#this was so fun. now I am spiraling about all of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abbyslovergirlxo · 2 months ago

Text

Same Damn Time

Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader x Ambessa Medarda

tw; Dom!Ambessa, Dom!Caitlyn, sub!reader, rough sex but they’re not so mean towards the end, wlw, sadism (cait/bessa), choking, slapping (everywhere lol), knife usage, blood kink??,masochism (you🫵) , crying, reader has a mouth on her and then folds (typical😒), idk why i made cait psychotic but oh well, oral, degradation, crumbs of praise lmao, ALL SEXUAL INTERACTION IS CONSENSUAL, I am not someone who writes noncon

Word count: 7.8k

… = time skip

a/n; whewww! like what can I even say, this fic is crazy asl. Like I actually think they’re gonna bring back stoning people just for this. Lowkey deserved. But I know there’s someone out there who’s gonna match my freak 😭 i had tooo much fun writing this while listening to the song, made me think of them 😩lots of tw!! so plz read that before scrolling!!! I feel like this is something you’re either really going to love or really going to hate sooo idk. Also I was literally fixated on Sevika/Ambessa and one edit drove me to madness so here we are, getting double teamed by Commander Kiramman and General Merdarda 😩 They’re both evil twins in this but Caitlyn is the more evil twin but no seriously read the tw…. anyways enough of my my rumbling, this fic is long enough lol.

Your ear shot up, body reacting involuntarily to the large grey door opening. Heavy echoing footsteps, hushed whispers, and then a closed door.

“ This is the one?”

The judgemental tone would’ve sent you spiralling, had you been anywhere else. But menacing glares and sharp words would do little for you here. The lights were dim, unfavorably so, only illuminating distinctly right above your chair that you sat in.

Their voices held unyielding authority. Everyone from topside did to be fair but something about these two gave away their status. Their faces were shielded slightly, your eyes squinting in an attempt to see who they were. That attempt was shot down, the small space of darkness they stood in protecting them.

You cursed yourself for not having been smarter that day, faster. For if you had been, you’d never know what the inside of Stillwater’s interrogation room looked like.

“ Yes, General. My enforcers found her near one of Jinx’s old hideouts. From the items that were taken from her we can safely say this one knows something. She knows Jinx. My men attempted to speak to her a couple of days ago but nothing came of it.”

You thought back to the ‘men’ who questioned you, hammered you with prompts that you refused to answer. The bruises on your back proved how badly they wanted to know but you never relented.

“ I don’t know anything.” A lie. A clear one. Both of the women ignored you, tossing back and forth bits of information. You tugged at the shiny metal cuffs, now wishing you’d taken Vi up on those lock picking lessons. I’m so fucked, you thought to yourself. The room was a bit cold and you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion when they snatched you. So, somberly you shook a little, giving up on listening to whatever they were saying.

You weren’t going to rat. You knew that much.

Your head was hung when you heard them get closer to you. Not bothering to look up, you heard two chairs groan from being pulled, until they sat down from what you assumed.

“ Name?”

Finally you peered up. Your expression faltered for a second, not expecting the sight in front of you. Their outfits clashed and blended seamlessly all at once. One sat in an all black attire, her long blue hair hanging down. The other was engrossed in clads of gold and red.

Sitting right across from you, they both had menacing glares. Well, the glares you expected. Not quite the faces. Shamefully you imagined seeing them somewhere else, maybe in The Last Drop? The younger, sharp features and pinched eyes, looked at you with a particularly hateful look. That didn’t bother you though, she was as intimidating as the drunk men you’d fought with in the undercity. Pretty though, you thought. The other one was a different story entirely.

She was tall, you could tell from how she towered even sitting down. Something about her was elegant. But she looked dangerous. Growing up it was quite necessary to assess who you could and couldn’t take on, and the moment your eyes locked with hers, you knew. The scars on her face also gave way to what she was capable of. She was a problem, even if her stare wasn’t as heinous as the woman beside her.

“ Name?” She pressed. Her voice was calm but she didn’t look like someone who didn’t know how to raise it.

“ I don’t know anything. I don’t even know who Jinx is.”

The blue haired girl scoffed, clearly unimpressed. Her companion remained analytical of you.

“ You’re a terrible liar.” Her voice came off unforgiving and brutal. You’d be lying (again) if you said you weren’t slightly offended. But you kept a neutral face, ignoring her.

“Listen, this doesn’t have to be rough. How this goes depends entirely on you, you choose. We know you know Jinx. We know that you know something. The information you have is quite important to me,”

The older woman paused for a split second, her stare unwavering and promising. She looked over to the younger one before looking back at you.

“ to us. So we’re leaving this room with something, I can assure you that. But I can also assure you that if you help us, we will help you.”

Her voice was smooth, like wine. Well according to what people say about wine, you’d never had it. She was firm in her words, almost as if she herself knew the power behind her promise. That would’ve reassured you had it not been for the fact that she was after your fucking friends.

You looked between the two of them again, assessing the scene in front of you over and over. You were unimpressed, if you were being honest, something you hadn’t been since these cuffs first touched your wrist. Sure, you could tell they meant business but this was futile as an interrogation tactic.

Good cop, bad cop?

While the older wasn’t exactly nice, you expected a missing eye, pulled nails and burnt skin. What you weren’t expecting was two, unfortunately attractive, topside pigs to do a century old method. If anything they should’ve switched, you thought to yourself.

Maybe then they’d get somewhere.

“ Still don’t know who Jinx is or why I’m here.”

“ You’re lying, again. And protecting a known fanatic and criminal. Tell us where we can find Jinx.”

You furrowed your brows, annoyed with her insults and claims. Who is she to tell you that were lying? Well, you were of course. But regardless, the tone in the blue eyed woman before you made you unsettled.

“ I’m not lying.” You gritted out. “ I’ve been detained wrongfully. You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything.”

“ Yes, you do.” Her voice was firm, final. You scowled at her, but it was nothing in comparison to how she looked at you. Constantly her jaw flexed, on edge and angry. But she had no right to be angry in your mind, after all you were the one chained to a table being talked at rather than talked to. Secretly you wished for the older woman to speak again, at least she wasn’t such a bitch.

“ Are they your friends? Is that it? Because I promise you that we will find Jinx, it will just be a whole lot messier without your help. I don’t mind that. But I’m sure you will.”

You fought the urge to wipe that domineering tone and look off her face. You’re never going to find Jinx! You’re nothing but a power hungry topsider who doesn’t know the first thing about friends! I’m not telling you shit. Was what you wanted to say. But instead,

“ I don’t know Jinx or whatever else you people plan on asking me. Like I said, you. are. wasting. your. time.”

You put emphasis on each word, tired of repeating yourself. But to your un-satisfaction she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“ Look… I shouldn’t be here. I can’t give you anything because I don’t kno—“

“ Right.” She cut you off, so obviously tired of your insistent lying, even in the short minutes. “And you’re not an undercity animal.”

“ And you’re not a topside pig.”

In all fairness it came out before you could stop it. You weren’t used to being talked to like this and keeping quiet, it almost came out of pure instinct. But if you were surprised by your words you didn’t show it one bit, a small smile almost playing on your lips.

Her nostrils flared slightly, her breathing elevating. For a moment you thought she’d explode before the other woman spoke.

“ Kiramman.”

You memorized the name, not sure if it’d be useful later once you escaped but just in case. She simply collected herself, nodding at the woman who she called ‘General’. Maybe this is where you went wrong, your natural element slipping out, your ego on its way to arriving.

“ You should learn to control yourself, ya know… during interrogations and such.”

“ Shut your mouth.” It was harsh and whispered. This is when you should’ve stopped but you didn’t.

“ You must be new, since you need a supervisor to help you.”

“ Shut it.”

“ You guys have nothing on me. You’re fucking desperate. I’m n—“

Mistakenly you were so focused on Kiramman that you hadn’t been prepared for the harsh grab of your chin. It was quick, unbelievably fast and that scared you more than anything. The strength of which she used to crush your face also attributed to the pit in your stomach.

“ You’ve chosen miserably.”

Her voice was meaner now, she talked as if you were nothing. Like you were stupid. Instantly you regretted wishing for her presence.

Embarrassingly you struggled against her trying to pry away but it was useless. She effortlessly held you there, your cheeks red with humiliation and anger. You tried to ignore the victorious face planted on Kiramman.

“ She said shut your mouth so you shouldn’t be doing anything but that.”

“ Thought you w-wanted me to talk, which one is it?”

You half expected her to break your jaw or lash out like the woman beside her. Instead she remained calm, eerily calm. Anyone with such strength and patience was someone who got what they wanted. But, you weren’t going to talk, you reminded yourself.

She pulled you closer, not without the rebellious tug from you. Silently she analyzed you, staring into your eyes painstakingly long. You squirmed and averted your gaze. She let you go with a ‘hmph’.

“ She won’t talk, not like this.”

The blue haired girl whipped her head towards her, then back to you, a blue fire blazing in her eyes. From the short time they’d been in the room it was clear the older woman held a higher position, authority oozing from her undoubtedly. But now you noticed something dark about the Kiramman that you should have picked up on before.

She was angry, unreasonably so. There was something constantly threatening to set off inside of her.

“ Everyone talks. There has to be something that’ll make her.”

The General hummed. “ I agree, but not like this. She’s loyal to them and she’s prepared for a cell if not this. She’s attempting to use our anger to distract us. She needs something else.”

The goosebumps from the cold air became accompanied by ones born from anxiety. Your mind went into a dark place, worried you’d never leave Stillwater. What if they starved you? Kept you locked in some cell as your body slowly decayed while you still lived? True fear found its way to you for the first time, the unknown overwhelming.

Kiramman seemed to hold back a sigh, instead taking a moment to actually listen to her superior's words. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking but from the firm nod she let off to the General, you knew it wasn’t in your favor. The grey haired woman stood now, making your heart race. Desperately you tugged at the chain once more, attempting to repeat your overdone line.

“ Look, I really don’t know anything.” Ignored.

The blue haired girl remained seated, leaned back slightly, watching silently as the older woman walked around the table. She walked to you with a certain prowess about her. She was taller than you’d expected, to your dismay. You refused to look at her when she was finally standing beside you, face aimed at the grey table.

You pinched your eyes waiting to be hit, choked maybe, or stabbed if they didn’t mind the mess. Your breathing raised as you tried to silently comfort yourself through whatever pain soon awaited. You held back a flinch when you felt large hands pulling at your chains.

It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. Fuck.

*clink*

You snapped your eyes open, seeing your handcuffs now undone.

“ Stand up.”

You took in a breath, silently grateful that you hadn’t been harmed. You stood now, relieved. At least whatever they were going to do wasn’t happening in the now you thought. You looked towards the giant closed metal door, expecting your arm to be snatched as she led you to your dark cell. But to your surprise she simply spoke again.

“ On the table.”

You looked between the two of them.

You shook your head, not even at them, it just shook. No way in hell were you going to lay down on some metal table while these two psychopaths did whatever they wanted to you. You weren’t exactly happy about the bruises that already resided there, definitely not hoping for extras.

“ …No.”

You hadn’t wished to say it but you couldn’t bring yourself to willingly place your body on that table before they hurt you.

“ You misunderstand the situation. You’ve chosen already. So get on the table.”

You didn’t choose shit. That’s what you wanted to shout, to scream at them until your bones betrayed you. A million emotions rushed through your head, clenching and unclenching your hands. Instead you remained silent and unmoving, your refusal to acknowledge was saying ‘no’ in its own way.

“ Fucking impossible…”

You didn’t even have a moment to react to the words before you were pulled. A grunt left your mouth as your hair was gripped painfully. Anger coursed through you upon seeing the black uniform in your peripheral. You used your now free hands to try and pry her hands from you but she only gripped impossibly tighter, your scalp beginning to burn. She was swifter than you’d imagined she’d be, strong too, grabbing both of your hands with one, pinning them. This somehow was worse than cuffs.

“ Fucki— let me go!”

Ignored. Why did they ignore everything?

“ Where do you want her?”

Her General's eyebrows raised, but you didn’t see surprise. Not even disappointment. Content, maybe? You didn’t put it past her.

“ Let's put her on her back to start.”

She moved without question or affirmation. Irritation was clear across your face now, upset at the stinging that wasn’t letting up on your scalp. But clearly the woman behind you didn’t care, roughly forcing you onto the table. She wasn’t as tall as her companion but she was taller than you and it wasn’t an advantage on your part. The force behind her movements were unsettling, you hadn’t thought she was powerless at first glance, but her grip on you was unnerving compared to what you thought she was capable of.

The cold metal wasn’t welcoming. It felt like a million needles were puncturing your skin causing you to shudder. Your tank top strap had fallen off your shoulder amidst the struggle, close enough to slipping down making you wish your hands were free.

“ Give me her wrist.”

They swiftly transferred your hands, the Generals grip matching hers but you could tell there was more strength to be given behind it. You didn’t want to imagine her really trying to squeeze you. The cuffs you were free from moments ago encased you again, and you didn't miss the two extra notches she clicked causing your bone to shift uncomfortably with the metal. You scowled.

“ It’s too fucking tight.”

Not even a pitied glance, nothing. Ignored. Again. You shifted your wrist again, overwhelmed and upset. And this bitch is still gripping my hair, using her other hand to keep your shoulder on the table casually. So easily, and that made you feel vulnerable, helpless. And your now restrained hands weren’t helping, the slight burn making something in your throat want to creep up but you wouldn’t dare allow it, deciding to instead take it out on them.

“ Let go of my hair, you bi–”

You hissed, the stinging sensation pulsating across your cheek. It wouldn’t leave a bruise but you damn sure felt it.

“ Mind your tongue.”

The General ignored the glare you sent her straight from hell, instead taking off her jacket revealing a dark sleeveless sort of top. You couldn’t begin to imagine or decipher the detailing of it, topsiders always dressed too flashy in your opinion, too stuck up. Her arms were as big as you'd thought. Both being ridiculed with scars.

Then, another sharp crack resounded through the dark room, a quick punishing tug to your scalp. This one would unfortunately leave a bruise. You could tell. You didn’t hiss this time, too stunned, on the verge of groaning from the way she used your hair as a plaything.

“ What she said.”

Kiramman finally let go of your hair, the residue of her strength still pounding through your head. You tried to sit up but she instead used both of her hands to hold you down. With only your legs to move, you kicked but the General shut that down as soon as it started. Effortlessly she used only one hand to keep them pinned down, now looking over you and at Kiramman.

What now? You thought. Cut my skin until I fess up? Break my bones until I don’t have any? Beat me bloody while I lie on this cold table? Are they going to kill me when this is all over, when I don’t say anything? I’m going to die here, aren’t I? I’m going to die and nobody’s gonna know.

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I can take it. I can take it.

Eyes suddenly squeezed shut, recited echoes of wishful thinking, a scratchy throat. You braced yourself.

“ Last chance. Tell us where we can find Jinx and I’ll send you back to your cell. Untouched.”

Your voice came out a little exasperated, anxiety and anger laced into it. You kept your eyes shut.

“ I don’t know who Jinx is so I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything.”

Your shoulder crushed more into the table, pale hands squeezing.

“ You continue to choose stupidity, insolence. No more of that.”

Suddenly the grip on your legs were let go and you opened your eyes. She was still at the head of the table staring down at you. For a moment you considered kicking again but as if she read your mind…

“ Kick me and I will break every bone in your knee.”

Her tone wasn’t intimidating, demeaning absolutely, but not intimidating. The certainty in her voice made you throw away any ideas of using your legs. You liked your knees to say the least. You peered straight up to see an upside version of Kiramman, her long blue hair creating a shadow around her neck, her jawline distinct. Even without seeing her face, only the outline of lips and nose, the anger radiated off her body.

“ What now?”

The General looked over you, straight at her.

“ We’ll need to take her pants off for the next part.”

You and Kiramman spoke at the same time.

“ Wait, what? My pants?” “ Her pants?”

The older woman simply gave a one word reply, meant to supply both of you with a firm answer, ‘yes’.

“ Wait, wait.”

She looked down at you, eyebrows raised.

“ Do you remember something about Jinx? Something you’d like to tell us?”

You listened to the flickering sound coming from the light above you. One by one you let them pop into your head. Jinx, long blue hair and wild face as she hugged you. Vi, stuffing her favorite foodsin your face. Isha, making paper airplanes with you. For a moment you thought a tear might slip but it didn’t. You drew in a shaky breath, ignoring the sting on your wrist.

“ No. I don’t know anything. I just…”

You averted your gaze.

“ Is it going to hurt?”

A stupid question in your mind. No doubt torture hurts. But something in you needed to ask, needing some sort of certainty in what was to come.

“ That depends on you entirely. I’ll give you pain when you give me insolence. But when you give me answers, I’ll give you… ”

She suddenly ghosted a hand over your calf.

“ Relief.”

You shuddered a little, her graze unexpected. But you didn’t dare move your leg, not wanting to test what qualified as a kick to her. You didn’t want to imagine what she meant by relief, because it couldn’t mean that. It couldn’t mean that.

“ How does that sound?”

“ It sounds like I have nothing else to say to you.”

She hummed. Without another word she slipped her large hands in your waistband, pulling them down to your ankles. You wanted them back the second your bare thigh touched the cold metal. A click echoed and you looked to see a blade in her hand, small in size but formidable in design. Gold snakes seemed to embroider its handle. You sucked in a harsh breath at the sight, your eyes locked on it.

Your eyes flicked up at the blue haired woman, her position now changed so that you could see her face again. Her eyes almost beamed? For the first time an expression other than anger displayed itself on her features. Now she looked almost… pleased. Excited.

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. Hopefully.

You ignored the last words, watching as the General kept her eyes trained on your plump thighs. Opening them, she traced it right on the inside of it. Immediately you could tell it was sharp. Too sharp. It was cold against your skin, not as harsh as the table but unforgiving nonetheless. Anticipation rushed through you. Hands clenched within its restraints, the light flickering and flickering, her soft hands on your shoulder, icy metal on your skin, her hand slipping onto your thigh and then….

“ Ngnh!”

Your head pressed into the metal slightly. You’d have been embarrassed by your whimper if it wasn’t for the sudden warm drip down your thigh. Blood, you assumed. You’d been through worse but you still squirmed at the cut now adorned on your skin. She pushed down on your thigh, not fond of your squirming. Then she continued, tracing the blade across your thigh, waiting until your body finally relaxed, stopping itself from that state of bracing. And right when you did, she’d swipe a quick line across your shaky, burning legs. Always between your thighs, always.

It felt like electricity was rushing through you, it was all so overwhelming. You felt like you were being swallowed alive and they had barely done anything. The cuts burned and sent a rush of pain through your nerves and skin. Everytime you looked at Kiramman her face was becoming alive with intoxication. It’s like she couldn’t pull her eyes away, trained on the way your leg wobbled under her General’s hand, how you whimpered lowly, the light trace of blood on the expensive blade. You jolted again, particularly harder this time.

“ Relax. It's just a little cut, you're a big girl.”

It continued like this. You tried your best to stifle the whimpers coming from your mouth. The last thing you wanted was for them to hear what they were doing to you. Over and over she painted your thighs with your own crimson, and it hurt. It hurt, it did. And that's all it should be.

But your stomach kept getting that feeling. It burned, like the surface level cuts she gave you. It burned every time her calloused finger swiped across your sliced skin, collecting blood. It burned when she smiled suddenly, as if proud of her work. And it was scalding when you looked up and saw those blue eyes entranced. But it wasn’t pain. It wasn’t…anger. It was something else. Something that made you want to release that feeling in your throat, made you wish she meant something ungodly when she offered relief.

“ What's this?”

Your skin was hot to the touch now, sweaty. Trembling slightly, you looked up at her. For a moment you couldn’t begin to imagine what she was referring to until you traced her eyes. You silently prayed that it wasn’t what you thought. But from the way she asked, you knew.

“ What is it?”

Kiramman asked, curiosity clear in her voice. The older woman smirked, staring down at the wet spot in your panties.

“ It seems her body is more honest than she is. I think our little prisoner likes this. Her panties say so at least.”

Your face burned so hot that it rivaled the sun itself. You considered saying something, protesting and denying it. But what was the point? It did feel good, the burn felt good. And she had the evidence right in front of her. You couldn’t meet either of their gazes, looking to the side in shame. Kiramman laughed, the vibrations reaching you through her touch.

“ I knew it, she was whimpering like a dog. Isn’t that right?”

You shook your head, still refusing to look. But she wasn’t having it, using one of her hands to pull your chin. Even upside down, she looked menacing. She forced eye contact. Her face was rampant with mocking undertones, sadistic glares.

“ Is that why you’ve been so rude? You wanted us to give you a little pain, show you a good time? You really are pathetic.”

“ That’s not tr– n-ngh!”

A stinging pain after a quick slap to your clothed cunt made you whimper louder than anytime the blade touched you. It felt like a live wire tapping your skin, your legs snapping shut. The wet spot in your panties grew, your breathing uneven.

“ Insolence. Tell the truth.”

I can’t. You thought. Telling them that you’d enjoyed it, even a tiny bit, seemed more daunting suddenly than ratting.

“ I’m not ly– f-fuck…”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be allowed to finish a sentence, her hand opening your legs followed by another slap coming down. Your eyes fluttered for a moment, your face squeezing with pain and pleasure. Kiramman used the hand she never removed to guide you. A smile was now on her lips, wide with genuine amusement.

“ Oh god, did you just… moan? You really are something aren’t you? Is that what it’s going to take? A few more slaps to your cunt and you’ll be blabbering? Or maybe…”

She lowered herself, close enough that her hair brushed against your face. You whined again, another unsuspecting smack from the older woman. You hadn’t even done anything, she just liked the way your panties got damper with each hit. Kiramman almost thanked her for it, relishing in hearing the noise even closer. She whispered to you.

“ If I make you cum enough times you’ll remember something. I bet you’d like that, letting a… what was it that you called me…a topside pig make your cunt cry?”

Finally, you gave way to the ache in your throat. A tear fell down your face suddenly. Another burning sensation forming in your stomach at the feeling of the General toying with the rim of your panties.

“ Please…”

It was quiet, almost matching the decibels of the wind. But you knew she’d heard it. It was obvious from how her grin widened, her eyes looking like ones of a deranged woman.

“ Please what? Please…make me cum? Please…let me go? Please fucking what?”

In this small moment of time, you almost felt like you were watching your dignity physically leave your body. You imagined telling her to let you go, that you didn’t know anything and a few cuts to your legs wasn’t going to change that. And you considered it, over and over. Then something played in your mind, a sick fantasy woven in desperation. In it, you asked her what you really wanted to. And in it they kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, made you finish until you didn’t know how to walk. You considered both. But only one of them made your core ache with desire. Your eyes were even glossier now. Suddenly you were working yourself up for a new kind of courage.

I can take it. I can take it. I can take it.

“ Make me cum please.”

“ Please who?”

I can take it.

“ Please, Kiramman.”

“ That’s it. Finally something coming out of your mouth other than horseshit. But you still need some manners…”

The grip that had left your ears ringing suddenly came back, her pale fingers peeking through your hair. She pulled your head up, forcing you to look at the General. You groaned, arms thrashing slightly, the sting of the metal never relenting.

“ I’m not the only one here. Go ahead, ask General Merdarda too.”

You gritted your teeth. This was already humiliating, and she was just reveling in it. Your legs were already spread, panties damp, dried crimson on your skin, hands bound above your stomach. You’d already asked, multiple times. And now you had to say it again, with a death-like grip on your hair and those hazel eyes peering at you, awaiting.

“ …but I already asked y—“

The slap was even stronger this time , the force of it driving your body insane. Merdarda grinned at you, even laughing a little at the noise you made. Another tear fell down your cheek but Kiramman was quick to wipe it. Right before she licked her finger.

“ But you didn’t ask me.”

If she slapped your cunt again you’d probably start grinding against the table, somehow making you look more pathetic than you do right now. So you gave in.

“ P-Please General Merdarda, will…”

I’m never speaking about this if I get out of here.

“…Will you please make me cum?”

“ Well would you look at that, that’s all you had to say little one. But what do we get in return? Surely you can’t expect us to make you cum with nothing given back.”

“ …But…I already said I don’t know anything.”

Kiramman scoffed.

“ Even after you soak your panties from a little cut, you still have the ability to lie. I’m almost impressed.”

She let your head drop back onto the table.

“ Almost.”

….

For a second you thought she’d kiss them.

At first glance it seemed so, her soft lips trailed over the red raised wounds, her nose spilling cold air on them. You reveled in it, an ember threatening to go a blaze within you. That was until she nipped at it, a hiss leaving your mouth. You couldn’t see her smile but you felt it sweeping across the throbbing skin. You cursed under your breath, the force behind her bite growing more rabid. She slapped the thigh she wasn’t ravaging, quick and harsh.

“ You like that, don’t you?”

There that voice was again, smooth and sultry. You weren’t sure if she was referencing the strike on your leg or her roaming fingers but murmured yes anyway. Yes to all of it. She had your shirt hitched up, breast exposed. Every once and awhile she’d toy with them, trace an outline around your nipple, wait and then pinch. So often though she found herself distracted, your features giving away how desperate you were.

Merdarda found enjoyment in watching your contort every time Kiramman did something to you, anything to you really. You were like a tight coiled spring, threatening to snap at any given moment. It's like every touch has you ready to risk everything. And you learned quickly they were into this a little more than you, mania clear across their faces. You were trembling, Kiramman taking advantage of how sensitive your legs were.

“ C’mere.”

You felt a little dizzy, seeing her lift her head up from between your legs. She grabbed your cuffed hands, pulling you up to meet her face. It all happened so fast and you winced from the strain in your shoulders. She was closer now and it was just now that you noticed the traces of blood on her lips. You hadn’t expected a kiss this time around, but it happened. It wasn’t gentle, if anything it felt like she was trying to cannibalize you with her tongue. Shamefully you pushed against her, sick to your stomach at how good she tasted. Hints of copper on your tastebuds, her wandering hands. She pulled back, being sure to bite your lip before doing so.

“ You taste that? It’s you.”

She dropped her eyes to your thighs, licking over her lips once more. A trance almost seemed to describe the hunger behind her stare, but you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t care either way, you just wanted her to do whatever was on her mind to you and soon.

“ fucking delicious.”

The whispered lust in her voice rivaled the reaction brought out from Medardas heavy hands.

“ You should taste her General. She’s sweeter than that filthy mouth of hers.”

Wordlessly, she captured your lips next. Her movements were more experienced, methodical and you felt as though you melted into her due to it. Ruby lipstick smeared onto you, a groan slipping from her as she made sure to taste everything you had to offer. The metallic tinge on her tongue made her pull in deeper. You whimpered, dizzy from lack of breath and insatiable roaming hands.By the time she pulled away your eyes were low, an unfocused look about you.

“ I wonder if her cunt tastes even better.”

Kiramman smiled sickly to herself, her gapped teeth giving you a warm tinge to your cheek.

“ We’ll know soon enough.”

….

Your wrist were nearly rubbed raw with all the thrashing you were doing. Time and time again you made attempts to close those abused legs of yours, in hopes of protecting your cunt. Unfortunately, Kiramman wasn’t pleased and she slapped it raw until you cried enough apologies. She mumbled something along the lines of ‘can’t be stupid and greedy’. But you somehow continued to be prove to be both, whining endlessly about the torture of her tongue. She never let up though, only unlatching from you to say obscene things or mark up your poor legs.

It seemed the pair held similar views, sick desires. Medarda would litter your neck and breast with purple marks shamelessly. She smelled of some expensive plant you’d never heard of, all you knew was that it made you whimper everytime her skin was pressed onto yours. She’d whisper siren-like words to you, etched in sin, rough kisses between them all. And yet you drank them into your ears like milk and honey.

“ You just came, didn’t you? Nasty girl.”

“ Do you remember anything now, hm?”

“ Don’t be so dramatic, keep your legs open for her.”

“ You must spread yourself open often. You’re a natural.”

“ Your cunts almost as noisy as you, dear.”

And when her tongue wasn’t making you drip onto the table, Kirammans words were just as wicked, if not more. Her posh accent was a coverup for all the nefarious things laced into it. A very, very poor coverup.

“ I said— keep. them. open. Unless you need a second pair of cuffs? … No? Then fucking listen.”

“ Go on, you can cry. I know it feels good. Yes filthy girl…just like that. ”

“ You’ve made a mess. Say you're sorry.”

“ Quit it, you can get a break when you remember something.”

“ Don’t act so sweet now— had quite a lot to say earlier. Isn’t that right?”

This was wrong, every bit of it. There was nothing exactly right about two high ranking officers of Piltover and Noxus eating you alive in the depths of Stillwater. The thought alone should send you running. It should have you drinking hot flashes of anger, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. But it didn’t. It only made you spread your legs wider and beg shamefully for more kisses.

It all felt so good. They felt so good and a redeemable, rational part of you hated that. But every time rationality tried to sink itself into you, Commander Kiramman and General Merdarda were right there to sink into you faster. And by god, they made you feel more full than any morale.

You were so sure you were going to die before. And that thought that hadn’t been removed just yet, except now you thought you’d pass away from all the onslaught orgasms caused by the ravenous women beside and inside you.

“ a—angh! oh god…pl–please”

Kiramman held back a sly smile, seeing the way you twitched, body so sensitive. Her fingers were drenched with you, now gloveless. Initially her signature black gloves dug inside of you but the minute she tasted you she knew she didn’t want it anywhere but on her skin. Quite roughly, she had pulled three orgasms, somehow each one more intense than the last. But that wasn’t enough, not to them. Nothing was enough until those pretty lips whimpered something they could actually report back. And even then she wasn’t sure she’d want to stop.

“ Are you going to make a mess again for us?”

Pathetically, you fought back the white of your eyes before looking down at her. She couldn’t help but grip your thighs tighter at your teary face, nodding exhaustingly down at her. Medarda kept you slightly upright, your back arching into her bicep while she sucked on your breast. Honestly she hadn’t a clue how long she’d been at it but by the rate she was going you’d look a fucked out mosaic by the time they were done. She laughed to herself but you knew it was at you. And that fact only made you rut against the table more.

“ This is going to be your fourth one dear. We’re never going to leave this room if you keep being so stubborn.”

She trailed her kisses up your chest. A peck here and a peck there. The slow ascend of her affections compared to the rapid thrust of the others fingers made you bite your lip, the skin pulling between your teeth. By the time she was up to your ear you were practically panting.

“ Or is that what you want? For us to keep making you cry until you can’t anymore?”

They’d never know it and thank god for that but you almost whispered a yes.

Kiramman couldn’t hear what was spoken but she definitely felt it. You clenched around her even harder, a long mewl spilling from you. She creased her blue brows slightly as she sped up her fingers, making sure to never be gentle with that special spot, secretly itching to hear just how loud you could get whenever you came. Her counterpart was just as wanting for it out of you, a more balanced desire about her. Even in spite of the way she pulled you in for another kiss when she heard you sob, “ ‘m s-so close..”

This time Kiramman both felt and heard it, her fingers happily accepting the tight squeeze of you. She latched back onto your clit which was practically begging to be consumed again, if you asked her. Immediately you tensed, using every ounce of self restraint to not slam her cheeks with your legs. It also got devastatingly hard to keep up with Medarda’s mouth, she pressed into you like she forgot you needed air, like you only needed them. And as the coil in your belly grew and the sloppy sounds of her eating away filled the room, you did need them.

A muffled moan ricocheted into Merdarda and she invited it wholeheartedly. When she finally pulled away, you used your bound hands to grab at her hand groping you. You squeezed it the second you felt Kiramman offer a grunt inside of your cunt. She licked you like she was rabid, lost in whatever drugs your pussy clearly had laced in it. Merdarda found it all so nasty, so amusing. Seeing the renowned Caitlyn Kiramman so cruel but so feral, and you with your slick mouth gone and lips swollen, made her clench around nothing.

Even if nobody in the room spoke it, you were all enjoying this ‘interrogation’ a little too much. That manic laughter that constantly filled Kirammans head, those stupid pigtails and flashy gadgets, had even subsided for a moment. She still wanted nothing more than to rip that smile off her face, but the way the tears journeyed down your face so easily made her want something more.

Right now all she wanted was for you to cum on her face, and she nearly keeled over when she finally heard you sing that song for her. A moan that could only be replicated in the best whorehouses of Zaun left you. The pair both smiled the moment they heard you whimper what they already knew.

“ i th—‘m gonn—“

You could barely manage a single word, back practically ingraining itself in her arm the way you arched over it.

“ Let it out, make a mess.”

Your body truly was more honest than you and clearly obedient because the second she said it you did. Your self restraint abandoned you, left you on that table shaking and crying. Your bruised legs kissed her cheeks (not so gently) as she ate and thrusted at the same pace she did before, never letting up. Even with your legs shaking and around her she just drove in deeper. The pleasure slipped into overdrive making you shake your head, trying your best to pull away, use your hands, anything to make her stop. But Merdarda snatched your cuffed hands.

“ kira—kirammannn!”

Wow, that’s the only time she’s heard her last name and wanted to hear it more. But she ignored you, knowing you were begging for her to stop. By now your legs had dropped, too weak to hold up. Your whole body practically vibrated as you lost your breath. Maybe it was the burning sensation ripping through you or the cotton in your head but you stupidly turned your head to look up at Medarda.

“ help…me…gonna fu— die!”

First she looked at you, toyed with your nipple as your hands fought against hers. So pretty and so pathetic, she thought. Then looked down at Kiramman, whose eyes now opened and met hers. An amused glint was in her blue tinted stare and suddenly Medarda couldn’t think of a single reason she’d help you.

“ She’s eating child, don’t be so rude. Have some manners.”

She was looking at you when she said it, but from the mockery in her tone you knew it was meant for more than just you. And it was confirmed when a smile traced itself onto your throbbing cunt. But it quickly went away. She was eating after all.

“ i canttt! pleasee!”

Kiramman didn’t stop until you went silent, unable to speak, inconsistent babbles of nonsense here and there. You weren’t even shaking now, just twitching and breathing like the oxygen in the room had been sucked out. When she finally got up from between your legs she couldn’t help herself and gave two quick bites. A strangle mix of a hiss and moan could be heard as you watched her stand. She lifted her fingers to your mouth, shoving them inside.

You expected her to be rough and jam them down your throat but to your surprise she simply swirled them around your mouth. Despite that voice in your head you sucked at them tiredly hoping to please them. And pleased they were. They both watched as you weakly licked her fingers clean. By the time she pulled away they both knew that previous orgasm just couldn’t be the last.

“ Do you remember anything now?”

You were fucked out, but not that fucked out.

“…no”

Thank god, they both thought in unison.

“ I guess it’s my turn then.”

…

BONUS

Kiramman walked with pure candor on her face. She heard the whispers as she walked past but she ignored them. What was the point in entertaining fools? Besides, the moment her eyes met theirs they always went silent. Always. Today hadn’t been the best day for her. Most days weren’t, hunting for that psycho and her friends wasn’t an easy job or a fun one. But she wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Well…maybe someone else…

“ Don’t let anyone in.”

The guard nodded dutifully.

By the time she reached the room, she was already imagining her sweet song. She didn’t have to wait long to hear it in person because it was practically blasting throughout the room the moment the door opened. She closed the door behind her, smiling deviously as she placed her heavy cape onto the chair.

“ She’s even wetter today, if you can believe it.”

She laughed softly, “ Oh I can believe it. How many has she got so far?”

“ Just two. Don’t worry, you didn’t take too long.”

“ God, I know. I got caught up with that fool Salo.”

Medarda laughed now, knowing all too well how annoying he could be.

“ medardaaa”

Your toes curled, struggling to handle the two large fingers inside of you. Both were devastatingly skilled with their fingers but hers were undoubtedly bigger. Way bigger. And if the size wasn’t agonizing enough, she was hitting that spot over and over. This time your hands were free, and you used them to grip her bicep.

Suddenly your throat had a new necklace. Not a very nice one. She squeezed her free hand around your throat, speeding her fingers. Clearly she wasn’t a fan of your interruption, despite the way her cunt ached when she heard her name in such a filthy way.

“ Can’t you see us talking? And you didn’t even greet your Commander. She came all this way to see you.”

You thought you were going to pass out, the squelching sounds and sultry insults becoming distant. Your mind and body gave into her once the resisting clearly wasn’t doing anything. And you loved it. Each filthy posh coated word, lingering touch, rushed collided lips left you undone. The strength behind their hands made you want to never be without it. And for the past two weeks it continued to, leaving you right here in this room on this desk, unable to breath, only able to cry and spread your legs wider.

Medarda let go, allowing Kiramman to finally slip beside you. As much as she loved the song you offered, she wanted your lips. You gasped into her, them giving you no time to actually catch a breath between the transfer. Lightheaded, you still pushed against her, wetness dripping from your face to hers. She pulled away, licked the rogue tear from the corner of your mouth.

By the time she was looking at you, you were heaving, clasping onto her bicep instead of Medardas now. She watched with such marvel as your face contorted into those beautiful expressions, such a drastic difference from the stupid girl she interrogated. Logically she knew she couldn’t call what all of you were doing an interrogation. So she opted to saying ‘some investigating work’ the few times someone inquired about her abrupt departures. It wasn’t a complete lie, her and Medarda were investigating something every couple of days. your cunt

Her gaze traced to the brown fingers moving in and out of you, then to glisten on her General's hand and finally to your thighs. They were healing nicely. Unfortunately for her they wouldn’t leave a scar according to the doctor she took you to. She almost frowned at the thought.

But then she heard you whisper a quick, “ h-hi Kiramman…”

She smiled at you, a warm thought coming to her.

“ Hi, filthy girl.”

We’ll make sure they scar next time.

P.s. They had the officers who beat you killed 😜

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luludeluluramblings · 5 months ago

Note

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #anon ask #answered asks #pregnant!reader

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 5 months ago

Note

please please please more hockey cregan

Synopsis: You both agreed it was casual when you began this situationship with the Wolves’ hockey captain. It was exactly what you needed at the time. But, as time passes, it’s getting hard being a chill girl — because you're not. Every time you hear him tell people it’s nothing serious, it stings a little more. Because in your heart, it hasn’t felt casual for a while now

Three times Cregan tells people you’re not together, and one time he does

After weeks of waiting, my new modern!Cregan fic is here!! Sorry for the long wait. October was stressfull and busy (creating halloween content is fun but also exhausting!), and then my mom got bad health news and that turned my whole world upside down. I hope you'll like it <3 Please send more hockey au requests, i love writing them

Warnings: 18+, sexting (sort of), oral (f receiving), car sex, misunderstanding, men being clueless and blind

—

You: A little something so you think about me while on the ice 💕

You: [picture attached]

It was cruel, but you liked to tease Cregan before his games. Especially the away ones where he wouldn't be able to touch you after. Today, you went with a simple snap of your lace panties, the kind you knew made his dick painfully hard.

Cregan: Fuck 🥵

More messages appeared on your screen.

Cregan: Hate when you do shit like that

Cregan: How am I supposed to be getting ready for the game?

Cregan: Little minx! 👿🖕🏻

You were tempted to send another picture, to push with the teasing. You could imagine Cregan in his bedroom, in his gray joggers, cursing as he felt his dick stiffen from the sight of your underwear. It was almost 5pm, and he needed to be at the arena an hour early for warm ups and some locker room talk. If he jerked off now, he would be in a time crunch for the arena. You didn’t want him to get in trouble.

You: If you win tonight, I might let you take them off

It was crazy to wear a skirt to a hockey game, but you didn’t think of the cold air of the arena when you got dressed. All that was on your mind was the after-game party at the hockey house…and Cregan’s delicious cock inside you. The Wolves were playing against the Lions tonight — easy win —, so he’ll still be full of energy after the game. In other words, tonight will be a long and fun night.

‘’Aren’t you cold?’’ Rhaena’s eyes fell on your bare legs.

You shrugged. ‘’Nothing I can’t handle,’’ you brushed off.

The reason you dressed like that was so you wouldn’t need to go back to your dorm to change. You could go straight to the party. At least you wore a sweater over your corset bra. You would get frostbites by exposing your nipples to the arena’s cold air. Not pleasant. Although Cregan probably wouldn’t mind warming them up with his tongue later.

‘’You’re lucky Baela’s not here tonight,’’ Rhaena said, pulling you out of your naughty thoughts. ‘’She would have lectured you about the risks of getting sick and spiraled about how irresponsible it is to risk getting the whole campus sick. People will miss classes, possibly fail their trimester, and blah blah blah.’’ She laughed, perfectly imitating her sister’s softer voice with a tinge of scolding. ‘’Nursing school is getting to her.’’

Sweet Baela. You were curious how she’ll make it as a nurse if she continued being this stressed about sickness. It was sweet of her to care, but she really needed to relax.

A group of girls came to your row and next to you. One of them had a hockey jersey on — a girlfriend, assumingly —, and the others were dressed casually. If you remember correctly, her name was Talisa. You gave her a smile, then turned your attention back to Rhaena.

‘’How was your date with Luke? You never told me.’’

Judging by the smile on her face, it must have gone well.

The hockey house was packed, the typical crowd buzzing after another one of the games. Players, friends, usual fans, and even people who didn’t go to the game came to bask in the afterglow of a win. It’s an ambiance no frat party can match.

You walked through the crowd, expertly dodging a spilled beer incident as you searched for the Wolves’ captain. You saw some of the players around, shower-damp hair and a beer in their hands, so they must have begun to arrive at the house.

While you waited, you busied yourself with a drink and sent Cregan a little teaser.

You: Come find me 🍒💋

You: [video attached]

The video had been taken prior to the game. Just a short little video of you groping your tits, which were spilling at the top of your corset bra.

Although he claimed to love all of your body, Cregan Stark was a breasts man. He liked to lay his head on them, suck on them — and come on them —, and to use them as stress balls. They fit perfectly in the palms of his hands.

So, when you hit ‘send’, you knew he would search the house for you and drag you to his room.

Standing in the kitchen in all his post-game glory, Cregan was laughing with his teammates like he didn’t have a care in the world. A joke about one of the rookies — they get teased a lot. His laughter came short when he opened your text, not expecting a fucking video. He held back a groan as he watched you play with your tits, wishing he had his hands on them right now.

Cregan must have been staring for too long because Ben peered over to his phone screen to see what had taken his captain’s attention. ‘’Ohh, nice tits! Who’s that?’’

Beside him, Jace took a look too. He whistled, agreeing with Ben.

‘’Damn, is that your girl, Stark?’’ another teased, taking Cregan’s phone to get a better look and replaying the video again.

Cregan shook his head, taking a sip of beer. ‘’Nah. It’s casual.’’

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

‘’Did you see my bra?'' you asked as you walked around Cregan’s bedroom in your panties and one of his shirts, searching for the missing piece. ‘’I can’t find it.’’

Cregan, still lying in bed, barely lifted his head to glance around. ‘’Eh, no,’’ he muttered, too lazy to really help.

You sighed, hands on your hips as you scanned the room. It had to be somewhere.

He pointed lazily toward his dresser. ‘’I think it’s by my gym bag, over there.’’

You raised an eyebrow. His gym bag? How could it have ended there?

You bent down and checked, pushing aside sneakers and a Wolves hoodie. ‘’Are you sure? Because I see no bra here.’’

‘’Search deeper, maybe you should see to get glasses,’’ he teased, a smirk playing across his mouth as his eyes stayed glued to your bent-over form, obviously enjoying the view more than helping you search.

‘’Cregan, it’s not there! Maybe you should get glasses,’’ you returned, your tone showing your patience was running thin. ‘’Are you fucking with me right now?’’

His laugh gave him away, and that’s when you realized what he was doing.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. ‘’You’re an ass.’’ You stood, his shirt covering your thighs again. ‘’And I thought you liked my tits better?’’

“I do.” Cregan smirked, leaning back into the pillows, arms behind his head. “But they’re covered right now, and your ass is right there in my line of sight. So I’m appreciating the view.”

Before you could shoot back a reply, his phone buzzed on the bedside table. His smirk faded as he reached over to grab it, glancing at the screen.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, voice dropping to a softer, more polite tone.

You, too focused on hunting down your missing bra, didn’t even notice the phone conversation. Where was that damn bra? You could go home without your bra — you had other ones — and free the nips on the way to your dorm, but it was your favorite and you needed it back.

Finally, you spotted it half-hidden under the chair. “Got it!” you exclaimed, holding the bra up triumphantly. “It ended up under the chair. Probably wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t flung it across the room like an animal last night.’’

You laughed, but it died on your lips when you heard a woman’s voice faintly from the phone. Cregan’s mom.

‘’Cregan, was that a girl I heard in the background?’’ her voice asked, clear enough in the now-quiet room. ‘’I didn't know you were not alone.''

Cregan stiffened as he fumbled for an answer. ‘’Eh...''

‘’Bring her over for Thanksgiving next weekend,'' his mom cut in, excited.

‘’I don't think—''

‘’Sara is coming with her girlfriend, the more the merrier!''

‘’She's not my girlfriend, Mom. She's just... She...''

‘’Oh. Got it,'' she replied, the awkwardness sinking in over the line.

You couldn’t believe he said that to his mother. He could have said you were a friend. It would have been discreet and more respectful to you. But no, he told her you were the girl he was taking to his bed when he needed to empty his balls.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Panties pulled to the side, you had one of your feet on the dashboard while Cregan was knees deep in the passenger seat with his mouth on your cunt. A symphony of mewls and moans was slipping from your lips, your head thrown back against the headrest of the seat. Going to the backseat would have been a smartest idea, but it was filled up with hockey shit and unusable.

To make more room, the passenger seat of the jeep was pushed as far as it would allow, but Cregan was tall and broad — it was simply impossible to make it comfortable for him. He didn’t seem to care that it was cramped and that he could barely move. All he cared about was watching and hearing you squirm from his tongue.

You gripped his shoulder, fingernails digging through the thick material of his sweater, needing something to grip as he sucked on your clit and sent jolts of pleasure up your spine.

It’s crazy what a 9pm trip to get In-n-Out can lead up. The puck bunnies who hung around the team would throw knives at you if they knew where you had him right now…

‘’I’m close— Aah, please don’t stop.’’ You pushed your cunt against his face, as if it wasn’t glued to it already. ‘’If you stop I’ll fucking kill you, Stark.’’

Cregan was very tempted to stop just to mess with you — he took pleasure in that —, but instead kept going, his stubble scratching your inner thighs as he kept his head buried between them.

The jeep's interior filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing and the wet, desperate noises of his mouth working against you. You felt the buildup, that white-hot tension coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge. Your thighs trembled around his head, and your hips bucked uncontrollably as a loud moan escaped your lips. Cregan kept going, drawing out every last shudder, his tongue working you through the waves of pleasure until you were nearly limp in his hands.

He finally pulled back, a crooked grin curling on his lips as he looked up and slapped the crotch of your panties into place on your sensitive cunt. You winced and glared at him. Could he be a little more delicate?

You watched as he opened the passenger door, getting out with comical difficulty. What was he expecting?

He moved to the driver side and turned on the car, swearing when he saw the time. ‘’Shit.’’ Cregan ran a hand through his hair, and searched for his phone, quickly typing a message to someone. ‘’Do you mind if we’re making a little detour on the way? I was supposed to pick Jace up, but we got…carried away and it completely slipped out of my mind. I’ll drop you off after.’’

Couldn’t he take a bus or an uber? You felt uncomfortable about someone other than Cregan seeing you like that — fucked out. You must be looking a mess with your panties going up your ass from being pulled to the side and your skirt all hiked up, face flushed from your orgasm.

‘’Yeah. It’s fine,’’ you said with a forced smile, shifting on the seat to adjust your clothes and trying to regain some composure.

After a few minutes of driving, Cregan pulled up to the curb where Jace was waiting. He got in the Jeep, complaining about all the junk that was on the backseat while pushing it away to make space to sit.

When he finally clicked his seatbelt, his eyes flickering over your disheveled form and messy hair with a raised brow. ‘’Were you two on a date or something?” he asked, his tone carrying a teasing edge, not minding his business. ‘’Because you both look a little messy over there.’’

You felt your heart rate pick up. Was this a date? A date at a fast food place was not very romantic, but you couldn’t imagine Cregan taking a girl on a date at a fancy restaurant. It wasn’t him. He preferred simple things.

But this was not a date.

Maybe it’ll be one day.

Cregan rolled his eyes and shifted the Jeep back into drive. ‘’Shut up. We were not on a fucking date. We just got In-n-Out.’’

‘’And you didn’t take anything for me? I thought we were best friends, man…’’ Jace shook his head in disappointment.

The words stung, but it was his tone that hit deeper, as if the idea of a date with you was too absurd to even consider. It twisted something inside you, and you hated yourself for letting things drag on this long, pretending it was still casual when, in your heart, it hadn’t felt that way for a while now.

When you got to your dorm, you sent Cregan a text saying it was over between you.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

''I don't want to be mean, but what were you expecting?'' Rhaena said, lounging on the couch beside you and Baela. Her tone was blunt, like she was stating the obvious, and it stung more than you cared to admit.

You had just finished telling them how you had called it off with Cregan — if you could call it that.

''Rhaena!'' Baela shot her sister a sharp look.

Rhaena shrugged, unfazed. ''It's known that hockey players don't do girlfriends. Clearly, he didn’t want anything serious; he just wanted sex. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have stayed casual for so long.’’

You didn’t expect Rhaena to turn on Cregan so fast, but it was comforting to hear that she had your back.

Baela shook her head, letting out a sigh. ‘’They're not all like that, Rhaena. Don't put everyone in the same basket. Cregan had a girlfriend for three years before college.''

Your brows shot up. A girlfriend?

‘’How do you know that?’’ you asked, surprised. Cregan never mentioned any past relationships.

‘’Alysanne told me,’’ Baela explained. ‘’She and Cregan used to go to high school together. Apparently, he had a tough time after the breakup and never had a girlfriend since.’’

That would explain why he never brought it up. Any why he was always correcting people when they assumed you were his girlfriend. Maybe that relationship scarred him so much he was scared of commitment now?

Rhaena scoffed. ‘’So it’s a valid reason to treat Y/N like that?’’

Baela glared at her. It was not what she was trying to say. ‘’Of course not. I just think it’s best to try to understand the other person’s side before jumping to conclusion. Girls are not the only ones who can get hurt from relationships, guys too.’’ She turned to you. ‘’What did he say when you told him you had feelings?’’

You looked down at your lap. ‘’I…I never told him.’’

Unexpectedly, Baela hit your arm.

‘’Why did you do that for?!’’ You rubbed the spot, frowning.

‘’For not telling him!’’ Baela said, exasperated. ‘’Guys are blind as hell. They don’t pick up signals. If you don’t tell them you like them, there’s chances they’ll never make a move.’’

You turned to Rhaena, who agreed with her sister about needing to be straightforward with guys. So, maybe the reason he corrected everyone was because he didn’t want them to get the wrong idea because this situationship was what you agreed on?

And they dare say girls are complicated and confusing…

‘’Well, that’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’’ you concluded. ‘’Besides, if Cregan liked me, he would have said something when he got my text or called. He didn’t. Case closed.’’

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

The case was not closed.

A few days later, Cregan was in the living room of the hockey house, hunched over on the couch with a controller gripped tightly in his hands. He was playing Call of Duty with Jace and was sorely losing. Every time his character took a hit, he grunted and smashed the buttons like he was trying to punch a hole through them.

''If you break the controller, you buy a new one,'' Jace warned, not even looking up from his own controller.

Cregan rolled his eyes. ''I'm not gonna break the damn controller,’' he snapped.

''Could've fooled me," Jace shot back, a smirk across his face. "Smashing the buttons is not gonna help your game, bro.''

Cregan grunted in response, and just as he got his character back on his feet, he got taken out by a sniper. Again. The muscles in his jaw tightened. ‘’Bullshit," he muttered, slamming the controller onto his thigh. "This controller's definitely broken. Let's switch, Jace."

Jace snorted, still lounging on the floor with his back against the coffee table. "Your controller's not broken, you’re just shit." He looked over at Cregan, who was glaring at the screen like it had personally offended him.

‘’Or, maybe our captain is sexually frustrated,’’ Ben chimed in as he wandered in from the kitchen, a bag of flamin’ Cheetos in hand. He plopped onto the couch next to Cregan, crunching loudly. ‘’You've been playing shit on the ice too, and you’re irritable.’’

Cregan shot him a look. ‘’I’m not—’’

‘’He got dumped by his girl, Ben,’’ Jace interrupted. ‘’So little Cregan’s getting lonely.’’

‘’First off, she was not my girlfriend,’’ Cregan said, setting the record straight — again. ‘’How many times did I tell you that? And second, don’t call my dick that. Actually, don’t call it anything.’’

Ben laughed. ‘’We should make you a Tinder profile so you can find a girl to fuck tonight or tomorrow, and we can have our captain back just in time for Friday’s game. What do you say, Jace?’’

Jace grinned, picking up on Ben's suggestion right away. "I’ll even help you with the bio, Cregan. How about, ‘Hockey captain, terrible at video games, but makes up for it in other areas’?’’

Cregan groaned, tossing a cushion at him. ‘’Fuck off. I don’t need a Tinder profile.’’

‘’But you do need to get laid,’’ Ben reminded, eating some more Cheetos. ‘’Why don’t you call that girl with the nice tits? You know, the one who sent you dirty pictures the other day?’’

His question was answered with the darkest glare.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

The Wolves broke their winning streak since you called it off and lost every game. According to the whispers on campus, Cregan’s head was not on the ice.

Baela tried to convince you that it was because he was thinking of you, but you laughed and told her she was ridiculous. If Cregan was thinking about you, he would have called.

It wasn’t until the first fall of snow that you got a text from him, asking to come by the house to pick up a few things he had found in his room. Nothing worth going seemed to be missing, but you went anyway.

The house was quiet when you got there. Robb let you in and said Cregan was upstairs. The door was open, but you still knocked on the doorframe, announcing your presence. Cregan turned, and you had to fight the smile from your lips. It’s been a while since you last saw him — you missed him.

He greeted you with a hug, which you accepted. It was a brief but warm embrace, the scent of his pine cologne faint, yet familiar.

As he pulled back, you saw he was wearing shorts and a hoodie, a strange combo for late November.

‘’Thanks for coming,’’ Cregan said, not really knowing what to say.

‘’Well, you said you had some of my things,’’ you replied softly. The silence that filled the space was a tad uncomfortable, and you shifted your weight on your feet.

He nodded, remembering why you were there in the first place, and grabbed a bag — which contained your things. Cregan handed the bag to you, and as you took it, your fingers brushed lightly. A brief moment of contact, that sent a subtle spark through your fingertips.

The bag was light. Probably just a thong or two, and maybe a hair scrunchie. ‘’Is that everything?’’

He nodded again, but before you could turn on your heels and leave, Cregan stopped you. ‘’Actually, there's something else," he said slowly, his hand moving to rub nervously at the back of his neck. ‘’Can we sit down for a minute?"

You were momentarily thrown off by the request, but nodded nonetheless and took a seat on the edge of his bed, while Cregan sat beside you, leaving a small gap between the two of you. The last time you sat on that bed, Cregan’s cock was deep inside you and you were clutching his sheets.

‘’I want to apologize for how I treated you when we were…together-but-not-together,’’ Cregan began, snapping you out of your dirty thoughts. ‘’I didn’t realize I was hurting you when I was correcting people. I was just making sure people wouldn’t label us something we were not. I’ve never been with a girl outside a relationship before, so this was completely new to me. I didn’t know the dos and the don'ts, or how it worked…other than the having sex part.’’ He let out a dry laugh, then continued. ‘’I know it’s not an excuse. What I’m trying to say is, I truly didn’t mean to make you feel unworthy.’’

You listened as Cregan admitted his mistakes, and fidgeted with the hem of your sweater’s sleeve to keep your hands busy — to stop yourself from reaching for him. He hadn’t intended to hurt you, his lack of experience in situationships had gotten in the way.

His words hung in the air, and you could hear he was struggling to find the right words. It didn't feel rehearsed, he was genuinely apologizing and opening to you. Cregan was never one to lay himself bare like this. Feelings were not something he often discussed.

‘’If anyone is unworthy, it’s me. You’ve always been kind to me, even when I treated you poorly in your face.’’

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. ‘’It’s okay, Cregan. What’s past is past.’’

He shook his head. ‘’No. It's not okay.’’

‘’We both agreed it was casual. I should have known better than to expect anything serious…’’

‘’What if I want something serious too?’’

You raised your head toward him, meeting his gaze for the first time in weeks.

‘’I didn’t ask you to come over just so you could pick your things up,’’ he admitted, his voice low. ‘’It was an excuse to talk to you, to see you…and hopefully fix what’s between us.’’ His hand inched a bit closer to yours on the bed, like he was considering reaching for you but hesitated. ‘’Being away from you made me realize what you meant to me and how important it was having you in my life, close to me. I miss your perfume lingering on my sheets and seeing your face in the stands cheering for me. I miss the way you feel in my arms. I miss hearing your voice, teasing me and making me laugh — I haven't laughed properly in weeks.’’ Cregan’s eyes were fixed on your face as he spoke, studying your reaction.

It was rare that you were speechless, but you truly didn’t know what to say. You came here to pick up a few personal items, and ended up listening to Cregan apologizing and confessing his feelings to you.

So you decided to make him laugh. ‘’I have to agree, your sheets do smell better after I’ve been in them. My expensive perfume doesn’t smell like sweaty balls.’’

Cregan cracked a smile, his eyes flashing with amusement. ‘’My sheets does not smell like sweaty balls.’’

They didn’t.

‘’But they do smell better when you’re there,’’ he added, his voice low and his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to resist his charm and him, but he was just too good at working his way back into your good graces. With that irresistible northern accent, he’d flirt his way out of anything, his words always smooth and a little too convincing. And when he looked at you with those soft, pleading eyes and that crooked, boyish smile… Staying mad wasn’t exactly an option.

You leaned to kiss him, but before your lips could touch, Jace’s voice came from the hallway, asking Cregan about getting food.

‘’Oh, Sorry. I didn’t know you had a girl over,’’ he said, pausing in the doorway when he spotted the two of you. It was clear he’d interrupted something, hence why he apologized.

‘’No just a girl. My girl,’’ Cregan corrected, making you smile.

—

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#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #house of the dragon #hotd cregan #modern cregan stark

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veltana · 3 months ago

Text

The winter rebound

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~3,6k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Avengers!Bucky, alcohol consumption, fluff, pwp, smut, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, safe sex, dirty talk.

✦ Summary: You go with your friend to Stark's holiday party

✦ Note: This was the first thing I wrote and published when I got back into the marvel fandom, so it's a super self-indulgent piece! But I hope you like it anyway! As always, please comment and/or reblog! Asks are always welcome!

Masterlist | AO3

It was Friday. You watched yourself in the mirror and told yourself that you would have fun tonight. Forget about your ex of five years who broke off your engagement a month before the holidays, whom you had spent the last three weeks crying over.

Tonight you were accompanying your best friend to the annual Stark holiday party, and you would not think about him once during the night, while you danced and drank yourself into a stupor.

Standing outside the huge compound made you anxious. Maybe it was too soon to meet the real world without him. No! Don’t think about that asshole! You cut yourself off before your thoughts started to spiral.

“Come on!” your friend Lily laughed. Her genuine smile was contagious and you returned it, squaring your shoulders and forcing every dumb thought down before you took her arm as the two of you made your way down the gold and red carpet. At the end, two large glass doors were opened by life-sized mechanical nutcrackers.

“I sure hope those don’t spring to life and ruin this party too,” you mumbled. Lily giggled, “Don’t worry, I helped with the software, unless Mr. Stark went a completely different direction there should be no worries.” “So there is a possibility,” you joked as the doors closed behind you.

If she answered you didn’t hear because you were too busy taking in the amazing winter-themed party. The waiters were also dressed as nutcrackers and there were dancers in amazing outfits performing all over the floor. Music played in the background and some were moving to the beat while others stood around and talked.

Honestly, you had expected more people, like at least two hundred but there were only about fifty in the huge hall. Not only the regular people, like your friend, who helped with software, hardware, management, and the day-to-day running's of the compound, but it was impossible not to notice the heroes also in attendance.

Not all of them were there, no sign of Thor or Loki, or the Guardians, but this was your first time so close to any hero ever, you would take what you could get.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Lily said and started to pull you along while you gazed at the shifting decorations adorning the walls, obvious to the blue eyes that followed you with interest from the bar.

Too many names spun through your brain, accompanied by the alcohol your friend had been plying you with.

Everyone you had met so far had been incredibly nice and friendly and hadn’t minded when you asked all the dumb questions about working at such a place.

Finally, it came down to the big event, meeting Mr. Stark and maybe the rest of the Avengers currently there.

Lily stepped up to her boss and greeted him and Pepper Potts like they were friends rather than her superiors and then introduced you. Not a lot of people got to shake hands with Iron Man and Pepper Potts but now you had, and it was totally normal.

“Interesting hair color,” Tony Stark pointed out. “Is it meant to look like that?” It was such an old man thing to say you could only laugh as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs. “I am sorry,” Pepper apologized but you waved it off.

“He is paying for everything I drink, so if he wants to make fun of my hair, it’s fine.” Pepper gave you a relieved look and was about to say something else when a voice interrupted.

“It looks like the Aurora Borealis.”

Bucky Barnes had appeared out of nowhere, like the skilled assassin he had been trained to be. It was like he had materialized out of thin air at your side and you jumped when he spoke.

Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out, slapping your palm against his hard chest, and said “For fuck’s sake,” while your other hand rested over the heart trying to work its way out of your chest.

Then you realized what you’d done and pulled back your hand quickly, covering your mouth. Bucky stared back at you, mouth slightly open, while Lily and Tony both cackled in amusement. “That’s what you get Barnes,” your friend pointed out.

With a crooked smile, Bucky just said, “How about I buy you a drink to make up for it?” and held out his arm. “As long as it’s crazy expensive since the old man made fun of my hair,” you shot over your shoulder at Tony as you took the offered arm.

Your friend winked at you before she returned to her conversation with Natasha Romanoff, whom you would just have to say hello to some other time.

Bucky led you the short way to the bar and you eased your way on to the chair, making sure not to get tangled in your long dress, as Bucky leaned over the bar and asked for the most expensive champagne they had.

“I’m Bucky,” he said. “I know,” you smiled at him before introducing yourself too.

In no time there were two flutes in front of you, he offered you one, saying cheers before you took the first sip. The unabashed moan that left you wasn’t meant to be sexual but Bucky stopped his glass halfway to his lips to just stare at you. It cracked you up, “Sorry,” you said, “I’ve never tasted champagne this good before.” He also took a sip, his eyes widening a little, and when he’d swallowed all he said was, “Wow.” “I could get used to this,” you took another mouth and closed your eyes.

When you opened them again you found him looking at you and it made a shiver go down your spine. For the first time in a long time, you felt desire pool in your lower belly. “Will this make up for Stark’s comment?” he asked. “It will absolutely!” you promised. “I think your hair looks great and I’m like twice his age so…” he trailed off.

“My friend, Lily, has told me about these crazy old super soldiers, but you look spry for your age,” you winked at him. “You can only imagine,” he flirted back, and your cheeks heated. You had forgotten about this, about the utter intoxication of flirting with a man and having it returned to you.

After several weeks of drought, your body suddenly knew what arousal was again and flooded you with it, making your heart beat twice as fast and your skin flush. “Oh, you want me to think of everything you can do?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “Anything you want, doll,” he leaned forward, “But I’m sure your imagination won’t hold a candle to the real thing.” “Are you going to show me?” “If you want to,” he smirked and you felt yourself grow wetter by the second.

You leaned in too, unable to resist him and not wanting to either. You wanted to get lost in him for as long as he would have you. He finished off the rest of his champagne like it was a shot of liquor.

“Come on, I have just the place,” he smiled, holding out his hand. Not even second-guessing yourself for a moment you finished your glass and let him lead you away.

Bucky took you through a side door, into a corridor that led to the heart of the compound which was now deserted, and finally into a large room with a domed ceiling.

It looked like a cinema almost, except the screen was the whole ceiling, and in the middle of the floor was an enormous sofa-like thing that easily fit several people.

After Bucky pressed something on a side panel the room lit up with the Aurora Borealis.

You let go of his hand, staring with huge eyes at the display. Maybe you had misinterpreted his intentions and they were actually pure, not at all the filthy things you had thought this would end up being.

Never had you been happier to be wrong.

This time when he appeared out of nowhere he didn’t scare you, he gripped your waist with the vibranium arm and spun you into his chest, before using his other hand to pinch your chin between his fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you, tell me if I should stop,” he breathed. Instead of answering with words you surged up and crushed your lips against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him impossibly closer.

It was almost like he expected you to be timid or something because, for a few seconds, he didn’t move, but then he rushed into action, moving his lips and kissing you like a man starved.

Desire flooded you, making every one of his touches feel like fire even through the fabric of your dress. He moved you backward until your knees hit the oversized sofa, and you laid down.

Bucky’s face was burning with desire as he looked down on you, before he could move or say anything you grabbed your skirt and pulled it up until it bunched around your waist so that you were able to spread your legs without restraint.

The growl erupting from his chest made you smile and you crooked your finger toward him. He knelt between your legs, grabbing your thighs to spread them even more before he leaned down over you to capture your lips again.

The action made the hard cock in his jeans brush against your heated core, making you moan into his mouth.

He pulled back, eyes wild, “Your sounds make me fucking crazy.” he groaned, moving his hands down your naked legs, caressing them and gripping them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be rough or gentle.

“Hope so,” you smiled and started to tug at his suit jacket, needing to see his body. He obliged by sitting back and ridding his upper body of clothing. As soon as you could your hands splayed out across the expanse of his naked torso, feeling the hard muscles under the soft skin.

Your eyes grazed over the scars on his left shoulder but didn’t pay it any mind. The man had trauma, that was no secret, but tonight you didn’t need to delve into that. Instead, you sat up, kissing the skin you could reach and licking at his nipple, making him moan most deliciously.

He reached around you to unzip your dress and you whined when you had to move away from him to let him pull it off you. Now you were almost completely naked with the super soldier, except for the thong you wore that did little to hide anything from him, and your heels.

Without another word, he stood up and unbuttoned his pants, peeling them off and kicking off his shoes in the process, before he was back over you. Now it was his turn to taste your skin and when he closed his mouth around a nipple, using his vibranium hand to pinch the other, you released a high-pitched mewl you never heard from yourself before.

That only spurred him on, alternating between sucking and licking at you, squeezing or pinching your sensitive buds. The pleasure was too much, like you would implode or maybe even come from just him playing with your tits. You fisted the fabric under you, pushing your chest even more into him as moans and words tumbled from your lips.

“Bucky, please!” you tried forming a coherent sentence but failed. “What do you need, doll?” he asked, lips shiny with his spit as he looked up at you. “Touch me, make me come, please Bucky,” you didn’t want to wait another second for the pleasure you had missed for a lot longer than the weeks since your break up. This temporary connection with a stranger was already better than what you had experienced over several years.

“Can I taste you?” his voice was husky, filled with restrained want. “Yes!” you smiled and raised yourself on your elbows.

You watched as he kissed his way down your form, pulling off your thong and throwing it away. He grabbed your thighs and spread them wide before letting the thumb of his vibranium hand slowly drag up, separating your folds, groaning, almost whispering “Fuck, your pussy is perfect,” and leaning in to carefully lick up your spread lips. You fell back, staring up at the beautiful display as Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, one of the Avengers, ate you out with perfection.

Every move he made sent sparks through your entire body and pulled cries from you. Your hands tangled in his hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to anchor yourself on something. Nothing would hold a candle to this for the rest of your life you suspected, because even though you had just met, Bucky Barnes took his sweet time, caressing his hands up and down your sides, down your legs, and back up again, using his tongue and lips to make your body blaze.

Your crescendo built steadily, as did your voice, the closer you got the more you pleaded and begged, even though he was doing exactly what you wanted him to. When two fingers on his right hand breached you with no problem your back bowed, the pleasure rushing through you, and when he crooked them and moved them inside you, it was everything the dam needed to break and the coil inside you snapped.

You screamed his name as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. What was even better was that he worked you through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure out of you before you had to instead beg him to stop.

"Too much," you whimpered when the uttermost tip of his tongue gently floated across your clit. "No, darling, not enough. A man could get addicted to hearing you scream his name."

You whimpered again, your body rocking with overstimulation at every pass of his tongue. It was wonderful to hear him say those things but you needed more.

"Please tell me you have a condom so you can fuck me," you groaned and that made him stop, staring at you from between your legs before kissing up the side of your thigh to sit back on his heels before he got up. He freed himself from his underwear before he bent down to grab his pants and pulled a condom from a pocket and that gave you a chance to admire him. His cock was hard, glistening, and a lot bigger than what you were previously used to, but that only sparked more excitement in your lower stomach.

"Hands and knees, baby," he smiled and made a twirling motion with his fingers. You wasted no time rolling over, and getting into position. His flesh hand slapped your ass playfully when he knelt behind you and when you moaned he chuckled. "You like that huh?" he asked as the tip of his cock started to press into you.

He was big, you whined and whimpered with every inch he pressed into you. Maybe why he took his time eating you, because he needed you to be as aroused as possible for it to fit. You clawed at the fabric, feeling like you were having an out-of-body experience with how he filled you.

"So good, taking it all," he praised when his hips were finally flush with your ass. Trying to answer him with words was out of the question, instead, you rocked your body, feeling his cock press against everything inside you, giving you the most delicious sensation you probably ever felt.

His hand landed on your ass again and that spurred you on, starting to move a bit faster. "Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock," he sounded a little breathless and you wished you could see him. "Do you like it, darling? Do you like my cock filling you to the brim?"

Fuck, Bucky Barnes had a mouth on him you had not expected. He grabbed your hips and helped you along, starting to fuck you deep and hard, pulling almost all the way out before shoving back in again.

With every move, you cried out in sheer ecstasy. Bucky kept on telling you how good you sounded, he didn't mind at all that you were loud.

The pace was hard but not hurried, he seemed to like taking his time, not rushing through the action just to get to the finish line. But it was driving you mad, it felt like you were at the precipice constantly, ready to tip over but needing something more to do it.

Then he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you up until you were flush against his chest, his pace never stopping. "Hi, sweet thing, enjoying yourself?" he wasn't even winded and you were a panting, whimpering mess, feeling like you were about to lose it.

"Yes, Bucky, please touch me, make me come again." He kissed your shoulder, "My pleasure," was his answer and his left hand descended on your aching clit.

A shudder and a scream passed through you when he started to rub small circles over it. Suddenly you were so close to the edge you could almost taste it, and Bucky knew it too.

"That's right, come on my cock, doll. Can you do that for me? Be good and come for me?" he said between kissing up your neck, moving the arm around your waist up to grab your jaw, and turning your head to the side. The kiss was sloppy but delicious, and with the aid of his fingers and so full of his cock the orgasm took you by full force, making you shake in his grip.

He released your mouth and let the sounds you made fill up the room, pressing his mouth to the side of your head and telling you over and over again how fucking good you felt coming around him.

If he hadn’t held you up, you would have collapsed no doubt, but Bucky had no problem keeping you up as he found his own release, pressing his forehead against your neck and mumbling obscenities, his hips stuttering against your ass.

Now he was breathing heavier, holding you tight against him with both arms, letting his fingers draw random patterns on your skin.

You were in a post-orgasmic haze, only existing in that moment with no past or future, only his warm body, and a sated need. "Gonna need to let you go now, darling," he said in a low voice "Lay down." His arms loosened around you and you braced yourself with your arms and eased yourself down on your side.

Bucky got up, probably to dispose of the condom, before laying down behind you. You hadn't expected him to want to cuddle, but he draped his arm across your side, pulling you flush against him.

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper. "Fan-fucking-tastic," you answered with a small laugh and felt a million times lighter all of a sudden.

After a few minutes of laying there, you felt like you'd been gone from the party long enough, but judging by Bucky’s heavy breathing, he had fallen asleep behind you.

He didn't wake as you gathered your things. When you found the thong, you looked at it, looked over at his gorgeous form laying there, and giggled as you found his pants and stuffed the thong down his pocket.

With the help of some items in your clutch, you patched up your make-up and fixed your hair before slipping out and closing the door behind you.

It was a small miracle that you could find your way back to the party but you did and immediately went to the bar for a drink.

Lily found you minutes later and she just raised an eyebrow, you shrugged and tilted your glass towards hers, clinking them together, and then you both burst out laughing.

Monday rolled around and it was hard to work because you kept getting lost in the memories of Friday night.

His eyes, his scent, his voice as he said those things to you. You squeezed your legs together and stifled a low moan.

Suddenly your phone chimed and pulled you back into the real world. A text from Lily.

[So, Bucky Barnes just came by and asked for your number. I gave it, of course, just so you know!] [Okay? Did he say why he needed it?] [Apparently, you left something(????) here on Friday and he wanted to return it.] [Hmm, okay, thanks!] [What did you leave?!?!?!?] [Don't be so nosey, go back to work!]

Your stomach did a flip when the next message was from an unknown number. It had a picture attached, your thong tangled in his fingers, and the text [You left these.] For a second you imagined him using them as he got himself off. You bit your lips as you responded. [Keep them or throw them away, I have more, don't worry.] even added a little wink-emoji.

[I want to return them, personally. Are you free this afternoon?] His response was quick and very to the point.

A wonderful shudder traveled through you at the thought of seeing him again. You had meant for this to be a one-time thing, something to get you back into the world and learn to exist without your ex but there wasn't any harm in seeing where this could go, and hopefully, you would have a lot more amazing sex on top of it.

[Sure, I get off at five.]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky smut #veltana writes

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daeniradraconis · 6 days ago

Text

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.”

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.

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.

“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.

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x oc #nhl fanfic #quinn hughes smut #hockey fanfic

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chaoticwriting · 24 days ago

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GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 6

Part 5

The world falls into a silent panic for a moment. Unrest around the world as they watch the UN heavily admonish the US for their terrible handling of the situation. After all, this is the first time that a supervillain is born because of the government. At least publicly.

The GIW meanwhile has fallen into higher levels of panic as their bases around the world start to disappear one by one.

Meanwhile

-Watchtower-

John : Fucking blimey mate! Why in the nine hells did you mess with him?

2 days after the incident with the Trickster, Batman receives an emergency meeting alert from the Watchtower. When he arrives, he sees John Constantine is the one handling the meeting. The self claimed Justice League contractee is usually very aversed to attending any of the Justice League meetings, so it is quite a surprise for not just Batman but most of them.

When he enters the meeting room, he is greeted by the sight of Constantine screaming and scolding the Justice League while their focus are on a file that he assume get prepared by him. On the screen is an image of a boy with pale skin and silver white hair. He is wearing a black and white hazmat suit. It takes a moment for Batman to recognise that the boy is Trickster. Batman's gut twist when he remembers the boy. To be honest, Batman isn't really bothered with the boy shenanigans. At most, he steals some money and equipment for his livestreams, but those stuffs are usually stolen from his company.

No one has ever truly been hurt by him, but the last time is the only time he has ever deliberately hurt someone. Just as his mind is about to spiral more out of control, John suddenly turns his head towards him.

John: YOU! Do you fucking know in how much dipshit we are? Why are you just standing there? Fucking do something!

Oliver: I understand he is supposed to be dangerous, but why are you so worried? Even when we are fighting Darkseid, you are still calm.

John: READ. THE. FUCKING. FILE. That's why I'm fucking scared. Depending on how pissed he is, even if I escape to another universe, I am still fucked.

Batman watches as the others continue reading a fairly thick file and start reading his. At first, it is usual. Name, supposed age, relatives, and alignment. Surprisingly, it is neutral good. (Why is his age 4?). When Batman turns the page, he understands why his colleagues are frowning at the information.

His battle records are what you would call amazing. At 1 year old, he is already fighting against gods, demons, and magicians. The spirit of technology, Halloween, dreams, plants, and even time. Each one of the people that he fights is someone or something that can be classified as League level threats. The terrifying things about it are that not only did he win the fight, he even befriended them by the way that he is seen having a cooperative relationship, at least with some of them.

Closing the thick file, Batman's minds start to work as he thinks about contingency plans about each of them. There are some weaknesses recorded in the file, including ectoweapon, blood blossom, and magic. However, the record also says that the stronger the ghost or ecto being, the less effective those things are against them. And assuming from how strong Trickster is now, he probably needs a stronger weapon.

Superman also frowns as he reads the file. He for one has come into contact with Phantom, or Trickster as he likes to be called now. His impression of the kid is a mischievous kid that just likes to have fun. He has seen some of his 'pranks' before this and in his experience, all of them have one thing in common. That is they all have a heavily controlled environment.

Although some of his pranks look like they are really easy to go wrong, Superman can see how the machines are heavily secured and any of the victims are all heavily guarded.

Even the victims are almost specifically chosen because none of the victims that experience the pranks have any chance of harming either their health, financial or social life. All of his victims are all healthy people with some free time that they don't have anything to spend on.

That's why even Batman is rather light handed with the kid. Even though he commits occasional theft, none of them are serious ones except the glitter theft. Most of them generally agreed that if the kid ever wants to be a hero, they would gladly mentor him.

Suddenly, Barry enters the room running while looking panic.

Barry: Guys! Open the news. Lex is crazy!

Superman frowns and opens the hologram in the middle of the table and a news channel appears on the screen. Lex is currently on the podium, giving a speech as the president of USA.

Lex: And I would never negotiate with a terrorist that dares to threaten the government using its own people. All the GIW members are people with honor, bravery and kindness in them that they dare to put their life on the line to fight against this beast that imitates our dead loved one and use their name for doing terri-*Screeeechhhh*

A loud screech interrupts Lex's speech as suddenly a green portal appears above the square and a figure comes out of it. A teenager with blue skin, crystalized silver hair and claws made out of ice appears from the other side of the portal. He looks at the figures below and slowly raises his hand as Lex begins to float towards the boy.

The Justice League suddenly realizes who the boy is. It's Phantom. But why does he look different? Unfortunately, they don't get the opportunity to ponder over it as Phantom starts to speak.

Phantom: YOU DARE INSULT MY PEOPLE!

@zcatmama

#danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #justice league #batman

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soulren · 2 years ago

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Go spend some time on male pattern baldness or male(AMAB) balding forums/subreddits and such. I did after realizing it is happening to me and the ammount of people who truly don't realize how BRUTALLY it tanks people's confidence and mental health is insane.

There's no cure to baldness by the way, and it can start at any time and there's no way to predict how fast or slow it will go. The only real working option is a daily pill that usually just halts it, but it can stop working or just slow it down or cause major side effects. To regrow you have to use a daily topical solution, or use a roller to wound your scalp. None of these are surefire by the way, and if you stop them you'll just lose your hair and whatever you regained. It's a daily involved thing that might not work and often at best just retains. The best drug, the one that occasionaly gives regrowth, also causes shedding at the start, and can have side effects from growing breasts to brain fog to EDsyfunction(sorry, censoring cause tumblr). Now, those are INCREDIBLY rare and almost never happen but it weighs heavily on the mind of those already spiraling.

But that's just background. What I'm here to talk about is the pure woe you'll see on those forums. People speak as though their lives are over, as though they've lost every chance of finding a woman(predominantly, there's a running idea in such places that women don't like bald men or like them less) or doing anything. You can read countless stories of people who describe that they no longer go outside, are now filled with anxiety and self-hate, have gone from extroverted to never showing their face. And some of these people are kids who lost their hair in high school or even before, or are holding as best they can to a very receded hairline and feel like there is nothing they can do.

And then there's something touched upon far less in those communities, but is important to bring up here; baldness and masculinity. There's the horror of knowing so much of society sees a bald guy as a very masculine guy, at seeing that the best advice for being hot and bald is "grow and beard and big muscles bro". Imagine now you're AMAB balding and nonbinary, or a trans woman who doesn't want to be on hormones.

Just genuinely take the time to look at those forums no matter who you are. Understand what these people go through, what I am currently going through. It is soul-crushing, spiraling, brutal. I have the dream of one day being like Brennan Lee Mulligan or Matt Mercer and starting to lose my hair made me feel like I could never. I felt like and still feel like I would have to be masculine, have to be a bro-y dude, have to look older than I was(I'm fuckin 22). It was the feeling that I could never dress feminine again, never present as a woman when I wanted to again, that I'd always be viewed as a bald guy before anything else.

This is an incredibly vulnerable post for me, and I hope it reaches you all as well in a kind and understanding mood. There's a tendency online for people to joke about baldness, to make fun of it, to treat it as a playfull silly thing but it fucking ruins lives, and it shouldn't. It happens to half the population's sort of bodies and very often. It should just be a neutral thing. You don't need long hair to be feminine, you don't need hair to be feminine. You don't need hair for anything. I guess I'm just saying in general that everyone should be kinder about balding, more understanding, and view it with as much import as they'd view the pixels between this sentence and the next. None at all, I mean.

And for those like me, very feminine guys who wanna keep that and don't want a beard and are terrified of balding, here's some names and I do hope others that see this will add more; Mr. Bruce (also in The Correspondents(band) Alex Ward in LA By Night Jason Carl in LA By Night Cecil Baldwin of Welcome To Night Vale Bob The Drag Queen RuPaul(in looks alone, I know about the whole fracking stuff but this post is about looks) tananasho on instagram Also your mannerisms and style of dress will convey femininity far more than your hair. Yea sure a front-on neutral shot of you may not and maybe you need makeup and stuff, and hell maybe a lot of people might reject you more but it'll just filter down to the people for you.

And to all you artists and writers and creatives; make more bald characters. Try it out. Feminine ones, masculine ones, all sorts. None of the copout nonhuman sort, just dudes and girls and mates and individuals who are all sorts of things and also bald. It might make a few of the people going through the various vortexes of pain that balding causes feel a bit better.

And to those noticing I did not adress female hair loss much here, that was intentional. I am AMAB and currently a nonbinary guy who goes by any pronouns but often likes to present as fem. I learned I was possibly losing my hair and lost two months of my life, no work or going or anything, to male hair loss forums and research and spiraling. Checking my hair twenty times a day, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to think. And my situation was NOT unique, but it also did not give me any experience or understanding of female hair loss and what AFAB people may go through with that, so I don't feel knowledgeable enough to speak on it. Also living with baldness WILL get easier and you will find something that works for it, by virtue of simply living with it. Things get easier with time.

#bald #balding #hair loss #hair #hair care #minoxidil #dermaroller #baldness #bald and feminine #bald fem #using a lot of tags due to this being triggering for many and cause I want it to be seen #and because I want those who went through what I did to be able to find it #mpb #androgen alopecia #also I know this post is long but I'm not sorry cause it's important. If even one person has a bit less stress then that's good.#feminine bald man

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fayes-fics · 2 months ago

Text

Il Ballo del Doge

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU (threesome)

Summary: At the most exclusive event during Carnevale di Venezia, you find yourself sat between two irresistible, handsome brothers…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Modern AU with Regency masquerade roleplay. Sexual acts with strangers. Very light dom/sub undertones, dirty talk, praise kink, frottage, handjob through clothing. Mentions of cunnilingus, blow jobs, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, sex in front of a crowd.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's note: An exercise to warm up my writing muse that spiralled into a dirty-talking threesome 🤷‍♀️😬 This is modern AU with the boys dressed in Regency masquerade ball garb. Fic title is the name of the most exclusive ball during Carnival. Thanks to @colettebronte for quickly wading through this utter filth. Err enjoy 🧡

Venice.

Carnivale.

A masquerade ball ripped from the pages of history - an opulent smorgasbord of cabaret, circus and epicurean feast, held in a sprawling Venetian palazzo. You are stunned as you arrive; grand architecture ablaze with countless fire torches, jugglers and semi-nude performers under heavy garlands of flowers and vines while champagne overflows into towers of coupe glasses: a modern bacchanalian celebration, a luxurious escape for the rich and connected.

You have saved for years to be here - a once-in-a-lifetime trip. This ball is one night of fantasy and sensual indulgence. Detached from reality, you are plunged into another world behind a Columbina demi mask and elaborate costume picked from an atelier.

So when you find yourself sitting for the banquet between two tall, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed men with aristocratic British accents a few hours into the event, it feels enthralling to flirt with them both. The over-the-top theatricality of the setting and the masks you all wear lend an air of anonymity that makes you unusually daring. They are dressed sharply in full Regency garb, a cut that emphasises their appealing physicality. One of them leans in close as you finish the final course of the night; the meal has been a perfect symphony of flavour building upon the last dish.

“Pray tell, my fair lady, what do you wish for tonight?”

“A night I will never forget.”

Your response is truthful but intentionally enigmatic, craning to whisper into his neck, inhaling his delicious, unique, custom-blended aftershave.

“May I assist with that?” He proposes, intent evident from the tone he invokes.

“Perhaps….” You coquette, revelling in the delicious array of possibilities before throwing down a daring gauntlet: “Can you promise to be memorable?”

He huffs a throaty laugh.

“I most certainly hope I can. But safety in numbers may be most prudent to ensure it. Perhaps my brother can assist in such endeavours?”

He nods to the man sitting on your other side, who turns towards you, smile crooked under his demi mask.

“I am seated between two brothers?!”

“A Viscount and a renowned artist, no less,” the first man crows, a self-assurance there that speaks volumes to the veracity of his claim. And you can well believe it. Events such as this exclusive ball are the playground of the elite, after all.

“Which of you is the Viscount, and who is the artist?” You query, your gaze moving from one to the other and back again.

The other man leans in. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And where is the fun in that?” He hums, his breath ghosting through the tendrils of hair around the ribbon ties of your mask.

“I am Ant, and my brother here is Ben,” the first man explains, “and that is all you need to know.”

You offer your name before tilting your chin to the stage before you. “The evening's entertainment is about to recommence, though, gentlemen.”

“You will not need to miss a thing,” Ben answers blithely. “We can give you an experience like no other without you even having to leave the very chair you sit in.”

You can’t help the bubble of sceptical laughter at that bold statement. “How?”

“We will talk you through pleasure,” Ant intones, his voice dripping with a confidence that is skating the edges of arrogance. “We will not even need to touch you. In fact, I rather like the onus that we will not.”

You pull an incredulous face. “I’d like to see you try…”

“Oh, my fair lady, that attitude is just a red rag to the proverbial bull,” Ant cautions, voice like smooth velvet sliding over your skin.

Part of you wants to scoff and walk away, part of you wants to be stubborn and prove them wrong, but the biggest part of you, from your neck downwards really, wants them to do just that. Bring you pleasure. Here in public. In this loud, raucous, decadent room filled with hundreds of people.

“Go right ahead gentlemen,” you challenge, your tongue deciding for you as you raise an eyebrow to them each in turn.

Ant reaches around behind him and produces a long, black, polished walking cane. “Fortuitously, this came as a part of my costume,” he offers before pausing a beat to employ a clipped, brusque tone: “Open your legs.”

To your own astonishment, you obey reflexively. With a smirk, Ant slides the cane between your legs, still covered in voluminous skirt layers. He hooks its tip through the foot rung in your chair, then leans its ornate filigree round handle against the dining table in front of you. He rearranges the heavy tablecloth over it and around your lap to completely conceal the cane’s presence.

“Something for you to pleasure yourself against, subtly, of course,” Ant breezes as your head whips to look at him, startled by his matter-of-fact suggestion.

“Do not concern yourself,” Ben reassures. “There is far too much noise and distraction in this vast room for others to know or frankly care. Their attention will also be diverted to the stage and the performers. That is, if they are not themselves being pleasured. There are as many people to be found under these tables as people sitting around them, especially by the end of the night,” his opinion sounding very much based on experience rather than conjecture.

“Shuffle forward in your chair,” Ant encourages, and again you find yourself doing his bidding. The many layers of your costume scrunch between your legs as you close your thighs around the thin cane, a throb already in your silken underwear at how daring this is, allowing two virtual strangers to do this to you.

“Perfect,” Ben compliments just as the music pipes up loudly and a troupe of dancers take to the stage.

Ant places two napkins on the table before you.

“If either of us says or does something that you do not like, pick up the serviette closest to that person, and we shall desist,” he explains, a surge of pleasure that you are being given all the power to direct their behaviour.

“Men of honour,” you comment, impressed, as both men subtly shift their chairs closer, turning into your body slightly.

“We are gentlemen.”

“It is a privilege for us to do this.”

A spike of lust races through you at their dulcet tones, so close up now.

“And what should I do if I like what you are doing? For you not to desist?”

You feel more than see the matching smiles on either side of your face.

“Oh, believe me, we shall know…” Ben chuckles richly, “and we will keep doing so until you are satisfied.”

Something in that smoky promise makes your pulse all over, and you swallow heavily, a flush creeping over you at their proximity. You can tell no one is paying the three of you any heed, though, with all attention around you glued to the magnificent performers.

“You may touch us anywhere you wish,” Ant tempts, knowing your eyes have flitted down to the fit of their costumes a few times already, expensive wool wrapped tight around shapely thighs.

“But it doesn’t matter how much you beg; we shall not touch you,” Ben adds teasingly.

You bite your lip, already squirming in your cushioned seat. The tautness of the fabric between your legs due to the cane there has your clit swelling.

“Now, I rather suspect this fair lady likes a mental picture to be painted…” Ben begins.

“I think you might be right, brother,” Ant concurs. " You are the expert in such matters, after all.”

“So you must be the Viscount…” you crow, almost triumphant, turning fractionally towards Ant.

“Well, aren't you the clever girl?” he hums; that choice of words has a curl of heat unfurling in your gut.

“Of course she is,” Ben cuts in. “If there is one thing we can tell, it’s that you are an independent, smart woman. Who else would travel to Venice and attend such an event all alone? And yet… and yet…. secretly what you crave, what you would never admit to, is just how wet it gets you to be praised and told you are such a good girl, hmmm?”

You exhale shakily, slightly unnerved that he has been able to hit the bullseye so readily but so thrilled for the endless delicious prospects this could portend.

“But how good of a girl can she really be when what she most wants is for us to fuck her right here in public?” Ant piles in; his use of that phrase has you inhaling sharply, taken aback at how quickly it has escalated.

“Don't pretend you don't want that,” Ben clucks. “Your perfect little clit is throbbing right now at the idea, isn't it? Picturing these crowds of people watching, salivating and wishing it were them inside you. Watching as you claw at this table and take us both in turn….”

You are indeed clutching the side of the table already, nails digging into the wood through the cloth, breath stolen by just how explicit they are being. And yet, as promised, they do not lay a finger on you except the press of their clothed thighs against yours where they surround you on both sides. You rock further forward in your chair without even realising, needing to feel that hard rod against your slit, the relief that pushing yourself against it will bring.

“I rather think you would demand our tongues first, though,” Ant remarks casually.

“Oh, I wouldn't doubt it,” Ben agrees. “For us to throw your legs over our shoulders and feast upon you. Run our tongues over and over until you are shivering and pulling our hair, directing us just where you want us. I suspect you are the type who wants to taste yourself in the mouth of those who pleasure you. For them to kiss you with their tongue thick with your arousal, face glazed with your juices.”

You are breathing ragged, honestly spellbound by their ability.

“And I bet you taste delicious. Like ripe berries, sweet but tart,” Ant contends. “A flavour that bursts on the tongue like a fine wine.”

He reaches for his glass and waits for you to watch him take an indulgent sip, the bob of his Adam’s Apple as he swallows. But he allows a drop to escape around the corner of his mouth dribbling a line that you track covetously, tongue feeling heavy, wanting to lick it from his hint of chin stubble.

“Remember, you can touch. That includes with your tongue, sweet girl,” he goads before using the pad of his thumb to wipe away that tempting trickle provocatively.

You can’t help the light moan that escapes your lips, grinding against the pole he has placed between your legs; the spike of pleasure it causes as it crushes your clit has you shuddering.

“That’s it,” Ben gusts. “Treat that swollen little pearl just a little rough. I bet all those layers of fabric are just adding to the exquisite ache….”

His hand lands on the table next to yours, not touching but close enough that you can see how long and shapely his fingers are compared to your own. He swirls his pointer and middle finger slowly on the tablecloth in a circular motion. An intentional tease that you stare at, your hips somehow syncopating with the speed of his movements, imagining that very hand buried between your thighs.

“That’s it,” he repeats, “not too fast, not too slow.”

“Just enough to make you reckless with need,” Ant interjects. “You would do anything we told you to if we got you to that sweet spot, wouldn’t you?”

You nod without even realising it.

“Oh, I know it,” Ant gloats. “I would tease you for so long you forget your own name. Clit so swollen you can’t cross your legs. Begging and pleading for relief…”

These men use words like finely-honed weapons. Each phrase is seemingly expertly designed to take you apart at the seams. Your hands splay out on the table, and you grab each of theirs, clutching the back of their knuckles into your palm as you rub yourself shamelessly.

“You get the prettiest flush when you’re aroused,” Ben whispers, his eyes flitting down to your décolletage. “I wonder how far it goes? Does it keep going all the way to those pretty, puffy lips that are wrapped around that cane right now?”

The way he says it conjures the thought of your mouth wrapped around a cock; in no doubt that both of theirs are likely sizeable.

“I know what you’re thinking of,” Ant murmurs darkly as you keep writhing, a bead of sweat running down your spine into your underwear. “I know you are a dirty little thing who loves to be on your knees as well. I can tell how much you love the power. Having a man vulnerable in your mouth. Their rapt attention begging you to suck a little harder, a little deeper.”

“She loves to tease,” Ben surmises as they lean in closer, both lips dusting the shell of your ear. “Little strands of saliva roping from your lips as you pull off and look up goadingly through your lashes. You love to feel the tremble of thighs under your palms, don’t you? That feeling when your lips are all swollen and your cheeks aching from all that sucking. But most of all, you love to have a man come undone in your mouth. To swallow every drop you have earned…”

You are panting openly, harshly, your mouth filled with saliva as you imagine how tasty they likely are, a sweetness that makes it pleasant, addictive almost. A yearning for either to stand up, unzip right now and offer you their cock to suck upon. All around you, lights swirl, and the music swells louder, obscuring what is happening at this table. The most risqué you have ever behaved, wantonly frottaging yourself as two strangers, albeit handsome refined gentlemen, spout utter filth.

“Tell me how you’d fuck me,” you demand, gasping, rhythmically crushing your throbbing clit, wanting to come so bad your skin itches.

“I’d go first,” Ben huffs, his breathing uneven now too. “You’re already dripping down to your knees from our tongues; you can take me, can’t you, sweet girl?”

Again, you find yourself nodding; your lip darkened from your incisor tooth snagging upon it.

“I think what you might enjoy is being face down,” he rumbles dangerously. “So you can’t see everyone watching you at first. Just hear their shocked but approving noises. Your forehead on this tablecloth as I place a hand on your spine to quell your quivering from behind. Drag your hips over this table and plough right into your weeping little cunt.”

That word is the catalyst. You can no longer hold back. Your hands fly into both of their laps and grab their thighs forcefully, loving the feel of warm, latent muscle as your fingers curl into their quads.

“Oh, you like that…” Ant assesses correctly.

You hiss your assent as Ben continues.

“You are so perfect for me, aren’t you? Such a pretty pussy, all swollen and puffy and soaked as I split you open. I’m not going to go slow because that’s not what you want, is it? You want sharp thrusts, your toes leaving the ground with each snap, pressed hard into the table, your nipples rubbing just a little raw inside your corset. You want your entire body to jerk with each thrust, clit catching the table edge….”

Your responding yes is sibilant, as all around you, the frenzy of entertainment continues, spotlights swirling, performers contorting themselves in a seeming match for your fever.

“You want my hands clamped on your hips, tugging you back into my cock. Curled over you and praising how well you take it and what a good girl you are for me and for letting everyone watch. You feel so divine, squeezing my cock so tight that my eyes roll. Butttt…” he rolls that last letter in his mouth as if a tasty treat, his hand flexing on the table. “My poor sweet thing, just as you are babbling, clawing and moaning so beautifully, drooling onto this cloth right here, I'm going to pull out and leave you wanting, for we are not ready to have you come again. Not yet, my sweet girl. We want you mindless, to build you up so many times over that you are aching. The reward will be so much sweeter for you in the end that way, won't it?”

No one has ever talked to you in such precise, poetic detail before. Your hands grasp their thighs roughly, but they maintain their promise, even as you see the mutinous desire in the flex of their bodies, a muzzled yen to touch you back. It makes you need them more, how much control they can exert despite wanting the opposite. You are shameless in your motions now, pushing yourself towards that high; part of you wishes to plunge your fingers into yourself, and part of you wants to see if you can orgasm untouched, coming undone with just their words and friction.

“Don't stop,” Ant gasps. “Make yourself come, sweet girl.”

“I want to grab both of your cocks,” you confess rapidly, the truth tumbling from your lips as you ratchet higher.

“Do it…” Ant dares you, as out the corner of your eye you can see his are glittering darkly, pupils blown.

They both growl as you twist your wrists and slide your hands greedily up their laps, shamelessly palming their erections, straining against their trousers under the table. The heat and mass of them both has your pussy quivering, knowing from this touch alone just how satisfied you would be to feel either or, ideally, both of them fuck you. Their grip on the table has their knuckles turning white as Ant speaks anew, a tinge of desperation in his words that has you gleeful.

“My brother has had a little of his fun; now it's my turn. And I think you are ready to see all those gathered around you, even those onstage gazing down upon you. So I am going to flip you over, my sweet girl. Place your ankles upon my shoulders, that drenched little slit ruining my trousers before I tug open my fly and take you too. How prettily you howl my name as I slide into you. This sturdy table is going to squeak, isn't it? You are such a demanding thing, ordering me to fuck you harder, your hands clawing at my jacket, your heels clicking together behind my head. Perhaps my brother needs to be on the other side of the table, holding your shoulders down so all can see. Maybe even ripping open your dress, your beautiful breasts bouncing with each thrust I take, my good girl. You want this and so much more, don’t you? For me to fuck you endlessly right here, right now….”

And it's true. You yearn for what they promise. For them to bury their tongues between your thighs, for you to be on your knees before them, sucking the very life out of their cocks. For them to throw you onto this same table and fuck you so hard and thoroughly, you leave fingernail marks on the wood. To have the whole crowd watch as you near peak after peak until you are a swollen, fucked-out mess. Craving nothing but more, another orgasm, that mind-blowing pleasure that makes you soar high above as well as stay rooted so deep in your body you feel a weight in your bone that is pure rapture.

And just like that, you are breaking, burying your face into Ant’s neck as you wrap an arm around Ben’s. Shuddering violently as you crest that edge, febrile pleasure breaking over your skin, each cell of your body seeming to snap taut and then relax into waves of bliss, floating somewhere high above the sparkling chandeliers that hang from each beam. Dimly, you hear them murmuring your praises, but it's muffled by the rush of blood in your head. It seems to last forever, jerking and spasming against that cane, wanting instead to feel their weight on top of you, their cocks spurting deep within you as you reach that peak in harmony. When you come back to yourself, you realise your hands are still unconsciously squeezing their cocks through their clothing, and suddenly you snatch your hands from their laps.

“Don’t you dare come,” you snarl, as they groan enchantingly, so close and yet denied at the very last moment.

“Why?” Ant puffs, a vein on his forehead pulsing beguilingly.

“Because I need you to fuck me…” you grit out between your teeth. “Both of you,” you add, addressing Ben, his whole body quaking as you utter it.

Even though your knees feel like jelly, you push back your chair, the cane clattering to the floor and rolling under the table, forgotten, as you stand up and grab their hands, hauling them from their seats. You are uncaring if anyone stares at you, costumes dishevelled and askew, as you march towards the exit. Neither resists as you tug them out of the ballroom, down the long grand stairwell and outside to the gondolas lined up on the dock, ready to ferry people back to their hotels.

“I have one requirement…” you practically bark as you push them both down onto a seat, twisting to name your hotel to the gondolier behind you, his smirk unmistakable.

“Which is…?” Ant prompts, staring up at you as you tower over them, your eyes drawn inexorably to the unmistakable outline still nestled in both of their trousers.

You take a seat on the bench opposite them in the narrow boat. Wordlessly pulling up your layers of skirt and peeling down your ruined underwear, tossing them into the canal as they stare covetously, likely catching a glimpse between your legs before you roll your skirt back down.

“You had both better fucking touch me...” you finally reply.

They throw their heads back and laugh heartily, twisting to look at each other briefly, seeming to communicate silently before their gazes land back on you, almost predatory.

“You can bloody count on it,” they growl in unison.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Anthony & Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

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