Omg that temporary tattoo thing got me thinking about how in one tree hill when Hayley gets a 23 tattoo above her ass for Nate…
oh dark!quinn wouldn’t be able to think about anything else when he sees your reach up high for something and your shirt lifts up and he gets a peek of the 43 above your his ass.
He would ask you about it and when you wouldn’t admit it right away he would bend you over and he would fuck you from behind. You don’t get to finish because you lied but he cums over your back and swipes it across the 43 tattoo to further claim you, proper tattoo care be damned. Yeah that’s hot
My ask turn around time needs to be studied. There'll be a day when I catch up with them all and it doesn't take me a month lmao.
I gotta put One Tree Hill on my watch list now? I've always seen it talked about a lot but I've never actually seen any of it.
Warnings: Quinn losing his mind, nails sinking into skin, biting, blood mention, ripping clothes, rough fucking, cum play.
You'd done it as a cute little gesture. You adore him and you're oh so proud of him, it'd been the easiest tattoo choice of your life. You'd wanted it somewhere he'd be able to see on you, wanting it more for him than for you.
You hadn't fully considered the impact of it until it was etched into your skin, until the scratching had stopped. Flushing heavily in the car coming back from the studio. Embarrassed about how he'd react when he saw it, knowing it's permanent now.
Hadn't considered how he'd feel about the fact that you were a little undressed for the artist, laying there with their hands on your skin, touching above and around your ass.
Hadn't considered that it might make him more feral, you'd been high on the feeling of wanting to show him how proud of him you are.
You'd tucked your shirt into the back of your jeans as you walked into his apartment, needing more time to think of an excuse, a reason, before he saw it. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you for long.
It's a shame you'd immediately forgotten the plan, distracted by him asleep on the couch. Rushing around the kitchen to make him food ready for when he wakes up, worried about how exhausted he clearly was after practice. Guilty you weren't here for him when he got home.
Hadn't heard him stirring, hadn't heard him creep towards you, fixated on the little inch of your bare skin visible to his eyes as you reach up. The emotions battling for control in his eyes - the confusion, the savage need to claim you, to fuck you. The disbelief. His pupils fully dilated, his arms shaking.
You don't hear him kneeling behind you, needing to get a better look or he feels like he'll die. Your startled gasp as he reaches out to grab your hips, the way your cute little jump exposes even more of your skin.
The way his nails dig into your skin, his eyes wild, resting his forehead above the tattoo. Tensing up when you feel his hot breath against your skin, sending shocks up your spine.
"Sweetheart.. you gonna fucking explain?"
The way his nails dig in further when you don't answer, when you don't even offer an excuse. Just whimpers coming out of your mouth. Your gasp of pain when he bites around the tattoo, making a circle. A ring of bloody possession around his mark on you. You're even more his now. You can't go back from this. You've made this choice.
His veins burn with the need to be buried in your cunt. His nails no longer still - clawing into you, dragging them down your ass. Leaving a stinging trail that makes you hiss, softly crying out his name. Pleading for something. Needing something.
Your cries pushing him over the edge, rising to his feet, throwing you over his shoulder. He needs you now. Needs you bent over his fucking couch right now. Needs his cock in you. Needs to make a mess. Needs to stare at his mark on you when he rails you.
He's not gentle about throwing you on the couch, cradling your head from the harsh impact. He's not a savage after all.
He has no care for your clothes, viewing them as a barrier to what he needs and wants. Doesn't care to gently take them off you, doesn't care if he knows they're your favourite. These fucking jeans. They might make your ass look like a buffet but they're keeping him from your cute little cunt and it's illegal.
He doesn't need them fully off, just down enough. Yanking them down your thighs, restraining your legs with them around your knees. He has room. He'll make it work. Warming you up, pushing his aching head against the wet spot on your underwear, pushing the material into you, watching as you grip the couch and tremble. Lazy little thrusts, pushing it into you further, eyes narrowing on the tattoo.
Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip as he rips your underwear, laughing as you squeak in protest at the slight burn.
Doesn't hesitate when he has a clear shot, sinking balls deep inside your cunt instantly, pushing his weight against you, forcing you to bend further over the couch, restraining you even further. Gripping your hip with one hand, resting his fingers against the tattoo, needing to physically feel it.
He's a machine fucking into you, slamming you further over the edge of the couch with every thrust, slamming you back down against him when you creep forward too far. Making you scream at the brutality.
Begging him to slow down, whining about all your adorable little choices. You're just making it worse. He wants you ruined. He wants you to make a mess, to be a mess.
Spanking your clit while he pulls out, teasing you, pretending that he's giving into your demands, before he's slamming back in even harder. Feeling your walls clench down on him, feeling your pussy sucking him back in. How it's desperate for him to be inside you, even if you're vocally protesting.
He's chanting, whispering to himself about how badly he needs to cum on every thrust, tossing his head back, losing himself in the feel of your cunt. You're his. You're marked. He can do this every day. Fuck, he can fuck you every day. He can stare at the mark and make you cum every single second of every single day.
Moaning as his speed picks up even further, no longer even focused on your reactions, just needing to cum. Needing to cum. He's gotta cum. Fuck, he's gotta cum. He's so close.
Forcing his head back up so he can watch the tattoo bounce on every thrust, feeling like it's taunting him, violently pulling you back and thrusting, giving it every single percentage of energy he has, shocks going down his spine, his thighs cramping with the strain.
He can't resist pulling out as he cums, drowning your back in his seed. Panting as it drips down your back, aided by gravity. How it covers the tattoo, his hips jerking like he's cum again, the sight making his brain break.
He's collapsing against your back fully, the hand on your hip spreading it over the tattoo, trying to rub it into your skin. To mark you further. Running his hands through the rest of the cum, reaching up to force it into your mouth.
He'll keep you both here for a while, too exhausted to lift off you.
I'm having the worst feral!Quinn brainrot. Actually the worst. I've been thinking about it all day.
This really isn't the best, but I've been trying to write it for about 8 hours. I had 2 lines written for most of that time.
Warnings: bondage, threats in his head, it's technically sort of tame for me.
Waiting until he's exhausted from a brutal round of games, in such a deep sleep that he doesn't realise that you aren't asleep in the bed with him. Aren't curled around him like you should be.
He doesn't even react when you trail your fingers down his forearms, how you wrap your hands around his wrists, squeezing them softly, feeling how strong they are. Giving yourself time to back out of your plan, knowing how mad he'll be.. you're not going to be able to walk for a week.
You can't resist the temptation of making him snap. He's been holding himself back recently, hasn't had that little extra edge. A little too soft with you, like you're suddenly too fragile.
Digging his nails into your skin like he's going to give you more, to fully get what he needs, what you want, only to retreat. Over and over again, night after night. It's fucking maddening. The threat of him being even rougher with you could make you cum on it's own, it's like he's edging you both for no reason.
You've had enough of it. You don't care what happens after. You don't care if he's mad, if he's upset, if he fucks you until you think you'll die.
You just need him to stop holding back, to stop holding back that part of him. If he thinks he'll scare you, he won't. If he thinks you'll run, you won't. You need him to be able to be fully himself. You crave it.
You'd been waiting until he was over yours.. it's much easier to restrain him to your headboard. Just tying his wrists together wouldn't be enough, you know he'd find a way to control the situation. To turn it around on you before you can make him see sense.
You brush away the faint feelings of worry as you wrap the smooth silk around his wrists, slowing down as he stirs slightly when you go to lift them higher, sharply inhaling. Waiting until he relaxes before you guide them up, securing them around the bars of your headboard, hoping the knots you researched online held strong.
Needing to be smart about it, making sure you're far enough away from him that he can't touch you, can't get near. You'd sit on his lap but you don't trust him to not ruin your plan with his legs. Don't trust him to not wrap them around you, forcing you down on his cock.
You don't have to wait long before he starts to stir again, his brows furrowing as he slowly starts to tug his wrists in confusion. Eyes snapping open when he realises he can't move them, head tilted back, glaring at the offending silk.
"Sweetheart.. what the fuck."
He's yanking harder at the silk, trying to free himself. Glaring daggers at you, a hint at the hidden feral feelings brewing in his eyes, making you even more confident in your decisions.
"Sweetheart, if you don't let me go, we're going to have a fucking problem."
He's throwing as much of his weight into his tugs as he can, lifting off the bed slightly with the force, sweat forming on his forehead from the effort, hair sticking to the moisture, making him look more deranged. Growling and cursing, maintaining eye contact with you as you sit there in silence, letting him brew.
Pausing when you reach out to grab the waistband of his sweatpants, watching you silently as you drag them down enough for you to be able to palm his cock. He doesn't react, just glares at you harder, looking like he wants to murder you with his own hands as you tease him.
"Sweetheart. This is your last. Fucking. Warning."
You can't resist rushing, not used to having this much control over him, the power going slightly to your head, making you less cautious. Sliding your hand into his boxers, tracing the veins of his cock with your fingers, gliding them up until they reach just under the head, rubbing small circles into him, watching as he starts trying to free himself again, only forcing you to tighten your grip on him.
The strangled moan he lets out, digging his teeth into his lip to hide how much you're working him up. Cursing as he throws his head back in frustration, planning on how he's going to get back at you while your hand speeds up, your little wrist twists making him grit his teeth in anger.
He'll make you regret this if it's the last thing he does. He can't wait to make you cry, to make you plead, to make you beg for his forgiveness. To restrain your arms.. your legs.. your waist. Whatever you do to him, he's giving back. You'd look so fucking cute and pathetic with a plug in your ass. Not being able to move a single inch while he fucks you. Vibrator on your clit. You'll deserve it all and more for being such a fucking brat.
He's trying his best to keep up the glare, his knuckles turning white with how hard he's clenching his hands, losing control of his body when you speed up. He hates how you know exactly how to touch him. How you know the exact pressure he needs. Hates how you're not giving in under his glare, knowing how weak and submissive you usually act the minute he's displeased.
He doesn't miss the slight smirk on your face when he can't hold back any more, cumming all over your hand. Every little action adding a tally mark. He's not missing one. He needs to know exactly how bad to punish his girl. How many lines he needs to write on your ass.
You're wiping his cum against his boxers, not even giving him the satisfaction of seeing it on you, crawling off the bed nervously. Watching as he thrashes around on the bed, the look in his eyes as you walk towards the door almost making you reconsider what you've done. The urge you have to already beg for his forgiveness, to give him anything he wants to ignore this. But you can't.
You know that whenever he breaks out from the restraints - you can already see the fabric fraying, it'll be worth it. You'll be ready to have him. To fully experience Quinn Hughes.
WARNINGS: hair pulling, extreme domination, oral performance, etc. 18+ readers only
PAIRING(S): Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: in which Fem!Reader knows Jack Hughes has never been a morning person, but she thinks she's mastered the art of waking him up.
Jack had never been a morning person, and unfortunately Y/N was the person who was tasked with waking him up after his alarm had went off for the umpteenth time, disturbing her sleep and going ignored by him wrapped around her. But she couldn't deny just how pretty he looked when his face was buried in the pillows, cheek smooshed up against her as he breathed softly and his long limbs rested over her. His eyelashes fanned out across the very top of his cheeks and his lips were puffy as the tiniest snores made their way through them.
Y/N was careful not to wake him when she moved, although he was one of the heaviest sleepers she'd ever met so she wasn't too worried, she just needed to get into position for her plan. This was more or less her everyday with Jack after all, so of course she'd come to learn one of the fastest ways to have him pushing himself out of bed despite the soft grumbles that followed him.
She let herself admire his soft features for a few moments as her fingers brushed along the messy mop of brown hair that framed his features, combing through his hair before she pressed a quick kiss against the tip of his nose and rolled him gently onto his back. She pushed herself up onto her knees, sliding in between Jack's legs as she eased his thighs wider, careful not to be too eager as to wake him just yet.
Jack was sensitive as always underneath her touch when she let her palms smooth up the length of his abdomen, tracing his skin until she felt him shudder and mumble something in his sleep. She was thankful that he only slept in his underwear, less layers for her to fumble with as she let her fingers trace featherlight touches along the waistband of his boxer shorts.
Y/N let herself palm at him for longer than she normally would, but there was something addictive about the way she felt his half-hard cock twitch when her hand wrapped around the shaft. Even through the layer of fabric between them, she could still feel every inch of him. Jack was warm and thick, enough to make her mouth water in anticipation as she gave him another squeeze that she swore had his breath stuttering.
Y/N finally let up, letting herself ease down the fabric separating her from him as she revealed his cock, biting on her bottom lip at the way the sudden rush of cool air made him twitch and thicken. Jack shifted slightly when she wrapped her hand around the thick shaft, and she could see the way his brows furrowed cutely underneath his bed head at the sensation before he settled again. She leaned forward to place kisses along the pretty length of his cock, deliberately sighing against the sensitive nerves before her voice came out an airy sort of hum.
“Jack." Y/N followed with another kiss against the swollen, leaking pink tip as her tongue swiped along the beads of pre-cum gathered there, making his hips twitch up instinctively before she felt his cock twitch, already eager for more. "You need to wake up, baby." She breathed before she let her lips part to stretch around him, letting her tongue swirl around the sensitive folds of his cock.
She watched his head loll to the side. Clarity was slowly getting a grip on him, she could tell when he instinctively reached for her and a drowsy, grumbly sort of whine fell from his lips. "Fuck, Y/N." Jack grunted, long and low and she watched the way his heavy eyes peeked open to blink down at her before they squeezed closed again when she took more of him.
She looked up, eyes glazed with lust as she took him in, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, hair messed up from his bed head as loose strands stuck to his forehead. His cock pushed down her throat and she felt his fingers intertwine around her hair when she swallowed around him, pulling another low whimper from his lips as his other hand fisted at his own hair.
"Feels so good.” There was a tremble to Jack's words when he spoke and she hummed around him before she gagged around the blunt head as she pulled off of him. It swelled her up with pride that she had him like this, body limbless and thoughts incoherent as he desperately chased his orgasm.
Y/N gave him a pretty look from between his thighs as she breathed in deep, pressing more messy, wet kisses along the sensitive glands before she let her tongue drag and swirl around the head of his cock. “You have practice, Jack. You need wake up.” She smiled before she hollowed her cheeks around him once more.
Jack’s eyes fluttered closed at the mention of practice, his fingers tightening around her hair. “Don't want to." He breathed heavily. "Fuck, keep going." He stammered, his words trailing off as intense pleasure overtook him, her head bobbing up and down on his erection, sending him straight into another dimension.
She felt his cock pulse against her tongue and knew that he was close, his body begging for release despite the looming responsibility. She didn’t want to leave him hanging, not when he was this deliciously desperate. She watched him swallow heavy as a deep flush painted his cheeks, feeling his fingertips trace their way along the dip of her shoulder before she let him ease his hips into her slowly.
“Feel more awake now, just don’t stop. Please, don't stop.” His words were choked off and needy, and he cut himself off with yet another whimper.
“Well, it's about time you got up." She teased, her teeth barely grazing along his silky skin.
He gave her a long hum, lolling his head back once more. “Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough."
At his passive-aggressive comment, she stroked down his cock with a little more pressure, earning a jolt of his hips and a sharp breath. The eyes that glared down at her were more awake now. "Seems hard enough to me." She commented innocently, keeping her eyes on his as she lowered to fit him back in her mouth.
She heard Jack moan as she pushed even deeper, a sound that was much prettier and breathier than the last few and she knew that he was getting closer when his heavy balls pressed against her chin. Her nose pressed against his pelvis before she choked and spluttered and the light swirl in her head was warm and fuzzy, making her toes curl with a sharp wave of desire before she pulled back slightly to look up at him.
"Please, baby." Jack begged, and he didn't even know what he was pleading for at this point. He found himself being a tad bit too selfish when it came to her, but he needed more from her. The soft pants from his lips made her tremble, the already fucked out state of him making her push to swallow around him again, not allowing him any sort of relief.
She felt his cock throb and thicken against her tongue, twitching inside her throat as he came with a soft, dreamy whine. She almost choked with the sudden thick rush of his load on her tongue, but she allowed herself to retreat back for a proper taste as she slurped and swallowed around his throbbing tip, tongue swirling around the pulsing veins as he trembled and twitched in time with her movements.
“That’s it, that’s my girl.” Jack grunted, thighs quaking and abs clenching as he let her wring his cum out of him until he was hissing from overstimulation and he was pulling at her figure to lead her onto his chest as his arms circled her waist.
The room was quiet despite both of their shared pants, the drowsy aftermath only broken by his most recently snoozed alarm sounding again, and he groaned before he was smearing a kiss along her temple, pulling her closer before he rolled her underneath him to trap her in his hold. Y/N felt his heavy weight pinning her to the bed, the feeling of his cock poking her thigh as she let her palms rest against his broad chest.
"Jack, you need to wake up." She reminded him, voice still thick with sleep and the aftertastes of him. But she had to admit, the feeling of his cum coating her throat was better than any coffee she'd ever had.
Jack groaned and shifted his weight slightly, his eyes still closed but his grip on her tightening. "Don't want to." He mumbled, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck and planting a gentle kiss.
Y/N giggled and pushed against his shoulder. "You have to. Come on, get up." She pushed at his shoulders playfully, trying to get him to move, but his grip on her only tightened.
He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before leaning down to kiss her deep and slow, his tongue pushing into her mouth and tasting himself on her lips. "I'm going, I'm going." He murmured against her, his breath hot against her lips. "But only if you promise to give me a taste of that sweet pussy of yours later."
Y/N's cheeks flushed at his words, a thrill shooting through her. She nodded eagerly, knowing that she'd want him again by the time he came back. "Deal." She whispered, her voice a little breathless.
Jack smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he rolled off her and sat up, running a hand through his hair which stuck up at every angle. The sight of him deliciously disheveled made Y/N want to pull him back down and start the whole thing over again. But she knew better than to push her luck, especially when he had a full day ahead of him at practice.
Jack stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing as he reached for his discarded clothes. His eyes fell on Y/N, who was still lying there, watching him with a contented smile as his smirk turned into a full-blown grin. "Thanks for the wake up call." He said, flashing her a wink.
Y/N chuckled at his words, feeling a bit smug as she watched him stumble towards the dresser, his legs still wobbly from the intense pleasure she had just given him. She knew that this was the only way to get him out of bed on time. She watched as he tugged on his boxers and she knew he had to go, but the temptation to pull him back into bed was almost too much to resist.
Jack noticed her gaze and couldn't help but to smirk. "You're making it harder for me to go." He said, his voice low and teasing.
Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that played on her lips. "You say that every time." She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist.
"And every time it's true." Jack shot back, his eyes lingering on her before he grabbed his hoodie with a grumble.
She felt his eyes on her, appreciating the view as much as she enjoyed watching him. Y/N knew that Jack was trying his best not to look at her, but she could see his eyes flicker towards her every few seconds. She couldn't help the smug smile that played on her lips as she watched him struggle. She knew that she had him wrapped around her finger, and she liked it that way.
"You're gonna get me hard again if you keep smiling that." He murmured, shaking his head slightly before pulling his hoodie over his head.
Y/N grinned, standing up from the bed to join him. She stepped closer, pressing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his waist, feeling his cock twitch against her thigh. "Such a shame that you need to leave so soon, huh?" She reminded him, her voice dripping with mock innocence.
Jack rolled his eyes, but the playfulness didn't leave them as he bent down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. He let out a deep sigh, his hands resting on her hips before they trailed up her sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just under her breasts before he let them rest there, feeling the weight of her against him. He leaned down to kiss her again, his tongue delving into her mouth and tasting her once more before he pulled back with a groan.
"Fuck, I really do have to go." He mumbled, his voice strained as he stepped back and continued to get ready, his eyes lingering on her body as she watched him. She knew that look, knew that he was already planning how he could get back into bed with her the moment he was free.
As he pulled his sweatpants up and cinched the drawstring tight, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness that their morning together was coming to an end so soon. "I know." She replied, her voice soft as she took in the sight of him. "But you can make it up to me later."
Jack's eyes darkened at the promise, and he couldn't help but lean in to steal yet another kiss, his hand cupping the back of her neck to deepen it. "Oh, trust me." He murmured against her lips before reluctantly pulling away and squeezing her sides. “I will.”
"Jack." Y/N squealed, slapping at his hand. "You need to go."
He chuckled, straightening up and backing away. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and swiped it off silent, glancing at the time with a dramatic groan. He leaned down to kiss her one more time before turning towards the door. “Love you." He called over his shoulder, giving her one last lingering look before he stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
"Love you, too." She called after him, the sound of his footsteps fading away down the hall. Y/N couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had in mind for when he got home later, a small shiver of anticipation running down her spine.
Quinn getting a huge baby fever after he saw you hold your little cousin (or whomever baby)
Hello, lovely…baby fever… yes, baby fever. Ummm, I fear I have…gone overboard again, so it took me a bit. I had to bring out the big guns (my AO3 thots with my fictional men). He almost turned…dark 🤨🙂↔️
TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Masturbation, a dash of Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex (use protection, lovelies), Brief Choking, Use of ‘hubby’ (some doesn’t like it so...🙂↕️), Quinn being pathetic as he gets hit with an extreme baby fever
Count: 2913 words | Masterlist
You are trouble. So much trouble. Quinn had to lock himself in a bathroom stall as he stares at his phone, his fingers tapping the video over and over and over again. It feels like a loop. A loop of you and that little baby.
Who is that? Who? But the identity of the baby is the second thing in this mind. You’re the first thing.
Quinn can’t stop watching. Can’t stop hearing your little coos for the baby you got in your arms. Can’t stop seeing the way you brush your cheek against the top of the baby’s head. Can’t stop the squeeze in his chest as you smile at the camera, the light shining behind you so perfectly that you appeared to have a halo. Can’t stop feeling your happiness in this ten-second long video. It makes him happy. Too happy that he had to cover up the little one’s face because he’s…his pants tighten up. Fuck.
Before he could type his reply, you sends over a text that had him, leaning back against the door which creaked from his weight. His legs and hands shake. His soul shudders. It feels as though he’s not there. This must be a fucking dream.
Your text says, “When we have a baby, will they look as cute as this little duuuuuude?”
‘When. We. Have. A. Baby.’
When. Not if. When. Like you are stating the inevitable future. Like you are looking forward to it. Like you want him to give you children—or child, fuck, he’ll give you any number of children.
It’s just a simple thought, but it feels like a magnitude ten earthquake causing destruction. You destroyed him in the best possible way. Rattled him so much that he can barely function. He got practice for fuck’s sake. He can’t even tease your extended ‘dude’. He can’t. He can’t think straight.
All Quinn’s thoughts are questions.
‘You want a baby with me? When do you want have a baby? Do you want to start making one now? Next week? Next month? Next season? Next year?’
‘Are you sure you want a baby?’
‘How many babies do you want? One? Five?’
‘Do you want them a year a part? Two? Three?’
Shaking his head to clear it, his tongue feels dry, his heart beating and ramming against his chest. He could barely ask who’s the little dude, barely understand that dude is your friend’s baby, could barely read every paragraph you sent after about little dude. Of course, he still reads it, despite not being able to process them, because he needs to hear you—at least—as he tumbles down the rabbit hole.
More like plummets.
His mind is clogged with images of you. Your tummy barely showing to fully rounded and full of his baby. You eating for two. You being all clingy or irritable with him—he’ll hug or console you either way. You wearing maternity clothes. Most especially, you holding his baby.
Quinn’s done for. He fucking is.
When you send your “I love you”, Quinn’s hand is already wrapped around his cock, your name escaping his lips in a plea, a revelation descending and dawning upon him.
He needs to have a child with you.
That’s why—for weeks, six weeks to be exact—Quinn cannot stop imagining and wishing the babies he sees in the streets, in social media, in the arena during games to be yours and his.
He has…baby fever. He realized that a week in. It’s weird. Quinn doesn’t think about kids or babies. His plan was to be with you. Just you and him without a doubt. Then after some time, he’ll propose. Then you would marry. Then you two will talk about kids, because even if having kids was not yet his focus, he wants a family with you.
You’re his endgame. He’s sure of it, so he’s moving forward with you. Until you sent the video of little dude—Jeremy, if Quinn remembers correctly—with you. Until he literally can’t stop picturing you and babies. Until it’s the only thing in his fucking mind other than hockey and you. Babies. Cute little babies.
He’s so fucked, because it’s not just the wholesome need for little babies. No. It feels primal.
He gets fucking hard, totally bricked up, wanting nothing but to fuck you until you’re bred. So hard that he had to jerk off multiple times during the day. Bathroom stalls. A janitor closet. Even when he’s home, he has to jerk off, given that you’re not there. He tries not to, but his cock would ache as his thoughts worsen, so he fucking fails. Every. Time.
His fogged up brain will continuously echo: “Kids, now. Kids with you. Now. Now.”
Quinn thinks he’s losing his mind. He doesn’t know what to do, because the thoughts of little ones—with your eyes, your hair, your smile, your sweetness, your quirks, your gentleness, your everything—makes him yearn for it to be true. His heart aches for every day that goes without them. He needs a family with you. He needs little ones to spoil alongside you.
So for weeks, Quinn wants to breech the subject with you. He wish to present his new foolproof life plan—that will also be your plan, if you accept. His new plan consist of: lots of fucking to make a baby, him providing for you and your children and possibly grandchildren, him being present for every step of the way, him being a good father. But simply, babies. The plan is to have babies, but the words always stop at his throat.
Because…even if he wants babies, that doesn’t equate to what you want right now. Right? He can’t just do what he wants, can he? Like breed you and—
“Little dude,” you say in a singsong voice, “would look so cute with this, right?”
Quinn looks up and see you hold up a shark onesie. He can only stare, stare, and stare, because this has to be illegal. This, as in you holding up that onesie just a meter away from him. As in you looking proud of every baby clothing you bought. As in you being excited of buying things not for his baby. He hates it. The sudden disdain—to an innocent kid just because he’s not his—is making him all too riled up now. Why are you spoiling someone else’s baby? Fuck.
“Sure,” Quinn chokes out which he tries to mask with a cough.
He nods helplessly when you grin, a sparkle in your eyes, then you dash across the room to get your wrapping papers, tapes, and somehow, more paper bags. Just how many did you buy for that baby? It’s a fucking haul that makes Quinn irritable and also downright pathetic.
He should just say it. He wants a kid with you. He wants to be a father of your children. Easy words to say, but he still can’t say it. He’s such an idiot.
“I want to help,” he offers as you settle on the floor, scooting your legs under the coffee table, looking so cozy.
“Thank you, Quinn, but I got a wrapping system over here,” you giggle. Your arms are comically filled with stuff before you laid then out on the table. “You always crumple the wrapper, silly.”
Quinn does. He can wrap presents, but it’s a battle. Him against the paper. Usually, he wins but the gifts…they’re wrapped so messily. So different with your gift wrapping. While he’s nonchalant about it, you’re particular. He sees your focus for every fold. He has seen you get upset when you fold one piece wrong or if the ribbon is wonky. He loves that about you.
Still, you give him socks and onesies. Still, you let him messily wrap them. You even smile, looking so proud of him like he’s the best, looking utterly kind and patient. You place what he wrapped on your growing pile.
You’ll be a good mother. Quinn knows that. He’ll do his best to be a good father. He can do that. He can—
He jumps when you suddenly hop over his lap.
“Where’d you go?” You ask, pressing a kiss against his jaw. Quinn can only cling to your hips, savor your touch on his nape, the feel of your fingers running through his hair. “Come back, hubby.”
Hubby? Are you insane? Do you what that does to him? Who is he kidding? You fucking do. You always do. You’ll be the death of him.
“My Love,” he groans, a bit too whiny in his opinion, but he can’t help it. The effect you have on him.
“You like that?” you chuckle, breathing in his sharp exhales. “Hubby.”
Quinn can only growl in response. You’ve short-circuited him and you laugh at him. Cruel. His cruel Love. He hugs you tighter, grounding himself. This is real. You called him Hubby. Not Huggy. Hubby. Your hubby.
He buries his head into your neck, greedily taking in your scent. God. You smell so good, so addicting like a custom-made drug, just for him.
His cock throbs, wishing to be seated in your pussy, wishing to spill his cum in your womb until it takes.
“Do you want a baby?” He forces out, his voice coming out raspy and broken and desperate. He’s probably blushing, because he’s burning up. Even his fucking eyes stings. He’s going to cry and it’s fucking pathetic.
“Hmm,” you hum, hands rubbing over his chest, soothing him.
One hand runs up his jaw, coaxing him to meet your eyes. Your beautiful eyes track every detail on his face, taking everything like it’s your first time when you’ve already done it hundreds of times.
Then you softly kiss his cheeks, the mole on the right, his forehead, the edges of his eyebrows, his eyelids, his lips. A simple soft peck. One by one until he’s just putty underneath you. His heart pounds but not from fear, for his undeniable love for you. Just like that you settle him.
“Been thinking about that, handsome?” you ask.
“Yes,” he nearly stutters.
“Do you want to have a baby?” you ask, pressing another kiss on the tip of his nose.
Quinn shudders, eyebrows meeting, breaths picking up. “Yes,” he confesses like he’s about to confess guilty and be sentenced to death.
A grumbled ‘fuck’ escapes his lips when you scoot closer, sitting your clothed pussy right over his aching cock. You roll your hips once and Quinn almost comes. Shit. What are you doing to him?
You’re saying something, whispering the words on his lips, but Quinn couldn’t focus.
You’re so close. Oh, so close. Your breaths mix together, making him all so dizzy. He wants to kiss you again, but when he tries to close the smallest distance between you two, you move back. Why are you…
Then he realizes what you said.
“I’ve been wanting your baby for so long, Q. So long.”
You want his baby.
It feels like the last tether around his control snaps.
No longer is he chasing your lips and letting you pull away. No longer is he shaking like a goddamned leaf, choking on unsaid words, yearning and begging to the void. No longer because you’ve said it. You want his child.
He captures your lips, hand slipping through hair, firmly tugging. The way you moan against his lips makes his blood rush his cock. Your hands grasping at his shirt. Your hips grinding against his. Your desperation is a distinct reflection of his.
“Quinn,” you gasp, panting for air. Your pupils are blown. Cheeks flushed.
Quinn groans your name, lifting you to rest you on the couch, him still kneeling on the floor, your hips glued together. He grasps your collar, ruthlessly tugging down. Buttons pops out, fabric tearing. It’s his shirt anyway. He can just give you more.
He doesn’t let you complain, easily capturing your lips, as he continues his rush to remove every bit of your clothing. You try to help, but he won’t let it. He can’t or else he’ll lose it.
He needs this. You need this. Those thoughts keep bouncing in his head as he deepens the kiss. His hand finds your pussy, already dripping. Slipping a finger, your pussy sucks it in, quivering, clenching, leaking. God, you’re so wet. He doesn’t even need to prep you, because you’re already so turned on for him. Only for him. He hooks his finger against your special spot, making you scream.
You’re so ready, aren’t you? Ready to be fucked. Ready to be bred.
“It’s such a dangerous day, Quinny,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms.
You’ve already sent him over the edge, but hearing you—those new set of words—makes him spiral deeper into his haze.
He somehow gets rid of his shirt but only pushes his pants and boxers down, before he sinks every inch of his hard and leaking cock into your needy pussy. So easily. So smoothly. So eager and greedy.
“Fuck,” he growls, nipping your lips, blunt fingers digging into your thighs to keep them wide open for him. “You feel so good.”
So good. So perfect around his cock. He watches his cock slide out then back in, shivering at the feel of you, shuddering at your exhales, at how pleasure contorts your beautiful face.
“Quinn,” you say his name like it’s a prayer. “Breed me.”
He nearly comes from that. You’re such a minx. He leans back, fucking harder into you, bottoming out and hitting the spot that has you singing your screams, that has your eyes rolling up as your pussy convulses with tiny orgasms. Christ. He might not last long.
He just wants to fill you up, plug you with his cock so nothing spills. He needs to do that. If he doesn’t, you can’t get pregnant. You can’t have the child you want. The child he needs to take care of, to spoil, to love.
He wraps a hand around your neck. Of all the necklaces he bought for you, it’s his favorite and nothing else, but the sight of the little heart pendant resting on your collar bone, just beneath his wrist, has him snapping his hips harder, rolling to heighten his and your pleasure. Fuck, so good.
“Harder, hubby,” you taunt as tears run down your cheeks. “Please, just a bit upward.”
He follows your plea, hitting the spot you wanted him to reach, getting the immediate reward of you arching your back, pussy clamping down around him as you come. Your cum dribble out with your arousal. The squelching noises and skin slapping is so alluring. Quinn needs more.
Quinn rides your orgasm, prolonging it until you are whimpering and gasping, “I’m coming. Quinn.”
He tightens his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse quicken, pussy tightening. You can only hold his arm, hips raising to meet every thrust that makes your tits bounce. Your eyes rolls as you come once again as he controls your air. What a sight.
He finally lets go of your neck, running his hand down your chest, teasing your taut nipples, making you whine, your tummy, until he reaches below your navel. He pushes down then you scream and come around him again.
Look at you surrendering to him.
“That’s three,” he groans out, slowing down his pace. He rises up, resting on knee on the edge of the couch, so he can fuck into you deeper. He hooks your quivering leg over his forearm, watching you bite your lips. “Got more for me, my Love?”
“Please,” you breathe. “Fill me with your cum, Q. Please. I need it.”
That’s his fuel. Your words. Your breaths. Your moans, mewls, whimpers, whispers of calling him your hubby. You, whining for more, more, and more, as he ruts and rolls his hips into your sopping wet pussy. The slight drool on the corner of your lips which he couldn’t fight the urge to lick. Your taste, your feel, your touch, all so divine.
He can’t get enough of you.
Soon, he’ll have little you’s whom he’ll love, whom he’ll play his games for, whom he’ll work hard for, whom he’ll be proud of. He’s already doing these for you, but that promised will ignite—has ignited—another flame in him.
He’ll have pieces of you and him in his arms.
He can’t wait.
He can’t.
He needs to make it happen.
He must.
He captures your lips, your tongue meeting his instantly. Fuck. He can feel your desperation. You need it too.
Quinn slows, drawing every thrust deeper, losing himself in you until he comes so hard that his sight blurs, so hard that he almost crushes you to the couch, so hard that he whimpers your name because you also come. Every spurt of his cum, a silent prayer, a plea for it to take.
But even if it doesn’t, Quinn has the whole day to plug you up with his cock, to fuck you again with your hips raise to lessen the cum that spill which is fucking inevitable. So, he’s there to give you more.
He has to make sure that you’re full of him. Full of his seed on this dangerous day. So dangerous. A perfect time to breed you, isn’t it?
God, he can’t wait until he’s fucking you with your belly is round with his baby.
I fully apologise for this. 3.2k words. Not really checked through, forgive me.
Warnings and I mean warnings: heavy use of slut and whore. Degrading. Jack isn't fucking around. Heavy dark!Jack possession feelings. Wanting to own your body. Manhandling, bruising grips. Slight blood mention. No soft fucking or soft foreplay. 'Forcing' but also not. Spitting. Throat fucking. Gagging. Fingers sort of fucking your mouth. Breath play. Spanking. Edging mention. Threatening ass fucking. Punishment.
You really hadn't planned for this to happen. To suddenly find yourself attracted to your best friend. You weren't blind - it's not like you didn't notice how pretty he was, but it was never sexual. He was constantly shirtless around you, constantly close to you and you'd never even considered it.
Hadn't let your eyes feast on his bare skin. Hadn't wanted to follow the trail of water down his body with your mouth whenever he showered after a game at yours.
Hadn't let your mind get distracted by his thighs when he'd spread them next to you. Not thinking about how they're the size of your head. Not thinking about the pure strength of them, how he could keep you restrained easily, how he could keep you trapped how he wanted with just his thighs. How he could just take what he wanted from you.
You're ashamed to admit that it's kept you up for a few weeks. The obsession forming in your brain. Slowly taking over your every thought. How you've struggled to keep your composure around him, to not accidentally drop any hints. You don't want to lose him. To confess something you can't take back. But you're also waking up with soaked bed sheets, your sudden wet dreams coming after you in your sleep. Your brain taking advantage of your vulnerable state.
You feel awful for the thoughts you're having about him. He's innocent in this. He's always taken care of you, always been there to protect you. Not a mean bone in his body, and now you're thinking about him ruining you? Using you like his own personal whore? He'd hate you if he found out. You're convinced.
You can't tell him how you zone out when you're cuddling, thinking about how you physically need to get on your knees, to beg him to fuck your throat. To make a mess of you. To force you down on his cock, rubbing your face in further when he bottoms out. Purely using your mouth for his pleasure, as a place to cum.
You can't tell him how willing you are to beg for him to be inside you, how you'd chant his name like a prayer to even get his head inside you. To feel how it'd catch on your clit, brutally stretching you out, to feel how he'd slam inside you, not willing to wait for your body to adapt.
How you're willing to let him use you however he wants. Slowly, deep, fast, anything. Any hole he wants. 24/7, even.
You've tried burning through the energy, hoping it'd pass. The countless nights you've laid awake in bed, crying about how your dildo just doesn't hit right. Doesn't feel real. Isn't attached to him. Can't make you feel as good. Whining as your hand gets exhausted quick, not being able to cum. It's like your body is rejecting it.
How your hips jerk away from the pleasure when you get close, like it's not happy with you getting off if it's not because of him. How you're too sensitive. Even brushing it against your clit feels like you're getting shocked. You need someone to force you. To take control. You need Jack. You don't think you can have Jack.
It's ridiculous that you think he hasn't noticed. How he's caught you staring at him so many times, eyes blank. Not responding to him. How your chest heaves when he gets close all of a sudden, how you pant like a bitch in heat. He doesn't even think you're processing all his touches when you're like that.
The way his hand rests around your neck instead of the usual shoulder. How he drags his fingertips up your thigh when you're half trying to hump his leg. He doesn't think you realise what you're doing. The way you let out pathetic little mewls. How you whimper when he puts more of a show on after he's out of the shower, letting you see more skin. Resting his towel lower. Smirking as your eyes blaze over him.
If you're acting like this now, he can't wait until he's actually fucking you. Until he can ruin you in every possible way. How he can take care of you, give you what you need. He adores you.
He has the money to spoil you, he can buy an apartment for both of you if you don't want to move in with him. He can buy all your food, provide for you. He just needs you to be his first. You'll give into all of his demands and requests if he's slamming you down on his cock.
He's been letting you slowly pull away for the past week. He can see the guilt in your eyes after you zone out. He knows you'll try and deny it if he accuses you of anything. If he tries to take what he wants. A little startled rabbit. Oh, how you'd squeak. But he can't be here for damage control, to soothe you over and spend the time you'd need to not spiral. He's out on another roadie for the next week.
Which brings you to tonight. You've been cuddled up on the couch, watching his game. You're fine until they air his post game interview. It's almost like he's doing it on purpose. Slowly dragging his tongue over his lips, running his fingers through his hair, the way he looks so intensely at the interviewers. You can't help the whimper. If he looked at you like that.. like he wanted to consume every inch of you.
You don't hear your phone vibrating on the table. Don't see his texts warning you that he's coming over. You're in a daze, rewinding his interview over and over again, your fingers climbing up your thighs, skimming over your clit before you even realise what you're doing.
Rubbing gentle circles over your underwear, hips slowly rocking against your hand. Feeling the cotton getting saturated by your arousal, biting your lip.
You don’t hear the door unlock. You don’t hear Jack walking in, don’t even hear the thud of his kit bag hitting the floor. Too absorbed in watching his interview, slowly edging towards your high, your hands moving rapidly under the blanket covering your lap.
Don’t hear his sharp intake of breath, how he pauses behind the couch, marvelling at how fucking pretty you look. How adorable you are when you cry. It’s obvious what you’re doing. He can almost taste you in the air.
He has to hold back a laugh when he realises what you’re watching. How blatant you’re being. You’re really getting off to his interview? Really? When you could just be making a move with him?
You pull away and then he catches you doing this? Mewling like a little whore out in the open?
It’s all the consent he needs. You’re basically giving him permission, wrapped in a pretty little bow. He was giving you space, but you clearly don't need it. You're whimpering like you're in a goddamn heat and he has what you need.
There's no way he's not dragging this out though. You've pissed him off with your little avoidance games. Tested his patience every single night he's been over, having to sit there while you fuck him with your eyes.
Slowing creeping over to the couch, leaning over the back of it, waiting until he can tell you're close, watching as your eyes threaten to roll back in your head, the desperation of your fingers, trying to get yourself there before you tire, before your body quits out on you.
"Hey, angel.."
The way your eyes shoot up in panic, how wide your eyes go as you process what's happening, the way he can tell he's ruined your little orgasm. It's addicting to him. You look like prey, waiting to be devoured. The way your hands scramble to pull the blanket up, the way your face floods with heat. You almost look like you're going to cry, to start bawling and apologising.
You're stuck there at his mercy. If you move, you'll expose yourself. If you move the blanket, it'll be obvious. If you move your hands from under there, they'll be soaked. There's no way to easily cover this up, to recover from it. It feels like your brain is rebooting - you can't act, can't speak. You can only watch as he slowly walks around the couch, sitting in the armchair across from you.
The way he's so casual is almost infuriating. Resting his head on one of his palms, eyes narrowed as he watches you. His one leg crossed over the other, the image of casual. His stare burns your skin, the dark look in his fully dilated eyes. The way they occasionally flick to the TV screen, as if confirming that you were getting off to him.
You're desperate to do something. To say something. To make him say anything. Fuck. You just need something to happen. Feeling your arousal soak you more as he just keeps staring.
It's starting to bother you, how your arousal is almost drying on your skin. You feel like a mess, feeling your underwear stick to you, every movement leaking a squelching sound into the air. Trying to move your thighs enough to make it less obvious. But he's watching.
The noise he lets out while he watches you adjust yourself startles you. It's almost like a growl, you've never felt so small. It's like you're cornered by a predator, any wrong move baiting them into attacking.
He's sitting forward in the armchair, like he's enjoying a front row seat to you being a whore. The little whimper you let out as you accidentally rub your thighs together is like a gun shot. He's launching off the chair before you can blink, stalking over to you. Still not saying a word.
The way he sits next to you, the way he grabs you. His grasp leaving bruises on your skin, his fingernails breaking through skin on your sides, the blood dripping from the little wounds not bothering him, only making him growl louder. Yanking you on his lap.
How he's sick of your shit, hooking his arms under your knees, keeping your legs trapped in the air, spreading you wide. Inhaling the scent of your cunt from where he is, tipping his head back in ecstasy.
The way you're crying out in embarrassment, trying to fight his grip. Squirming in his arms like he's gonna let you go. Like he's going to let you escape. You're his now. He's had it. This isn't ending in a way that doesn't involve you crying over his cock.
"You think I didn't notice? How much of a fucking whore you've been recently? The way you've been drooling for me to fill you up? This soaked over an interview? Really? It's all it took? Baby, that's borderline pathetic."
He's biting into your exposed shoulder, digging his teeth in, making you feel the sting. Like he's punishing you. Punishing you for pushing away. Punishing you for being a whore. Punishing you for touching yourself.
Laughing as you protest more, your squirms getting more violent, trying to dislodge his arms, trying to escape. Trying to process what's happened.
"If you wanna play angel, let's fucking play, yeah?"
He's giving your clit a borderline violent smack over your underwear, making you jerk as he uses that to brutally slide two of his fingers into your tight hole. Biting you again as you complain and cry.
"Now, now. None of that. You act like a whore, I'm gonna treat you like one, okay angel? Gonna be a good girl for me?"
He's not taking his time with you - the pace he's settled on makes you scream, feeling like you're losing your sanity one thrust at a time. You can hear the squelch, can feel the wetness pooling under you, soaking through his jeans.
Switching up his motions to keep you on edge, spanking your cute little needy clit occasionally to make you fuck yourself harder on his fingers. Laughing darkly as you make it worse for yourself, not being able to control your body.
Sliding another finger into you, hooking up against your walls, slamming into your little whore spot. Bullying you relentlessly with it, tears leaking down your face as you beg for his mercy. But it's not coming.
He's only getting warmed up, this is only the opening act. Maybe if you hadn't been such a fucking slut when he was gone, you wouldn't be this fucked. Your protests turning into moans, trying to scratch his skin, trying to drag your nails across any skin you can reach, begging him to stop even though you're mewling and grinding against his hand.
He's almost worried about a noise complaint as you crack, screaming his name, thrashing around in one final act of protest before you're cumming on his fingers.
"Aw baby, jus' a little pathetic whore aren't you? Cumming that quickly? Are your protests even real? You can admit that you wanted this, it's okay."
He's dropping your legs, using your dazed state to push you on the floor. Casually stretching as he rises from the couch, slowly undoing his belt and zipper as he strides over in front of you, grasping your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him. Wanting to see the look in your eyes. Wanting to see the evidence of what you've made him do.
He's digging his fingers into the corners of your mouth, forcing you to open wide, watching drool escape from the sides, how your tongue sticks out of your little mouth like you're offering him a gift. Palming himself, covering his free hand in all the pre-cum you've made him leak with your actions, shoving it in your mouth, forcing it down your throat.
Watching as you whine and protest, trying to move him away. But his fingers are hooked in, making sure you can't do anything about it. You're his now. Learn to live with it.
Shaking your head side to side slightly, smirking as you almost gag on his fingers, struggling to cope with the taste of his pre-cum and his actions.
"Gonna keep this cute mouth open for me? Don't get any ideas, angel. I can make this a lot worse."
He's slapping his cock head on your tongue, watching as he leaks, how it coats your tongue. A little warm up. A little taste to curb your behaviour. Giving you no real time to breathe before he's thrusting forward, switching his hand from hooking your mouth open to placing it on your head, slamming you down on him as he thrusts in.
Moaning as you gag, as you hit his thighs in desperation. You're so weak, they barely register. So fucked out from his fingers. You’re like a weak little kitten. A cock drunk little kitten.
His thrusts down your throat only get more punishing, forcing your head down into his balls until you really start hitting his thighs, pulling your head off to give you a break before he’s back at it again. He could stay buried in your mouth forever.
The way your throat tightens as you struggle, the way your mouth squeezes his cock. Fuck, he can’t wait to be inside you. If this is what your mouth feels like, he’d be happy to die inside your cunt.
He can’t wait to ruin you. He wants your cunt. He wants your ass. He wants to fuck up between your cute tits. He wants every single inch of you. He wants to fucking own you.
Dragging your hair into a ponytail, needing more purchase on your head. Making you stay still as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back again as he loses his mind. Squeezing your throat as he floods your mouth with his cum, watching it overflow out of your mouth. You can’t swallow fast enough. He’s not giving you a break.
“That’s my good girl.. being so fucking good for me..”
He’s showing you over his shoulder, not even bothering to zip himself back up. Watching you panic as you go over, frantically trying to swallow all his cum before gravity makes it a living hell for you.
“Enough warm up, angel?”
Smacking your ass as you thump against his back with your fists, the hits barely registering. He doesn’t know why you’re complaining now. He knows you came again when he was buried in your throat.
He’s throwing you on the bed, pushing your head into the covers. He’s ripping every left over scrap of fabric off your body, not wanting to waste any more time. You could’ve been doing this weeks ago.
But no, you had to be shy. Had to force his hand. Wouldn’t be surprising to him if you planned it. We’re wishing for an excuse.
He’s lifting your hips up, wanting a good angle to punish you for making the both of you wait for so long. Spreading your cheeks as he spits on your cunt, giving you a little extra lubrication out of the kindness of his heart. Lining up his head, smacking it against your entrance.
He’s sliding in an inch and holding still, laughing cruelly as you whine. Holding you tight as you try and back up against him, whining.
“Really, baby?”
He keeps edging you, an inch in, an inch out. Bottoming out on random thrusts, making your tight little body tremble. Not knowing if you’ll get a shot of pleasure or more edging.
Letting you push back against him now. Watching as you cry, trying to throw your body weight into him, wanting more of his cock in you. So fucking pathetic. He’ll let you have your fun.
It’s adorable how tired you get, how your arms tremble as you try to get yourself off. Baby steps are over.
He’s pushing your back, forcing you flatter against the bed, leaning over to grasp your shoulders with a punishing grip, slamming into you like a man possessed. Spanking your ass, spitting again where his cock meets you. Watching as he makes a complete mess of you.
The way your ass shakes as he bottoms out, the way you milk his cock. The way you take everything he gives you, the way you tense up when he teases a thumb against your ass, rubbing circles around his future target, watching as you freeze up before letting out the most pathetic moan he’s heard in his life.
Almost making him lose his mind there and then. Digging his fingers into your ass to gain some control. Panting into your neck. Licking a stripe up your skin before reaching down, spanking your clit harshly as he fucks into you again and again. Feeling you jolt, feeling your squeeze his dick so hard he’s almost scared you’ll break something.
Screaming as you cum around his cock. Burying himself balls deep as he floods your pussy with his cum. Filling you up. Giving you what you need. Feeling your walls pulse, the way they grip at him.
It’s like your cunt doesn’t want him to leave, him slowly rocking his softened cock inside you, stirring up your combined cum. Gentle little circles with his hips, feeling you whine in overstimulation.
Slowly pulling out, watching his cum leak out of you, resisting the urge to clean you up.
“Wish you hadn’t have fucking waited now, don’t you angel?”
pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader
genre: teammates sister⎜ friends with benefits ⎜secret relationship ⎜
warnings: vaginismus rep ⎜ fingering ⎜ fighting amongst friends :( ⎜ protective older brother curtis ⎜painful sex ⎜p in v ⎜public sex (...kinda) ⎜spitting ⎜curtis says some mean things about jack ⎜why do my jack fics always have him getting in a fight ⎜jack really is the kind to talk you through it ⎜ jack being oh so careful and gentle ⎜
synopsis: some things are private not secret - but your relationship with jack…oh that's definitely a secret.
word count: 10k
authors note: four nations jack has me feeling some type of way...this fic has some vaginismus rep in the smut scene with some mentions of painful sex so I hope everyone enjoys and let me know what you think!
(unedited)
You never pictured yourself as someone with a fuck buddy.
You never pictured yourself having quickies in a supply closet.
To be honest you never really pictured yourself doing anything other than sitting in a library studying … but here you are.
“You need to get up.” You hiss, smacking you pillow against the bare back in the bed next to you. You sigh, hitting the back one more time, before slumping against the mattress. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you call me every weekend anyway.” The voice chuckles back, finally rolling onto his side facing you with a teasing grin on his face, his body lifting slightly as he reaches over you, turning off the alarm ringing on his phone.
“Just admit that you like me.” He teases, his smile only growing as you shoot him a sharp glare.
“I don’t like you, I just happen to get some satisfaction from your dick.” You mumble, finally smiling as his own expression drops. You’re not prepared to protect yourself and he launches forwards his arms wrapping around your waist pulling you down to a lying position as he wrestles to kneel above you, his hands gripping your arms as he pushes you into the bed.
“Do you want to say that again, pretty girl?” He questions, his eyebrow quirked as you try to squirm in his hold. His grasp doesn’t falter for even a moment as you thrash beneath him, letting out soft chuckles every time you struggle a little too hard.
“Fine, you win.” You whine, your body relaxing into the mattress as you stop your movements gazing up at the half naked man above you. “You look very handsome like this.” You comment, your eyes wandering over the man above you. His hair tousled, sharp eyes, his lips pulled back in a grin. His cheeks flush with heat and he watches you, watching him.
You take the faltering in his grip to rip your arms from his hands, your thighs gripping onto his torso as you roll the two of you over, your hands taking the position his were in pushing his forearms into the mattress. His eyes trained on yours as you make yourself comfortable on his pelvis.
“You win.” He mimics. You flash him a quick grin before leaning down to capture his lips with yours. It takes no more than five seconds for him to break free from your grip, his arms lifting off the mattress, his hands cupping either side of your jaw as he pulls you closer to him, one hand leaving your face to pull your hips down onto his.
“Jack…” You mumble against his lips as you feel him smile against your lips, his own slowly trailing down your jaw as you drop your head to the side with a long sigh - Jacks hands making teasing motions against the edge of your panties, as the loud knock on your door startles you both.
“Jack, dude we have to leave for practice in like fifteen minutes.” The voice of his roommate carries through the door, another sharp knock on the white wood pulling you away from the man below you.
“You didn’t tell me he was here.” You hiss as quietly as possible, you’re quick to slide off the bed, reaching to the floor pulling your leggings on as quickly as possible before reaching over to Jack’s desk pulling on his hoodie.
“I didn’t know he was.” Jack hisses back, making quick work of pulling on his own t-shirt just as the doorknob turns the two of you barely managing to get dressed as Jack’s brother steps into the room.
“Dude, we have to leave — oh, sorry I didn’t know you were here.” Luke pushes open the door his gaze shooting to yours in surprise, you let your head fall in shame, the room falls silent as Luke looks between half naked Jack on the bed and then back to you - Luke had been the first one on the team to meet you through your older brother, when the youngest Hughes found himself abandoned to stay in jersey for all star weekend on his own - Curtis inviting him over for dinner so the young player would eat at least one home cooked meal that week. Luke had eventually introduced you to the rest of the team at events, insisting on you coming anytime your brother brought up inviting you, hence the awkward position you and Jack find yourself in now - Luke just sighs, shooting Jack a stern glare, “Look, I don’t even want to know.” Luke sighs, looking at both of you against with a shake of his head, “Curtis is gonna kill you, you know.” He remarks as he slips back out of the room, closing the door softly behind himself.
This is not how things were meant to go.
The silence that follows Luke’s departure is thick enough to suffocate. Jack runs a hand through his already messy hair, exhaling sharply as he swings off the side of his bed. “Well,” He says finally, dragging the word out as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, tucking it away into his pocket. “That went well.” Jack lets out an ‘oof’ as you shove at his shoulder, rolling your eyes as you gather your stuff into your tote bag.
“I can’t believe we got caught like that.” Your voice is a harsh whispers, your hands gripping your bag in frustration as you frown - you should’ve never let your guard down - of course Luke would be here, this is his house too. Jack just grins, unfazed as ever as he walks towards you, his hands landing on your hips as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
“I mean I’m surprised we didn’t get caught earlier if he was here the whole time,” Jack starts, and you shove him off you as you realise where his words are about to go.
“Don’t say it.”
“You were pretty loud last night, if I do say so myself.”
“You said it.” You huff as his teasing words, unable to ignore the burning rising up your neck, you shoot him a glance over your shoulder, shoving the rest of your stuff into your bag before turning to face him - Jack still looking like he wants to do nothing more then drag you back into his bed - an easy smile on his face. You scoff at his bright smile, shoving him again before spinning toward the door, your heart still pounding from the close call. “I need to leave before my brother finds out and buries your body under the ice at the rink.” Jack chuckles, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—something that makes you pause for half a second.
Before you can place it, he speaks again, his voice softer than before. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if he knew— maybe we should tell him before things get out of hand.”
Your stomach tightens.
You shake your head, refusing to acknowledge the weight behind those words. That’s not what this is. This isn’t supposed to be complicated. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing more.
“Tell him what,” you finally say, forcing a casual tone as you reach for the doorknob. “‘Hey curtis I’ve been fucking your sister for months and thought I should just let you know because I want to keep doing it just not in secret’.” You drop your voice in a bad impression of Jack, letting out a long sigh as you dismiss the idea, “It’s not going to happen, Jack.” Jack’s eyes darken slightly, but you don’t give him the chance to respond. You slip out of the room as quietly as possible, your pulse racing as you make your way down the hallway.
You send a quick nod to Luke who is perched by the kitchen counter sipping from his water bottle - “You’re continued silence is much appreciated.” You coo towards him as you slide into your shoes, the youngest Hughes brother shrugging.
“He’d kill me too if he knew I knew - consider it for my own protection.” Luke hums, giving you a small wave as you slip out of the apartment. You let out an exhausted sigh as you get into the empty hallway - you shouldn’t be feeling like this—like you just barely escaped something dangerous. It’s just Jack. Just an ongoing mistake you keep making because, well…
You can’t seem to stop yourself. Something about Jack pulls you back each and every time you think of finishing things.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out, already knowing who it’ll be.
The Devil 😈: Next time, you should stay till I get back. We could ‘discuss’ things more
You roll your eyes, but your fingers hesitate over the keyboard.
Stay till I get back.
Like it’s normal.
Like everything about this is normal.
You shove your phone back into your pocket without replying, picking up your pace as you head toward your car.
This has to end.
But deep down, you already know the truth: It won’t.
You don’t text him back.
Not that day.
Not the next.
Not for an entire week.
You tell yourself it’s for the best. That if you give yourself enough space, enough time, the pull toward him will lessen. That the way he makes you feel—like you’re skidding too close to the edge of something dangerous—will eventually fade.
But then Friday night rolls around, and you’re sitting on your bed, staring at your phone like an idiot, pretending you don’t know exactly what you’re waiting for.
“Are you coming over after the game tonight, pretty girl?” You mimic, your same bad impression coming to the surface as you glare at your blank home screen.
“Hey, are you coming to the game tonight? Renee can’t make it any more and I have that ticket.” Your brother knocks on the door the your room - well the spare room - poking his head in as he takes in your body sprawled across the bed, your gaze shooting up at him in surprise, as you body jumps a little, your hands automatically tucking your phone under your pillow as he lets out a soft chuckle.
“I assume she didn’t get a chance to ask you.” He jokes, he already has his game day suit on - making you look so much worse in your pizza stained pyjamas.
“I haven’t seen her all day.” You respond, confirming his suspicions that his wife never got the chance to ask if you want to go. “But I’m down if you can wait fifteen minutes to give me a ride?’ You say hopefully, a smile lighting up your face to mimic your brothers, his head nodding quickly as he shoots you an unsure glance.
“I’ll give you twenty - you look like a mess.” He says with a grimace.
“Ha Ha, very funny Curtis.” You sneer, sliding off the bed and shutting the door in his face as you glance around the room at any available clothing that might be lying around, “I knew I should’ve done laundry.” You manage to find some relatively clean jeans, and a cozy red hoodie, tugging them both on as you comb your fingers through your hair before securing it to the back of your head with a claw clip just as Curtis calls for you by the front door.
“Are you coming or should I just assume you’ve died in your own filth?” He calls, your eyes rolling as you yank your purse of the back of the door, bolting down the stairs to meet your brother by the car.
“My filth has not overcome me, as you can see.” You hiss as you slide into the passenger seat, your brother sending you an amused glance before pulling out of the driveway - the ride to the arena being relatively silent aside from the kids bop covers Curtis refused to turn off - you’ve never been more glad to get out a car then you were as he pulled into his spot at the prudential centre.
“You know Luke was asking about you earlier today…” Curtis starts as you both slide out of the car, your brows furrowing as you look towards him, “Yeah, he was asking if you were coming today - said there was something he wanted to talk to you about.” Curtis continues, a knowing grin spreading on his face.
“I don’t know why.” You say quickly, hiking your bag further up your shoulder as you glance over at him, the two of you making your way into the building.
“Neither, but he’s a good kid.” Curtis starts, “Wouldn’t be mad if there was something going on between you two.” He adds, your brows raising in surprise jack’s words slicing through your head.
I wouldn’t mind if he knew.
“At least he’s nothing like his brother Jack, god he’s a piece of work.” Curtis cuts through your thoughts, “Don’t get me wrong, I love the kid but don’t even bother with someone like him — all he’ll do is break your heart.” He says quickly, your thoughts deflating quickly as you just nod along.
After your joyous heart to heart with your brother, you find yourself standing outside the locker room, shifting on your feet as you wait. The hallway is buzzing with players walking in and out, staff moving quickly through the space, and the occasional fan sneaking glances inside. You’re distracted, lost in thought, when a passing player jostles you, your feet losing their place as you stumble, trying to catch yourself before ultimately giving up and just bracing for impact.
“Woah, gotcha.” a pair of large hands grip your waist, steadying you. You blink up at Luke holding you upright, his hands firm against your sides. His expression is amused as you steady yourself, your fingers lightly gripping his forearm for balance.
“Timo you gotta be more careful, we’ve got precious cargo over here.” Luke shouts down the hallway - a murmured ’sorry’ shot your way as the large Swiss player continues on his way.
“Thanks, I really thought I was gonna eat shit for a second there.” You joke, Luke’s hands still firm on your waist until he’s sure you’ve caught your balance again and quickly releases you.
“No problem - I swear you’re clumsier than me.”
“Only when hockey players shove past me like I’m invisible.” you reply dryly, Luke chuckles as he helps you dust of the invisible dirt all over your clothes, “So, my brother said you were asking about me today?” You start, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow towards the youngest Hughes brother.
“Oh, yeah.” Luke starts slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh, “It’s just were trying to plan this congratulations party for Jack for making team USA and I was hoping you’d be able to make an appearance?” Luke explains, your eyes widening in surprise as your gaze shoots over where you are to look for signs of your brother - you grab hold of Lukes arm dragging him closer to the wall as you whisper.
“I can’t go if Curtis is going to be there - it’s going to be too suspicious.” Luke lowers his head as the two of you continue your oh so secret conversation, not noticing the ever darkening presence coming up the hallway - their focus trained entirely on you and his younger brother huddled in the corner.
“Curtis isn’t going - that’s the best part.” Luke starts, “He said he’s never support his teammates betrayal of Canda and to count him out.” He expands, your head nodding - it does sound exactly like something your brother would say - “Besides do you think I’m dumb enough to invite you and your brother, I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I know how to keep a secret.” You nod again, your grip releasing on Luke’s sleeve as you glance around the hallway, your eyes locking with Jack’s glaring blue ones as you step away from his brother.
“Send me the details.” You say quickly, as you motion for Luke to glance over his shoulder, the boy jumping as his older brother slides up besides him. Jack’s grip on his duffel bag flexes before he steps forward, his movements deliberate.
“You ready for the game?” Jack asks Luke, his voice even, but there’s a rough edge to it that wasn’t there before.
“Yeah, man, almost,” Luke replies casually, but even he seems to pick up on the change in Jack’s demeanour. Jack doesn’t acknowledge you at first, his gaze lingering on Luke for a second too long. Then, finally, his eyes flick to you, filled with something unreadable. “Just catching up with the littlest Lazar before the game.” He jokes, slinging his arm over your shoulder, definitely not catching the tension simmering off his older brother.
Jack glances between the two of you again before marching off towards the locker rooms, Luke letting out a deep exhale as you push his arm off your shoulder. “Do you think he heard?”
“Luke, I don’t think that’s your biggest problem.”
+
+
The energy in the arena is electric. The crowd roars as the players hit the ice, the sharp scrape of skates against the surface sending a thrill through your spine. The Devils are locked in an intense battle against their rivals, the game fast and aggressive. You try not to focus too hard on Jack, but it’s impossible. Every time he’s on the ice, your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet.
He plays with the same recklessness he carries everywhere else in his life—fearless, fast, and a maybe little too confident. And for a while, it’s working. He’s everywhere, setting up plays, taking shots, chirping at the other team like he was born for it.
But then it happens.
It’s late in the second period when Jack takes a bad hit. You see it the second it unfolds—his body angled just slightly off balance when he gets checked hard into the boards, his body crumpling to the ice as he holds onto his side, his head pressing against the floor as he pulls himself on his knees.
Your stomach lurches.
Jack stays down longer than he should, and the entire arena holds its breath. He shifts, attempting to push himself up, but it’s clear something’s off. Trainers rush onto the ice, helping him upright as he tries to shake them off, but you can tell from your seat—he’s rattled.
“Shit,” Nico mutters beside you - the captain still on the injury reserve after his own set back on the ice a few weeks ago - his jaw tight as he watches his teammate get escorted off the ice. You feel his eyes flick toward you, and you force yourself to stay still, to not react too obviously.
It doesn’t matter though, your pulse is hammering and all you can think about is whether Jack is okay. Everyone watches as Jack disappears down the tunnel, and you’re on your feet before you can think twice about it. “I’m gonna go grab some water,” you tell Nico hastily, ignoring the way his eyes narrow slightly at you.
You don’t give him a chance to question it before you slip into the crowd, heading straight for the hallway leading to the locker rooms. Security is tight, but you know enough people, recognise enough faces, that nobody stops you as you weave through the chaos. When you push past the door leading into the medical area, Jack is sitting on the exam table, his head down as a trainer checks him over. His jersey is half off, revealing the sheen of sweat on his skin, deep bruising already forming along his ribs. His hair is damp with sweat, and there’s a frustrated set to his jaw that tells you he’s pissed—at the hit, at himself, at the entire situation.
He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on whatever the trainer is saying. But when the door clicks shut behind you, his head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours. Something flickers across his face—surprise, then something softer, something unreadable.
“You checking in on me, pretty girl?” Jack’s voice is slightly hoarse, his usual cockiness tempered by the clear ache he’s feeling. You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room, ignoring the way your heart clenches at the sight of him like this.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest. “Just making sure you’re not dead. Luke would be devastated.” Jack huffs out a laugh, wincing slightly as the trainer adjusts the ice pack.
“Yeah, Luke would be torn up.” He tilts his head slightly, looking at you from under damp lashes. “But what about you?”
You scoff, shifting on your feet, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “I’d be mildly inconvenienced.”
Jack grins, and despite the swelling starting on his cheek, he still somehow looks impossibly good. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
The trainer clears his throat, looking between the two of you before stepping back. “You need to sit out the rest of the game,” he tells Jack firmly. “I’ll let Coach know.” Jack groans but doesn’t argue, his gaze never leaving you. The trainer slips out, leaving you alone with him. The silence that settles is thick, charged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.
“You didn’t text me back.” Jack’s voice is quieter now, more serious.
“I panicked.” You shift your weight, your pulse quickening. “And I didn’t think there was anything to say.”
Jack studies you for a moment before shaking his head with a small, humourless chuckle. “Bullshit.”
Your stomach tightens. “Jack—”
“No,” he cuts you off, pushing himself up slightly, wincing but ignoring it. “You keep acting like this is just some stupid game, like none of this means anything, but we both know that’s not true.”
Your breath catches, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
Jack lets out a sharp exhale, his frustration evident. “Or maybe you’re making things easier then they actually are.”
“This has to end eventually, right?” you whisper, more to yourself than him.
Jack’s gaze darkens, his fingers flexing against his knee. “Do you want it to?” You don’t answer immediately, because the truth is, you don’t know. “Is this because of Luke?” His question surprises you, your head tilting in confusion as he shakes his head slowly, “Never mind.” He shifts slightly, wincing as he moves, but his eyes stay locked onto yours. “You can keep pretending you can’t feel what’s right in front of your face, you can keep telling yourself it’s just a mistake,” he says, voice low, steady. “But we both know you’ll be back.”
Your stomach twists because he’s right.
He always is.
+
+
The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive - a chorus of cheers as you step through the door, each of the boys giving you a slight nod as you walk by them and into the Hughes brothers kitchen, the bottle of water in the cooler calling your name.
“Oh, hey you made it.” Lukes voice carries through the kitchen, the lankiest Hughes shoving his way over to you, moving his teammates out of the way as he grabs his own drink from the cooler, leaning a hip against the counter as he smiles down at you. “I wasn’t sure you’d still come, Jack said it’s been a week or two since you two—” Luke hesitates, pursing his lip as he thinks for the right word, “talked.” He finishes, smiling as he takes a sip from his drink as you let out a low groan.
“It felt wrong not to at least show my face.” You agree, rolling your eyes at looks teasing glance, his eyes locking on something over your shoulder, his face dropping quickly as he clears his throat.
“Oh Curtis, what’re you doing here? I thought Canadians had no place in a team USA party.” Luke’s voice sends a shot of panic down your spine, a fake smile plastered on your face as you turn to face your older brother, who in return looks at you in confusion.
“I wasn’t going to come to a filthy USA party but what kind of teammate would that make me?” Curtis teases, his arm slinging on your shoulder as he turns his attention down to you, questions in his gaze, “and it looks like I’m not the only Canadian here.” You let out a soft chuckle as you shuck your brothers arm off your shoulder, sending a pleading glance towards Luke.
You hadn’t expected him to be here, and judging by the way Luke suddenly finds his drink fascinating, neither had he.
“Yeah, well,” you say, shrugging off his arm as casually as possible, “someone’s gotta get the inside scoop.” Curtis chuckles, but his gaze lingers on you a second too long, like he’s trying to piece something together. You don’t give him the chance, instead you decide that water’s just not going to cut it and reach to grab another drink from the cooler and twist the cap off, taking a slow sip as you scan the room.
You shouldn’t have.
Jack’s already looking at you.
He’s leaning against the far wall, a beer dangling from his fingertips, his darkened gaze locked on you with an intensity that makes your skin heat. He doesn’t move, doesn’t break eye contact, and for a moment, everything else—the music, the bodies pressed together in the living room, the weight of your brother standing too close—fades away.
You swallow hard, willing your pulse to settle, but the way Jack’s lips twitch, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, only makes it worse.
“Hey, you good?” Curtis’ voice pulls you back, his brows drawn together in concern. “You disappeared for a second there.”
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away. “Yeah, just tired from all my spying.” He doesn’t look convinced, but before he can push, a few of his teammates call his name, giving you the perfect excuse to step back. “I’m gonna grab some air,” you say, already moving. The night air is cool against your skin as you step outside onto the back deck, inhaling deeply as you press your palms against the railing. The music inside is muffled, just a low thrum beneath the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from the party still raging inside. But out here, it’s quieter—easier to breathe.
At least, it should be.
You can still feel the weight of Jack’s gaze from across the room, the way he looked at you like he already knew you’d end up here. Like he knew you’d run.
You close your eyes for a moment, tilting your head back as you exhale slowly, trying to shake the tension coiling in your chest. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You knew that coming would make things so much harder to avoid, to pretend like nothing was going on and yet here you were, standing outside during the congratulations for your achievement party of your fuck buddy.The door creaks open behind you, your thought spiral pausing as you take a long sip for your drink and even before he speaks, you know who it is.
“What are you doing here?” Jack’s voice is rough, edged with something you can’t quite place.
“It was too noisy in there.” You comment, not missing the way Jack lets out a soft chuckle.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
You straighten but don’t turn around, keeping your hands braced against the railing. “I was invited.”
“That’s still not what I meant, I know you were invited. ” His footsteps are slow, deliberate, and then he’s next to you, close enough that the heat of his body seeps into yours despite the cool air. “So why did you come?”
You huff out a breath, finally turning to face him. “Does it matter?” Jack lets out a quiet, humourless laugh, shaking his head as he drags a hand through his already-messy hair. He looks frustrated, but more than that—he looks desperate.
“It matters,” he says, voice quieter now, like he’s afraid of what you might say. “It fucking matters to me.”
Your stomach twists, fingers tightening against the railing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Jack, don’t do this.”
His jaw flexes, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Do what?”
“I didn’t come here to fight with you.” You can’t help the sigh that falls from your lips, “don’t make this into something it’s not meant to be.”
Jack exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”
You stiffen. “Excuse me?”
“Bullshit,” he repeats, stepping closer. “You’re acting like you didn’t come here for the same reason I asked Luke to invite you—you think you can just pretend like there is nothing between us and I can tell that it’s killing you inside” He scoffs, his eyes flashing in the dim light. “You really think we can just go back to pretending like we were nothing after this?”
You swallow hard, your pulse pounding against your ribs. “I never thought we were nothing.” Jack’s expression falters for a split second before he recovers, stepping in even closer until there’s barely any space left between you.
“Then what are we?” You don’t answer, because you don’t know how. Because if you say it out loud, it becomes real. Jack studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, looking for something—anything. And then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—
“I want us to be something real.”
Your breath catches, your fingers digging into the railing behind you.
Jack takes a shaky breath, his voice lower now, raw. “I know what we agreed to in the beginning but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be just some guy you used to sleep with. I don’t want to be the mistake you try to forget.”
Your throat feels tight, your chest aching with something you don’t know how to name. “Jack—”
“No,” he interrupts, his hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. “Just tell me. If you really don’t feel anything—if this really was just some casual thing to you—tell me, and I’ll walk away.”His voice drops even lower, barely more than a whisper. “But if there’s even a chance—” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “If there’s even a part of you that feels the same way, just—don’t lie to me.” You look away, staring at the ground, because it’s easier than looking at him.
Because if you meet his eyes, you’ll break.
Jack lets out a slow breath, nodding like he’s already bracing for the worst. “Okay,” he murmurs, barely audible. “I get it.”
He turns like he’s about to walk away, and something in you panics. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers curl around his wrist. Jack freezes. His breath is uneven when he turns back to you, his gaze darting from your hand on his skin to your face. Your heart is in your throat, pounding so hard you think he might be able to hear it.
And then, finally— “I don’t want you to walk away.” Jack exhales, his eyes closing for a brief moment, like he’s trying to keep himself together. When he opens them again, they’re filled with something so intense, so devastatingly real, it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.
He steps closer, his free hand hesitating for only a second before he cups your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.
“Then don’t make me.” His voice is barely a whisper now, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “Just let me in.” Jack’s breath hitches when you don’t pull away. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest against your jaw, like he’s grounding himself, like he can’t quite believe you’re here, letting this happen. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, your hand still curled around his wrist, keeping him close. For once, you don’t have the energy to fight it—to fight him. Jack shifts slightly, tilting his head just enough that his nose brushes against yours. His lips part, his breath warm against your skin. He’s so close.
Just a little more and—
“What the fuck is this?” The sharp voice shatters the moment like glass. You jolt back, your pulse spiking as your head snaps toward the open doorway.
Curtis.
Your brother stands just inside the threshold, arms crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of shock and pure, unfiltered anger. His dark eyes are locked onto Jack, his posture stiff, radiating hostility.
Shit.
Jack straightens but doesn’t step away from you. His jaw clenches as he meets Curtis’ glare, his whole body suddenly tense, like he’s already preparing for whatever’s coming — his body covering most of you as he lets out a soft groan.
“Curtis,” you start, stepping around Jack, but he shakes his head sharply, his lips curling into a bitter smile.
“Oh, don’t fucking ‘Curtis’ me,” he snaps, his gaze flicking between you and Jack. “What the hell is going on here?” You swallow hard, feeling like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“It’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Curtis’ voice is tight, low with barely restrained anger. His eyes burn into yours, waiting for an answer, for some kind of explanation that won’t make him want to deck Jack right here and now.
Jack exhales sharply, finally turning to face your brother, stepping forwards and putting himself slightly in front of you. “It’s not exactly what you think.”
Curtis scoffs, his expression twisting. “Oh, really? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re messing around with my sister.”
Jack’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”
Curtis lets out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because you’re such a committed guy, huh, Hughes? Never had a casual thing in your life?” He takes a step forward, his body language shifting from disbelief to outright anger. “Are you fucking serious?My sister?”
“Curtis—” you try, but he barely even spares you a glance.
“This is what you’ve been sneaking around for?” His voice rises, his gaze locked on you now, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Jack fucking Hughes?” He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Jesus Christ.”
Jack takes another step closer, his voice firm. “Neither of us is sneaking around.”
Curtis’ head snaps toward him, his expression thunderous. “No? Then what the fuck do you call this?”
Jack doesn’t flinch. “I care about her.”
Curtis lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. “You care about her?” He gestures between the two of you, his voice laced with disbelief. “What, like you care about all the other girls you’ve been with?”
Jack’s nostrils flare, his whole body going rigid. “That’s not fair.”
“Not fair?” Curtis glares at him, stepping in close enough that they’re nearly chest to chest. “What’s not fair is you treating my little sister like she’s just another one of your hookups.”
Jack’s eyes darken, his fingers twitching at his sides like he’s forcing himself to stay still. His voice is low when he speaks, steady but sharp. “She’s not.”
Curtis scoffs. “Yeah? Then what the hell is she?”
Jack doesn’t hesitate. “She’s everything.” The air between them crackles with tension.
Curtis’ expression falters for half a second before his hands curl into fists, his whole body coiled like a spring. His gaze flickers to you, his jaw tight. “You actually believe this shit?”
You exhale slowly, meeting his eyes. “I—” You hesitate, your throat tightening. “It’s not that simple.”
Curtis barks out a laugh, taking a step back and raking a hand through his hair. “Not that simple,” he repeats, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
Jack shakes his head, his voice edged with frustration. “Look, man, I know this isn’t what you wanted—”
“No, you don’t know,” Curtis snaps, turning back toward him. “You don’t get it, Jack. She’s not—” He cuts himself off, his eyes flickering toward you for the briefest moment before he shakes his head. “She’s not one of them.”
Jack’s expression hardens. “I know that.”
Curtis lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you?”
Jack steps closer again, his voice rough, his whole body radiating tension. “I’m not playing games with her.”
Curtis narrows his eyes. “You really think you’re good enough for her?”
Jack’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back down. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice tight. “But I know I’m not gonna walk away just because you don’t like it.”
Curtis stares at him, something unreadable flashing across his face. Then, suddenly, his shoulders shift, and before you can react, he’s moving.
“Curtis—!” you shout, but it’s too late.
His fist flies before either of you can stop it. It connects with Jack’s jaw with a sickening crack, sending his head whipping to the side, Jack barely reacting beyond a sharp inhale. He exhales, his jaw tightening as he lifts a hand to his face, his fingers brushing over the fresh bruise forming just below his cheekbone, a small cut on his cheek from Curtis’s wedding band.
He lets out a slow, steady breath before straightening.
He doesn’t hit back.
Curtis shakes out his hand, his breaths heavy. “Stay the fuck away from her,” he grits out.
Jack wipes at his lip, where a small bead of blood is forming, then lifts his gaze to Curtis—calm, steady. “That’s not your call to make.”
Curtis’ jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring. His gaze flicks toward you, his expression still tight with anger. “Come on. We’re leaving.” You hesitate, glancing at Jack. He’s already looking at you, his eyes soft despite the tension still simmering in the air. And that’s when you realise—he’s waiting for you to decide.
Curtis sees it, too.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “You can’t be serious.” Your pulse pounds. Jack doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his face unreadable but open, waiting, he wants you to make the choice.
Leave now with your brother and this whole thing is over or stay.
“You should go, Curtis.” You finally say, a glare focused on your brother as you slip your hand into Jacks, his fingers gripping yours for dear life, “You’ve done enough damage for one day, we can talk about this later.” You conclude tugging Jack behind you as you both slip inside, your hand guiding him through the crowd as you avoid his teammates questioning stares as you shove open the bathroom door slamming it behind the both of you with a click of the lock.
Jack leans against the bathroom door, exhaling sharply, his fingers still wrapped tightly around yours, his jaw tight. His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, though the slight tremor in his hands betrays just how hard he’s trying to keep himself together.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.
You shake your head, your heart still pounding against your ribs. “Yes, I did.”
His eyes flicker with something unreadable before he exhales, running a hand through his constantly messy hair. “Curtis might actually fucking kill me.”
You huff out a short, humourless laugh. “Well, considering he already got one good shot in, I’d say he’s off to a great start.” Jack winces as he touches his jaw, the skin already bruising from the hit. You step closer without thinking, your fingers reaching out before you can stop yourself. Jack stills, his gaze locking onto yours as your fingertips ghost over the tender skin.
“You should put some ice on it,” you murmur.
Jack doesn’t move. His breath is warm against your skin, his body still tense but rooted in place. “You don’t have to do this,” he says again, but this time, there’s something else in his voice. Something almost vulnerable.
“I know.” Your fingers trace lightly along the forming bruise, and Jack exhales, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second before they snap open again, pinning you in place.
A beat of silence stretches between you, heavy and electric.
Then, suddenly, he moves. One second, he’s standing there, looking at you like he’s fighting every instinct screaming at him to touch you, and the next, his hands are on your waist, his fingers gripping you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath fanning over your skin. “Please tell me to stop.”
You don’t. You can’t. Instead, you reach up, your fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair as you tug him down to you. Jack doesn’t hesitate. He crashes into you, his lips slanting over yours with a desperation that makes your knees weak.
The kiss is anything but gentle. It’s raw, urgent—like he’s been holding himself back for too long and he can’t anymore. His hands slide up your sides, pressing you against the door, pinning you between him and the cool wood as his lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorise the way you taste, the way you feel beneath his hands.
You gasp against his mouth, and Jack takes full advantage, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you feel dizzy from it. One of his hands moves up, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head just right, devouring every sound you make like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, his voice hoarse, almost wrecked. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”
You do. Because you’ve wanted him just as much.
Jack groans softly as you tug at his shirt, your fingers slipping beneath the hem, pressing against the warm skin of his stomach.
His muscles flex under your touch, and he leans into you more, like he can’t get close enough.
Someone bangs on the door. “Occupied,” Jack snaps, barely breaking away from your lips before kissing you again, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you slightly as he presses you tighter against the door.
Your head is spinning, your skin buzzing, and you know you should stop—should at least slow down—but then Jack pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours.
“Tell me this is real,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming out in uneven pants. “Tell me I’m not making a fucking idiot of myself here.”
Your chest tightens. “Jack—”
“Tell me you want this as much as I do.” His voice is barely a whisper now, but the weight of it crashes into you like a tidal wave.
You reach up, cupping his face gently, your thumbs brushing over the bruise already forming on his cheekbone.
“I do,” you admit, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammers in your chest. “I do, Jack.”
The relief that washes over his face is immediate. He lets out a breath he must have been holding, his grip on you softening just slightly before he kisses you again—slower this time, but just as intense, just as desperate. Like he’s trying to make up for all the time you’ve wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable.
Jack’s hands move lower, fingers brushing the hem of your dress before slipping beneath, calloused fingertips dragging along the sensitive skin of your thighs. The touch is light at first, almost hesitant, but when you let out a soft gasp, pressing closer, he groans.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his lips trailing down your jaw, nipping at the skin just beneath your ear. “You’re gonna kill me.”
His hand slides higher, knuckles teasing along the crease where your thigh meets your hip, and you shudder at the contact. Jack tilts his head, watching your face as his fingers move, testing, teasing, until he finally slips them beneath the fabric of your underwear.
You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he groans at the feeling. “Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough, full of something that makes heat pool low in your stomach. “God, you’re perfect.”
His fingers find your clit, circling in slow, deliberate strokes, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. Your head tips back against the door, a soft moan slipping from your lips, and Jack swallows the sound with a heated kiss, his movements never stopping, never slowing.
He presses against you, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as he works against your clit, firmer this time. “We don’t have our supplies.” He whispers against the skin of your neck, pulling his fingers away as you let out a whine at the loss of sensation.
“Jack—” Your voice is breathless, needy, and he shushes you with another kiss, his lips curling into a smirk against yours.
“I know, but it’s going to hurt you.” He grumbles, distracting you by sucking on your neck, sliding your underwear back into place as you shake your head.
“It’s okay.” You coo, pulling his face away from your skin to look in his eyes. “It’ll only hurt for a little bit.”
Jack’s expression shifts the moment the words leave your lips. That heat, that hunger—it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface—but something softer overtakes it. Concern. His fingers trace slow, absentminded circles on your thigh, grounding you.
“Baby,” he murmurs, voice gentler now, “I know you’re saying that, but I don’t want you hurting just to give me something.” Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat. He knows. Of course he does. You’d told him before, in hushed conversations that never felt like they mattered as much as they do now.
“I want this, Jack,” you say, and it’s the truth. But still, your body hums with the familiar tension of anticipation—of wanting and fearing in equal measure.
Jack tilts his head, watching you like he’s searching for something. Then, slowly, he leans in, pressing the softest of kisses to your lips. “Let me help, okay?” Your breath shudders out of you as he kisses a slow path down your jaw, his hands shifting—one pressing against the small of your back, the other slipping between your thighs again, fingers teasing along the damp fabric of your underwear.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, but there’s no rush in his movements now. “That’s good, baby. That’s gonna help.”
You nod, exhaling shakily. Jack hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down carefully, like he’s giving you time to change your mind. When you don’t, he kneels slightly, lifting one of your thighs over his so he can settle between your legs.
Then you watch as he brings his fingers to his lips, tongue flicking out to wet them before lowering his hand back down, dragging the slick digits along your entrance. The difference is immediate. Where tension had been bracing you for pain, Jack’s touch eases the worst of it, slick warmth helping him slide against you with more ease.
You whimper as his fingers stroke slow, deliberate circles around your entrance, never pushing, never rushing. Jack groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “That feel better?”
You nod, breathless.
“Good,” he rasps, lips brushing against yours as he moves again, teasing at your opening until, finally, he slides one finger inside. The stretch is there—but it’s different this time. Less sting, more pressure, more of the sweet, aching fullness you’d always wanted to enjoy without the pain. Jack watches your face the entire time, eyes dark and careful, his free hand stroking soothingly over your side.
“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” You exhale, body relaxing a little more, and Jack presses a kiss to your temple.
“We don’t have to rush,” he murmurs. “I just want to make you feel good. You tell me if anything doesn’t.” His words pull a soft laugh from your throat as you glance around the small bathroom, the sound of music playing just outside reminding you exactly where you are. Jack keeps his pace slow, his touch deliberate. He watches every shift in your expression, every shudder of your breath, like you’re the most important thing in the world.
And to him, maybe you are.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth as he moves his finger inside you, testing, gauging your reaction. “You’re doing so good for me.”
The praise sends a different kind of warmth through you, pooling in your stomach. You exhale shakily, fingers curling into his shoulders. “Jack…”
He groans at the way you say his name, tilting his head to capture your lips again. This kiss is different—deeper, slower, laced with the same patience he’s giving the rest of you. His free hand strokes up your side, grounding you in the warmth of his touch. After a moment, his movements pause. “Can I try another?” His voice is hushed, full of care, and he doesn’t move until you give him a small nod. Jack swears under his breath when he slides another finger in, moving with even more caution now, waiting for any sign of discomfort. There’s a stretch, a pressure—but not the sharp, stinging pain you were bracing for.
“Still okay?” he asks, his forehead pressed to yours.
You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Mhm.” Jack exhales like he’s been holding his breath, kissing you again, his fingers moving in slow, careful strokes, coaxing pleasure from you with practiced patience.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your lips. The words make your stomach tighten, pleasure curling low as he works you open, his touch easing some of the tension you didn’t realise you were still holding. Jack shifts, dragging his fingers back just enough to tease at your entrance before pushing in again, curling just right, and a soft moan escapes you before you can stop it.
His lips curl into a smirk against your skin. “There we go,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with approval. “That’s what I wanna hear.” Your cheeks burn, but Jack just kisses you again, deeper this time, like he wants to pull every sound from your lips.
“See?” he whispers, his breath warm against your cheek. “We’ll take our time. I’ll take care of you.” And with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s watching you so intently, so carefully—
You believe him.
Jack’s fingers work you open with slow, careful precision, never pushing too far, never rushing. His lips brush against your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—small, grounding touches that keep you from slipping too far into your own head.
And it’s working.
The usual tension, the worry that pain will creep in and ruin the moment, is fading. Replaced by something warmer, something sweeter. Pleasure unfurls in slow, steady waves as Jack curls his fingers inside you just right, stroking against that sensitive spot that has your breath catching in your throat.
“Jack—” His name slips out, breathless, needy, and he groans like the sound alone could undo him.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his thumb circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. “You feel okay?”
You nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him. “Better then okay.” You hum.
Jack smiles, tilting his head so his nose brushes yours. “I want you to let go for me,” he whispers. “Don’t hold back.” You exhale shakily, thighs trembling as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach. Jack keeps his pace steady, keeps his lips moving against yours, swallowing every little gasp, every whimper, every soft moan like they belong to him.
“You’re so perfect,” he breathes, his voice rough with want. “So beautiful when you fall apart for me.” His words, his touch, the way he’s looking at you—it’s too much. The coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure crashing over you in warm, shuddering waves. Jack groans as he feels you tighten around his fingers, his movements slowing but never stopping, working you through it, letting you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, kissing you slow, deep, reverent. “Such a pretty girl.” Your body trembles against him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the aftershocks leave you warm, pliant in his arms. Jack pulls his fingers from you carefully, bringing them to his lips without breaking eye contact, sucking them clean with a low groan.
The sight sends another shiver through you.
Jack smirks, kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Told you I’d take care of you.” Jack doesn’t let go of you. Even as you tremble, breathless from the high he just pulled from you, he keeps his hands on your hips, grounding you, stroking soft, soothing circles into your skin.
“You still with me, baby?” His voice is rough, but there’s nothing but tenderness in the way he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.
You nod, exhaling shakily. “Yeah.”
Jack hums in approval, his lips curling into a grin against your skin. “Good.” His hands skim down, gripping your thighs, your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he still is.
Your breath catches.
Jack groans at the way your body reacts, his fingers flexing on your skin. “Fuck,” he mutters. “We need to leave— I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.” He mumbles, his pupils blown as he looks down at you, the anxiety in your chest easing as you place your hands gently on the sides of his face, shooting him the most reassuring smile you can muster.
“I want you inside of me.” You almost laugh at the way Jack chokes a little, his mouth falling open as he tries to shake his head, “I’m serious, Jack. I trust you.” His mouth opens and closes, the words failing him as he moves to pull away, your hands holding him steadily, “Please fuck me, Jack.” He doesn’t need you to say anything else before he’s positioning you in front of the mirror with practiced ease. He stands behind you, his body pressed against yours, his hands roaming slow and deliberate.
“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, dragging his lips over the shell of your ear. “Look how perfect you are for me.”
Your cheeks burn, but Jack doesn’t let you turn away. His hands slip beneath the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch until he can pull it over your head, leaving you bare.
“Fuck,” he groans, eyes raking over you in the reflection. His hands slide over your stomach, your thighs, possessive and reverent all at once. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
One hand drifts lower, between your legs, teasing, testing. His breath shudders as he feels how wet you still are.
“You still want this?” His voice is hoarse, strained with restraint.
You meet his gaze in the mirror, your own breath coming in uneven pants. “Yes.” Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment before he steps back just enough to push his jeans down, kicking them aside. Then, he does something that has your stomach twisting with anticipation.
He lifts his hand, palm up, and looks at you through the mirror, his lips curving into a lazy, knowing smirk. “Spit in my hand, baby.” Heat floods through you at the request, at the rasp of his voice, dark and needy. You hesitate for only a second before doing as he asks, watching as your spit pools in his palm. Jack groans, eyes darkening as he brings his hand down, slicking himself up with slow, teasing strokes. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters, squeezing the base of his cock before lining himself up behind you.
His free hand returns to your waist, gripping you firmly as he leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “Keep watching,” he murmurs, voice thick with need.
Then, he pushes in.
The stretch is slow, careful, but still enough to steal the breath from your lungs, your eyes squeezing shut as he rubs a soft hand over your back. Jack groans, his fingers tightening on your waist as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you.
“Fuck, I’m sorry” he breathes, forehead pressing to the back of your shoulder. You whimper, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as your body adjusts, the fullness almost overwhelming. Jack stills, holding himself back, his other hand continuing to rub slow, soothing circles against your skin.
“You okay?” His voice is softer now, laced with patience, with care.
You swallow, exhaling a shaky breath before nodding. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Move, Jack.”
Jack pulls back slightly before thrusting in again, setting a slow, deliberate pace, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “That’s it, baby,” he groans. “Look at how good you take me.” And when you do—when you see the way your bodies fit together, the way he holds you so tightly, like he never wants to let go—
Jack's thrusts become deeper, more urgent, his fingers digging into your hips as he chases his own release, and you can feel the tension building again—an undeniable pull, something that tells you this is where everything is supposed to fall into place. Your breath quickens, your hands gripping the counter so tightly you think your knuckles might crack, but you don’t care. It’s all heat and friction, and the way he fills you, the way his body presses against yours—it’s all so perfect, so desperate.
And then, suddenly, a sharp knock on the door breaks through the haze of desire.
"Hey," a voice calls from the other side, cutting through the charged silence like a knife. "Can you guys not fuck in the bathroom?"
Your body freezes, Jack’s movements halting just as quickly. You both stare at the door, eyes wide, hearts still racing, but now, a mix of embarrassment and disbelief swirling inside you.
"Luke," Jack groans, his voice thick with frustration, his forehead resting against the back of your shoulder. "Are you fucking serious right now?"
The voice on the other side of the door doesn't sound particularly concerned. "I’m just saying," Luke continues, "there’s a whole party out here. The bathroom's not your private fuck zone."
You can't help it. You burst into a laugh, your body shaking with the absurdity of it all. Jack lets out a low groan, pulling out slowly and backing away from you, frustration and amusement both warring on his face.
"Alright," Jack says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "We’ll wrap it up, Luke, just give us a damn second." You turn to face Jack, both of you still catching your breath, and you share a look, the tension from the moment still hanging thick in the air—but now, at least, it’s softened by the ridiculousness of Luke’s timing.
"Can you believe that?" you laugh, wiping a tear from your eye.
Jack shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Only you and I would get interrupted in the middle of something like this."
Another knock.
"Seriously, guys! The party’s waiting. Come on!"
You both laugh again, the situation breaking the heavy atmosphere as you gather yourselves, still breathless but with a grin. “Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, reaching for your clothes. “We’ll be out in a minute, Luke. Don’t start a riot.”
As you both adjust yourselves, Jack leans in for one last kiss, soft and full of promise.
"I guess we’ll just have to finish this later," he murmurs against your lips.
You smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "You better believe it." Jack pauses for a moment his eyes catching his own reflection in the mirror as he winces lightly.
I need to know how you think Quinn would react if he caught his gf getting off without him. Would he restrain her so she couldn’t do it again? Or show her what she was missing by not asking him to help? Or something darker…
Warnings: toy punishment. A tiny line of spanking. Q being controlling and upset.
He's warned you time after time that you aren't supposed to touch what belongs to him.
He doesn't want you watching porn or reading porn without him. If you watch it, he needs you in his lap, needs to see your every reaction. Needs to see what makes you whimper. Needs to make sure you're watching safe videos. Needs to be there to give you a little practical demonstration.
If you're reading, he wants to read the book to you. Needs you to hear the words coming from his mouth. Needs to speak the words directly in your ear, feeling you shiver, stoking the fire until he can feel you soaking him.
He doesn't want you using toys on your own. You're easily startled, you might overwhelm yourself, press the wrong button and he won't be there to slowly calm you down after you cum. You might use something too big for you, you're so incredibly tight and it takes him a while to warm you up himself before fucking you.
He doesn't want you feeling yourself up. Touching yourself. He doesn't want you to touch your own breasts, to skim your fingers up them. They're his. His to bite, to suck, to touch, to fuck. Doesn't want you to touch your adorable pussy on your own, doesn't want you soaking your own fingers. It's his. Only he gets to feel you.
He's made all of these rules incredibly clear with you - so why the fuck has he come home to this? To you spread out with that fucking vibrator against your clit?
Do you think you're being funny? Are you doing this on purpose to get a reaction from him? He went out for groceries. It's not like he's been on a roadie. Not like you have the excuse of being lonely.
If you think he's letting you get off, you're mistaken. If you think he's going to fuck you, you're mistaken. If you think you aren't getting punished, you're such as fuck mistaken.
You don't even notice he's there. Your eyes are threatening to roll back in your head. He wonders how long you've been at it, adjusting himself in his jeans, trying to ignore how hard he is, how tight they've gotten. He can't let himself get carried away. You broke the rules. Your cute little cat underwear taunting him. His innocent girl, such a needy fucking slut sometimes.
Marching towards you, flipping you onto your stomach, dragging you to rest your cute ass over the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand over the globes of your ass, spanking you directly over one of the kitties. Glaring down at you as you squeak.
Spanking you again and again and again, alternating sides, seeing your thighs squirm, feeling how hot your skin burns under his hand.
"Felt like being a little whore for me huh? Couldn't wait? You know what happens when you disobey me baby girl? Wanna test me?"
You don't deserve him treating you with care. Don't deserve how he warms you up. If you can't even follow a few basic rules, why should he?
He's searching through the drawer filled with toys he's bought you. Needs one to send a message. He could go light. Go easy with a clit sucker. Another bullet. But he's pissed. Grabbing one of the silicon vibrating dildos, eying you up.
He's ripping your underwear, brutally thrusting it into you. He hopes for your sake that you were touching yourself for a while. Just leaving it there. Turning the vibrations up to max, watching you scream into the bed. Your ripped underwear holding together enough to keep it in place.
"Do you really need me to have cameras in here baby? Need me to keep watch on my little whore 24/7? I'm supposed to be able to trust you. Now look what you're making me do."
You're sobbing, you're begging, you're claiming that you'll never do it again. Screaming at him to take it out, to give you a break. But you don't deserve that. Not after you've made him mad. Shown him you can't be trusted.
He's leaving you there. He'll come back in an hour or two. Cum or don't cum, he doesn't care. Scream all you want. Throw as many little tantrums as you want. This is your fault.
Quinn would love watching you squirm underneath him, watching your hands pressing gently at his chest to push him away even as your hips would meet his thrusts halfway. You’d be sensitive, the blunt head of his cock kissing the spongy spot deep in you making you sob as you’d near yet another orgasm. “Please, Quinn. It’s too much, I can’t.”
“Awe, sweetheart.” Quinn would coo, kissing your tears that’d slip and coat your cheeks, making you whimper. “Don’t underestimate yourself.” He’d chuckle, groaning as you’d clench tightly around him. “You can give me one more, can’t you?”
His hips would slam into you faster, angling to hit you right against your sweet spot, your legs hooking around his hips as your hands would tug at his hair. “Quinn.” You’d gasp, hips raising off the bed as your orgasm crashes over you, pulling whimpers from your lips as your release would coat him and soak the bed under you.
Quinn’s hips would almost still as he’d watch you, and then he’d groan needily, bucking into you harsher as he’d chase his own high. “Fuck, Y/N.” He’d curse. “Think you can do that again?” He’d ask desperately, lust in his voice even after all the rounds he’s fucked you through. “Just one more time, yeah? Wanna see it one more time.”
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