the art of yearning, @love44lew - Tumblr Blog

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤┃wc: 17.9k

– the one where you navigate minnesota, quinn navigates you, and you both try to navigate sex for the first time since lilith's birth. [belongs to this universe]. 18+ Minors DNI ★ postpartum insecurities about sex and body image. smut, in order: oral (m!) receiving, sending nudes, phone sex, mutual masturbation, oral (f!) receiving, unprotected penetrative sex, slight breeding kink, and some cockwarming at the end. A/N: this has four separate sections so if you don't feel like reading it all in one go, you can easily split it up, stopping by every numbered star divider ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

Quinn didn’t know what to do with you.

That was the thought that kept circling his head late at night, whenever he was home, doing the dishes or cleaning stuff away, when the apartment was quiet except for the static from the baby monitor he kept with him at all times and the ruffle of bedsheets he could here from you moving around.

You and Lilith were finally settled in St. Paul with him. It had taken longer than he’d wanted, longer than he’d promised you it would. The trade had come at the worst possible time, right in the middle of everything.

When he first joined the Wild, his calendar had been brutal. Long road trips stacked back-to-back, practices bleeding into travel days, and then February disappearing entirely into Milano for the Olympics. He wasn’t even sure how many days he’d actually spent in Minnesota. It wasn’t many. There hadn’t been time to find anything permanent, anything that could feel like a home, not until late March—playoffs around the corner, his body already running on fumes.

If he was honest with himself, Quinn hadn’t wanted to think about anything that wasn’t hockey. And a quiet, guilty part of him still wished he could’ve stayed that way. Sometimes, in the ugliest corners of his mind, he thought about Vancouver—about how extending his contract might’ve spared you all of this.

How maybe he wouldn’t now be standing in a kitchen that didn’t feel like home, trying to figure out why the woman he loved was slipping out of reach for him.

He’d expected you to be anxious. That had been the obvious thing. Reasonable, even.

You were leaving your hometown. Leaving your family. You were bringing a three-month-old baby to a new country where you knew no one. Of course you’d be nervous. Of course you’d need support. Quinn had prepared for that.

So he flew your Nana out first. Your mom couldn’t get the time off work, but your Nana was retired—and she’d been happy to come, happy to spend time with Lilith and take some of the weight off your shoulders. When she eventually had to fly back to Vancouver, his mom came instead, stepping in without hesitation. Between the two of them and him, you were never alone. Not once in that first month. Quinn made sure of it.

He thought that would fix it.

But when it didn’t, he moved on to the next explanation. The apartment. It had to be the apartment.

It was more than big enough for the three of you. Bright. New. In a good neighborhood. But it was the same kind of space he’d lived in before. A new-build box of concrete and glass. You’d hated his place in Vancouver at first, so you were bound to hate it here too.

So Quinn decided that had to be it. Another problem to solve.

He had things from your old place shipped out. Kelly had almost been his best friend too for all of this—helping him help you. Quinn tried to recreate what he remembered you loving. He hung your print of Van Gogh’s water lilies in the living room, carefully centered. He filled the kitchen cabinets with your mismatched pottery, the quirky mugs and bowls you’d collected over the years.

You were still exhausted. Still healing. Still finding your way back into your body after pregnancy and labor, after everything it had taken from you. But when he finished setting things up, he’d seen a spark of joy in your eyes. A soft, giddy little smile as you were making your tea in the morning, filling up your favorite mug.

Like you’d recognized yourself again.

He’d really thought that would be it. The end of the problems. Which was why he really didn’t know what to do with you now.

You’d gone quiet.

Not angry. Not tearful. Just quiet. You talked to him about logistics, about his schedule, about groceries and appointments, and who was doing what on what day. Practical things. You didn’t even fight him on anything. And part of him hated himself for noticing how easy that made things.

He was gone so often it barely mattered anyway. And when you were together, you were both too tired to care.

Some nights, Quinn almost wished you would get mad. That you’d snap at him over something small and stupid—dirty dishes, a missed text, the way he tracked dirt into the entryway. Anything. Just so he could hear your voice in something other than a tired, monotonous mumble.

You were like living with a ghost.

He worried—quietly, constantly—that he’d stripped something essential from you when he took you out of Vancouver. That whatever version of you he fell in love with had grown there, and he’d uprooted her without even realizing it.

Tonight, he came home late after a home game. Another win. It should've felt good, but it didn’t. You’d cooked. He could smell it lingering in the air. The leftovers sat in the fridge, neatly packed away. He ate alone, standing at the counter, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. When he finished, he washed the dishes by hand.

You’d put Lilith to bed. Wordlessly. You’d left the baby monitor with him in the kitchen in case you fell asleep first.

Down the hallway, the bedroom door was still half open after you.

He could see you on the bed, stretched out on your stomach, a book propped in your hand. Your nightgown had ridden up, lace bunched over your ass, bare skin catching the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

A few months ago, the sight would’ve undone him. Now he didn’t know what to think. Because he knew you didn’t mean it. You weren’t being cheeky on purpose. You weren’t trying to tempt him or remind him of anything. You just… existed like that now, unaware of yourself in a way that scared him more than the distance ever had.

Quinn wanted to yell.

He didn’t even know what he’d say—whether it would come out angry or desperate or cracked clean through with sadness. He just needed something to break this. To prove you were still here. That you could still meet him somewhere in the middle.

Instead, he did something he never would’ve imagined himself doing a few months ago. He locked himself in the hallway bathroom so you wouldn’t hear, and he called Kelly for advice.

Quinn leaned back against the sink, phone pressed against his ear as he waited for her to pick up. It only took a couple of rings before he heard an annoyed voice answering.

“Hello, traitor,” she said flatly. “How can I help you?”

Despite everything, a corner of his mouth twitched. He nervously rubbed his thumb along the seam of his phone case. He didn’t know if he should be offended or impressed that Kelly already knew he was calling for her guidance.

“I, uh—” Quinn cleared his throat. “I need your advice about Y/N.”

There was a pause on the other end. Just long enough for Quinn to interpret it as judgment.

“What have you done wrong?”

“Nothing,” Quinn said quickly. “I don’t think. Besides making her move to fucking Minnesota.”

A soft sound filtered through the speaker, half a laugh and half a sigh. “Has she gone quiet on you?” Kelly asked.

The fact that she knew without him explaining made his chest twist in a way he didn’t like.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen her like this before. It’s like she doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

Kelly exhaled slowly, the sound muffled, as if she’d turned her head away from the phone or pressed it briefly to her shoulder. “I think she just needs more time,” she said. “It’s a lot to get used to. New place, new routines. She probably isn’t feeling like herself yet.”

The words scraped at him anyway. He dragged a hand through his hair and paced the length of the bathroom, tile cool under his bare feet, before stopping again in front of the mirror. His reflection looked tired. Older than it should have.

“But do you have any idea what I can do?” he asked. “Anything to help her?”

Kelly didn’t answer right away. Quiet enough that Quinn wondered if he’d lost her.

“Do you—” she started, then stopped. “Okay, this might sound random, but… have you guys opened your Christmas present yet?”

Quinn blinked. “What?”

“I know you have it,” she continued. “I remember helping her pack it. And if it’s still sitting in a gift bag somewhere, that’s kind of criminal at this point. It’s March, Quinn.”

His brow furrowed as he tried to picture it—another thing buried in cardboard and packing tape, another reminder of how much was still unsettled. “Wasn’t it for after labor, anyway?” Quinn asked. “We’ve been a little busy, Kelly.”

“No, no—I get that,” she replied, her tone softening. “I just… I think it could be good for her. For you both. Might help boost her mood a bit.”

Quinn leaned his hip against the counter, eyes dropping to the floor. He didn’t love how small the hope felt.

“You really think so?” he asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” Kelly said. “Just… try, okay?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said after a moment. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good.” There was warmth in her voice. “Tell her I said hi and that I miss her. Buh-bye.”

The line clicked dead before he could respond.

Quinn stared at his phone for a long moment before slipping it back into his pocket. Somewhere in the apartment, tucked away in an unpacked box, was a gift he couldn’t even remember receiving.

The entryway was the only place in the apartment that was truly still a mess. I had become a place for everything you didn’t need right away or didn’t naturally have a place for already. Stacks of cardboard lined one wall like they were waiting to be acknowledged, labels scrawled in black marker—books, winter, misc.

Quinn crouched down anyway, tugging one box open, then another. Packing paper and bubble wrap crinkled under his hands, the sound too loud in the quiet apartment.

He moved slower than he needed to, like he was afraid of doing this wrong too.

By the time he found it, his knees ached and his patience was thin. The gift bag was folded nearly flat and stapled shut at the top, the paper wrinkled from being shoved between heavier things. Red and green snowflakes peeked out from the creases, cheerful in a way that almost felt accusatory.

God. Christmas felt like years ago.

He didn’t pull the staples apart, no matter how intriguing it was. Whatever this was, it wasn’t for him to inspect or prepare for. It was a leap of faith, just like Kelly had said. Or maybe just a little surprise.

The bag felt almost pathetic in Quinn’s grip as he carried it down the hallway.

You were still in the same position on the bed when he stepped into the bedroom, turned slightly onto your stomach, one leg perched up. However, your book had slipped from your hands and lay closed on the mattress near your head.

Lilith’s soft breathing crackled through the baby monitor in his hand. Quinn crossed the room quietly and set it on his nightstand, the small screen glowing reassuringly.

“Lily’s still sleeping,” he said softly. “The dishes are done. And I put away some of the stuff in the hallway.”

You didn’t respond.

He sat down on the edge of the bed anyway, close enough to feel your warmth without touching you. He picked up your book and slid it onto the nightstand, careful not to lose what page you were on.

For a split second, instinct flared. He had an almost painful urge to reach for you. To run his hand up your thigh where your nightgown had ridden up. Just to feel you in his hands again.

Quinn swallowed and tried again. “You wanna know what I found while I was cleaning?”

“I’m sleeping,” you muttered.

He huffed a small, almost-laugh through his nose. “Your eyes are open.”

You didn’t bother denying it. You shifted onto your back with a small, irritated sigh, blinking up at the ceiling like you were hesitant to look directly at him.

“I think this can boost your mood a little,” Quinn said, lifting the gift into view.

He wasn’t sure you would’ve looked at it if the bag didn’t rustle as he placed it on the bed next to you. Your gaze slowly panned over, and he saw something flicker across your face. Like you were piecing together where you recognized the bag from. Your reaction was a little delayed, and then your confused little frown line on your forehead vanished into a plain smile.

That felt like a victory in and of itself.

“Oh,” you said. “I totally forgot about this.”

He nodded, relieved you didn’t look annoyed anymore. “Yeah. Me too.”

If he thought back well enough, Quinn could probably remember when Kelly had given you the gift. On Christmas Day when he’d hidden from her, mostly because of how tired he’d been after your Nana’s marathon of a celebration but also because he figured you and Kelly should get some time alone.

“Go on, open it,” he urged.

Quinn nudged the bag closer to you. You hesitated before sitting up, fingers hovering unsurely above it for a second. When you finally opened it, you didn’t rush. You smoothed the crinkled paper absentmindedly, thumbs tracing the folded edges, eyes unfocused.

“I really have no idea what this could be,” you murmured to yourself. “Any guesses?”

He shook his head. “None.”

You kept worrying at the folded paper, thumbs smoothing the creases like you were stalling on purpose. The corner of your mouth twitched—just once—before a small, peculiar smile crept in. Soft. Almost embarrassed. Like a memory attached to the gift had caught you off guard.

Quinn watched you carefully, trying to piece it together. He figured you were probably thinking of the strange, unhinged things Kelly was capable of gifting. Or maybe you already knew what was inside, and that scared him more than anything. None of it made sense—especially not the rule that you weren’t allowed to open it until after Lilith was born.

“I feel like Kelly could’ve put anything in here,” you said.

He nodded faintly, heart knocking against his ribs, hoping—without really knowing what for—that whatever was inside might reach you in a way he hadn’t been able to lately.

When you finally managed to pry the staples apart, you peeked inside the bag for half a second before snapping it shut again like it had bitten you.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, a laugh bubbling out before you could stop it. “She’s such a freak. A total freak.”

Quinn stiffened instantly. “What is it?”

“I don’t waaaant to show you,” you said, hugging the bag to your chest, giggling like you were twelve again, and hiding contraband.

That didn’t help Quinn. Not even a little. “Is it embarrassing?” he asked anyway, already knowing the answer.

You hesitated, then tipped the bag upside down onto the bed with a little shrug. The contents spilled across the duvet in a clanky, loud scatter.

“Oh,” Quinn said. It was the only word he had. “Wow.”

The first thing he saw was dark red lace. Then the rest of the things started to make sense too. A small, pink box. A book with a couple on the cover. Another little box with a bottle taped to it that rolled to a stop near his thigh.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, already spiraling.

What the hell was Kelly thinking?

In what world was this the solution? In what universe did lingerie and sex toys fix weeks of watching you go quiet, watching you pull inward, watching him fail to figure out how to reach you without making things worse?

His first instinct was sharp and ugly—anger on your behalf, at himself for listening, at Kelly for pushing sex when communication felt like the real missing piece. But before Quinn could utter an apology, you were already reaching for the book, a smile tugging at your mouth as you read whatever note Kelly had left on it.

That made him stop.

You weren’t shrinking. You weren’t pulling away or covering up. If anything, you looked curious. Like something in your shoulders had eased, like you were allowing yourself to see the ridiculousness of it instead of being embarrassed.

“She calls it a comeback kit,” you said, tracing the edge of the note with your thumb.

“Our comeback to sex?” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could soften them.

“Something like that,” you murmured, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you flipped the book open. “But it’s not too weird. Look—it’s just questions. Prompts. Stuff about touch. About feeling close again.”

You turned the book so he could see the cover: an almost aggressively happy couple smiling beneath a bestselling sticker and a title about rekindling intimacy as new parents. Kelly’s note hung from the side like a bookmark, and Quinn could make out parts of her handwriting from a quick look.

Read together. Or don’t. I don’t make the rules.

His chest loosened, just a little. That was nothing like the narrative he’d already created in his head. It wasn’t even really about sex, not the way he’d immediately assumed.

He glanced back down at the rest of the pile, seeing it properly now instead of through that first flash of fear. Every single item had a note.

You nudged one of the smaller boxes toward him with your fingertips, watching his face as he picked it up. Condoms, neatly taped to a bottle of lube. The note tied around it was written in Kelly’s unmistakable squiggly handwriting.

I know it’s tempting, but let’s not make another baby just yet.

Quinn let out a surprised laugh, sharp and genuine, the sound cutting through the tension in the room. You giggled too, covering your mouth like you couldn’t quite believe her audacity.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.

The next note was softer somehow, even though it was stuck to a bright pink box containing a sex toy. What looked like just a normal little vibrator clearly had more purpose than just one, according to Kelly.

This one’s just for you. Sharing optional.

That was for you—about you. Not him, not even you as a couple. Just you. Your body. Your comfort. Your control over yourself.

Lastly, you reached for the lingerie. Dark red, but not loud about it. The lace looked soft, forgiving. No sharp seams, no underwire, and panties that sat high instead of cutting into weird places. You held it up carefully, feeling the fabric between your fingers. The note dangled from the tag, fluttering slightly as your hands trembled.

Soft > sexy. You don’t owe anyone a show.

Quinn swallowed. “They’re pretty,” he said before he could stop himself.

You glanced up at him—a little shy but almost a little pleased too.

He almost added that he liked the color, but he caught himself. Kelly was right. They weren’t necessarily for him to see you in. Not yet. Not until you were comfortable seeing yourself in them first.

“I don’t know how I’ll fit into this,” you said quietly, folding the fabric back over itself, already retreating a step.

He shrugged, careful with his tone. “Pretty simple, I think. You just… put it on.”

You shot him a look. “Quinn.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy.” He paused, choosing his words carefully—not because he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, but because he wanted to say the right one. “I just… I know things feel different now. And I know it takes time to recognize yourself again. But wearing something pretty doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. You can do it just for you, you know?”

You watched him closely, like you were testing whether he meant it—like you didn’t fully believe him.

“I think Kelly meant this as a confidence thing,” he added. “It’s not just for us to have sex again. She’s not that freaky.”

You smirked, the expression familiar enough to make his chest warm. “No? What if I think she is?”

“We’ll put it all away,” Quinn deflected easily. “Until you’re ready. For safekeeping.”

He gathered the boxes carefully, not rushing, and tucked them into his nightstand drawer. Close but not looming. The book went on top of his growing stack by the bed. Maybe you could look through it together some other time. Maybe not. The point was that it didn’t need to be decided right now.

“Strategic placement,” you said softly, laughing under your breath. You reached back out, lifting the red panties again, letting the fabric slip between your fingers. “But what about these?”

He looked at you, then away, deliberately casual. “You could try them on. I won’t say a word.”

Quinn had expected you to argue, to say something defensive or laugh it off before shoving them into the back of your underwear drawer.

But instead, without warning, you leaned forward.

You climbed into his lap a little clumsily, like your body forgot how this part worked for a second. Quinn caught you on instinct, arms wrapping around you as you melted into him.

It felt like something unclenched in his chest.

Your forehead pressed into his shoulder, your arms slipping around his neck, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fully settle in his embrace. Quinn leaned back against the headboard, cradling you, breathing you in. He felt full in a way he hadn’t since before the move. Since before everything had gone quiet. He was grateful to see you peek out from wherever you’d been hiding.

“Do you think Kelly knew?” you asked softly. “That I would struggle, I mean.”

Quinn stilled as he thought about it. Maybe she had. Maybe that was just what loving someone long enough looked like—that she knew what to expect from you, where you might crack, and how she could cushion the fall for you in advance. But he didn’t think that was what you needed to hear right now. So he shook his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair.

“I don’t think you’re struggling more than anyone else would,” he said. “Especially with the move. And everything else on top of it.”

You nodded into his chest, fingers curling into his shirt.

It was then quiet for a couple of minutes. Quinn didn’t dare to say something else. Not when you’d finally let him in, at least partly. Not when he had you straddling his lap, your warmth spreading through him like electricity.

He could have stayed like this forever.

He really could have—if his body hadn’t betrayed him. If your nightgown didn’t ride up every time you shifted. If the thin fabric of your underwear didn’t brush against him each time you settled deeper into his lap. If the stupid red lace hadn’t ended up right there, crumpled beside his thigh when you’d stumbled forward earlier.

He meant to move it. Just set it on the nightstand. Make it neutral again. Take the distraction out of the moment before it became something else. But when his fingers closed around the lace, soft and warm from the bed, something shifted anyway. And you were quick to notice.

“Quinn…”

The way you said his name was soft and curious. You leaned back slightly so you could see his face, your gaze flicking down to the fabric in his hand, then back up again. You felt him twitch right below where you were sitting.

“Did you…” You broke off with a giggle, hands flying up to cover your mouth. “Did you get hard just from holding lingerie?”

He would’ve liked to disappear into the mattress right then—if not for the way you laughed. A soft, surprised sound, like you hadn’t meant to call attention to it but couldn’t help yourself.

Of course he hadn’t. Well, it wasn’t only the lingerie.

It was your stupid nightgown that clung to every curve of you. Just black cotton, even long-sleeved. But the lace trims, falling over your thighs, your hands, the low scoop of the neckline, framing how soft and sweet you were.

It was Kelly’s stupid gift and the fact that you’d reacted positively to it. That you’d laughed for the first time in what felt like weeks. That you’d talked to him about something that wasn’t just logistical.

And then yes—it was the stupid red lingerie too. Because he wanted nothing else than to see you in it. Not right now. Not because you owed him anything. But because he wanted to be part of that moment when you felt ready. When you felt confident again. Kelly’s note mattered—he understood that—but he wanted so badly to be there for the journey, not just the destination. To help you get there, because he truly felt like he could. Worship you, every inch of your skin.

“No,” Quinn shook his head. He tried to move his hands away from you, suddenly too aware of how firmly they rested at your hips, of how his body was betraying the gentleness of the moment. “I think it’s everything. You can ignore it—”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off. Your hands moved to cover his, not letting them move from your hips.

Quinn didn’t understand what you were saying sorry for at first. And when he thought he did, he felt even more angry at himself. If you thought this was about him not being satisfied, about you not giving him enough after everything your body had been through, he almost laughed at how wrong that would be.

“Don’t be,” he said quickly, careful to soften his voice. “Please don’t. I’m kinda used to my imagination running wild anyway.”

Your hands stayed where they were, thumbs warm against his knuckles. He tried to read your face, but he struggled. You were quiet for a moment, biting down on your lower lip before you softly started to ask, “Do you…”

“Do I what?” he prompted.

“Do you do it often?” you continued. “Touch yourself, I mean,”

Quinn blinked, a little surprised. He guessed he’d led the conversation right there, even though he hadn’t thought you’d ask about it so directly.

“Sometimes,” he admitted after a beat. “When I’m away. Or in the shower.”

“What do you…”

“What do I do?”

“No,” you corrected softly. “What do you think about?”

“You,” he said without hesitation. “I’m quite simple.”

His hands were still at your hips, thumbs resting where your nightgown bunched slightly under his palms. He hadn’t realized he’d tightened his grip until he consciously loosened it again.

“I think of our past times,” Quinn continued, a little quieter. “How good you feel. How well we fit together.”

His thumb traced a small, absent arc against your side, wandering a little higher up over your ribs. He felt you shift subtly in his lap, like your body remembered this language even if your mind was still catching up. Your hands found his shoulders again, wrapping around him, playing lightly with the hair at the back of his neck.

“I think of last summer.”

The words pulled a faint smile from him before he could stop it. Long, warm days. Together with you at the lake house. The first time you’d let yourself explore what this relationship could be. The first time he’d told you he loved you. He felt all those memories, stuck somewhere in his chest. He wished for more similar ones, that those moments weren’t gone. Just paused until things felt normal again.

Quinn leaned forward slightly then, pressing a brief, gentle kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t planned. It just felt right, like a little punctuation mark before he started talking again. When he pulled back, he stayed close, forehead hovering near your temple.

“I think of how you sound when you’re close to coming,” he went on, slower now, each sentence separated by a breath. “The little things. The way you try not to make noise and fail anyway. The way your nose scrunches.”

His lips curved faintly, fond rather than hungry. He watched you listen, watching the way your lashes fluttered and your breathing picked up like the words had landed somewhere warm and sensitive but still safe.

“I think about you the way you are now too,” he added. It was probably what he thought most about. “How strong you are. How much I love watching you be Lily’s mom. I didn’t know I could love something that much.”

His voice dipped, roughened just slightly with emotion he didn’t bother hiding.

“I didn’t know I could love you this much.”

He paused there, letting the words breathe. Letting you breathe. Quinn knew this wasn’t about convincing you of anything. He just wanted you to know how he saw you. That he didn’t think of you any differently, or at least not any less than before. And the things that had changed were things that he adored.

“I think of your body,” Quinn continued. “Like it is right now. Like it carried our kid. How you’re filling out these curves. How good your hips and thighs look, and how they feel in my hands.”

His hands wandered down to your thighs on purpose, running his palms up and down them where they were placed on either side of his hips. You were so soft, so plush, as his fingers bunched up the lace trim on your nightgown.

“And your tits,” he added, almost reflexively—maybe because they were right there in front of him, maybe because humor was a good safety net. A nervous huff of a laugh followed. “But you already know how much I love them.”

“Quinn…”

Your voice wrapped around his name, soft like velvet. You weren’t stopping him. Not abruptly, anyway. He thought for a second that he might have overwhelmed you, but that was quickly erased when you leaned in to kiss him.

It wasn’t rushed. But you were decisive, like you’d made a choice and were sticking to it. Your lips pressed to his, warm and sure, and all the words he could think of saying disappeared. He kissed you back on instinct, mouth parting as he followed your lead, the faint taste of mint lingering until nothing remained.

It had been a long time since the two of you kissed with this much intent.

His hands stayed still on your thighs, scared of taking things too far. But when your hands trailed down from his shoulders, over his stomach, reaching for the hem of his shirt, he stiffened a little, rethinking everything he’d quietly assumed about tonight.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, almost automatically, pulling back just enough to look at you. To give you an out. To make sure.

You didn’t hesitate.

“I want to,” you said, simply. “I want to make you feel good.”

Those simple words hit him harder than anything he’d tried to say to you all night.

You tugged his shirt up then, slow but certain, and Quinn helped, arms lifting as the fabric slipped away. The air felt cool against his skin, but your hands were warm against his abdomen.

Quinn wasn’t the most comfortable being shirtless. Maybe because he’d compared himself to other athletes his entire life. He wasn’t as big as most defensemen. His muscles were never as defined as the guys he shared locker rooms with.

He knew the facts. He knew his muscles were there under a layer of soft skin. He knew he was strong and that his body did what he asked of it. But that didn’t really help his brain to understand it anyway.

And his brain definitely didn’t understand your reaction to him being shirtless. It always made you cling to him. Even these past weeks when you’d been nothing but civil, you would still cuddle up to him if he went to bed shirtless, claiming that you liked how warm he was.

And you never looked at him like you were inspecting anything. You looked quite happy now as your hands trailed down his chest and your lips moved to kiss his jaw, down his neck. Unhurried. Your hands pressed into his pecs, fingers curling slightly around the soft skin, thumbs brushing over his nipples.

Quinn leaned back against the headboard, breath uneven, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head as you stayed close, kissing further down, past his chest and down his stomach. He wasn’t guiding you. Just letting you move over him as you pleased.

He stuttered out a whine, half of it getting strangled in his throat on the way out, when you started to palm him through his sweatpants. He’d almost forgotten how hard his cock was. Almost.

You toyed with his waistband, fingers gently slipping beneath it in a slight tickle, kneeling between his legs as your kisses got as low as they could. Without another word, you tugged his pants down low enough to expose him.

He could only blame himself for not having boxers on underneath.

Quinn felt the muscles in his thighs and abdomen twitch and flex as you touched him. A slow first touch as your thumb brushed his tip. He couldn’t help the rugged groan slipping out as you did it.

This wasn’t that common of an occasion. There was no part of him that had wanted to ask this of you when you were pregnant. Maybe even less now. But you did it anyway sometimes. Purely because you wanted to.

So, he was in a bit of disbelief as he watched you settle closer to him, gazing up at him through fluttering lashes. Quinn wasn’t even sure you were real when you looked like this, treating him so good.

“You have to be quiet, baby,” you said. “Don’t want to wake Lily up, do we?”

Quinn thought to answer, but any word he could think of simply died in his throat when he watched you lick your lips before finally putting your mouth on him. A long, gentle lick upward, before you swirled around his leaking tip, spreading his pre-cum with your tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Quick pants left his mouth. “Please, angel—”

Encouraged by his reaction, you took him deeper into his mouth. Quinn ran his hands through your hair, twisting the ends up into a makeshift ponytail, his grip only tightening the further along you brought him.

You knew how he liked it, gentle and slow—or maybe he just liked anything you’d do to him. Your tongue was hot around him, using one hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach and the other one to splay across his stomach, nails rasping and softly squeezing his chest again.

His favorite part was seeing your eyes, momentarily closed shut in focus, but they mostly stayed locked right on him. Seeing how much he was enjoying himself, how much he was enjoying you.

“You’re so sweet to me—” Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, hips thrusting forward in involuntary little twitches, careful not to surprise you too much.

The gentle wet sounds of your sucking together with the low groans slipping from his throat were entirely too overwhelming for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good, and it was about to be over way too quickly.

“Oh, fuck, baby— I’m gonna—”

He barely had time to warn you. You didn’t seem like you wanted away from him anyway. As his stomach twisted and tensed up completely, his hips jerking upward, he felt himself release into your mouth, slipping down your throat.

Despite how empty his head felt afterward, he opened his eyes slowly to watch you. You made a little smacking sound with your lips as you looked up towards him, swallowing the last of what came out of him. As you were pulling away, sitting up slightly, you smiled as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. A little smug one. One Quinn hadn’t seen in a while.

You came up to lie beside him, letting go of his softening cock, tucking him back into his sweatpants with a little pat.

Quinn wrapped his arms around you. Completely breathless, but he still needed you close. He stared at the ceiling for a second longer than necessary, blinking slowly, like his brain was lagging behind his body. His face felt warm, probably flushed, and he was painfully aware of it.

“Angel, you’re wild.”

You hummed, clearly pleased with yourself, shifting just enough for your hand to brush his cheek. “Mhm. Your face is all pink.”

“It is not.”

You lifted your head from his chest, inspecting him far too closely. “Quinn. It absolutely is.”

He huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh and pulled you in tighter, partly to hide his face against your hair, partly because he just… wanted you there. His hand rested on your back, broad and steady, thumb moving without him really thinking about it.

You were pressed close enough to feel his heartbeat begin to slow, that frantic edge fading into something steadier.

After a few minutes of silence, when everything felt even again, you spoke again.

“Did you call Kelly earlier?”

Quinn let out a small laugh, more disbelief than humor. He tipped his head up from the pillows and glanced down at you. “How’d you know?”

You shrugged, cheek still pressed to his chest. “Intuition, I guess. And because you wouldn’t have remembered the gift on your own.”

He huffed softly. It was fair. Painfully fair. He should’ve known there was no hiding anything from you where Kelly was concerned. The two of you had always had this strange, almost annoying ability to understand each other. Of course you’d know. Of course.

“I was just…” He searched for the right word, fingers tightening briefly against your back before relaxing again. “A little helpless, I guess. I didn’t know how to make you happier.”

You tilted your head up just enough to look at him, expression soft and almost a little sad. “I’m not unhappy,” you said quietly. “I promise. I just need more time to get used to everything. I think I shut down as a way of processing things. I’ve always done that.”

Maybe Quinn should’ve figured that out earlier. Your distance wasn’t you rejecting him in any way. It hadn’t been him doing something wrong. Maybe even Minnesota wasn’t that wrong to you. You were just trying to adjust, still. The silence had scared him, sure—but hearing this made it easier to breathe.

Your finger traced an idle shape against his chest, looping and absentminded. “I think Kelly’s gift will be good,” you added. “Eventually. When I feel like myself again.”

His hand resumed its slow path along your spine, grounding himself in the movement. The fact that you were talking at all about it felt reassuring in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

Quinn swallowed, then glanced down at you. “Do you think you could talk to me more? About how you’re feeling, I mean. Sometimes I feel like I’m guessing.”

You huffed a small laugh, resting your chin back on his chest. “I can’t just suck your dick as an apology for not communicating properly?”

“No,” he said. “As much as I love it, you can’t.”

You sighed dramatically, but you were already snuggling closer, arms tightening around him. “Fine,” you murmured. “I’ll talk.”

His smile softened, and he bent his head just enough to press a quiet kiss into your hair. Quinn held you there, still a little dazed and embarrassed, still warm and pink-cheeked, but he felt steadier with every second you stayed exactly where you were.

He’d have to thank Kelly later.

(2) ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

You liked being alone.

Not lonely—alone. There was a difference, and you’d learned it the hard way. Even now, when you were almost never physically by yourself, you still cherished the quiet intimacy of it being just you and Lilith. You’d probably call her your best friend, but only because Kelly wasn’t around to hear it. The title felt sacred, though, and maybe a little stolen.

But being alone had to be a choice.

You never wanted it to feel like the default again. Not after Quinn. Not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted, known, folded into someone else’s life so completely. You didn’t want loneliness to sneak up on you wearing solitude as a disguise.

And to not feel lonely in Minnesota, you had to make an effort.

You had hated it at first—actually, hate wasn’t even a strong enough word. There were days you’d seriously considered packing everything up and moving back to Vancouver, sometimes more than once before even getting out of bed in the morning. You’d shut down. If you did talk to Quinn, you hadn’t been particularly kind. You’d turned into a version of yourself you barely recognized, let alone liked.

But today had been nice. Good, even.

The past few weeks hadn’t been horrible, either—which annoyed you more than it probably should have. Because the reason was obvious. You’d tried. You’d made the effort. And it turned out everyone was right in the most irritating way possible. Finding people and building some version of a community really was a way out of feeling like the worst and saddest person in the world.

Quinn was away on the last road trip of the regular season. Texas, Tennessee, Missouri. Tonight had been a dominant win over St. Louis, and he’d be back tomorrow for the final home game.

And you, you’d gotten home just in time to catch the last period, juggling everything at once—feeding Lilith, feeding yourself, and attempting to coax her into sleep at something resembling a reasonable hour.

You might’ve called yourself a bad mom if the reason you got home late hadn’t felt so damn worth it.

Lilith had made her first friend. Or at least, her first one her own age. (Your Nana and Quinn’s brothers might’ve taken offense otherwise.) At four months old, friendship mostly consisted of existing near another baby while occasionally kicking your legs and staring at things that moved or made sounds. Still, she and a little boy named Charlie had lain on a play mat together for what felt like hours, giggling at rattling toys and the musical mobile hanging over them.

And Charlie’s mom, Jade, wasn’t horrible either.

You’d met them at a group for new parents—something the organizers worked very hard not to call a support group, even though that was exactly what it felt like. Instead of Hi, my name is ___ and I’m an alcoholic, the introductions might as well have been Hi, my name is ___ and I’m a bad mother.

You weren’t sure the group itself had helped much. Jade felt the same once you got talking. But meeting at her place afterward—letting the babies play while the two of you drank coffee and talked about nothing and everything—that helped. It had helped enough that it happened three times in one week. Her husband traveled constantly for work—some kind of businessman you never quite pinned down—and she was just as lonely as you were.

That was why you didn’t dare think of yourself as a bad mom once you finally collapsed in bed for the night. Because you’d tried. And the effort had paid off. You felt good. Happy, even.

You lay back against the pillows, one leg bent, the muted glow of the TV washing over the room more than you were actually watching it. NHL Tonight on mute, just to catch up a little. The baby monitor sat on the nightstand beside you, Lilith’s room a soft grayscale stillness on the screen. She hadn’t stirred since you’d put her down. You figured she was tired after today. You checked on her anyway, then let your shoulders relax when you saw her chest rising and falling just the same.

You couldn’t help the smile that refused to fade from your mouth. So quietly pleased with yourself. With the day. With the fact that you’d gone out, talked to people, let yourself try to enjoy Minnesota without it depending on Quinn.

Your phone rested in your hand, thumb scrolling back through your messages with Quinn. Going through them only made you smile more. You’d sent him a couple of photos earlier—Lilith on the play mat, her legs kicking wildly, one sock half off. A shot of Charlie’s tiny hand wrapped around a rattle. The two of them side by side, no idea they were supposed to be doing anything but existing.

You liked sending him pieces of your day, liked knowing that once the noise around him died down, he’d open his phone and land here.

They were usually of Lilith. Asleep in her stroller when you took her out on a walk or of her watching during his games. Well, she didn’t really watch, but you propped her up in front of the TV so that it looked like she watched. Sometimes wearing a little forest green Hughes onesie that the Wild had sent as a moving gift.

Quinn hadn’t answered yet, which you understood. He was probably stuck doing media or debriefing after the game. Maybe he was spending time with his teammates. Still, you found yourself glancing at the screen every few minutes, half-expecting his name to pop up.

Your eyes were desperately fighting sleep when your phone finally buzzed.

Quinn: Are you awake?

Your tired eyes could just about make out the words as more notifications followed. One by one, little pink hearts appeared beneath every picture you’d sent earlier. You let out a soft breath of a laugh, rolling onto your back and sinking deeper into the pillows as you wrote out an answer.

You: Yeah. Just fed Lily and got her to sleep.

You could picture him easily. Maybe from all the FaceTime calls. Post-game tired, hair slightly damp and curly, stretched out on some ginormous hotel bed, phone propped on his chest.

Quinn: She being easy on you?

He always worried when he was gone. About your sleep, about whether you were overwhelmed, about whether Lilith had cried herself hoarse while he wasn’t there to help. It was almost sweet, the way he carried it all with him. And unnecessary, most of the time.

Lilith had been good today. She usually was. Calm and content, the way Ellen always said Quinn had been as a baby—before his brothers arrived and gave him something to complain about.

You: Been an absolute angel today.

Quinn didn’t answer right away, but you saw him read the message. He did that sometimes when he got stuck staring at the photos you sent him. That was what he told you, at least.

Quinn: That’s good. I miss you two.

Your chest warmed reading that message. Fighting the feeling, you decided to tease him a little instead. You’d seen the highlights. You knew exactly what kind of game he’d played and how that affected him afterwards. You were usually the reciprocator of that affection, after all.

You: A little easier because you’re winning now? Mr. Four Assists.

Quinn: Felt good in the moment, but hotel rooms are always lonely.

You exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling for a second before figuring out an answer. You had an idea that had lingered in the back of your mind this entire road trip, but you weren’t sure if the timing was appropriate.

You: What are you doing now? Are you alone?

His reply came faster than any prior text.

Quinn: I’m in bed. Alone. Why?

You bit your lip, smile still tugging at your mouth. Your thumb hovered over the screen as you debated it—then decided you deserved the moment.

You: Can I send you a photo of something else I did earlier?

Quinn: Of course.

You opened your photos and scrolled down to a password-protected album. There weren’t many pictures there. Just a handful you’d saved for yourself—and, occasionally, for him. You paused on the new ones you’d taken this morning.

When Lilith was asleep and you were cleaning around the apartment, you’d accidentally stumbled upon something red and made of lace. Something you hadn’t dared to try on for weeks. But today, for whatever reason, you’d felt ready.

You’d sent him pictures before, as sultry as you could get as a pregnant woman just needing a little help from her boyfriend across the continent to calm her hormones.

But this was different. You were more nervous.

It was a simple mirror selfie you’d taken in the bathroom. Not posed in any practiced way, your arms were even hiding most of your stomach. The red lace peeked through anyway, showing off your skin through mesh-lined sections.

You sent it before you could talk yourself out of it.

You: *Image attached*

You could barely register that he’d read the message before your phone started ringing. You startled, a quiet laugh slipping out as you scrambled to answer, fumbling it to your ear as you sank back into the pillows. Your heart was already racing, like you’d been caught doing something mischievous—even though you’d meant every bit of it.

“Is that Kelly’s present?” Quinn asked, his voice rushed, disbelieving in the best way.

“It is,” you said softly. You glanced down at the comforter, fingers worrying at the fabric. You nodded out of instinct before remembering he couldn’t see you. “I just… thought I’d try it on when I was alone. In case I hated it—”

“You look gorgeous,” he cut in, not even letting you finish. “Like—” He let out a short, stunned laugh. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look?”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it, like it was simply the truth tumbling out of him. Heat bloomed low under your ribs, your smile turning shy without you meaning it to.

“I take it you like it?” you teased gently.

“I love it. I love you,” Quinn said with no hesitation at all. His voice softened on the last word, steadier but no less certain. “God, I wish I was there. I’d just—” He stopped himself, exhaling. “I’d just stare at you for a while.”

You laughed quietly, warmth spreading through you at the image. His wide eyes not being able to stay off you for even a second. You’d almost forgotten what that was like.

“How did you feel?” he asked then.

You heard on his tone that it mattered to him, like the answer to that question was more important than what his immediate reaction to a scantily clad photo of you was.

“A little silly, getting dressed up like that,” you admitted, twisting on top of the covers. “But mostly… good.”

Quinn didn’t say anything back for what felt like minutes. You felt your cheeks become warm as you wondered what he was doing, a nervous hint as to what you were thinking about when all you could hear on the other end was his breathing and the rustling of bedsheets.

“You good over there?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek to dull your smile.

“Yeah, sorry. I love that you felt good. I just— I can’t stop looking at you,” Quinn answered with a little defeated laugh. “God, you have me rock hard from just a photo.”

You let out a sharp breath at his words, and the hand you had resting on top of your stomach suddenly felt very heavy, almost uncomfortably warm through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“Is that so?” You couldn’t help but giggle. “Do you want me to send another one?”

“There’s more?”

“Mhm,” you proudly sighed.

You didn’t have to think much about what other picture to send him, going into your text messages again, fumbling with the touch screen.

If the first one had been a little reserved, the second photo was the opposite. You’d quickly snapped it last second as you were getting out of the lingerie, stopping in the mirror when the bra was halfway down your arms, your breasts pushed together by your upper arms.

The string of curses that left Quinn’s mouth the second you saw that he’d received the photo was enough to make you giggle again, heat rushing straight to your head.

You dropped your phone onto the mattress beside you, quickly switching him onto speaker mode, one hand moving up to play with your breast through the fabric, the other one wandering lower down your body. When you reached the waistband of your panties, you let your hand slide in down, cupping yourself and groaning in relief at the contact.

You heard Quinn move around again on the other line before his voice dropped low. “Angel, are you touching yourself?”

“Maybeee,” you teased him, dragging out the word. “Just testing the waters a little.”

You didn’t know what had made you this giddy. If it was just the fact that you were proud of yourself, or if there was something else under the surface. Maybe you were just beginning to feel like yourself again, and Quinn being away brought back a lot of memories of how you two had acted before Lilith’s birth.

Maybe the night he’d brought you Kelly’s Christmas present was lingering in the back of your head too, and how that had changed how you viewed each other—now out of some sort of postpartum haze.

But you were happy. So happy when you didn’t feel fear or discomfort as you touched yourself. So happy when you heard Quinn breathe heavily into the phone before roughly asking, “Can I join you?”

“Please, Quinn. I want to hear you,” you whimpered.

A choked sound came out of your mouth when you first heard him, pleasuring himself along with you. The mental image of him—naked on the big hotel bed, running his hand up and down his cock, playing with his thumb over his tip—was enough to drive you insane.

“How does it feel?” Quinn asked you through huffed breaths.

You brushed your fingers along your outer folds at first, before you let your pointer finger gently run through them and touch your clit. You let them stay there, not ready to venture further down, and already pretty sure that touching only your clit would be enough. The feeling was overwhelmingly good that you didn’t need to try any harder, to test the limits of what you were comfortable with.

“Good.” You swallowed through a staggered moan. “A little unusual, but so good.”

Quinn hummed over the speaker, as if content with your answer. “Getting yourself wet for me?”

“Mhm, so wet,” you told him. Sparks settled in your lower stomach as the wetness that had quickly built up practically pooled around your finger as you brought it up and down your folds. “Wish you were here. Wish it was your hands instead.”

And you so badly did. It had been so long that you’d almost forgotten how he felt. But if your memory served you right, you knew that his fingers felt better than your own. Longer, a little thicker. Stronger.

“Oh, I love you,” Quinn exhaled loudly. “I love hearing your voice, sound so pretty for me.”

You wondered if the squelching sound of your fingertips frantically going over your clit transferred through the phone the same way his rustling bedsheets did. The idea of him on that bed, his neck straining backwards, his beautiful bare chest and face turning all pink as he stroked himself harder, made your stomach coil tightly.

You hadn’t made yourself come yet since giving birth, and you didn’t know if it would feel any different or be any more difficult. Maybe the hurdle was mostly in your head, but you felt it anyway.

“Quinn, I want to come,” you whined to him. Your stomach so tense and your fingertips pressing onto your clit in hurried motions, yet you didn’t reach it. The release you wanted more than anything else right now.

“You can. You can do it,” he groaned out. You guessed he could hear your frustration. Maybe he knew you—knew your body well enough to know your hurdles. “Let it all go. Let me hear you.”

“Are you close?” you asked through a choked breath.

“So close, baby. So close—”

His words were interrupted by a low growl. You recognized it immediately. No matter how shy he was when making sounds during sex, he could never hold back when he came. The same guttural rasp in his voice hitting every time.

And maybe that was all you needed. To hear him come.

“I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—oh god—”

You couldn’t get anything else out as your orgasm approached, hitting you straight to the core and rushing up to your brain. You cried out Quinn’s name, not loud enough to stir Lilith awake, but you were whimpering, low and frustrated, until all you could do was breathe, feeling your stomach loosen up and your clit start to pulsate.

On the other side of the phone, Quinn tried to regulate his own breathing, short little huffs leaving his mouth as he found himself completely spent, his cock spurting slow ropes of come on his bare abdomen.

He couldn’t believe you. Couldn’t believe that he’d gotten to experience this with you. That you’d been confident and playful enough to do this spontaneously. He heard you let out a gentle laugh once the peak of the rush was over. Maybe you were in a little disbelief yourself.

“How does my baby feel? You good over there?” he asked, feeling himself smugly smile.

Still panting, you moved your hand away from your panties and flipped onto your stomach, turning to your phone laid beside you.

“I’m good, Quinn,” you exhaled. “That felt so good.”

“I’m proud of you,” he praised you, chuckling a little. “What was it Kelly said? A comeback?”

Oh, you’d have to thank Kelly sometime. For planting a horny seed in your brain by gifting you lingerie. And for bringing you and Quinn closer together after the move to Minnesota. And maybe just for being your best friend.

“That was definitely a step in the right direction,” you laughed, pressing your face into your pillow. You felt like you’d run a marathon. Tired in the best way. Like you’d accomplished something big.

Quinn hummed in agreement. “Go pee and wash your hands, baby. Then you should sleep.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled. You couldn’t find any words right now.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?”

For a second, you were glad he couldn’t hear your thoughts. The dirty ones you kept on having about him. The ones that were getting impossible to control. Like how the only thing you could think of now was how he could come home tomorrow night, late, when everything was dark, and just take you. Wake you from your sleep by fucking you deep into the mattress.

But he didn’t read your mind there on the other side of the line. No, he just waited for you to say something back.

“Love you, Q,” you whispered through the phone.

“I love you more.”

(3) ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

As Quinn unloaded the grocery bags from the back of his car and started up the long gravel driveway toward the lake house, he was already picturing the scene he expected to walk into.

You tucked into the shade on the porch, one hand steadying the baby sling, the other mindlessly scrolling your phone or tracing lazy circles against Lilith’s back. Midday naps were sacred, and the sling was yours and Lilith’s newest shared victory. You liked that it let you stay close to her without feeling trapped—hands free, weight distributed, Lilith warm and heavy against your chest. Quinn had watched you figure it out over the past few weeks with quiet admiration.

It was such a clear image in his head that it took him a second to register that something was… off.

You weren’t on the porch where he’d left you.

Instead, Jack sat in one of the chairs, legs stretched out, the light pink baby sling tied awkwardly but securely around his chest. Lilith’s fuzzy little head peeked out from the top, seemingly unbothered by the change in management.

Quinn stopped short, a laugh threatening to spill out of him before Jack lifted a finger to his mouth to shush him, eyes narrowing in warning.

“She was just about to fall asleep,” Jack whispered, annoyance clear even at half volume, “and then your loud-ass car disturbed us.”

Quinn winced, lowering the grocery bags more carefully onto the porch. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he whispered back, genuinely contrite despite the smile tugging at his mouth.

He stepped closer, peering down at Lilith. Her tiny fist was curled into the fabric of Jack’s shirt, her breathing slow and even, lashes resting against her cheeks. Seeing her like that—safe in his brother’s arms—did something warm and stupid to his chest.

“Where did Mommy go, huh?” Quinn murmured, reaching out to pat her back gently, more out of habit than necessity.

Jack tilted his head toward the house. “Said she needed to get ready for tonight,” he said. “I’m fine watching her. So go inside, you too.”

It took Quinn a second to remember what tonight even was. The barbecue. Dylan and Devin’s place across the lake. Casual, technically—but not in the way your brain tended to understand the word.

He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You sure?”

Jack scoffed softly, glancing down at Lilith with unmistakable pride. “You like Uncle Jack, don’t you?” he said, giving a careful bounce. “I’m her favorite uncle.”

Quinn huffed out a silent laugh, shaking his head as he gathered the grocery bags again.

Luke would argue if he were around. Loudly. But Quinn had barely seen him all summer—he was here somewhere, doing God knows what. Probably tangled up in some half-baked theory about Dylan and Devin’s little sister, or fucking an old friend’s friend and pretending it wasn’t serious. Typical new-Luke behavior.

As Quinn headed inside and started unloading groceries in the kitchen, his thoughts drifted upstairs—toward you.

You weren’t the most comfortable around his childhood friends. Mostly because you didn’t know them. Last summer, you hadn’t been here long enough to really get folded into everything, and on top of that, you’d been pregnant and hiding it from the public still.

Tonight, you were all invited to a barbecue at Dylan and Devin’s summer house across the lake. The brothers had spent as many summers here as the Hughes boys had. Quinn could still remember learning how to swim with them, five skinny kids clinging to the dock, daring each other to jump. Sleeping in tents on the lawn. Sneaking into the country club pool and getting caught by security more than once. All the stupid, formative things you were supposed to do as a kid.

You were stepping into a friend group that had existed for fifteen years. That would be nerve-racking to anyone.

Quinn set the last bag down, wiped his hands on his shorts, and started toward the stairs—already rehearsing what he’d say to make it easier for you.

He found you exactly where he’d expected once he pushed open the bedroom door.

You were standing in front of the tall mirror, a towel still wrapped loosely around you from your shower. Clothes spilled out of your suitcase across the bed like evidence of a quiet meltdown. Your makeup was done, soft and natural, and your hair was dry, falling just the way you liked it when you didn’t feel rushed. But clothes—clothes always seemed to be the hardest part.

You hadn’t heard him come in. You were too busy twisting this way and that, bare feet creaking against the old wooden floor as you examined yourself from every angle, your expression thoughtful in a way that bordered on self-critical.

Quinn closed the door softly behind him and just watched for a moment.

It still caught him off guard sometimes—how much he loved you in these quiet, unguarded moments. How domestic it all felt. How badly he wanted to ease whatever tension he could see pulling at your shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, gently interrupting. “I’m back.”

You startled, then relaxed when you saw him in the mirror behind you.

“You okay?” he asked, already moving farther into the room. He nudged a pile of clothes aside and sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees, eyes never leaving you.

You turned away from the mirror and walked over to the suitcase, fingers immediately busying themselves with the zipper. Quinn clocked it instantly—you didn’t actually need to touch anything. You just needed something to do with your hands.

You sighed heavily at his question. “Yeah. I just… don’t know what to wear.”

“Want my help?” he offered. It sounded like a joke even though it wasn’t.

You huffed a soft, humorless laugh. “Help deciding between massive dress one or two?”

You held up two dresses, both familiar to him. Flowing. Soft. Nearly identical silhouettes. Babydoll dresses, you’d once told him, like it was important he understand the distinction. He remembered thinking the name fit because you looked like a doll in them, but he also knew the real reason you liked them. They skimmed instead of clung. They hid your stomach and your hips and the tops of your thighs.

“I thought you liked these?” he wondered, trying his best.

“I do,” you replied. “They’re just… a little casual.”

“It’s a casual dinner, babe.” Quinn tilted his head. He studied you as he spoke—how your fingers kept worrying at the fabric, how your weight shifted from foot to foot. “What are you nervous for?”

You hesitated, breath catching like you hadn’t meant to say anything at all. “I don’t know,” you started, then stopped, pressing your lips together. “I don’t know these people. And I don’t really feel like myself yet. And—”

You broke off, then looked up at him suddenly, eyes searching.

“—why the fuck do all of you call her Baby?”

Quinn blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “Who?”

“Dylan and Devin’s sister,” you clarified. “You called her Baby when you realized she was in town.”

“Oh,” he said, understanding dawning. “Baby. Right.”

“Yeah,” you continued, shoulders drawing in slightly. “I was glad to hear there’d be another girl around, and then you all started calling her Baby, and that just… made me feel weird.”

Quinn straightened, pushing himself off the bed and stepping closer—close enough to feel present, but careful not to crowd you. “It’s just something her brothers have always called her,” he explained gently. “She’s the youngest. Has been since forever. It’s not—” He smiled, small and earnest. “It’s not a thing. Definitely not a term of endearment.”

As he said it, he felt a familiar pinch of guilt. He hadn’t thought about how it might sound to someone outside their bubble. He hadn’t thought about how it must’ve landed yesterday, all the boys crowded around the dinner table, laughing loudly about how Baby was back in town like it was some kind of event.

It felt almost gross to him now, stripped of the context you didn’t have.

You let out a breath you’d clearly been holding. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”

“Is that…” Quinn tilted his head, gauging your expression. “Were you jealous?”

“No—no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m probably just insecure. Like usual.”

He frowned softly at that, stepping in behind you, his hands settling gently on your upper arms. “You’ll like her,” he said with quiet confidence. “I’m sure of it. And also—she’s been in love with Luke since she was a toddler, so you really have nothing to worry about.”

Quinn watched over your shoulder as you raised a brow, a small, reluctant laugh slipping out. “Does Luke love her back?”

“I always thought so,” he admitted, snorting under his breath. “But you know what he’s been like lately.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “A slut, you mean?”

“Your words. Not mine.”

The tension eased after that—not gone, exactly, but softened. You exhaled, shoulders dropping a little as Quinn watched a peculiar smile form on your lips. You turned your attention back to the suitcase, tumbling through the clothes before you settled on something.

“So,” you said, holding one of the babydoll dresses up against yourself, moving back to see it in the mirror. “I can wear this one?”

It was his favorite of the two. White cotton fabric with little red flowers on it. He didn’t know what the neckline was called, but he loved how it framed you. The poofy arms were probably the best part because they truly made you look like a doll.

Quinn didn’t hesitate. “I love you in that.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, checking his expression like you always did when you wanted reassurance. It was all there on his face already, in the form of the most stupid little smile.

You nodded to yourself, folding the other dress back into the suitcase. Then, almost as an afterthought, you asked, softer, “Should I put something on underneath?”

He watched over your shoulder as you shifted things around, fabrics rustling against each other. And then your hands stilled. Red lace caught between your fingers.

Quinn’s breath hitched before he could stop it. “You brought it?”

He didn’t know how many times he’d looked at the photos you’d sent him of when you tried it on for the first time. He was pretty sure he had that whole interaction memorized. He had yet to see it on in real life, but the fact that you’d brought the lingerie all the way to Michigan made him all excited inside.

You shrugged, suddenly bashful, gaze dropping to your hands. “It was probably a stupid idea,” you said. “The walls are thin, and Lily sleeps in here, and…” You bit your lip, hesitating. “I don’t know. I just—felt like it.”

Quinn understood that feeling more than you knew.

The past few weeks had been torture in the quietest way. Not because he was impatient—but because he could feel how close you both were to something again. How ready. And how careful he needed to be not to rush it.

He hadn’t really had you to himself since the playoffs ended. And he didn’t resent it—not when his heart felt like it might burst every time he saw you with Lilith, here among his family, fitting so naturally into a life he’d once been afraid to want for himself.

But there was still this brewing feeling underneath the surface that drove him absolutely wild. Like you both knew exactly what would happen if you did get some time alone. That you were both entirely ready for it.

And while that anticipating feeling was smoking hot, it was also like being a horny teenager. Twenty-four hours a day, whenever he’d look at you.

If he watched you mesh well with his friends and family for too long? He was hard.

If you called out his name in your honey-sweet voice? Boner city.

If you got out of the lake, dripping wet and in a bikini? He could damn near bust in his pants.

And now, as you stood there in nothing but a towel, red lace trembling slightly between your fingers, Quinn felt like he might entirely explode. Not because of the lingerie itself—though that certainly didn’t help him—but because of you. Because you were everything to him.

“You should wear it,” he said gently. “If it makes you feel good.”

You didn’t answer with words. But Quinn saw the decision settle across your face—the small lift of your chin, the steadiness you borrowed from somewhere deep inside. You turned back toward the mirror and stepped closer to it, fingers loosening at the knot of the towel.

When it fell to the floor, Quinn almost gasped out loud.

You didn’t rush. You stood there for a moment, naked in the afternoon light, your reflection staring back at you. Your body was softer than it had been before—curves fuller, skin marked with faint silvery and red lines that caught the sun when you moved. Your stomach rounded more gently now, still there as a lingering trace.

Quinn stayed still, giving you space, even though every instinct in his body was screaming to touch you.

You reached for the lingerie, turning slightly away as you stepped into the panties and pulled them high up over your hips. How you clasped the bra behind your back was something Quinn thought was witchcraft. He could barely get one off even if he was staring right at the clasps.

Once it was all in place, he saw how you instinctively crossed your arms over your middle as if to shield yourself.

“Hey, don’t hide,” Quinn said softly.

He moved then, slow and careful, hands coming to your sides. He didn’t grab. Didn’t rush. He simply slid your arms down, guiding them away from your stomach.

“I see you,” he murmured.

His palms settled at your waist—broad and warm. You startled just a little, then melted back into him, arms falling loose at your sides.

Quinn’s gaze traced every inch of you in the mirror. The gentle dip of your waist. The soft folds of your stomach where a life had grown. The way the lace hugged you, red against your skin, perfectly framing your chest, hips, and thighs.

With how much he’d adored your stomach while you were pregnant, Quinn would be insane to not keep that adoration now. You had carried his child there. You had been strong enough to grow a whole human being, strong enough to give her to the world.

“Confident,” he murmured, almost to himself, staring at how the lace held you up.

He couldn’t help but hold your stomach in his hands. He traced the swell of it slowly, thumbs brushing where the lace dipped low under your belly button, fingers slipping in under the elastic.

Quinn leaned forward, pressing his forehead briefly to your shoulder blade, breathing you in. His grip tightened just a fraction—possessive, or just protective in the quiet way you both loved. Mine, his thoughts supplied instinctively.

He then lifted his head and met your eyes in the mirror.

“You’re unreal,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

You only huffed and tilted your head away. Still terrible at accepting compliments, but that never stopped Quinn from saying them.

His fingers stayed there low on your stomach, aching to do more, to show you his love in every way he knew how to. He imagined it vividly—imagined sinking down in front of you, imagined the sounds you’d make, the way you’d cling to him—and it nearly undid him. The restraint took effort.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your cheek. “If we weren’t in a house full of people right now,” he said quietly, “I’d ask you to sit on my face right now.”

“Quinn—” you gasped, hands flying to cover your mouth.

“No. I would. I’d eat you out until your legs gave in,” Quinn continued, insisting. “Then we’d go to dinner like nothing happened. And maybe I’d fuck you just as good when we got back here after.”

As he spoke, his fingers finally dipped low enough to feel your heat. Right over your mound, feeling the ample skin around it. His fingers were long enough to brush your clit without even meaning to.

“Please—” you swallowed down a moan.

But Quinn moved his hand, taking a step back. “You said it yourself. The walls are too thin.”

The look you gave him in the mirror was priceless.

“Get dressed now and meet me downstairs,” was all he said as he walked towards the door, but not before giving your body another long glance from behind.

“You’re an evil, evil man!” you called out after him as the door softly shut.

(4) ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

You knew exactly what you were doing.

It was obvious enough to almost be embarrassing—but you blamed Quinn entirely. If he hadn’t done what he did yesterday, hadn’t touched you like that and then walked away like it was nothing, you wouldn’t be standing here now with your heart racing and a plan already in motion.

You wouldn’t have volunteered to take Lilith when she fussed early this morning, rocking her quietly while Quinn slept through it all. You wouldn’t have let him sleep in after a late night, hadn’t smiled sweetly while he mumbled something incoherent and rolled over. You wouldn’t have casually asked his parents if they could take Lilith out on the lawn for a couple of hours after breakfast, acting like it was no big deal.

And you definitely wouldn’t have slipped into the tiniest bikini you owned the second you were alone.

It was the same one you’d worn last summer. The one that barely qualified as practical even then. It wasn’t tight the way it had been when you were pregnant, but it was still unapologetically cheeky—thin straps and minimal coverage. A total coincidence and not at all because of how Quinn had acted when he last saw you in it.

So yes. You were looking for a reaction.

You were looking for revenge as you walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, sunlight pouring in through the open curtains. Because if Quinn thought he could slide his fingers into your panties, whisper all those things in your ear, and then leave you hanging—he was out of his damn mind.

He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. Warm sheets tangled around his legs, hair sticking up at odd angles, face soft and unguarded. You almost felt bad. Almost. Which wasn’t enough for you to be silent and careful when you slammed his wardrobe open and shut, grabbing a bath towel for yourself.

He stirred immediately. A groan followed, then a sleepy blink as he rolled onto his back. “Why are you up so early?”

“It’s ten, Quinn,” you said, staying still by the wardrobe, keeping the folded towel in front of your midriff. “I let you sleep in.”

He squinted at you, then over at the window, the bright light pouring in. “Mhm.”

“Jack and Luke are at the golf course, and Lily is with your parents outside,” you continued, nervously looking down at your feet before you decided that wasn’t according to your plan. You had to look him in the eye.

“I thought I’d go swimming,” you added lightly. “Then maybe we can all meet them for lunch at the course.”

Quinn pushed himself up on his elbows.

His skin was already a little pink from the sun, shoulders broad and warm-looking, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made his face rounder than usual. But his eyes told a different story. They gave him away completely. They darkened quickly, pupils widening until the green nearly disappeared altogether.

He just stared at you.

For a second, the confidence you’d been riding wavered. The idea of Quinn seeing you like this, standing there in front of him, was almost embarrassing. This had been easier yesterday, in the settling sun of the afternoon. You could pretend that he didn’t see every inch of you then.

But you were in broad daylight now. You knew he could see it all. The way your legs were tensing, the way you were probably sucking in your stomach without thinking, the way your bikini cut into the soft skin around your breasts and hips.

“What?” you said, trying to keep your voice level.

He dragged a hand down his face, then looked at you again, this time with a slow, knowing smile. “Is this payback?”

“For what?” you asked, though you already knew.

“For yesterday,” he said. “You standing there in the tiniest bikini I’ve ever seen and casually telling me you’re leaving.”

“I’m going down to the lake, Quinn,” you argued. “Not leaving.”

You had absolutely no intention of going to the lake, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No, no. Stay,” he said immediately, almost pouting as his hands reached out, fingers curling through the air like he could pull you in by will alone. “You literally just said we have the house to ourselves.”

He sat up fully, the sheets falling off from his body. He was only wearing boxers, and you couldn’t help but look as he flung his legs over the edge of the bed.

His hands caught you, fingers wrapping loosely around your wrist, tugging just enough to bring you closer. Not using any force because you were already following. The towel slipped from your fingers and fell forgotten to the floor.

Quinn drew you closer until you were standing between his knees, then guided you down onto his lap, his hands steadying at your waist as you sat. His skin felt warm to the touch, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

“Let me do what I said I’d do yesterday,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “You can’t do this to me and then walk away.”

You felt what you’d done to him right away. He had a hard time hiding anything through his boxers.

The contrast between how poised and calm Quinn usually was and this pent-up, needy mess he’d been lately was amusing to you. Your hand slid down his chest without thinking, and he physically quivered, leaning into your touch even further.

“Quinn,” you warned softly, though you didn’t stop. “Your parents are right outside.”

“They’re on the lawn,” he argued quickly. “Far away. Won’t hear a thing.”

His hands were firmer now, braced at your hips, slowly dipping down low enough to graze the strings tying your bikini bottoms together at the sides.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed again. “Unless you’re not ready—then I’ll stop. I swear.”

You didn’t answer him out loud.

Your hand reached back, fingers finding the thin string at the back of your neck, and you pulled. The knot came undone easily. Because you’d tied it lazily on purpose. The fabric loosened, then slipped, and suddenly there was nothing holding you up anymore. Your bikini top fell away, your breasts bouncing softly as the elastic released its grip.

You watched how Quinn froze. His eyes quickly followed the motion of the falling fabric. He wasn’t ashamed of how he stared, his jaw basically dropping slack.

“Oh. Oh. Okay,” he breathed. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against your collarbone, kissing over the thin skin. His hands wandered higher, up over the sides of your stomach, squeezing softly, before cupping the undersides of your breasts in his hands.

“So soft,” he murmured. “Every part of you. And all mine.”

Quinn’s hands reached behind your back to untie the other string of your bikini top too, letting it fall pitifully on the floor with a little thud. His kisses stayed around your neck and chest, nipping at the skin before they ventured lower, over the swell of your breasts.

As he took one of your nipples softly into his mouth, he played gently with the other one between his fingertips, rolling the hardening bud and pulling lightly. You couldn’t help but moan out loud, a little bashful with how sensitive you’d become since pregnancy.

You felt Quinn smile against you, his tongue flattening and soothing over your nipple before you felt his teeth around it.

“You can’t—” You tried to stop him, your hand going into his hair to pull. “You can’t squeeze too hard. I’ll leak.”

Not that Quinn was totally unfamiliar with that happening. He’d helped you more than once to deal with clogged ducts and surprise stains. But you still didn’t want it to be something that just happened without him knowing. You had to warn him.

Quinn tilted his head at you. “Would you be uncomfortable if you did?”

“Uhm…” You laughed gently at the question, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t care.”

And with those words, his mouth latched back on, sucking down harshly, drawing a strained whine from your throat. You did feel soft in his hands as he cupped you. You couldn’t argue with him on that. Looking down at him—how his big hands enveloped your tits completely and pushed at the ample skin—you loved what you were seeing and how it made you feel.

As Quinn’s kisses trailed further down your body, you took in the feeling of him starting to tower over you. He was helping you ease down on the mattress, mindful of your head not hitting the wooden headboard.

While leaving kisses down the valley of your breasts and over your belly, he looked up at you through fluttering eyelashes, and you swore you stopped breathing. You didn’t know how to feel, except wanting to fully indulge in whatever this was leading to.

You couldn’t let fear stop this.

Quinn spent his time adoring both of your tits, until you felt his hands travel down the sides of your upper body, sneaking under the string holding your bikini bottoms together and grasping lightly over your hip bones.

He hooked his thumbs into the bows you’d loosely tied, pulling them apart easily before he could slide the fabric down your thighs. Gently laughing, you immediately spread your legs to make room for him between them.

His eyes wandered down your naked body, from your face, down your chest and stomach, to where your thighs softly spread out on the mattress and your pussy was left there waiting for him.

“There she is. There’s my girl,” Quinn murmured as he took a gentle hold on either of your thighs.

His gaze took you in completely—and you felt a little self-conscious. Completely defenseless even if you tried to shut your legs or fold your arms over your chest. He’d seen it all already.

Quinn lowered between your legs, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your thigh where it was the largest, the skin giving in under the pressure.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said through multiple kisses, looking up at you so you really knew he meant it, “when I get to see all of you.”

You let him spread you open, legs wide as he fits in between them, until the daylight hit every part of you. Every bump, and mark, and fold. You felt yourself clench around nothing, hard enough that your wetness gathered and a drop slipped through your folds and down the mattress.

“Fuck me,” Quinn breathed. “You’re so wet already.”

He leaned close enough that you could feel his breath fan over you, a little cold as it ghosted over your clit, making it pulse so hard you wondered if he could see it.

“Please, Quinn. Touch me,” you whined out.

He parted your folds slowly, fingers running down the sides where they meet your thighs first before going over the middle. His thumb ran through them like parting petals before exposing your clit. His other hand moved to your belly, pinning you down with it, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

You’d imagined what this first time would be like a million times in your head, but as Quinn moved his mouth over you, you quickly realized that reality was better than anything your brain had been able to come up with.

The abstinence you’d been through for the last few months really made everything feel so much more.

You pulled at his hair at the immediate pleasure, intertwining your fingers into his soft curls. Quinn attached his lips to your clit, sucking and circling it with his tongue, agonizingly slow at first until he felt like he could pick up the speed.

He was practically making out with your cunt then, eyes dark and locked in on one thing only—the way you reacted to him.

“Perfect,” Quinn hummed against you, lifting his head to lick his lips before suckling down again. “Mhm, so f-fucking perfect.”

Alternating between sucking at your swollen clit and licking long stripes, you knew in seconds that he was going to bring you to where you wanted to go most. That hurdle you’d felt when you’d tried to make yourself orgasm wasn’t there with him.

The back of your head sank further into the pillow beneath you, your eyes struggling to stay open even for a moment. “Oh, fuck. Quinn!” You couldn’t help the way a broken moan escaped your throat as his lips formed around and sucked particularly hard on your clit before he licked and soothed it right over with a flat tongue.

You felt one of his hands grasp at the skin of your thigh, slowly inching upwards before he carefully sank a finger into you. Coating his digit in your slick, he moved softly, letting you get used to the feeling of it inside you before speeding up his actions and adding another one.

“You should see yourself right now,” he mumbled, lifting his mouth again, using the hand that was on your stomach to move down and spread your folds, exposing your clit as he gently tapped his thumb against it. “All puffy and shiny. Can feel you throb against my tongue.”

Internally you cringed at the thought of what his view from between your legs must be like. But Quinn didn’t make it possible for you to linger on that thought. He was eating you out like a man starved.

He couldn’t get any closer even if he so desperately wanted to. Your hips bucked on their own accord, his nose nudging your clit as his tongue went back to licking long stripes down your folds. His moan vibrated against you as you felt his tongue against your entrance, dipping in slightly instead of his fingers.

You were making a mess. He was making you a mess. But you had no time to think about that as close as you were now. “Quinn, I can’t— I’m gonna come—”

At your exclamation, Quinn moved his lips back up to wrap around your clit, humming almost in approval as he harshly suckled on, knowing that was your favorite part of this.

Quinn always found you so expressive when you came. In seconds, your whole face scrunched up before it totally relaxed again, jaw slack and eyes glazed over. And the sounds—oh god, the sounds you could make. Soft and raw, all at the same time. Whining out long sighs as you grasped for anything to hold. The sheets, his hair, his shoulders.

Your hands clawed at your tits this time, fingers toying with your puffy nipples. Moving from your stomach, Quinn placed his hand right on top of yours, clasping his fingers over your own as he squeezed down on the plush skin.

When he’d worked you through your high with soft, long licks, you pushed his head back from you, fingers still tangled in his hair.

Quinn looked damn near drunk as he settled his head against your thigh, one hand working in soft circles against your other one, the skin plush and sticky. His face probably felt the same way, his lip, chin, and stubbled cheeks all coated in your sheen.

“Come up here and let me kiss you,” you slurred out, pouting a little as he took his time.

Quinn lay beside you with a heavy thud, his head placed on your chest, feeling it rapidly rising and falling as you caught your breath. He snuck in a kiss, just like you’d asked, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“You good?” he asked, pupils still blown, a playfully smug look on his face.

“So good,” you mumbled.

By now, Quinn’s cock was leaking through his boxers. You could feel him, hard and angry, as he rubbed up against the side of your leg. Your hand trailed gently down his chest, letting them rasp against his blushing skin.

Quinn gently took a hold of your wrist as you reached his waistband, stopping you before you could touch him fully.

“We don’t have to continue, that’s completely fine—”

“Nooo,” you whined out, complaining. “I want your cock, Quinn.”

Quinn’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, exhaling like you’d punched him in the stomach. The grin forming on his lips was crooked and completely shameless.

“Say that again for me?”

“I want your cock so bad, baby.”

You laughed after you said it, a little at how ridiculous the words sounded and a lot at how Quinn hid his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against you. His cheeks were already pink from before, so you didn’t know what he was trying to hide exactly.

After a moment of gentle chuckles, Quinn dared to move again. You mourned the loss of warmth as he pulled himself from your side, slotting between your legs again to reach over to the bedside drawer.

You didn’t have time to ask what he was doing before he placed a box of condoms on the table with a bottle of lube taped to it. Kelly’s note was even still on it.

“Did you bring those all the way here?” you asked in disbelief.

While you were grateful for the gesture, he could’ve just bought new ones in Michigan. You wondered if he’d checked these in with his luggage on the plane here, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of someone seeing them.

“You brought the lingerie,” he tried to argue. He hovered over you, resting his weight on his arms. No matter how much he tried, the rosy tint on his cheeks always gave him away. He couldn’t argue this.

“Not the same thing, Quinn,” you giggled again, shaking your head.

“I just want this to be comfortable for you,” Quinn mumbled, lowering down to kiss you. A small kiss on your lips, one to your cheek, and one to your chin.

“It will be. If we go slow, and you listen to me,” you said, reaching up to hold his jaw, thumbs going over his stubble, locking your eyes with his.

Quinn tilted his head. “When do I not listen to you?”

You didn’t have much of an answer to that. Because he truly always did. Even right after the trade when you’d shut down and not wanted to talk to anyone, he clung to every word you did manage to speak and made sure he understood you.

You had nothing to be scared of.

“Please, Quinn,” was all you said to get him to move again.

Quinn sat up a little abruptly, gripping at the waistband of his boxers and tugging them off in a hurried motion. He sat on his knees, bracketed between your legs, as you watched his cock spring free, heavy and hard, gently slapping up against his stomach.

“Condom?” he asked through a heavy breath.

“If you want,” you said, a little absentminded as you watched him. “Haven’t got my period back yet since I’m breastfeeding.”

He wrapped one hand around his length, giving himself a few slow and deep strokes. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, feeling your mouth begin to salivate as he rubbed the tip with his thumb, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had already leaked out.

It took a second for Quinn to make sense of your words. He remembered reading about this on some book a long time ago, and if you didn’t get your period, you couldn’t get pregnant yet. And then the other meaning settled for him. That you didn’t want a condom unless he did.

You watched it all happen as a wash of emotions over his face. Going from confused to the smuggest he’d ever been in seconds.

“You want me to go without, don’t you? he cooed. “Like the feeling of me filling you up?”

“Missed it.” You nodded quickly, biting your lip. “Fuck, I’ve missed it so much, Quinn.”

Quinn swallowed hard, collecting himself.

You made a decision for yourself by reaching over to the nightstand to grab the bottle of lube. You weren’t sure if it was necessary—you hadn’t felt any pain while his fingers worked inside of you—but you wanted to be sure. It couldn’t hurt to have some help easing him in.

You handed it to him and Quinn popped the lid open without any questions. He still stood on his knees between your legs as he squeezed a generous amount onto the tip of his cock, a little cold glob falling down onto your stomach, but you didn’t care. Not with the sight you had in front of you.

He leaned in over you, his hand working himself, spreading the lube down his length. As he did, his chain dangled in between you. You felt the cold metal touch your sternum.

You shared a long look with him, not needing to say much more to signal that you were ready.

He gripped your hips tightly as he positioned himself against your folds, rubbing himself through them, spreading your slick mixed with the lubricant. He looked at you once he moved down to your entrance. You let out a shocked gasp at the initial feeling, and Quinn hesitated before he pulled his cock back up to rub against your folds again.

“You’ve got to relax more, baby,” he instructed, his hand moving up to stroke your cheek. “Can you do that, or should we stop?”

“No, no. Don’t wanna stop.” You were pouting at just the thought, shaking your head. “Just… go slowly, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then, slowly, just like he promised, he pushed himself into you, stretching you open with his cock. It wasn’t painful, just a little unfamiliar at first. Like your body was remembering the size of him, or slowly molding to fit him again.

Your walls fluttered tightly, inviting him to move even deeper. He stayed still there for a couple seconds, buried to the hilt, savoring the way you pulsated around him and giving you both time to catch your breaths.

“Oh, fuck, Quinn—” you gasped as you felt him twitch.

“I know, I know, baby,” he groaned, eyes clamping shut with all the restraint he could muster, trying to keep his hips still while you got comfortable. “You’re so fucking tight around me.”

“You can move, please.”

As an act of desperation, you tilted your hips lower, pressing against him. Your legs instinctively closed around his middle, your heels digging into his behind, as he finally moved. He did go slow, stretching you inch by inch every time he went deep inside. His hips rutted into you, no urgency, both of you just enjoying the feeling of being as close as humanly possible.

The slow drags set off sparks of pleasure within you, so intense your eyes rolled back. You couldn’t help the sounds leaving your mouth, and neither could Quinn. You were positively loud, and lewd.

Quinn nuzzled his face in your neck, pressing his lips to wherever he could reach, sucking down to most definitely leave marks. He was fucking you slow and deep, mumbling praises into your skin. “Doing so good for me, hm? My pretty angel.”

You could barely make out his words in the litany of sounds filling the room. The soft crash of your bodies colliding, skin slapping beneath your own desperate moans. The wooden bed frame creaked every time his hips moved forward.

With one especially relaxed thrust, piercing you deep and caging your clit beneath his pubic bone, you tipped your head far back into the pillows, crying out his name as you arched your back up into him.

“Quinn, baby,” you whined. “I’m close—”

“You’re gonna come, angel? Yeah?”

In a swift movement, Quinn straightened and sat up on his knees, arms sweeping under your thighs to lift them closer to your stomach. He held you, nearly folded in half, as he thrusted again—deeper than before, better leverage.

You could feel one of his hands leave its grip on your hip, squeezing between your warm bodies as he continued moving. His fingers splayed over your stomach, kneading the softness before trailing further down, past the thatch of hair above your pussy and finding home through your folds to rub your clit.

You were already sensitive from how his mouth had worked you earlier. It was impossible to hold anything back now, his fingers tickling halos on your clit and his cock hitting that deep, special part inside of you with every thrust.

“Quinn, I can’t. I’m gonna come—”

Your voice broke as you said it, catching Quinn’s full attention. And oh—you were stunning. Almost better than before. Your face was just as expressive, but your eyes—dark and tear-filled, fluttering close as you twitch around him, your legs shaking in his grip—they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

You cried out his name over and over again as he helped you through your release. Your whimpers turned your words into an incoherent mess, but you made sure he heard three of them. The sweet admission you never got tired of saying, and he never got tired of hearing.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Quinn lost it when he heard those words. His cock pulsed against your walls, filling you up with white-hot ropes of come, so full that he could feel it around him, already leaking out through your folds.

And while you both knew it was too soon and ninety-eight percent impossible, you could still sense it. The feeling that he secretly hoped it would stick. You could let Quinn imagine it at least.

Everything slowed after that. The moans faded, and all that was left were heavy breaths.

Quinn settled beside you, making you into his little spoon. He had one hand sprawled across your lower stomach, where he was still sheathed inside you. His other one brushed hair away from your face before settling on your chest, being something for you to cling onto.

You practically clawed onto his forearm, your hand struggling a little to intertwine your fingers with his because you were so warm and sweaty. He knew you needed focal points. Always did. Especially after something like this. Your thoughts had a tendency to drift away otherwise.

But not when you could focus on him. His hands over your chest and stomach, his front against your back, him still filling you up inside.

“Do you want me to move?” Quinn whispered.

“No. Stay. Just a little longer.”

You wriggled just to feel him slip even deeper, his cock all soft and warm inside of you.

It was hard to tell how long you stayed like that afterward—whether it was only minutes or closer to an hour. Time felt strange, stretched thin by warmth and weight and the steady rhythm of Quinn’s breathing behind you. Eventually, your hips began to ache, and Quinn squirmed restlessly, careful not to jostle you as reality slowly crept back in.

“Okay,” he murmured at last, pressing a soft kiss into your shoulder. “Hang on.”

He slowly pulled out of you to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom. When he came back, you were still sprawled across the bed, limbs heavy, completely unbothered by modesty.

You let him fuss over you, gentle and attentive. You spread your legs for him again so that he could reach. You’d have to strip the sheets later anyway, so a little water didn’t do anything.

“How do you feel?” Quinn asked, a focused look on his face as he swiped the cloth between your legs, careful to not overstimulate your already sensitive parts.

You blinked up at the ceiling, then smiled, slow and lazy. “Sticky.”

Quinn sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I walked right into that.”

“No,” you corrected, grin widening. “I feel good. Like, really good. That was definitely our best fuck to date.”

“You have such a way with words.”

Once he was done, he tossed the cloth into the hamper and lingered by the window for a moment, staring out at the lake like he needed a second to collect himself. You took the opportunity to shamelessly admire him—the broad lines of his back, the way his muscles shifted when he moved, the two small dimples at his lower back, right above his butt. And the rumors about hockey butts definitely weren’t untrue.

You got so lost in your view that you were almost disappointed when he turned around to face you, a little worried line taking shape between his brows.

“They’re not on the lawn,” he said, words falling flat.

You almost didn’t get what he meant until you were able to scramble your last remaining brain cells together. You rolled over in bed, reaching for Quinn’s phone on the nightstand, dropping whatever panic that formed in those two seconds of unknowing as you read what Ellen had texted him.

“Your mom texted. They’re taking a walk,” you told him, unlocking his phone with your birthdate to see what else she’d said. “She sent a photo of Lily sleeping in her stroller.”

Quinn dropped his worried face as he sat down on the bed beside you. He leaned in to see the screen, smiling at Lilith in her stroller, a yellow floppy sunhat covering most of her face.

But just as he smiled, he tensed up again. “Do you think they heard us?” he asked even though neither of you had a way of knowing. “Or just… knew?”

“Oh my god.”

The realization hit all at once. You covered your face with both hands, mortified heat blooming everywhere. Had you really been so crazed by hormones that you hadn’t thought about how this situation looked from their context? Of course they knew. You’d asked them to take Lilith. You’d engineered the alone time. From an outside perspective, it probably couldn’t have been more obvious.

Quinn laughed, warm and helpless, pulling your hands away from your face. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he said, still smiling as he leaned in to kiss you. You wanted to fight it, but you melted right away.

He only pulled away when you were both gasping for air, a loopy, smug smile forming on his lips.

“How about round two while we’re still alone?”

thank you so much for reading <3 please tell me what you think my ask box is always open!

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