipes at the wound. he can feel her pause before she speaks once more, "pavitr?"

he gasps out, "what?" 

"i never told you my name." she says and he swears he can hear a smirk on her lips, knowing she's caught him. 

"fuck!" he shouts both in pain and the fact that he accidentally just revealed himself without meaning to. the pain stops as she removes the q-tip from his body and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. 

pavitr peels off the mask as he watches gayatri grin, not in shock but from the pure fact that she was right. 

"how long have you known?" pavitr asks as she unravels the gauze in her bag. how big was her bag anyways? 

she shrugs, "a year, i think?" 

"that's the exact amount of time i've been spiderman." pavitr sighs as she leans over to wrap the gauze around his waist. 

gayatri shrugs, "you were never that good at lying, you know."

"that's not true." pavitr says and all she can do is lift a brow. 

"oh, it most certainly is." she grins as pavitr gasps in shock. he can't believe her, he's the best liar he knows. 

gayatri purses her lips, "it was kind of obvious without you even lying, though. i would see you with bruises and marks and it'd worry me until i realized that he has the same injuries that spiderman does so…" 

"okay that's just an insane reach now." pavitr laughs as she chuckles as well, tucking in the gauze and cutting off the excess. 

she nods as she leans against the wall beside him. it's silent between the two– only breathing is heard in the silence of the night. 

"i was worried about you." she says softly as she scratches at the skin around her nail, "i don't want you to die."

pavitr chuckles as he glances at her– the light bouncing against her warm golden brown skin that made her look like an angel. he couldn't think of life without her. 

"will you still kiss me, even when we're ghosts?" pavitr says and he watches as gayatri's eyes falter at his words before a breathless chuckle escaped her lips.

"i would." she smiles softly, "but i hope that you stay safe so i wouldn't have to do that."

"okay." pavitr nods, breathlessly, "i'm fine with doing that." 

"good," she says, "lets get you home now, hm?"

[bamber344]

Mindfuck

prev/next

masterlist

Alright so y'all remember how i mentioned last chapter this story would include smutty stuff? yeah that starts here lol.

we're back to jordyn's POV! it hasn't been that long but i still missed my girl :) Btw if this chapter reads a little bit like an anatomy textbook, please know that was intentional. Jordyn knows her anatomy but she doesn't have any other frame of reference for stuff so when it comes down to it she's gonna use the anatomical terms lol

anyway i hope you all find the title as funny as i did when i came up with it. Enjoy!

CWs: sexual content, masturbation, existential crises, minor cosmic horror, hallucinations, seizures, minor medical whump, eldritch whump ig? man tagging for cws is hard

Mindfuck

Wind whipped through my hair as I looked out at the sunset over the bay. Salt stung my nose and the breeze made goosebumps spread over my bare arms, but between the relaxing sound of the waves, the breathtaking sparkle of sunlight across the water, and the warmth of the woman standing next to me, there was no place I’d rather be. Anxiety churned in my gut as I thought about what I was about to do. The odds of her saying no were miniscule, but still. It was nerve-wracking nonetheless.

“Maddie?” I asked in a voice similar to mine, but not quite the same.

“Hm?” The woman next to me looked over with a questioning glance. It was the one Father told me to stay away from. She looked younger, though. Her hair was longer, tied into a ponytail over her shoulder. Madeline.

I took a deep breath and turned to her, reaching into my pocket. Madeline’s eyes widened as I got down on one knee and pulled out the box, opening it to reveal the ring inside. This was it. The moment of truth.

“Madeline Holmes, will you marry me?”

For a long moment, everything was silent. Madeline stared down at me, eyes wide as dinner plates and mouth hanging open. Then, she started laughing. Dread seeped through my body.

“Oh, man. What are the odds, huh?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of her own. Inside was another ring; inset with a sparkling red jewel. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

The dread crumbled to dust and pure elation took its place. I leapt up and wrapped my arms around Madeline’s neck, laughter bubbling up from within me. Madeline picked me up and spun me around, holding me close. I couldn’t believe my luck. It was actually happening!

We stopped spinning and I settled back on the ground, still holding on to Madeline’s neck. She smiled, bending down until our foreheads were touching.

“How could I ever say no to you?”

She leaned in and pressed her mouth to mine, and I knew everything would turn out alright. 

—

Her tongue streaked across my neck and I shivered, a moan escaping from my throat. Light from the full moon streamed in from the window, illuminating the scene of our bodies tangled together in the bedsheets. I could do nothing but hold on for dear life as Madeline’s fingers traced down my belly, through my pubic hair, and slipped between the folds of my outer labia. The sensation was instant and intense, especially when combined with the softness of her mouth on my throat.

Her touch travelled down to my vaginal opening, rubbing teasingly over the outside of the hole before moving back up, sliding two fingers on either side of my clitoris and squeezing, very gently. I jerked, letting out a gasp. Madeline smiled against my skin.

“So sensitive…”

“Sh- shut up… Like you weren’t a wh-whiny mess when I fingered you.”

Madeline paused and leaned up on an elbow. The moonlight framing her face made her look ethereal. She grinned.

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that I guess I’ll-”

She began pulling her hand away. Immediately, I squeezed my legs shut and grabbed her wrist, trapping it there. 

“If you stop now I swear to god I’ll set your hair on fire.”

Madeline laughed. Her gaze held so much love that it was hard to breathe. “If you say so.”

She leaned back down and her lips touched mine again, her tongue sneaking into my mouth. I groaned, shifting my hips up as her fingers started moving again.

Things became a blur after that point. Between the intoxicating feeling of Madeline’s body on top of mine and the unimaginable pleasure she was conjuring between my legs, the finer details started to seem unimportant. Something was building at the base of my spine, and it seemed like Madeline could sense it. The movements of her fingers became focused; pumping in and out at a steadier rhythm, pressing and sliding in all the right places to make me squirm and keen.

Madeline’s teeth sunk into the skin of my neck, and a jolt of pleasurable pain shot through my system. That was what did it. That incredible thing that was building finally reached its peak and spilled over, sending waves of electricity through my body. Heat flushed under my skin and I cried out as all of my muscles tensed up from the sheer ecstasy coursing inside of me. It was amazing. It was the best thing I’d ever felt. It-

—

I opened my eyes, doused in cold sweat and breathing heavily. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dim light above the mirror. I must have forgotten to turn it off before going to sleep. The hum of the ventilation system rang loud in my ears. My head was throbbing, and my entire body tingled with the remnants of the dream, coalescing in the same spot that dream-Madeline had been touching, right between my legs. What the hell just happened?

Overcome with curiosity, I reached down, slipping my hand under the waistband of my pants. Something cold, wet, and slimy had coated the inside of my thighs and drenched my underwear. I frowned, probing further. 

“Oh!”

Wow, I was sensitive right now. But… just like the dream, it felt good. Obviously, I’d touched my own genitals before, but it never felt like this. My entire vulva had become slick with fluid, and my clitoris had become erect; a hard, sensitive nub peeking out from under the hood, throbbing in time with my heart beat. Maybe… Maybe I could replicate the feeling from the dream? I swallowed, nerves filling my throat, and put two fingers to it just like Madeline did.

Too much! That was way too much pressure. I was on the right track, but I needed to be more careful. I tried again, much softer this time.

That was it. My muscles relaxed and I let out a sigh as I gently circled my fingers around my clitoris. Everything around me melted away until all that remained was the pleasure between my legs and the memories of that dream in my head; the images fueling my movements. It was all too easy to imagine that I was back in the dream, and that Madeline was the one touching me instead of my own hand. I didn’t even know the woman, but something about it just felt right; like things were settling in where they were meant to be.

The woman in my mind sank her fingers lower and I followed, tracing around the edge of my vaginal opening. In the dream, Madeline’s fingers had slipped in with ease, but I was nervous. I’d never done this before, which meant I needed to be careful. I didn’t want it to turn out like the first time I tried to eat solid food; choking because I was too eager and didn’t chew enough. 

Slowly, I slid one finger past the entrance, biting my lip at the feeling of my inner walls parting for it. Once I got it about as deep as I felt comfortable with, I experimented with thrusting it in and out.

“Ngh!”

Wow, that was good. My body craved more; heat spreading under my skin and making me sweat. I swallowed my fear and gently added another finger in. The stretch of my hole burned slightly, but for some reason that made it even better. I shifted over onto my side, curling my body and finally pulling my pants off to allow myself more leeway with my movements, and really got into it.

“O-oh, g-g-god…”

It was incredible. The palm of my hand sat directly on top of my clitoris, providing delicious pressure and friction as I pumped my fingers in and out. I could barely stifle the noises escaping from my throat as every thrust sent a jolt of electricity through me. Drool dripped from my open mouth onto my pillow, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care.

It was building again, just like in the dream, only so much more intense. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused, straining my wrist to move harder and faster to reach that amazing peak again. The rise felt like it would never end, but every time my muscles began to tire, another spike of pleasure would shoot through me and motivate me to keep pushing. Compared to my usual training, this was practically a cakewalk.

Finally, it came. I bit the pillow to stifle my cry as my entire body seized and spasmed, my walls clenching around my still-pumping fingers and my thighs tensing up to an almost painful degree. Warm liquid gushed against my hand, spilling down onto my sheets. It was at least twenty seconds of pure bliss as my vision flickered black and shadows writhed up and down the walls.

I laid there for a good minute afterwards, not moving, just catching my breath and reflecting on what had just happened. I seriously needed to remember how to do that, because wow. I was almost disappointed I hadn’t figured it out earlier. I gently pulled my fingers out, wincing at the slight overstimulation. Unsurprisingly, they were covered in a transparent, viscous fluid that stringed together when I pulled my fingers apart. It smelled tangy. 

Curiosity overcame my common sense, and I tentatively gave my fingers a lick. The taste wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. In fact, it was kind of good. Sweet but a little tart. Maybe if I’d been more lost in the heat of the moment, I would have just finished what I’d just started, but now that it was all said and done, I would rather just wash my hands off in the sink.

As I put my pants back on and got up, my mind started to wander. Where did that dream come from? Most of the time, my dreams were nonsensical mish-mashes of things I’d seen throughout the day, disappearing from my mind not long after waking up. It wasn’t uncommon for me to see people I know, especially Father, but something about what I just saw felt… different. 

For one, it actually made internal sense. It wasn’t just a slideshow of random events and images; it was a consistent storyline that followed a linear narrative. First, I was at the bay with Madeline, and I asked her to marry me. (Could two girls even get married? I’d heard about it between a man and a woman from people in the facility as well as Father, but no one had mentioned two people of the same gender getting married before. I couldn’t see why it wouldn’t be possible, though. I supposed I would just have to ask Father about it at some point.) Then, it was later at night, and I was with Madeline in bed, and all of that happened.

Another weird thing was how different Madeline looked from how I remembered her appearing during the day. In the dream, her hair was long instead of shaved and shaggy, and her face had a certain roundness to it that it currently lacked, making her appear younger. Usually, in my dreams, people just showed up how I remembered them looking in real life. It just didn’t make sense.

It was when I was washing my hands in the sink that the thought occurred to me. What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if… What if I’d finally remembered something?

For as far back as I could remember; from the moment I woke up and coughed the green out of my lungs, my past had been a blank slate. Father said I lost my memories when I was hurt, and beyond that I never really questioned it. I never wondered who I used to be before waking up in the facility, because it never really felt like it mattered. I was right where I was meant to be, so who cared what I’d done with my life before that? Only now, it seemed like something had finally come back; a lingering vestige of an interaction I had at some point with Madeline. But… What did that mean? 

Father always wanted what was best for me, right? He knew what was best for me, and he was always guiding me towards that target, even if it hurt sometimes. But, if that was the case, then how did Madeline fit in? He ordered me to stay away from her. Especially her, over all of the other Union heroes. According to the dream/memory/whatever, though, I’d been close with her at some point. Close enough to ask her to marry me, even. Did something happen between us that Father was trying to protect me from? It was all so damn confusing!

I looked up at the girl in the mirror. I saw her shaved head, the sallow tan of her skin, the dark holes of her black irises and the bags beneath her eyes. I saw the scar cutting across her cheek and onto her nose. That scar was from a training accident. That, and most of the rest of them. There wasn’t a single scar on my body that I couldn’t remember getting. Where were the remnants of the injury that supposedly changed my life forever? What about injuries before that? Was whatever Father used to heal me so strong that it literally erased all of my scars? If that was the case, why had I been forced to bear the remnants of my pain all this time when Father could just heal them away? 

I gripped the cold porcelain of the sink, staring hard into the mirror. What was real? Was what I saw really a memory, or was it just some hyper-realistic dream? Why was my body so damn inconsistent? Why couldn’t I remember anything from my past? Why was Father keeping me away from people who might know me? Who…

“Who am I?” I muttered to the girl in the reflection, anxiety clawing at my throat. “Who are you? Are we… Jordyn? Seven? Someone else? I… I- I don’t know…”

Pain shot through my head like someone driving a knife into my temple. Cold fingers of sensation rippled across my brain. Something warm dripped from my nose, and some primal thing inside of me shrank away in fear. I got the horrible feeling that I was being watched. I could feel the eyes all around me, looking in. My entire being screamed in alarm at the threat of a predator; the ancient prey instinct inside of me thrashing uselessly against its bonds. A petrifying self-awareness settled over me, and I knew – I could feel that some powerful, terrifying presence was observing not just me, but the very thoughts inside my head. 

I felt those cold fingers pry into my mind, digging through my memories and throwing images of my life up before my eyes. The pain was immense; overwhelming. My knees buckled out from under me. My ears popped, and more warm liquid dribbled from them. I could feel my skull cracking as my brain expanded, pushing against the boundaries of its container. The pressure at the back of my eyes was building. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my head was going to explode.

Then, all of a sudden, everything stopped. The pain and the screaming and the vivid memories all ceased to exist in an instant, replaced by the cold tile floor and the hum of the ventilation system. I blinked, trying to process what had just happened as I slowly climbed back to my feet.

There was a girl in the mirror.

She looked like me. Almost identical, even. She had the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth. Only, her skin was a little darker, unmarked by my training accident scar, and her hair was long; tied back in a ponytail. She was dressed in a costume not too dissimilar to the ones I’d seen Madeline and Vivienne wearing; a skin-tight black patterned material, with red highlights. There was a hole in her chest.

She looked panicked, confused. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a threat, until she found me. We stared at each other for a long moment. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. I grabbed the sink, leaning forward. She reached out to me, but her hand stopped when it reached the mirror.

“Are… Are you me?” I asked.

—

I opened my eyes.

The girl had disappeared, along with the mirror and the rest of my room. I recognised the ceiling above me as the one in the medbay. There was an oxygen mask over my mouth, and a heart monitor beeped along rhythmically in the corner. My head was throbbing again, and my throat stung like I’d swallowed a handful of nails. Everything ached.

Father sat at my bedside, leaning over with his eyes closed, mouth hidden behind his steepled hands. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. Mr. Sadler stood at the far wall behind him, facing a computer screen.

“Fa… Father…” I coughed.

His eyes shot open and he stood up, bending over me. He looked genuinely worried, which was an expression I didn’t think I’d ever seen on his face before.

“Jordyn! Are you alright? I thought we might have lost you.”

I groaned, realising just how sore I was as more of my body came back online. It felt like I’d been in a fight, and lost badly. “What… What happened?”

He frowned, sitting back down. “You had a seizure. We’re… not entirely sure, but it seems like the Godling might have psychically attacked you. What do you remember?”

I thought back, trying to recall. Everything had become a little hazy. “I… I got out of bed to wash my hands, and then… looked in the mirror, I think? I don’t know…”

Father sighed, rubbing his face. He mumbled something under his breath, but all I could make out was “turn the camera off for ten goddamn minutes…”

“What does… psychically attacked mean?” I asked, my voice croaking weakly.

“You remember what I told you about the Godling? That Its presence is what causes monsters to form so frequently here? Well, it’s not too uncommon for It to deliberately target Its influence at some of the city’s inhabitants, as well. It entertains Itself by peering at their memories and showing them visions of things they desire, often causing great damage to whoever was unlucky enough to be Its target. You’re lucky that we keep an eye on your vitals, or we might not have noticed anything was wrong until it was too late.”

“Speaking of which,” Mr. Sadler chimed in, “Your readings are looking normal now that you’ve stabilised, so there shouldn’t be any permanent damage to worry about. You should still take it easy for a day or two, though.”

Father frowned again. He turned to Mr. Sadler. “It won’t be good for our numbers if she disappears so soon after her deployment. What limits are we talking about here?”

Mr. Sadler looked uneasy. “I… I guess it would be fine if she went out, but she’ll probably be a little unsteady. It might affect her performance if anything big happens.”

Father thought about it. He nodded. “That’s acceptable.”

I zoned out as Father and Mr. Sadler continued their discussion, staring at the ceiling. The memories of what I’d seen standing in front of the mirror were already fading, but the question that had sprung up in my mind still sat right where I’d left it, eating at my thoughts like a parasite.

“Who am I?” I muttered to no one in particular.

Father and Mr. Sadler shared a look. Father leaned closer to me.

“You are Jordyn de Vygon. You are my daughter, and a superhero. That is all you need to worry about.”

The assurance was like a soothing balm on my soul. I was Father’s daughter, and a superhero, and I didn’t need to worry or think about anything else. I closed my eyes and relaxed, a smile spreading across my face.

The question was still there, of course. It hadn’t gone away; I still didn’t know a thing about my past, and my curiosity hadn’t been entirely silenced. But… It was just so easy to forget about all of that when Father reminded me of what was important. Maybe it was just a weird dream after all? If the Godling had been taking an interest in me, then perhaps that was all it was. Why look deeper when an answer sat right in front of me?

Because it’s not the truth.

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @idkwhattodowiththisaltiamsorry @iamheretohurt @anoyedartist

Jordyn is so real for fingerblasting herself into oblivion and then immediately having an existential crisis in front of the mirror. She's so me.

anyway not gonna lie i did not expect the last part, it kinda came out of nowhere but i'm happy it happened tbh.

will probably take a bit of a break before the next chapter. I wanted to finish all of these chapters taking place roughly at the same time quickly, but i've been neglecting my book a bit so i wanna work on that for a while. probably won't be longer than a few weeks.

thanks for reading! lemme know what you thought and if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! byeeee!

[crystal-master-raz]

⚰️

[...] He was alone, in a small secluded area of the map. He couldn't tell where though, he was too dazed to tell. He just saw lots of purples blues and teals in the area around. Eventually he came to his mind and looked nearby.. he saw a figure and in his daze he came towards it. "Raz? RAZ- Oh my god are you okay? Hey- talk to me-" "Huh..?" Raz looked up at the figure and realized it was.. her. "I said talk to me dumbass, not 'huh.' What's wrong? Why do you look like that?" "Look like.. what? Why are you- how are you even here? I'm more concerned about..-" Raz stuttered in confusion. How could Nadia even be alive if he did what he did? "You're bleeding man, and you got strange like.. cuffs on your wrists. You look like you've been through hell and back, love," She grabbed his wrists and examined them, glancing at them and the wounds on his chest, then back to his hands, fidgeting with a pretty ring on his finger, the same ring present on her hand as well. "And why am I here? Well.. I've been looking for you, Raz. It's been months since we've even seen each other. What happened?" "Nadia, I- is this even..." He paused to think and sighed. He finally realized what was happening, this had to not be real cause.. He shook his head, he should just play along, maybe appreciate the fact that he can at least.. pretend she's here. "I.. Just IO? Things and stuff, it's a lot, really." "IO? ...I.. huh. I see. Interesting.." She stepped away, deep in thought. "Nadia? What are you thinking about?" "Nothing, I'm just confused why the IO would do that.. I could swear they were goo-" "CAUSE THEY'RE EVIL NADIA!! What don't you understand?" "But they were.. good- er- Yeah yeah.. Okay.." "..." "We should get you some medical attention." She spoke with a turned back, still obviously thinking. "I.. I don't get it.." Raz mumbled to himself with flattened ears, wondering why she was suddenly so distant, even if she wasn't real.. this doesn't make sense, surely? "Yeah.. but where are we even?" "I'm not sure, I remember some people were figuring out it's name. Things like 'the Life Tree' 'The Saving Bloom' and my personal favorite, 'the Reality Tree' so I guess if you want a name, there. Point is, it's a big tree." She spoke with a smile, disintegrating Razs concerns. "Oh! It's very nice then." He spoke with a smile as well. He remembered what actually happened when he finally escaped in real life. He was so injured he could barely talk, which is still true in this case.. maybe he should ask to get some assistance.. but he remembered collapsing near the tree. It was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. Still is. He asked for some help, to which she quickly went and helped, and they walked for a little it until Raz felt his eyelids close slower and slower, until when he blinked and looked to his side for a moment.. She was gone, and he had fallen to the ground. The world around him was grey and cold. He looked around in terror and saw the same bloodied walls he grew so used to at this time. He glanced to the ground of the stained room and saw a small piece of what appeared to be chromium like from the Spire. It was a shard of her armor. The same shard he had used to pick his locks all those times ago. The same shard he remembered seeing that vision of her pointing out to. Except no vision was to be seen, instead nothing but grey and the cool nights light. [...] *He blinked again and suddenly he was back on Avas couch, the world warming up again and color coming back to his vision. He was visibly shaking and scared but he managed to shake himself calm again.* Nadia- ...I'm so sorry.

*Raz got up and went to make tea. Maybe it would stop himself from thinking about things. But he glanced behind himself to see the same vision he's used to now. It wasn't the real Nadia, it wasn't possible. So like always, he just ignored it until it fades away.. like always.*