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[leafs-lover]

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Hi, and welcome to my blog ❤

Please read through all of this before sending in any asks. If any of my links aren't working let me know!

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My requests are currently CLOSED(ish). I appreciate all the love and support, but I have an abundance of requests and series in the works. Feel free to send them in and if I am inspired by the idea I may write it; however, I make no promises.

Lastly, I love you all, and your feedback. My inbox is always open to discuss any fics (past, present or future) or just to talk about life in general and hockey

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[leafs-lover]

OMG! I just read your Lessons in Trust fic about Quinn and I AM OBSESSED! Please write more with smut too please!

Also, is there going to be another part where Quinn gets a blowjob because that was honestly my favorite part

Currently the fic is about 15 parts and there is smut in most of them! And he gets another blowjob in the next part😉

Thank you for reading!🙂

[leafs-lover]

When will the next part of ‘Lesson in Trust’ come out? I’m so exited! I am a huge fan of all your work!! Especially the Quinn ones!! ❤️❤️

TYSM🥹

The short answer: Not 100% sure but hopefully soon!

The long answer: I have the next 6 or so parts written but I wrote them in March(ish) and haven't read them/reviewed them since. I basically just need to review them, make sure they work, and then they will be posted. I have some vacation coming up and I'm hoping I can use that to get the written parts reviewed and queued up to be released (hopefully weekly). With those parts queued I can focus on the last few parts I need to finish writing

[leafs-lover]

When you told your husband you’d pick him up after a night with his friends but he isn’t respecting your 9pm bedtime.

[leafs-lover]

https://www.tumblr.com/leafs-lover/821141901416742912/lessons-in-trust-masterlist-an-sorry-about-the

OMG!!! I love it!!! 🥰 😍 I need more!!! Please and when you are ready! 😁

Thank you so much!

I’ve actually had 90% of this story drafted since April, I just haven’t had time to review/post it. 😅I’m hoping to get a few more chapters queued up then they will release automatically.

[leafs-lover]

Lessons In Trust Masterlist

A/N: Sorry about the hiatus but we're back!

Warnings: A curse word or two, kissing, fingering and blowjobs (18+ minors DNI)

Word Count: 6,100

Four days later Charlotte found herself at a Minnesota Wild game.

She had a royal blue ribbed turtleneck tucked into a pair of high-waisted dark washed jeans. Half her curls were pulled back into a scrunchie, her bangs were left loose to frame her face. Her makeup was minimal, a touch of concealer, a sweep of mascara to wake up tired eyes. Nothing too ambitious, considering she’d spent the day wrangling twenty-six seven-year-olds through subtraction and indoor recess.

Michaela and Brent sat to her left, both in Wild jerseys. 

Normally, Charlotte would wear his Vancouver jersey when she watched him. She had memorized the weight of it, the way his name curved across her shoulders. But that was when he played for Vancouver. She didn’t have a Minnesota jersey yet and something about wearing his old team’s colours felt… wrong. Like clinging to a version of him that wasn’t there anymore.

When the horn erupted at the end of the third period, the stadium exploded. Two goals in thirty seconds to seal it. The crowd was electric, on their feet, high-fiving strangers. With only a few games left before the Olympic break and the Wild sitting second in the West, the building hummed with anticipation. It wasn’t just about tonight. It was about what was coming.

Charlotte rose to her feet and clapped. Even though she only watched hockey when Quinn invited her and only understood about seventy percent of the rules she understood the importance hockey had to him. 

The three of them lingered as the crowd began to pour into the concourse.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Brent asked, shrugging into his jacket.

“I think so.” Charlotte folded her coat carefully over her arm. “All the times I met him before, he was on the visiting side. I’m sure it’s simple enough.” She hoped it was simple. She hated not knowing where she was going, it always stirred anxiety deep in her stomach. 

“Well, we’re making sure you get there,” Michaela said, her maternal instinct permanently set to high. “Don’t want you wandering around the arena by yourself.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “I’m sure I’d survive.”

They made their way down toward the ice and slipped through the thinning crowd. The smell of popcorn and beer hung in the air. They turned down an aisle and stopped when a security guard stepped forward.

“Hi,” Charlotte said, offering her gentle teacher smile.

“There is not and exit. You’ll have to go around and up the stairs to the main area.” They said blankly, as if they dealt with this on a consistent basis. 

“Oh, um.” She shifted her weight. “I’m trying to get to the Wild family area.”

The guard’s brow lifted slightly.

Right. Of course.

Charlotte swallowed and opened her purse; her fingers brushed past lip gloss and spare hair ties before she found the laminated pass. She handed it over. The guard examined it carefully, flipped it and scanned the barcode. The beep felt louder than the final horn.

“Do you two have passes?” he asked Michaela and Brent.

“Yes, but we’re not staying,” Michaela said. She stepped forward and wrapped Charlotte in a hug. “Tell Quinn thank you, but we had to get home for the sitter.”

“I will,” Charlotte promised. “Drive safe.”

Brent gave her a quick side hug. “Don’t let him keep you out too late.”

She rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Brent.”

The guard gestured for her to follow, leading her through a set of double doors and down a quiet hallway that felt worlds away from the arena noise. The sound dulled behind her with every step.

He opened another door and stepped aside.

Inside, the energy shifted completely.

The room was warm and softly lit. Women sat in small clusters on couches, speaking in low voices. A few toddlers dozed across laps. In the corner some of the older children raced around with mini sticks, the plastic clatter echoing faintly against the walls.

Charlotte paused just inside the doorway. She suddenly felt hyperaware of everything, the winter boots she wore instead of expensive name brand heels, the way her hands clutched her coat, the fact that she was new. That she hadn’t been here before.

A few heads turned toward her with polite smiles or curious glances. She gave a small smile in return; the same one she used when meeting parents at curriculum night. She found her way to a chair and leaned against the arm rest, tucking her head down out of instinct. 

A burst of laughter erupted from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps against the concrete floors. The door opened and there he was - hair still damp from the shower, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened at the collar. He looked tired and exhilarated all at once.

She smoothed her hands over her target jeans, trying to steady the sudden rush of emotion. His eyes scanned the room lazily at first.

Then he found her and everything in his expression changed. Like he hadn’t realized how much he needed to see her until she was standing right there.

He crossed the room in long strides. “Char,” he said, low enough that it was just for her.

Charlotte smiled, “Good game, Quinn.” He dropped his jacket onto a chair without looking and reached for her, pulling her into him like it was instinct. “You were unbelievable tonight,” she said into his chest.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “We won.”

“I know. I watched.” She smirked. “Brent and Michaela wanted to stay but they had to get home for Henry.”

“Oh, right.” He tipped his head back slightly so he could see her face. “How big is baby H now?”

“Seventeen months.”

“Wow, he must be so big. You didn’t wear a jersey,” he said, glancing at her outfit.

“No,” she said lightly. “I don’t have a Minnesota one.”

“Yet.” A slow grin spread across his face. He leaned in slightly. “I’ll fix that.”

Her stomach fluttered. “You want to get out of here?”

**

Quinn's car was already running by the time they reached the garage. The engine hummed low and steady against the cold. He walked her around to the passenger side, opened the door, waited until she was settled before closing it gently behind her.

By the time he slid into the driver’s seat, he’d already typed her address into the display screen.

The seat warmers were on and he turned the setting up two clicks. He knew she always ran cold. He clicked on Spotify then glanced at her. “DJ?”

She smiled faintly and reached for the screen, scrolling through playlists while he pulled out of the garage.

The drive was quick, less than twenty minutes but the city felt quieter as they made their way to the outskirts. Streetlights reflected against patches of snow along the sidewalks.

“I just know it’s going to be chaotic,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the seat. “I’m not sure who thought doing this on a Friday afternoon was a good idea, but it seems like a perfect way to ruin my weekend.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

She turned in her seat to face him fully. “Quinn. There are going to be five adults and almost fifty students. That’s ten kids per adult. Ten sets of skates I need to tie. Ten helmets I need to fix. Ten kids I need to—”

“Do you plan on asking me?” He kept his eyes on the road but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Your friend,” he added carefully. “The professional hockey player. To help? I do know how to tie skates.”

There was something in his voice. Not anger. Not ego. Something closer to hurt.

Charlotte stilled.

Of course it had crossed her mind.

The idea of him in the dressing room with blades tucked between his thighs as he laced up skates. Him on the ice with her students, showing them how to stand and stop. The thought flickered through her mind the second the trip was confirmed.

But she also knew what would happen.

Once word got out that Quinn Hughes was going to be at the rink, other teachers would be annoyed. Parents would call to complain. It would become less about the kids skating and more about the NHL player in the building. She could already hear it: Why didn’t our class get to meet Quinn? A part of her wanted to avoid that circus entirely.

And then there was the other part.

Asking Quinn, her friend, for a favour? Easy. Asking Quinn Hughes - the Minnesota Wild player - to show up to her elementary school field trip? That felt like crossing some invisible line. Those were her thoughts before they kissed, before his hands were on her, before they were in her. Asking him for a favour now felt like she was manipulating their agreement, using him for more than just a friend.

“I figured you had practice,” she said quietly. 

“I have an off day,” he replied immediately. Too quickly. “I even have some friends who could join.”

She blinked. “Friends?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I play on a team; I can bring some backup.”

She stared at him. “I couldn’t ask you,” she softly responded.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m offering.”

The car came to a stop in front of her building. The engine idled, warm air filling the quiet. Finally, she looked at him. “You’d just… show up? Tie skates? Help herd a bunch of seven-year-olds?”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’ve met my brothers, right? I can handle some kids for a few hours.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

She hesitated and searched for the words. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m using you.”

His head snapped toward her and he practically laughed. “Using me? Charlotte, you cannot be serious.” The word hung there and she could see the hurt blanket his face. He found it odd that she was comfortable to ask him for assistance in the bedroom but not confident enough to ask him for help on a hockey rink. The one place Quinn always felt at home. “We’ve known each other for ten years, and you have never asked me for anything. When we play in New Jersey, Chris messages me for tickets, every summer Brooke will DM me and try to go to dinner. You kept in contact with me in Vancouver. You’d check in on me more than once a year, ask me about my day with no ulterior motive. You are my friend, which means you get to ask me for help.”

“I’d have to talk to my principal,” she murmured. “And make sure it won’t cause any issues.”

“Whatever you need,” he said. “I’ll just be a guy tying skates.”

She laughed faintly. “You’re not ‘just a guy,’ Quinn.”

He tilted his head. “I am to you.”

She swallowed and her breath hitched. The quiet between them thickened, filling with something fragile. She reached for his hand without thinking.

“I’ll talk to my principal,” she said as his fingers curled around hers.

“Okay.”

“I’ll text you in the morning,” Charlotte added, a small smile forming.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Deal.”

“If one of my kids trips you on the ice, I’m not liable.”

He leaned closer, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. “I’ll take my chances.”

**

Quinn was twenty minutes early.

He leaned against the wall of the local ice rink lobby, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, baseball cap pulled low. The principal had very politely suggested that perhaps the entire Minnesota Wild roster descending on a second-grade field trip might be disruptive. So, it was just him. 

The lobby smelled like sharpened blades, rubber mats, and stale popcorn. It had a cold-air bite that sat deep inside his bones. He hadn’t stood in a rink like this - small-town, slightly chaotic, full of birthday party posters and vending machines - in years.

He heard them before he saw them.

Fifty children spilling off a school bus sounded like a stampede. Excited chatter echoed through the glass doors as they burst inside in a flurry of winter coats and knit hats. Quinn straightened instinctively. The kids all stopped just inside the entrance, teachers shushing and corralling them. It was loud and chaotic, just as Charlotte said it’s be.

And then he saw her.

She stood near the front, clipboard in hand, curls bouncing as she turned to answer something one of the kids asked. Michaela stood beside her, already looking slightly overwhelmed. He didn’t realize he was smiling until she looked up her whole face changed. Her serious teacher face softened and she smiled in his direction. 

She walked over; cheeks pink from the cold. “You’re early.”

“Coach always said if you’re on time, you’re late,” he said lightly.

She rolled her eyes but he knew she was pleased. She introduced him to the other volunteers. Mrs. Boisclair a support staff from the school, Kati; Bonnie’s mom, and Marco; Steven’s dad. Quinn shook all their hands and explained he and Charlotte were friends he had offered to help for the day. They all smiled and mentioned how any help would be appreciated, seemingly unphased by Quinn.

“Christopher lost his glove, I’m going to check the bus,” Michaela tells them as she approaches the group. “Hi Quinn, good game last night.”

“Thanks Mick.”

Everyone’s face twisted slightly. Then a look of realization settled over Marco’s face. “You’re Quinn Hughes.”

“Yes.” He blushed slightly. “Charlotte and I went to high school together. Now that I play here, I am forcing my friendship upon her.” Quinn teased, earning yet another eye roll.

“That’s amazing.” Marco beams. “Would I be able to get a picture of you with Steven at some point?” He motions over to a group of boys chattering away. 

“Of course.”

“We’re getting a group photo at the end too,” Charlotte chimed in. “Alright!” Charlotte called out, her teacher voice slicing cleanly through the noise. “Twenty students per dressing room…”

She paused, silently counting heads, then drew a line through the air with her arm to divide them. The kids shuffled slightly to mark the divide.

“All of you,” she pointed decisively, “are with Mrs. Boisclair and Kati, Bonnie’s mom.”

She pointed to another group. “You’re with me and my friend, Quinn. And you are in room 4 with Marco and Mrs. Kaiser.”

“Hi Quinn!” a chorus of voices overlapped, as the group of kids surround them. 

“Hey guys,” he said. “Who here’s skated before?” Over half the hands shot up confidently. The rest looked either nervous or way too excited. 

The dressing room was chaos in the way only kids could create. Zippers stuck. Gloves went missing. One child insisted their left skate was actually their right. But the tying of the skates went faster than Charlotte had anticipated.

For every one student she tied, Quinn tied two. He worked quickly, efficiently, double-knotting laces with muscle memory. He chatted with the students the whole time, fully engaged in them.

“Can you skate backwards?” one girl asked him suspiciously.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged.

“Are you good?”

Charlotte bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Sometimes,” Quinn shrugged again. 

By the time the last set of skates was tied, the room looked like a tornado had passed through, but every kid was upright and mostly balanced.

Charlotte reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of white figure skates.

“That wasn’t bad,” he said, exhaling. He sat beside her, their shoulders brushed as he shook of his own boots. 

“That was the easy part,” she laughed. “Now we have to keep them from getting hurt.”

On the ice, it was loud.

Blades scraped in uncertain lines. Kids shrieked every time someone fell, which was often. The sound of giggles bounced off the boards.

Charlotte moved carefully around the rink. She figure skated until she was twelve at which point her mom said it occupied too much time, but it stuck with her even after all those years. 

When a student toppled, she was there immediately, kneeling to eye level. “You okay? Wiggle your fingers for me. Good. Now let’s try that again.”

Quinn watched her more than he watched the kids. The way she never got impatient. The way she celebrated the smallest victories, like standing up after a fall. 

He skated beside her, steady and controlled, occasionally catching a wobbling child before they crashed too hard.

“Mr. Quinn!” one boy shouted. “Race me!”

Charlotte snorted. “Please don’t.”

He leaned toward her. “You don’t want me embarrassing a seven-year-old?”

“I don’t want to fill out incident reports.”

There were photo ops, lots of them. Many of the kids were too young to understand who he was but there was a group of hockey obsessed kids, who immediately went into awe once word got out.

When the hour finally wound down and the rink staff started herding them off the ice, the noise softened into tired chatter. Their cheeks were red, mittens were damp, but they were all beaming from ear to ear.

Back in the lobby, the kids were buzzing about who fell the most and who “almost did a spin.” Charlotte did one final head count before lining them up for the bus. Quinn stood off to the side, giving high fives to kids as they ventured onto the bus. 

“Thanks for coming today,” Charlotte said, stepping up to him once the kids were boarding. “It was significantly better with you here. And I don’t just mean because of the skate tying.”

“I had a good time,” he admitted. “Told you it wouldn’t be that bad.”

She smiled. “Nobody cried, myself included, so it’s a good day.”

He stepped closer without thinking and pulled her into a hug. She melted into it immediately. And before he could overthink it, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. She pulled back slightly, searching his face. Her eyes were bright—not overwhelmed, just… full.

“Make sure you get a hot chocolate on the way home,” she said with a wink. She squeezed his arm once and turned, climbing the bus steps.

**

When Charlotte parked her car at home, she immediately spotted the familiar BMW. Quinn leaned against the passenger door, two paper cups in his hands; every exhale was visible in the cold air.

“The tradition,” he called as she walked toward him, “was hot chocolate together. Felt wrong to drink it alone.”

Charlotte couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “You’re very committed to tradition.”

“If you don’t do it right, why bother doing it?”

He handed her one of the cups, their fingers brushed briefly. “You want to come up?” she asked, casual but not quite.

“Yeah,” he said easily.

They moved through the brick apartment building together, past the mailboxes, down the narrow hallway that always smelled faintly of detergent. The elevator rattled on its way up to the sixth floor.

“Reassuring sound.” Quinn joked. 

“It builds character.”

“It builds anxiety.”

She laughed softly.

Once at her apartment, she slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Warm air and the faint scent of vanilla met them. She hung her coat, then took his, before tucking her skates onto the top shelf.

“It’s not much,” she said, stepping into the living room. “But it’s home.”

Quinn took his time looking around. The shelves were cluttered with framed photos, mismatched trinkets from the two trips she’d been on, stacks of books threatened to topple over. A throw blanket was folded over the couch arm; another was already half on the floor.

“It feels like you,” he said. “Comfortable.” His gaze caught on the scratching post beside the couch. “You have a cat?”

“Macaroni,” she said automatically, glancing toward the hallway. “He’s probably stretched out on my bed; it gets the best light this time of day. He’s tolerant of strangers.”

“So, he’s a mama’s boy.”

“Very much.”

Her phone chimed in her back pocket. The sound shifted the air slightly. She pulled it out, read the screen, and typed back quickly.

“Jackson,” she tells him. “He wants to grab dinner tomorrow.”

Quinn took a sip of his hot chocolate. “How are things?”

Charlotte studied him for a beat. “We haven’t slept together if that’s what you mean.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what I was asking.”

She softened. “They’re good. He’s good. I like him.” There was a small pause. “I think you’d like him too,” she added.

“Yeah?” Quinn asked. Another quiet moment settled between them - not awkward, just aware. “We should all get dinner sometime,” Quinn finally added. 

**

They ended up on the couch without quite deciding to. One minute they were sitting side by side, the next they were shifting to get comfortable, the blanket pulled over their legs against the draft near the window.

Charlotte lay on her back, Quinn stretched along the length of the couch, one arm behind her head. The space was small; proximity was inevitable. Their legs tangled under the fleece blanket, warm and familiar. The TV played something neither of them were watching. His hand rested lightly on her stomach, not possessive or exploratory. Just there. Outside, the winter night deepened. The city lights reflected faintly against the soft sage blinds. The lamp in the corner cast a low, golden glow.

“Thanks for today,” she said quietly.

“For standing beside you while you absolutely crushed it?” he replied. “Anytime.”

She huffed a small laugh. “You did more than that.”

“I think it would have gone well without me. You had it under control.”

“Maybe.” She smiled while glancing up into his soft eyes. “But it helped having you there.”

“That’s because you like spending time with me.” Quinn teased.

“Yeah.” She whispered after a minute. “I do.”

Silence settled again - but his was different. Charlotte was the first to move, slow and deliberate. She brushed her lips against his.

Quinn didn’t rush it. He responded cautiously and kissed her back, letting Charlotte take the lead. But when a soft ‘mmm’ spilt from her lips, his hand began to gently nudge the fabric of her sweater up. 

“Too much?” He murmured against her mouth.

She shook her head.

He kissed her again, deeper this time but still careful, giving her room to set the pace. Her fingers slipped into his curls - something she’d done a hundred times playfully - but this felt different. It was intentional.

There was a faint hum in her throat she didn’t mean to make.

For a moment, Charlotte got lost in who she is kissing. She forgot the framework of it - the fact that this was practice, that he was here to help her feel less uncertain with someone else. It simply felt warm. Safe. Electric in a quiet way.

When they finally separated, he rested his forehead against hers. His eyes shut and his calloused thumb gently rubbed over her stomach. 

“No notes.” Quinn whispered.

“Hmm?” Charlotte whispers back, afraid to use the whole weight of her voice.

“I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember? I have no notes. You’re good at this.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re biased.”

“I take offense to that; I am nothing but professional.”

She laughed under her breath, then shifted, getting quiet. “Bedroom?”

He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah.”

**

Her bed was made perfectly, almost with hotel style corners. A crisp white duvet stretched smooth across the mattress, a muted pink quilt layered neatly overtop. A row of frilled pillows lined the headboard, decorative and unnecessary. At the foot of the bed, a small, indented circle marked where Macaroni had clearly claimed his spot.

She moved to the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, her fingers were slightly unsteady as they caught the hem of her sweater. She pulled it over her head, folded it out of habit - then seemed to remember she didn’t need to be neat right now. The rest followed more slowly. Fabric slipping to a pile on the floor. A quiet exhale she hadn’t meant to release, tumbled out.

She stood there in soft, nude cheeky bottoms, shoulders back in a way that wasn’t fully confident but was trying to be.

Quinn had already shed everything but his boxers. He didn’t rush toward her. He didn’t stare in a way that made her shrink. He just softly looked at her. Finally, he stepped closer, giving her enough time to step back if she wanted to. She didn’t. 

His hand lifted slowly, brushing up the center of her stomach. Not possessive, not hungry, just there. Goosebumps followed in the path of his fingers, and her breath caught in her throat, not from shock, but from the intensity of being so aware of herself.

He dipped his head, pressing a slow kiss just beneath her ear. As he crowded her space, she felt his erection beginning to bloom. He traced another kiss along her neck, testing pressure, waiting for her reaction.

Charlotte’s hands came to rest on his shoulders for stability. He let his mouth skim along her collarbone, softer this time. Driven by patience rather than urgency.

His hands slid around her waist and down her back, resting at her hips. As his tongue moved across her warm skin, he reached down to cup her ass. When he pulled her a little closer, it was instinctive - but the second he felt the shift in his own body, he stilled.

A sharp breath left him as he remembered the rules.

He pulled back and let his forehead rest on hers. His hands retreated and he gently walked her toward the bed. They both shrugged out of their underwear and when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, Quinn guided her onto the bed, easing her against the cool sheets.

Quinn’s large frame loomed over her for a minute. They held each others gaze as she gently raked her nails over his jaw. 

His hand roamed her body, exploring every curve so gently it made her skin tingle. Eventually, his hand settled on her breast, and he began to run her pebbled nipple through his thumb and index finger. Slowly and methodically, he worked his way to her hips, over her pelvis, and to her thighs. Her legs instinctively spread and his fingers began to dance around her entrance. 

“Mmm,” she moaned, the sounds making his cock twitch against her thigh. 

Quinn gently licked around her breast and sucked on her nipple. His tongue traced from her neck down to her navel, earning sweet little moans with every pass. His thumb gently nestled against her swollen bundle of nerves, and she gasped. Quinn smirked, but continued to take his time, revelling in the soft sounds catching in her throat. 

Quinn could feel the slick building between her legs and let a devious smirk cross his face. He sunk one finger and curled it in deep, pausing to fully embrace her cry. With a few painfully slow thrusts, he buried a second finger and her legs kicked out in pleasure. 

“Quinn.” She gasped sharply. 

“Hmm?” He drags his fingers in and out at a dramatically and purposely slow place. 

One hand found his shoulder and the other ended his hair. Every part of her started to get hot. 

“What do you want, Char?” Quinn murmured against her breast. “Slower? Deeper?” 

There is no way for him to do either, or so she thought. But as he says each word, his wrist mimics the action. The sound from between her legs was nothing more than a disgusting slop, her slick building and building over his digits but she knows that as good as this is she needs more for her release. 

“Your thumb.” She finds herself begging. 

“What about it?” He plays coy. 

“Use it, rub…” she trailed off as Quinn gently sucks the underside of her breast, careful not to leave a mark. 

Quinn brought his thumb up to her swollen bundle of nerves and presses rhythmic circles into it. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back. 

“This what you wanted?” His wrist picked up speed and began to move at a hurried pace, all while his thumb drove against her clit. Her breathing became broken and she tugged on his hair. “It is?” Quinn grinned to himself. “You getting close, Char.”

She barely heard what he said as white began to flood her vision. Like a mantra, she began whispering his name, each time more quiet as her voice trapped in her throat. 

Quinn worked exactly like he had been, thrusting and curling his fingers, nudging her toward the edge. Her toes curled into the mattress and she gasped as her warmth spilled over Quinn’s digits. He worked her through it, waiting until her body settled before he slowly pulled his fingers out. 

Charlotte lay there, breathless, for a minute, letting her heart rate settle. She eyed over to Quinn, who has fallen onto his side, and smiles. 

“That was-“ she stopped herself, unsure of what word adequately describes the multitude of emotions roaring through her veins. 

“Yea,” Quinn gently tucks her sweaty bangs behind her ear. 

Charlotte continued to settle, her entire body hot. After a moment; she eyed to Quinn. His cock was hard against his stomach, and while she had no comparison, it seemed big. Thick. 

Her fingers hovered just above him, unsure. At the first brush of her hand, they both jump, red floods her face. 

“Char, you don’t -“

“I want to.” She told him.

Quinn searched her face, he wasn’t sure what for, but she had a confident smile on her face. Without a word, he nodded and adjusted into the pillow and carefully watched as she shimmied down the bed.

Hesitantly, Charlotte wrapped her hand around his shaft and swallowed at the weight of it. She gently tugged, almost as if she was scared to fully embrace it. Slowly, she worked her hand up and down his length and Quinn let out a deep guttural groan and tipped his head back against the pillow.

Quinn let her work at her own speed. Moaning as she worked over him, finding a rhythm that worked for her. After a minute with a hoarse voice, he said, “use some spit.”

Charlotte stopped and gave him a look. “Trust me,” he breathed.

Charlotte let a little spit dribble from her mouth onto her hand and she wrapped her palm around his shaft. The slick helped her hand move with ease. “A little faster,” Quinn said through nothing more than a broken breath. 

Charlotte followed his direction and picked up the pace, smirking when his eyes fluttered with pleasure. She tugged up and down in a rhythmic pattern, keeping the pace as Quinn fisted the sheet.

Her lips brushed his stomach, and he quivered, mostly out of surprise. But as she continued to place soft gentle kisses near his hips, he felt his high quickly approaching. 

“Mmm…s’good, Char.” He encouraged her. As much as he wants to get lost in this, he knows this about more than release, it’s about Charlotte and building her confidence. 

“Quinn…” her voice was low “Should I use my mouth?” Quinn immediately propped himself onto his elbows with enlarged eyes. “Guys like that, don’t they?”

“Yes.” He quickly stammered out. “I think most men enjoy that but uh-“ he trailed off lost in the feeling as she continued to work at him, inching him closer and closer to completion. “But it’s not something you have to do tonight. Hands are good too.”

Charlotte stopped for a moment and thought over what he said, then turned and looked up at him. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t pressuring her, maybe it’s because she wanted to try it with Jackson but needed the experience, but somehow, she knew she wanted to do that with Quinn.

“I want to, but I um, I’m a little nervous.”

“Right. Okay. Um-“ Quinn tried to gather his thoughts. “It’s easier if you’re in between my legs.”

Charlotte quickly shimmied between his thighs and glanced up to him, waiting for what’s next. Quinn’s gaze was already locked on her -dark and brimming with need.

“You um… you want to take your time, don’t go all in at once, use your hands to help if you want, and most importantly, remember to breathe.”

“That’s it?” She cocked a brow, thinking it cannot be that easy. 

“As you get going, I’ll give some pointers.”

“Okay.”

Her left hand gently raked over his firm thigh as her right hand guided his shaft toward her mouth. 

“Oh, Char.” Quinn calls out. “I’ll tell you when I’m going to finish, I um-“ he trailed off for a moment, trying to find the correct words. “Don’t swallow it.” Her eyes bulge. She had no idea what would happen when he finished, but swallowing it wasn’t something she had ever considered. “Let it go on my stomach.”

Charlottes’ eyes drifted from his face back to his hard member that rest in her hand. With a nod, she gave him a few more strokes, then, ever so gently, she placed a kiss to his tip. 

She continued to use her hand, working up and down as she placed more and more kisses along his member. His salty precum hit her tongue and he let out the softest sigh as her tongue grazed his tip. 

The sound encouraged Charlotte like she hadn’t anticipated. She parted her lips and let the underside fall onto her tongue. She slowly worked down, then pulled back not quite ready to take him all in at once. 

“Char.” Quinn is quick to grab at her hair. “Remember to breathe,” he said when he felt her gag. 

She pulled back and took a deep breath, then began working him back into her mouth. Taking deep breaths through her nose as she went. 

Her tongue traced along the angry vein on the underside of his cock. Inadvertently, his hips twitched, and she gagged again. 

Eventually she found a rhythm. Hand and mouth moving in sync, her tongue focussed on the tip. She could tell his composure was beginning to fade. His thighs had tightened and he had a fist of hair in his grasp. Charlotte hollowed her cheek and took him as deep as she could, Quinn shuddered under her. 

“Char,” his voice broke. “Fuck, Char, I’m getting close.”

Charlotte hummed in response but don’t let up. She kept taking him, using her hand to work up and down his shaft as her other gently clawed at his thigh. 

“Char,” his hips jut up as he clings to the limited restraint he has left. His body was trembling under her touch. “Char..shit…I’m gonna…”

Charlotte felt his stomach tighten and noticed his breathing was staggered. With a heavy, broken gasp Quinn lost control and Charlotte immediately pulled back. A little of his warm release hit her tongue, but as he told her to, most of it landed on his stomach. She waited for a second before swallowing the sweet and salty liquid. 

Quinn let out an awkward chuckle as his entire body eased into the bed. “I was not expecting that.”

His grip was loose but his fingers remained in her hair as she climbed up his body. “Was it good?”

Without even thinking. Quinn pulled her to him and kissed her. “So good, Char. It was so fucking good.” He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and could faintly taste himself on her. “How was it for you?”

Charlotte scratched along his jaw, then smiled. “I liked doing it.”

“Really?” He asked with a hint of excitement in his voice. 

“Yeah. I think I even liked the taste.” A light blush hit her cheek. :I may want to try it again,” she said with a slow, satisfied smirk. 

“Fuck me.”

“Maybe next time.” Charlotte said with a playful wink. 

Charlotte climbed out of the bed and confidently strutted to the other side of the room. She left the bathroom door open and started the shower, giving Quinn a wink before pulling the curtain back. 

Never in her life did she expect that Quinn Hughes would be the recipient of her first blowjob. Nor did she expect it to go so well, or to be left feeling electric. But as she let the warm water drip down her chest she felt more alive than she ever had. 

[leafs-lover]

Would you have been just as happy for Mitch if he won? Or are you like so many bitter leaf fans who wanted him to fail this year?

I'm going to ignore the tone of our question because it can be hard to convey tone/context through text; however, your ask is coming off incredibly rude/pointed. I don't know where you got this idea that Mitch is dead to me, or maybe this was an assumption based on Leafs nation but please don't make assumptions about me

I love Freddie. I literally created an account and immediately started on a 43-chapter fanfic about him. I had no followers, no tumblr friends, I dove in headfirst creating a fic about him. Freddie will always be my #1

While I anticipated him leaving Toronto, I was devastated when he actually signed somewhere else. A part of me had hope he may stay. Since he left, I have always rooted for the Leafs first and Freddie second - I have said this multiple times on here. As the Leafs did not make the playoffs this year, I have been rooting for the Canes the entire post-season. I am very disappointed he got hurt and was unable to finish out the post-season, I would have loved for him to keep playing and possibly have on the Conn Smythe.

Mitch deserved none of the hate he received both as a player and over the last 11 months since he left. I understand why some people are mad he waited until free agency to leave but they need to remember:

that was his right - he had a no trade clause that Toronto's management offered him. Toronto could have moved him prior to that clause kicking in, they decided not to

he actually was traded a day prior to free agency. While this allowed him to sign for an extra year, Toronto did get a player (Nicolas Roy)

His wife was 7ish months pregnant at the deadline. She would not have been able to move with him and that was a huge deciding factor in him rejecting the Rantanen trade that would have sent him to Carolina. THIS IS 100% REASONABLE. If he wasn't an athlete nobody would be upset about a husband refusing to leave his very pregnant wife for months while he went to a new city.

I love Mitch. I think he was a phenomenal player for the Leafs and this past season proved he was not the problem. I also would have been thrilled if he won the Conn Smythe. Regardless of that I still wanted Freddie to win. I will always prioritize Freddie over any non-leaf player. By Mitch losing it also meant Carter Hart lost, and I cannot think of anything better (besides those 5 never playing professional hockey again) than that slime bag losing.

[leafs-lover]

Freddie 🥹

[leafs-lover]

My husband rejected Oliver as a baby name and now I feel like he personally attacked BTPGD 😭

[leafs-lover]

How many parts is your Quinn fic?

It’s not 100% done, I have some editing of the last few parts, I may need to add in or combine sections depending on how it flows. Right now I have it at 15 parts, it will be somewhere around that

[leafs-lover]

A/N: Sorry for the very delayed post, life has been crazy. Hope it was worth the wait!

Warnings: kissing, maybe a swear word, fingering (18+ minors DNI)

Word Count: 3,700

Ten days. 

It was longer than Quinn would have preferred. Long enough for the kiss to replay in hotel rooms at two in the morning. But road games with constant flights and crazy schedules kept them apart. 

Despite the chaos, Charlotte kept her word. 

She called a few times on her drive home from work, the sound of her turn signal ticked faintly in the background while she told him about a student who cried that day and the puddle of glue she spent twenty minutes cleaning. She FaceTimed him during recess to show him a picture of a lopsided paper snowman one of her students insisted looked “exactly like Miss P.”

“It’s the scarf,” she’d said defensively, angling the camera closer. “And the eyelashes.”

Quinn squinted at the screen. “The snowman has three eyes and no arms.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“That children see beauty where you clearly do not.”

He’d laughed then — the real kind. The kind that echoed in his chest snd warmed her heart.

He sent her clips from the road in return. A video of the hotel coffee machine sputtering like it was about to explode. The view from a plane window over frozen lakes that looked like shattered glass beneath them. He sent multiple memes fans had made about him “seeing ghosts,” a twist on his RBF apparently.

“They say I’m haunted,” he told her. 

They never mentioned the kiss.

Not once.

He needed that. Needed proof that a decade hadn’t fractured under one moment of curiosity. Every time her name lit up his phone or their conversation was easy and effortless, his shoulders loosened a little more. 

Still, when she texted want to hangout tonight? something tightened in his chest.

He didn’t know what the room would be like. He didn’t know what the air between them would feel like. Didn’t know if it would be heavy, charged, or painfully aware.

**

He had dinner waiting when she arrived - nothing too complicated, just pasta with jarred sauce he tried to enhance with various seasonings; the garlic bread he’d overcooked slightly.

She slipped off her boots by the door. Her coat hung loose around her shoulders for a second before she shrugged it off, cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. 

“Smells good in here,”  she said, glancing toward the kitchen.

“I lit candles to hide the burnt bread smell.”

Her laugh came quickly and easily, and Quinn felt at ease. He missed that sound. She climbed onto a barstool like she belonged and tucked one foot under her leg. Comfortable. Like she belonged there -because she did belong there - then launched into a story about her class’s upcoming skating field trip, her hands moved as she spoke.

“They’re seven, Quinn. Seven. And there are two classes of them, that’s almost 50 kids. Do you know how chaotic that’s going to be?”

He grinned. “You realize I learned to skate at three, right?”

“Yes,” she replied without missing a beat, “and you were probably insufferable about it.”

“I was gifted.”

“You were competitive,” she corrected him.

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

She shook her head, smiling. And for a moment, everything felt completely normal, easy. Just history stretching comfortably between them.

He told her about the road — about the strange weight of pulling on a different jersey. How he hadn’t fully adjusted to his name being called at the Grand Casino Arena and being followed by an eruption of cheers. How sometimes, in the split second before stepping onto the ice, he still expected it to feel like Vancouver.

She listened the way she always had. Chin resting in her palm. Eyes steady.  There was no checking her phone. No half attention. No polite nodding.Focused. Like what he was saying mattered, because it did matter. To her, it always had.

**

They settled onto the couch with Stranger Things playing again, the blue glow filling the room in soft pulses. Their shoulders brushed once, neither of them flinched. It was the proof he needed that they hadn’t shattered something fragile.

As the episode ended and Charlotte reached for the remote, then pressed pause. The click felt louder than it should have. The silence that followed was deliberate.

“I want to do it.”

The words landed between them without drama, but they shifted the air all the same. “Oh.” He sat up slightly. “Okay.”

She nodded once, almost briskly — like she’d practiced saying it in the car, in the mirror, in her head a dozen times before walking in. But her fingers were laced so tightly together in her lap her knuckles were turning white.

“I need confidence,” she said. “The other night… things started to heat up and I wasn’t sure what to do. Where to put my hands. When to move. I just—” 

Her voice caught and she cut herself off.

He could see the memory play behind her eyes. The embarrassment. The way she shrank inward when she felt unsure. Charlotte thrived on certainty. On knowing the right answer and what came next, and he could tell she hated this. 

“I need you to help me.”

Help me.

The words were practical. Almost clinical.

They still hit somewhere deeper than they should have.

He swallowed that down quickly. This was what they’d agreed on. Controlled. Safe. No blurred lines. 

“Okay,” he said again, steadier this time. 

“But we need rules.”

“Right. Rules.” He is quick to agree then takes a minute. “What kind of rules?”

“Protection -“

“Always.” Quinn answered without hesitation. 

She exhaled slightly at that.

“No undressing.”

He arched a brow. “Char, I know you haven’t done this before but clothes make it difficult”

They both let out a soft laugh. His small laugh only cemented the decision doing this with him was the right one.

“No undressing each other,” she clarified. “We take our own clothes off.”

He huffed out a breath. “Okay. That’s fair.”

“No kissing.”

That one made him pause. His face betrayed him before he could mask it.

“No kissing with our clothes off.”

“Oh.” He leaned back slightly. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“I just think it blurs things.”

“Okay,” he agreed anyways. He let a beat pass before asking, “Sleepovers, yes or no?”

The word lingered.

They had never had one. Not even in high school, Mary would never allow it. Their friendship lived in kitchens, cars, and front porches. Never in beds. 

Charlotte’s gaze drifted toward the hallway like she could see the bed from there. Quinn imagined it too. The morning light spilling through the blinds, her hair messy against his pillow. The quiet intimacy of waking up beside her.

His chest tightened unexpectedly. Would she wear his shirt to bed or would she pack a bag? Would they cuddle or sleep on opposite sides, backs turned? What if he woke up and their limbs were tangled amongst the sheets? But the thought of laying in an empty bed in a room that smelled like sex also felt wrong. 

“Maybe that’s situational,” he offered, catching the way her breathing changed.

“Yeah,” she replied softly. “Situational.”

“Say the word and this is done,” he added. “At any point. We stop and go back to just being friends.”

“And we have to have days where we just hang out as friends,” she said. “Nothing more.”

“Yes.” He didn’t even need to think about it. “That comes first.”

It always had.

The room fell quiet again.

Not tense, just aware. They were both sitting straighter now, angled toward each other. Close enough that their knees nearly touched. Her cobalt eyes flickered over his face - searching - maybe checking for doubt.

He wondered the same thing.

This wasn’t like anyone else he’d been with. There was no chase, no uncertainty about who the other person was. He knew how she took her coffee. Knew she cried at commercials with old dogs. Knew exactly how her laugh changed when it was real versus polite. There was nothing anonymous about this. 

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay.”

Neither of them moved at first.

It was almost comical how two adults who had known each other for over a decade suddenly were unsure of who should close the gap. Her breathing had changed - it was slower now. He searched her face for hesitation but found none. Still, he gave her the out.

“You sure?”

She nodded once.

This time, when he leaned in, it wasn’t tentative. His hand slid to her waist, steady and warm. Her fingers curled into his shirt automatically, like her body remembered the last time even if her brain had tried to overanalyze it.

Their mouths met.

It wasn’t frantic.

It wasn’t experimental.

It was intentional.

He moved slowly, giving her space to respond, to explore without pressure. She adjusted—tentatively at first, then surer when he didn’t pull away. Her hand slid from his chest to his shoulder, then up into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He exhaled softly against her mouth and the sound did something to her.

This wasn’t like Jackson.

There was no sense of performing. No internal checklist. No wondering if she was doing it right. This felt collaborative. When she shifted closer, it wasn’t because she thought she should. It was because she wanted to. They broke apart only when breathing required it.

His eyes searched hers, wide but not panicked.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, lips slightly swollen. “Yeah.”

More than okay. There was colour in her cheeks, confidence was blooming. 

Quinn leaned in and kissed her again. This kiss was different. Not a short little peck. It was a full-blown open mouth kiss. It was full force, tongue grazing her bottom lip already desperate for entry. Her nails dragged through his hair, scratching his neck as she welcomed him in. Her entire body arched toward him on instinct. 

Quinn forgot who he was kissing. He got lost in the moment, lost in her, and he forgot about everything around him. Only able to focus on one thing, kissing.

A soft sound escaped her — surprised, almost — and it sent a pulse of heat through him that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with desire. She pulled away, with their foreheads still touching she whispered, “want to go to your bedroom?”

His throat went dry.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t take her hand. It felt too deliberate. So he let her stand, let her lead.

The bedroom door closed behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded heavier than it ought to. The realization of what was to come, what they were going to do. 

They stood facing each other for a moment, suddenly awkward in a way they hadn’t been with each other. The easy rhythm from the couch was replaced with something quieter. More vulnerable.

Heat bloomed behind Charlotte's cheeks and she swallowed hard enough for Quinn to notice.  

With a shaky breath, Charlotte turned. With her back to him before she could lose her nerve, she hooked her fingers into the hem of her crewneck. It slid over her head and landed in a soft pile on the floor. She shuddered as the cold air kissed her skin. She paused for half a second, breathing in, then her fingers moved to the zipper of her jeans.

Quinn dropped his eyes. Watching felt unexpectedly intimate, like he could see her naked, but the act of getting naked was too much. Quinn reached for his clothes and let everything land in a heap on the floor.

When the last sound of fabric settling faded, the room felt impossibly still. Charlotte’s skin looked almost luminous against the dim lamplight. There were a few freckles scattered over her shoulder blade — small constellations he had never noticed before.

She stood with her hands at her sides, eyes down at the floor. He couldn’t tell if she was scared to look or scared to see him looking. And it’s not that he wanted to stare, that’s not what this was about, but he couldn’t help it. 

Twelve years.

And he’d never seen that.

She exhaled slowly and turned around, not all at once — like she was bracing for impact. When she faced him, her hands hovered awkwardly at her sides, fingers twitching once before going still. Her eyes stayed down on the floor.

He’d seen her in a bathing suit. Twice. Once at the lake after graduation and once on that beach trip with friends where she’d worn an oversized button-up half the day.

Never like this.

Her body wasn’t dramatic or exaggerated — it was real. She has a smaller-chested than he might have guessed but beneath the sweaters and layered tops, it was hard to know. She had always covered herself, and at this moment, he couldn’t understand why. He let his eyes move slowly, not hungrily — just taking her in. Down the gentle slope of her stomach. The subtle curve of her hips she always disguised under high-waisted jeans and loose dresses. Over the small tuft of hair he could tell she kept groomed.

His jaw tightened slightly, and his cock began to harden. Inadvertently, he licked his lips and forced himself to lift his gaze back to her face.

Her cheeks were on fire, watching him take her in. Her body stiffened for half a second — not recoiling, just aware.

She’d seen him shirtless before. At the lake or after his summer runs. Seeing his muscular physique didn’t surprise her, seeing it did. She had nothing to compare it to, but it felt big, intimidating. As if it could break her without even trying. 

Her throat felt dry and her pulse thundered in her ears. The vulnerability of it hit her all at once. “We’re not having sex today.” Her eyes widened immediately in horror, the words came out louder than intended.

Quinn’s face gently curled into a smile. “Lesson 2: never go home without touching the other bases.”

Charlotte’s face twists. “Wha-”

“On the bed.” He told her with a demanding tone.

Charlotte climbed onto the bed, and Quinn towered over her. She lay on her back and Quinn trailed a finger up her thigh toward her hip. Her body shivered and Quinn picked up on it, there was no way he couldn’t. 

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly.

“Yeah.”

“You need to tell me if you’re nervous.”

“I will.” Charlotte told him.

Quinn let his hand slowly explore her body. He gently massaged her breast and let his thumb roll over her pebbled nipple. He went to kiss her but at the last moment he remembered the rules and set his forehead to hers.

Charlotte let out a shaky exhale and eyes fluttered closed. “Are you ready?” Quinn probed.

“Yeah.” She kicked her legs out slightly.

Eventually his fingers moved to touch her folds. Subtle at first - the tip of his index finger rubbed up and down through her entrance. Quinn watched as her face changed with every movement of his fingers until he eased a finger into her wet heat, followed closely by a second.

Charlotte bit her lower lip and let out a very uneasy exhale. He gently nudged them in further and further, then let them rest once his palm brushed against her clit.

“You okay?” 

“Yes.” She let out a shuddering breath.

Quinn began to move his wrist, thrusting his fingers deep but slow. He wanted to stretch her as much as possible, let her grow comfortable. 

He could tell by her gentle sighs that she was enjoying herself, however tame his actions were. Those breathy moans quickly had his cock throbbing against her thigh. After a few more thrusts, Quinn let his thumb find her clit and used the momentum of his fingers moving back and forth to nudge her swollen bundle of nerves. His rhythm started to pick up, and by the time he found the perfect speed, she was so wet that the disgustingly obscene sound of his fingers fucking in and out made her cheeks grow painfully hot.

“You like that?” Quinn murmured softly against her neck. His left hand cupped her breast and used the pad of his thumb to roll over her pickering nipple. “It feel good, Char?”

“Yeeee…yes.” She stammered out through a broken breath. It was so hard to talk, impossible to form words when all she could concentrate on was the heat tugging and twisting low in her belly. 

“What do you like?” He hummed in satisfaction.

Charlotte let out a breathy sigh. Her toes curled into the duvet as she squirmed under him, her entire body was getting hotter, nerves were slowly beginning to tingle. The grip on her breast tightened and she inadvertently ground her hips against his wrist. 

Quinn grinned devilishly. “What do you like, Char?” He asked, a little firmer this time. “Tell me what you like, Char.”

Charlotte’s eyes were shut and a slow tear began to roll down her cheek. He stilled his fingers and pulled back to look at her, watching as she looked up at the interruption.

“Part of this is telling the person you are with what you like and what you don’t like.”

“You already know what girls like.”

“Women.” He corrected her. “But they’re all different. Some want it soft and slow, like this.” He shifted beside her and drove his fingers into her painfully slow. She tried to close her legs because the bliss was almost too much, but he threw his thigh over hers to keep them spread.

“Some like it, like this.” He moved them back inside her again, this time curling them deep and she let out a strangled cry. He laughed. “That hit the spot, huh?”

“Mm, s-something like that,” she whined desperately, grinding her hips down harder against Quinn’s palm. He let out a deep laugh and continued to curl them deeper and deeper, nudging against her fraying nerve. His fingers disappear in and out of her with simple dexterity. They were coated in her slick, more and more appearing with every thrust. He repeated the movement over and over, Charlotte's cries getting louder and louder each time.

“Yes.” Charlotte began to whisper. “Yes…yes…oh right there.”

He massaged her clit as his fingers continued their onslaught. Her little moans became louder and infrequent as she struggled to retain composure. Every part of her body was on fire and her legs were restless. 

“Quinn. I have to pee.” She said urgently, surprised by the sensation immediately washing over her. Quinn grinned but didn’t stop, curling his fingers in as far as he could. “Quinn. I need -“

“No, you don’t, Charlotte.” He said calmly.

“Quinn.” She tried to warn but a moan caught deep in her gut. 

“Char, you have to trust me. Let this happen.”

Charlotte tried to process what he was saying. The whole premise of this was trust. That’s why she went to him. But she couldn’t understand why he’d be willing to risk this. She knew some people had kinks and this was one of them, but she never took Quinn as the type. 

The thoughts barely had a chance to land because Quinn ducked down and licked over her breast. She let out a sharp gasp, and he did it again, rolling his tongue around her nipple. 

She moaned his name over and over again as a rush of something exploded onto his fingers. She was too strung out to be horrified, the inexplicable pleasure heating her from the inside out quickly extinguished any embarrassment. 

“That was…” she trailed off, her voice thin and breathless. She pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth like she could hold the feeling there, like it might spill out if she didn’t. “That was unbelievable.”

Quinn pulled his hand out and gently wiped it clean on the duvet. He shifted beside her, settling onto the pillow. The mattress dipped under his weight and she felt it everywhere — in the quiet aftershocks still humming under her skin, in the way her pulse was only just beginning to slow.

The room fell into a soft, suspended silence.

Charlotte stared at the ceiling, trying to gather herself. Trying to understand what had just happened — how something that had terrified her for so long could feel so easy. So safe. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t overwhelming in the way she’d always imagined. It wasn’t losing control.

It was choosing to let go.

Two months ago, she would have laughed if someone told her she’d be here. In Quinn’s bed. Bare and exposed in every way. She’d built her life around control — careful clothes, careful words, careful distance.

And yet…

Quinn was watching her like she was something fragile and formidable all at once. His curls were damp at the temples. His chest rose and fell heavier than usual. There was something different in his expression now.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

She huffed a small laugh, then swallowed. “I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

“Like what?”

“I mean—” She rolled onto her side to face him fully, tucking her hand under her cheek. “I thought I’d be awkward. Or too in my head. Or…” Her voice dipped. “Too much.”

Quinn’s expression shifted, something protective flashed behind his eyes. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “You were none of those things.”

“I know…I really, really, liked that.”

“Good.” Quinn smiled in response.

Finally, her eyes drifted lower — taking him in without the haze of nerves this time. Her breath caught as she landed on his erection - rock hard just from touching her. From watching her.

Charlotte shifted and her breathing became heavy. “Do you want me…want me to…I can.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked again, just to be certain.

He smiled — softer now, not cocky and placed a soft kiss in her hairline. “I’ll take care of it later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Quinn nodded. “Tonight is about you.”

[leafs-lover]

https://www.tumblr.com/leafs-lover/815224521065938944/i-just-read-interlude-and-istg-fred-better-be

I think the saddest bits though is how Taylour reacted to finding out Amelia was leaving. Because he go to love that baby. And a small part of me is hoping Fred somehow finds the guy who’s taking care of Amelia and can look into how she’s doing and be so often even after he’s moved on

Taylour does not have a good reaction to Amelia leaving. It takes a while for Auston & Tia to realize the full extent of it, and they wish they addressed it more with him/found a therapist to help him work through it. You will see a bit of his reaction in one of the bonus chapters.

Aubrey has a public Instagram and through her he finds Amelia’s bio dad who is also public. He has a finsta, and he follows both accounts on there. Aubrey occasionally spends time with Amelia, and as time goes on it’s less and less frequent but he is always very eager to check her stories and see if it’s something with Amelia.

Her biodad posts occasional stories, maybe once every couple weeks and will post to his grid every few months so Fred can kind of watch from afar. He used to go on his Finsta multiple times a day to see if there was an update but as time went on he found himself searching them or viewing their stories. Every once in a while he will search the bio dad’s account to see if he’s posted anything new, but as time goes on he does that less and less until one day he just stops.

[leafs-lover]

I just read Interlude and Istg Fred better be getting that baby back. Biological dad better be a deadbeat because Fred is getting his baby back. He’s gonna get his baby back. Like in his story, he’s getting his baby back right?

I don’t normally give out spoilers, but no, he won’t be getting Amelia back. Biodad is a great father and steps up to raise her in the best way he can. Amelia goes on to have a great life.

This is a major event that shifts who Fred is and we will see the impacts of that summer play out in his story with Nicole.

[leafs-lover]

Lessons in trust, lesson 4 will not be released today. I had to leave work early because I’m sick so I cannot stare at my laptop long enough to get it posted

[leafs-lover]

Lessons In Trust Masterlist

A/N: Felt bad for the delayed release of lesson two (and that one is more a filler than anything else) so I decided to release lesson three for you all. I am going to try for weekly releases on Monday's going forward. If you want to be on the taglist, let me know 😊

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two, a little kissing. There is nothing explicit in this, but future parts will be, minors DNI.

Word Count: 2,500

Charlotte didn’t expect to hear from Quinn for a while.

From the texts he’d sent, the last few weeks had been a blur. Games were stacked back to back, interviews about the trade, moving into his new apartment, flying home for Christmas. It felt like he didn’t have a second to spare but almost every day he found the time to check in or send her some gif through instagram. 

So when her phone lit up at 4:02 p.m. with Quinn across the screen, she blinked at it in surprise.

She was still at her desk, construction paper snowmen scattered across the surface. The hallway outside her classroom echoed with the last of her second graders being herded toward buses. The room smelled faintly like crayons and glue sticks and the peppermint lotion she kept in her drawer.

“Quinn,” she murmured to herself, staring at his name like it might disappear. She answered on the third ring. “Hi.”

“Hey, Char.” His voice came through warm and easy, as if no time had passed. That was the thing she loved most about her friendship. “What’s up? How was your Christmas?”

“It was good,” she said automatically. “Saw my mom.”

She left out the part where her mother critiqued her apartment, her job, her entire life. Left out the way she’d gone to bed feeling twelve again - small and uncertain and not enough.

“You?” she asked.

“Got to see my family for a few days,” he said. “So loud and crazy.” They both let out a faint laugh, the three Hughes brothers didn’t know anything but. “Nice break from everything.”

She pictured him back in Michigan, in the house she knew by heart. His mom probably cooked too much food. His dad talked hockey at the kitchen table. The life that had always seemed so solid.

She smiled faintly at that. “Settling in?”

“Trying to. Hey—what are you up to tonight?”

“Tonight?” She glanced at the clock again like it might have the answer.

“Yeah. A couple of the guys and their girlfriends are grabbing dinner. Thought maybe you’d want to join. They’re excited to meet my friend.”

The words landed softly, but her stomach still flipped.

She imagined walking into a restaurant full of professional athletes and their effortlessly confident girlfriends. Imagined the questions. How do you two know each other? Oh, high school? You never dated? How cute.

“Oh,” she said, heat creeping up her neck. “I, uh… I actually have plans.”

“On a school night?” he teased.

She could hear the grin in his voice. High school Charlotte never went out on weekdays unless her mother had signed off on it like it was a permission slip.

“Yes,” she hissed, fighting her own smile. “I have a date.”

“With Jason?”

“Jackson,” she corrected, and the fact that he didn’t know the name stung in a way she didn’t examine too closely. “I’m free tomorrow though.”

There was a quiet hum on the other end of the line. “Tomorrow then.”

It wasn’t a question.

**

The next evening, Charlotte stood outside Quinn’s apartment building for a full thirty seconds before buzzing up.

She had known him since she was fifteen. He had seen her in oversized youth group sweatshirts, with braces and hair that refused to cooperate. He had once driven her to the neighbouring town as she  cried in his passenger seat because her mother had drawn out her life for her and refused to listen to any objections Charlotte may have. 

So why did this feel different?

The door flew open before she even knocked.

“Char!” His smile was immediate, uncomplicated.

He was barefoot in loose grey track pants and a thin long-sleeve shirt. His curls were still damp, darker at the ends. He looked comfortable here already, like he could belong anywhere.

She stepped inside, and warmth wrapped around her from the heated floors and the faint scent of something woodsy - body wash, maybe.

“Hi,” she said softly, stepping inside.

He took her coat from her hands without thinking. “Nice place,” she added, looking around.

The apartment was big. Open. Airy in a way her one-bedroom never could be.

Clean lines. Furniture that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Warm hardwood floors stretched toward floor-to-ceiling windows. The kitchen gleamed with stainless steel and dark cabinetry. Decor was minimal but that didn’t surprise her.

“It’s not really me,” he admitted. “The team has people who help with all this. I’d still be in a hotel if I had to figure it out myself.”

She smiled faintly. “Must be nice.”

He caught the edge in her tone but didn’t comment.

“Wine?” he offered, moving toward the kitchen.

“Water’s good.”

He leaned against the counter and gave her a look. “Char. You’re an adult. You’re allowed to drink on a school night.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Quinn. I’m just not feeling it.”

“Long day? Seven-year-olds staging a coup?”

“No.” She smiled faintly and sank onto the couch.  “My kids are great. So, what do you want to watch?”

“Have you seen the new season of Stranger Things?”

“No. Between my mom visiting and school…” She trailed off. “I never got around to it.”

**

They watched the first episode in relative quiet.

Or rather—Quinn watched.

Charlotte tried to focus.

She really did.

But her thoughts kept snagging on the night before. On Jackson’s hand at her waist. On the way he’d pulled back mid-kiss and said, almost apologetically, Relax more.

Her phone buzzed once beside her. She didn’t pick it up, but she saw his name.She kept staring out the window, fingers clicking nervously against each other.

When she rewound the episode for the second time, Quinn reached over and paused it.

“Char.”

She blinked. “Hmm?”

“What’s going on? You alright?” The gentleness in his voice almost undid her.

“Yeah,” she said too fast. “I’m fine.”

He shifted closer, catching her wrist lightly before she could retreat into herself.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Charlotte.” His tone firmed just enough to cut through her deflection. “What’s wrong?”

She exhaled, shoulders slumping. “I’m just… distracted.”

“With?” He arched a brow.

She stared at the dark TV screen for a long moment. “Jackson,” she finally admitted.

“Ah.” He leaned back slightly. “The date that bad?”

“No. It was fine.”

“Fine?” He tilted his head. “That’s how you describe a haircut.”

“Yeah.” She gave a humorless shrug. “I just think…” She swallowed. “I think he’s going to want to have sex soon.”

Quinn blinked once. “Okay.”

“And I don’t know what to do.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “If you don’t want to, then don’t.”

“The thing is…” Her voice lowered as if the truth scared her. “I might want to.”

“Then do it.”

She stared at him.

He ran a hand through his curls. “What? That’s the logical answer.”

Of course it was logical to him.

For Quinn, sex was like breathing. Effortless. There were probably girls who wanted to sleep with him just to say they had.

There had never been a line for her. A couple awkward college dates. One almost-thing that fizzled. That was it until Jackson. 

“I’ll just do it,” she muttered, nodding like she was convincing herself. “Yeah. I’ll just have sex with Jackson.”

“Okay,” Quinn said slowly.

But he was watching her now.

The way her breathing hitched. The way her gaze locked onto the window and didn’t move. The way her fingers trembled slightly.

“Charlotte,” he said carefully. “Have you had sex before?”

Silence.

Her cheeks flushed deep pink.

“I—life got busy,” she started. “School. Work. It’s not like I didn’t have opportunities. I just…” She swallowed hard. “Quinn, I’m a virgin.”

The words felt enormous in the room.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t react dramatically.

He just nodded once. “Okay.”

“That sounds pathetic,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t,” he said immediately.

“I’m twenty-six.”

“So?” he said quietly.

“So, it feels like I missed something everyone else figured out years ago.”

“Most people were idiots years ago,” he muttered.

She huffed out a tiny laugh despite herself.

“Do you want to have sex with Jackson?” he asked again.

“He wants—”

“I don’t care what he wants,” Quinn cut in, sharper now. “Do you want to?”

She hesitated.

“…Yes. But I’m nervous,” she stuttered out. “He implied I’m not a great kisser. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to be bad. I don’t want my first time to be awkward and embarrassing.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened slightly. “What exactly did he say?”

“He’s said things like ‘relax more’ or ‘less tongue.’ And then last night we were making out and he said he was tired and left.”

Quinn exhaled slowly.“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Has anyone ever left in the middle of kissing you?” she asked, voice cracking. “Has anyone ever decided they’d rather leave than keep touching you?”

She broke on the last word.

And that’s when he understood.

This wasn’t about sex.

It was about rejection.

He shifted closer again, his voice softer now.

“Char. That doesn’t mean you were bad.”

“But what if I am?” she whispered. “What if I finally do it and it’s terrible and he doesn’t want to do it again?”

He watched her for a long moment.

“You’re not a performance,” he said quietly. “You’re a person.”

She shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

She turned away, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She lifted her thumb to her mouth and bit at her nail—a habit she hadn’t broken since she was fifteen.

“I don’t want to be in ny head my first time with him,” she admitted. “I want to feel confident, not judged.”

He felt something shift in his chest at that.

“I just wish I knew what I was doing,” she whispered. His expression changed slightly. More focused. Careful. She hesitated, pulse pounding in her ears. “I wish I wasn’t walking into it completely clueless.”

He held her gaze.

Quinn stepped up behind her and gently turned her by the shoulder so she faced him.“Clueless doesn’t mean incapable,” he said.

“Teach me.”

The words left her before she could think.

His hand stilled on her arm.

“Teach me, Quinn,” she whispered, pulse racing.

The vulnerability in her voice wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was honest.

He stared at her, trying to reconcile this version of Charlotte with the one he’d always known—careful, thoughtful, never impulsive.

“Char, I-“ he started to protest. 

“We both know you have experience, you lost your virginity to Wendy Nash at 16.” She reminded him. “You’ve done the ‘just sex’ thing before.”

That was different, he thinks to himself. Those were people he didn’t see in his life permanently. Charlotte has been his friend for over a decade. 

“What if things get weird?” he asked quietly.

“Then we stop,” she said quickly. “We stop immediately. But this wouldn’t be like that, it would be… instructional.”

Charlotte knows Quinn has experience but more than anything, he knows how to keep emotion out of it. And that’s what she needs, to keep the emotion separate and strictly learn, she needs to feel confident the next time Jackson kisses her. 

“That’s one way to get a guy.”

“I know.” Her eyes lifted to his. “But that’s why it makes sense. You’re my longest friend. I’m comfortable with you. You know me. And I trust you.”

There it was again.

Trust.

Quinn watches her cobalt eyes flicker over his face, hopeful. The air between them was thick, but not entirely with tension. Something else was building. He hesitated only a second longer before lowering his head.

The first brush of his lips against hers was barely there. There were no fireworks, tongue dragging through the other's mouth, no hunger. It was soft and brief, purely contact to test the waters.

He pulled back immediately, giving her space to retreat.

She didn’t.

So he tried again — slower this time. More certain. His hand rested lightly at her waist, not pulling, just there. His mouth pressed to hers with deliberate softness.

Her palms flattened against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. His hand slid to the small of her back, warm and grounding.He adjusted gently, angling slightly, letting the kiss deepen without rushing it.

Something unfamiliar unfurled low in her stomach - not nerves and it wasn’t exactly desire. Moreso recognition that she was kissing Quinn. But that recognition didn’t bring panic or feel as though they were crossing a forbidden line, nor did it bring realization that they should have been doing this for the last ten years. It was different from the kisses she’d had before because she wasn’t trying to impress herself or him. She was just aware. Aware that she was kissing Quinn.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted immediately, embarrassment flooding her.

His hands dropped at once, giving her space. “Lesson one,” he said gently, “you never apologize for having boundaries.”

She swallowed, lips tingling. Her heart wouldn’t slow down.

“Maybe this is too weird,” he offered.

But it hadn’t felt weird.

That was the problem.

There had been a softness to it. A weight he hadn’t expected. But it also hadn’t felt like some grand revelation. Not like they’d missed something obvious all these years.

Just… different.

Layered.

“Is this about Jackson?” he asked carefully. While Jackson had made it known it was too early for him to be exclusive, Quinn wondered if the realization was too much for Charlotte. 

“No,” she said immediately. “He didn’t cross my mind.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me neither.” He hoped to lighten the tension. 

“I just became very aware of what was happening,” she admitted. “And I liked that it was you because I trust you. But it felt different because it was you. If that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It does.”

The air between them felt heavier now. Charged in a way neither of them had expected. For the first time in ten years, there was something here that didn’t fit into the clean lines of their friendship. Not messy. Not destructive. Just undefined.

“Maybe you should think about it,” he added. 

She just nodded. 

“And while you think about it, you have to talk to me. We don’t get to avoid each other. If we can’t handle a kiss, we won’t be able to handle more and we have to stop now. 

We. 

Her chest tightened at the word.

He motioned lightly between them. “This comes first.”

“Agreed.”

They stood there for a long moment in the quiet glow of the apartment. They were no longer friends watching TV,  but they also weren’t really anything else either. Something had shifted and they didn’t know what to make of it.

They only knew it didn’t feel wrong.

And that somehow made it more complicated.

[leafs-lover]

Lessons In Trust Masterlist

A/N: If you want to be on the taglist, let me know 😊

Warnings: overbearing and controlling mothers, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,300

Christmas came quietly.

Snow lined the sidewalks outside Charlotte’s apartment building. The hallway smelled faintly of pine cleaner and someone’s overcooked sugar cookies. Inside her one-bedroom, the lights from a small artificial tree blinked steadily in the corner, reflecting off the single window that overlooked the parking lot.

It wasn’t much.

But it was hers.

The couch was secondhand but soft. The bookshelf held countless novels other teachers had recommended and a row of carefully labeled bins filled with lesson plans. Her dining table was really just a round bistro table tucked near the window, two mismatched chairs squeezed beneath it. The kitchen was narrow enough that if you opened the oven door fully, you couldn’t pass behind it.

Cozy. Sufficient.

Mary called it something else.

“Well,” her mother said slowly, standing just inside the doorway with her gloved hands clasped in front of her. “It’s… small.”

Charlotte forced a smile and shut the door against the cold. “It’s a one-bedroom, Mom. It’s pretty standard.”

Mary stepped farther in, eyes scanning every corner like she was conducting an inspection. Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the laminate flooring.

“I just don’t understand why you’d choose this,” she said, brushing a finger along the edge of the counter as if checking for dust. “You could have so much more space at home.”

Charlotte inhaled slowly.

Home.

Meaning Michigan. Meaning her childhood bedroom with the pale yellow walls her mother had picked when she was eight. Meaning the same twin bed. The same dresser. The same life that had always felt mapped out before she had the chance to draw her own lines.

“I don’t need more space,” Charlotte said evenly. “It’s just me.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Mary turned to her with arms folded over her chest. “You’re twenty-six years old. You should be saving. Planning for a future. Not paying rent to live in what is essentially a shoebox.”

Charlotte swallowed. She knew what her mother didn’t: that her teacher’s salary barely stretched as it was. She loved her classroom, she loved hearing about her students day, the crooked paper snowflakes taped to the windows. She loved what she did and where she did it but it wasn’t lucrative.

She budgeted carefully. She didn’t go out much. She chose this apartment because she could afford it.

Alone.

“I like my space,” she said quietly.

Mary’s brows lifted. “You never minded sharing space before.”

Before.

Before meant high school. Before meant rules and curfews and approved friend lists. Before meant her mother deciding which colleges were “acceptable” and which extracurriculars looked best on applications. Before was when Mary had her life mapped out long before Charlotte had been old enough to argue. Before was when she was supposed to be a dentist or optometrist. Something respectable - as Mary called it - with conventional hours so she’d be home every evening with her husband and kids. Before was when Mary would talk about Charlotte’s life and she would sit there quietly and nod because it was easier than the alternative - well, that part never really changed.

“This is different,” Charlotte said. “It’s my place. I can decorate how I want. I can come home when I want.”

Mary moved toward the tiny kitchen, opening a cabinet without asking. “You could move back into your old room. It’s still there. I haven’t touched a thing. You’d save thousands a year. You could apply to districts closer to home. There are perfectly good schools, even some private ones.”

Charlotte’s chest felt tight.

“I don’t want to move back,” she said, a little more firmly than she felt.

“Why not?” Mary pressed. “What is here that’s so important?”

Freedom.

The word lodged in Charlotte’s throat but never made it out.

Instead she said, “My job. My students. My life.”

Mary gave a soft, humourless laugh. “Your life? Charlotte, sweetheart, you’re living in a one-bedroom apartment in a city where you know no one.”

“I know people.”

“Oh?” Mary’s tone was skeptical. “Like who?”

“Michaela…my book club.” Charlotte hesitated for a minute. She knew better than to mention Jackson - Mary would be orchestrating an evening grill him on things she hadn’t even asked yet. Maybe when they were more serious and Charlotte could confidently call him her boyfriend, but for now she was keeping Jackson a secret. “Quinn.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Quinn?”

“Yes. He was traded. He’s playing for Minnesota now.”

Mary rolled her eyes before Charlotte had even finished the sentence. “Of course he is.”

“Mom.”

“He’s a hockey player, Charlotte.”

“And?”

“And you remember what those boys were like in high school.” Her voice sharpened. “Drinking. Parties. Always one bad decision away from ruining something.”

Charlotte felt heat crawl up her neck. “He wasn’t like that.”

“He was exactly like that.”

“He was seventeen,” Charlotte shot back before she could stop herself. “So was everyone else.”

Mary sighed, as if exhausted by the argument already. “Professional athletes are not known for stability.”

“He’s grown up,” Charlotte insisted. “He’s responsible. He works harder than anyone I know.”

Mary arched a brow. “And you’ve spent enough time with him recently to determine that?”

The question hung heavy between them.

Charlotte thought of the bar the night he arrived. The way he’d looked at her like she wasn’t invisible. The steady way he’d listened when she talked about her classroom. The texts that followed—short, teasing, easy.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I have.”

Mary’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I just don’t want you getting swept up in something… foolish.”

“I’m not getting swept up.”

“A hockey player in a new city?” Mary said pointedly. “That sounds exactly like swept up.”

Charlotte’s hands curled at her sides. “You don’t know him.”

“I know enough.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice shook now, but she didn’t stop. “You didn’t know who he was at sixteen. You don’t know who he is now.”

Mary stared at her, clearly startled by the pushback.

Charlotte rarely pushed.

“You always think you know what’s best,” Charlotte continued, softer but steadier. “Where I should live. Who I should be friends with. What I should do.”

“Because I’m your mother.”

“I know.” Her throat tightened. “But I’m not in high school anymore.”

The Christmas lights blinked steadily in the corner. Outside, snow drifted down past the window in quiet sheets.

Mary looked around the apartment again - at the small couch, the tree, the stack of wrapped gifts for Charlotte’s students on the table.

“I just want more for you,” she said finally.

Charlotte swallowed. “This is more.”

This life wasn’t big nor was it impressive by most standarads. It certainly wasn’t what her mother would have chosen - she made that known when Charlotte changed majors her first year.

But it was hers.

Mary didn’t respond right away. Instead, she picked up one of the small ornaments on the tree—a paper star clearly handmade.

“What’s this?”

“One of my kids made it,” Charlotte said. “He insisted I keep it.”

Mary set it down carefully. “You always did love kids.”

“I still do.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Mary said at last, though her tone suggested otherwise. “Just… think about Michigan. About stability.”

Charlotte nodded because she didn’t have the strength to argue further.

But as she watched her mother unpack her overnight bag, placing it neatly by the couch that would double as her bed, Charlotte felt something solidify inside her.

She wasn’t moving back.

Not for space. Not for money. Not for safety. Certainly not for Mary.

[leafs-lover]

When will part two of the Quinn fic be dropped?

I planned for weekly releases but I have been so sick this week. I can’t even think about sitting at my computer for a half hour+ as I format and everything else.

It will be posted once I’m feeling better.