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I also like the fact he carried the ice chest by himself bc you KNOW that shit isn’t light

them>>>

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This is my dog

Sorry about the mess on the floor. He sheds a lot

OH HOW STINKING CUTE!! Give that sweet baby so many hugs omg

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Lmao as someone who has an ex-racehorse, I did this trend to him and he did not give a rats ass about it 😂

Stole this from twitter. Gotta love horses remembering their old jobs (in this case, racing)! They're playing the call to the gate tune!

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This has done some SERIOUS damage to me

Goddamn, look at him. | Quinn Hughes

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Adding this to “The book of Ruinix - Dark Edition” now 📑📕

Alright, I need your honest thoughts. Do you think dark!quinn would fuck his girl on her period? Especially if she keeps whining to him that her cramps are so painful?

Hello, lovely. I definitely do 🫣🫣🫣 Dark Quinn would do anything for you honestly. So this one will be fluffier. Not too dark! Also, I am changing up the format by putting the warnings out of the break AND I might start writing in present tense now. I dunno if it's better, please tell me.

Anything and Everything

Relationship: dark bf!Q x F!Reader

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Dark, Period Pains, Blood (specifically Period blood), , Oral Sex (f receiving), Period Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight mentions of cameras (more like CCTVs instead)

Disclaimer | Inbox Rules | Dark Masterlist | Taglist

Quinn has only gotten home from a conditioning session. His hair is still slightly damp from a quick shower. He's dumping his stuff in the laundry when he hears a loud thud coming from the bedroom. He's instantly running, his heart pounding more erratically when he hears your sob.

What the fuck happened? Are you okay? Why are you crying?

His head is echoing with questions until he reaches you. He finds you you hugging your knees, staring at your fallen water bottle that has a huge dent on the side now. He sees your frustrated tears, a light sheen of sweet on your brow. When you notice him, you let out a small whimper.

"Quinn," you call, sniffling, not moving from your spot. "It's all ruined now."

He moves, noticing the red stain on the sheets before marking the redness on your silk and lacey nightgown. Oh, he sees it now. You don't normally cry over your water bottle especially when it isn't your favorite one—the one with meme stickers of him—and now, he understands why. His poor Love has her period.

He crouches to level your gazes, his fingers softly wiping your tears away, marking how pale you are, how cold your skin is, how you slightly tremble, gripping your legs tighter.

"I ruined the sheets. Maybe the mattress." You cry, fat tears sliding down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Quinn."

"Don't apologize," he murmurs, kissing over your tears, "I got you."

He helps you, stripping you down, showering you, focusing on washing off the blood from your thighs, his heart shuddering when you whimper from the pain. He grits his teeth when you keep apologizing, when you're the one in pain, when you can barely stand as you sag against him, your back pressing against his chest.

"You'll be okay," he whispers, pressing kisses on your temple. He runs his hands down your body, lathering the soap on your skin.

You peer up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. They look so sad like a little puppy's. "I'm getting your clothes wet."

You are, but Quinn couldn't careless. If he do care about his clothes getting wet, he won't bathe you. He won't bother with monitoring you with the cameras to make sure you don't hurt yourself from cooking or from cleaning when he's not home or care if someone tries to break in. He won't do these things for you if he care about the least bothersome things. He love you more than anything and that means he will do everything for you. Everything to keep you safe.

"I don't mind," is all he says, getting mesmerized by the weight of your tits on his palms. A switch in his brain clicks, his heart pounding, his cock twitching that he needs to push his hips slightly away.

He doesn't think that you realize what changed in the air. Your soft and pained whines are making his blood boil. He tries his best to keep his hands stable while he rinses you down. His touch lingers on your curves, your waist, your hips, your legs, your inner thighs, and your pussy. His fingers glides between your sensitive folds.

"Oh," you sigh, still not realizing his perverted touch.

You're so fucking innocent. It's so laughable, but it's always easy to hold back his laughter especially now that you're sagging against him. Such a sweet angel.

In the guise of cleaning you, he silently relishes your heat, the warmth of your blood when it dripped once or twice from your pussy. He's barely able to hold back the monster that craves to have your blood coating his dick.

"Fuck," he breathes as his cock strains against his pants.

There's no way that he'll survive if he continues touching you like this, so he steps back, finishing up by drying you with a fluffy towel, dressing you in his shirt, assuring you that everything will be okay. After he changed into dry clothes, he made you drink pain meds, kissing your forehead, before he sorts out the bed.

"You haven't eaten," he finally says after dumping the sheets on a basket, seeing you all curled up. You look at him with guilt in your eyes. "No appetite?" When you nod, he sighs. "You need to eat."

"I don't want to," you huff, frowning at him with so much fight in your eyes like you'll throw punches if he tries to make you eat. Then you whine again. "I'll eat later. It still hurts, Quinny."

"Did you drink at least?" He asks, carrying you over to the bed, sighing when you rub your cheek against his. When you nod, he smiles. "That's my good girl."

He sees the way your eyes sparkle, hears your breath hitching. You're adorable.

He can just fuck you right there, but Quinn pretends he doesn't notice the heat in your eyes. He lays you down, holding a heat pack on your lower abdomen, innocently massaging you, deliberately rubbing his thumb lower to tease you, reaching almost where your slit starts, but he never dares to touch as much as he did in the shower.

You shift whenever he does, but you also shudder from the pain. He wishes he can take it all away, but there's always nothing he can do when your period came other than trying alleviate it. It's pathetic, really. He's pathetic. It's like whatever he does isn't enough. He—

"Quinn," you call, your hand holding his wrist. "Can you press harder?"

"Mmhmm," he hums, nodding, doing what you said. You sigh, curling into his touch, but it isn't long until you let out another pained sound. "Still hurts?"

It's supposed to be getting better because of medicine, but it's not. You still look at him with those sad and tear-filled eyes, nodding pitifully. Fuck this. There's another way to remedy this, and he will do it.

He abruptly stands, snatching two towels, ignoring your questions when he asks you to move. He lays them down.

"Did I really mess up the mattress that badly?" You ask, full on crying again. "I didn't mean to—"

He's on you within an instant. His hands grip your cheeks. He licks along the seam of your lips before kissing you, sloppily, roughly. He feels exactly how you melt, trying to kiss back with as much fervor, losing to his demands. You sound extremely helpless as you whimper and moan. His hand slips under your shirt, pressing down on the bare skin of your abdomen.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, knowing what your answer would be.

"Yes," you say.

He strips you, taking your shirt and your panties, not caring about the patch of blood on the pad, spreading your shaking thighs apart, getting annoyed with the shame building up in your eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," he grits, pushing you down, flattening his palms on your inner thighs, glaring down at you. "Don't feel ashamed of this. Don't think that I will be disgusted with you when I love you. Do not."

The moment your tear escapes you, he's there to lick it up. When a pathetic sob wrecks you, he mutters praises on your skin, his fingers finding your wet pussy, working you until those sobs turn into whines. You grip his wrist when he plunges two fingers into your heat, so wet with your arousal and blood.

"Quinn, oh, fuck," you gasp. "Please. Can you...just up—oh my god."

You don't need to tell him what to do. Quinn knows where to touch, to tease, and to prod in your sweet pussy. He knows it better than the back of his hand. He has learned and memorized everything that'll make you scream or mewl or moan or ramble incoherently. He knows you through and through. He has engraved everything about you in his soul deeper than his own. Your needs will always come before his.

He'll literally give up everything for you. You can just ask. Even if it's for hockey—no matter how much he loved it and no matter how much he sacrificed to get to where he was—he will stop playing if you ask, but he knows that you won't. You love seeing him play. You get fucking horny when he participates in a scrum. You love taking the brunt of his frustration from a very blood-boiling loss. In those small ways, you always prove that you're worthy of anything he can offer. Anything at all.

You can remake him into something else and he'll let it happen. Everything you need, he shall be. As long as you will be safe and happy with him. Always with him. That's it. You simply need to be with him forever.

Quinn's mesmerized with how well you coat his fingers with your slickness and your blood. Every stroke has you squeezing his digits. He fucks you harder, teasing your swollen clit, making you scream and writhe.

"Come on, pretty girl." He smirks. "Don't just look at me. Look at yourself. Look at the mess you were making on my hand," he taunts, chuckling when you follow, whimpering at the sight. "So pretty. So fucking pretty."

"You're crazy," you cry out, your thighs quivering as your pussy clenched. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Stop fighting it," Quinn hums, pressing on your clit, adding one more finger to stretch your sweet pussy. "Just come. It'll help with the pain. I promise."

He's more than crazy. He is insane. Out of his fucking mind. He's everything dark that you should be scared of, but you're so sweet and naive to notice.

Quinn doesn't think that you believe him. He honestly doesn't care if you don't. He only needs you feel it. It's your body after all. He fingerfucks you harder, until your back is bowing off the bed, until your toes are curling, until you are a coming mess in his grasp. Your pussy walls are shaking and quaking, spilling more mess in his palm. So fucking pretty.

After few minutes of watching you, he asks, "So? Did it work?" He retracts his fingers from your pussy, tugging at his shorts, not caring about the blood staining the white fabric. He slides his cock between your folds, hissing at how you soft and delicate you feel. "Oh, fuck, you're still shaking."

The look in your eyes are different. One twitch of your lips, he notes the lie before you say, "Yeah. It still hurts so much."

What a beautiful liar. No matter, he will fuck the pain away anyway and that'll give you something else to cry about, like being too full of his cum. You always complain about feeling yourself drip every fucking hour for the next day, sending him text that you really need to wear panties or else you'll stain your pretty skirts with cum. Quinn knows how much of a slut you are for it.

So, he doesn't waste any more second, uncaring about how sensitive your pussy is, fucking you so hard that you are screaming and gripping him, begging for kisses. He gives you those kisses, biting on your lips, dominating your soft tongue, groaning at your tiny mewls. He thrusts harder and deeper in your pussy.

Then he pulls away, lifting your hips, almost putting you on his lap while you remain on your back. He is fucking up into your pussy, the angle letting him reach the areas he doesn't normally reach.

You're crying now while a ring of pink—a mixture of your cum and blood—forms at the base his bloodied cock.

Why hasn't he done this earlier? He should've. You could've made dirtied him like this long before. Oh, fucking hell, he missed out.

He wants to do this again. And again. It is such a good thing that your period lasts longer than a day. You'll definitely be in pain, but he will help you more than the warm showers and baths, more than massages and heat packs, more than glorifying every step you made.

He won't stop until he has you coming and sobbing, too drunk and dumbed on the pleasure. He wants you to bawl from feeling good instead of your period pain. He wants you to whine that you are so full loudly that you'll shake the walls. He wants you not to care if you're going to stain past the towels. He wants you to only think of him. Just him. He wants to make you his until you passes out, looking so drained and fucking happy.

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @macka @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @bpinkblink @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings @alexxavicry @alwaysclassyeagle @bellaione @svexhenthusiast @starrymari @hastielakeroad @thehuggybearslover @embrace-delusion @mrshelenhoran

-> more thoughts? Dark List. -> Want to be notified? Join my taglist! -> Got a dark requests? Send an ask in this account! For other blurbs, you may come to my main! 💜💜💜💜

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Tell us more about this handsome little man omg

sorry that I’ve literally only posted bern today but I love my little guy sm 😭

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Is it bad I hope Luke is into older girls bc I want him to fuck me like this 🥵🥵

regarding this picture & our thots from earlier (note: pls forgive me i'm bad with words) :

it's a sweatshirt you would throw on to keep you warm after late night rough sex & both of you would wake up in the morning horny & needy so you ride him reverse cowgirl with nothing but the sweatshirt on, your legs are still shakey from the night before but you want nothing more than to make your pretty boy feel good & he runs one hand up your shirt to lazily grope your tits & the other would circle your clit as he would watch your ass bounce against him enamored with the bruises that are vaguely shaped like his hands.... & you can finish the rest🥱🥱

Lovely Cece, I can't believe you are exposing me like this. 🙂‍↔️ Yes, officer, it is this one. 😣🫵🏻 She's leaking my whore chats. I am suing! Jk. 🏃🏻‍♀️ The thots are already enough. "Bad with words" -> BIG NOPE. You made me horny as fuck. What else could I add? 🥲 (Also for the banner, I am losing it. I can't find the pictures I wanted 😭😭)

Passion & Addiction

18+. Whore Thoughts. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Nothing too crazy, i swear 😶‍🌫️.

Luke panted into your neck, smelling the stench of sex mixing with your soft and sweet scent. A smile tugged at his lips, because it smelled wonderful. It was fucking addicting that he couldn't help but lick along the column of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses, nipping and biting as if he could eat you up. He wished he could.

He shuddered when you craned your head to capture his lips, pulling him into a sloppy kiss that had your teeth clashing against each other, your tongues meeting and attempting to put the other into submission. Luke would lose. He knew he would, because the feel of your wet pussy clenching around him, fucking him on your own pace and rhythm, had him in chokehold. He had nothing on you.

Nothing but desperation for more, more, and more.

All he could do was clung to you, squeezing and massaging your tits, greedily feeling their perfectness that he was lucky enough to feel. He tugged at your pebbled nipples, playing ang pinching in the way he learned that you loved. Luke could tell that you did by how you responded. You breathy moans were loud in his ears. Your back arched. Your thrusts turned clumsier and choppier, not as fluid as you had moments ago. Your hand came up to tug at his curls like you wanted to pull them off his scalp. You could.

Luke didn't fucking mind anything that you would do to him.

"Luke. Oh, Lukey," you sighed in between kisses, your breath hitching when his other hand slides down your abdomen, down to your pelvis, down to your pussy. "Holy shit."

Luke found your clit so easily, softly tracing circles around it, lightly pressing on the swollen bundle of nerves. He could feel how wet you were from your arousal and perhaps from his cum from last night. He could feel you trembling, quivering, flinching from the pleasure that wrecked through your body. He was experiencing the same fucking thing, his toes curling, his heart pounding louder, with every stroke of your pussy around his cock.

You were so fucking perfect. You felt so fucking good.

He was losing it.

He suddenly wished that his sweater was not on you anymore. It was in the way. He wanted to feel your sweat slicked skin. He needed to feel him sticking on you. He needed to see you bare. He needed—

"FUCK!" He groaned, panting and gasping.

You suddenly pushed off him, grinding and thrusting down his length harder and harder that he swore he was seeing fucking stars and it was already morning.

His hand that was fondling your breast fell on your hip. He desperately pushed off the hem of his sweater to see your ass bounce with every greedy thrust, looking so pretty with the beginnings of fingerprint bruises from how hard he fondled it last night. You were so pretty. He just wanted to bite your ass, but he couldn't reach. A pathetic whimper escaped his lips at the disappointment. There were so much he wanted to do, but he wanted to please you by letting you ride him. His chest squeezed, his eyes stinging with tears. He wanted to do more.

"Sweatheart, please," he pleaded, not knowing what to ask for, not knowing what to do as he clung on to you. He needed more. He felt like he would die if he couldn't have whatever it was. He pulled you closer, breathing in your comforting scent. "Please."

You replied with something he couldn't discern, your hand gripping his wrist to remind him of his task on your clit. He moved, going on autopilot with his fingers. He sucked on your skin, harsh and rough and hungry. He continued to plead, finally hearing your question of what the fuck he wanted, but he couldn't answer. He simply needed you.

Then he finally had enough of the sweater. He tore it off you, his hips thrusting up to meet yours.

You were both a panting and moaning mess. The sound of skin slapping seemed to echo in his fogged up mind. The grip of your pussy felt like it was sucking his soul out of his body and he would just submit.

Then, he finally found the correct words: "Please take me. Take all of me."

It was your right to take him. He was yours. His mind. His body. His soul. His everything. You needed to take it all. You had to. He couldn't live on if you didn't have him. You needed to.

When he heard you confirming hum, when he felt your increasing fervor, when your gazes met, he almost cried. You always heard him.

"Lukey, I'm gonna coming. I need you to come with me. Please," you pleaded right back as you came hard, clamping around his cock like vise.

And he did come. It was so hard that his vision blurred and darkened. His hot cum spurted in violent ropes, making a mess in your pussy. He shuddered and writhed as much as you did, his hands grasping your waist, keeping you from moving so much, because his cock was starting to hurt. He was so sensitive that his ears were ringing.

"Don't move, sweetheart. Please," he gasped.

"I'm trying," you said as your pussy squeezed.

Luke almost passed the fuck out if you didn't kiss him, making him melt, taking his brain off his aching cock.

I am sobbing and crying. i need another photo dump. I don't care if I am being greedy. I need. I NEEEEEEEED.

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @r0wdymaize86 @macka @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings @alwaysclassyeagle @svexhenthusiast @starrymari @hastielakeroad @thehuggybearslover @when-im-with-you @mrshelenhoran

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist!

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Okay wait but how cute that he wants YOU to throw it 🥹🥲

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I PROMISE I AM LMAO he just never tires out 😭😭

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LMAO at this rate just get him one of those things that throws the ball for him

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I PROMISE I AM LMAO he just never tires out 😭😭

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GOSH he’s so yummy 🤤

NEW. via Red Sox instagram story🤠

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OH MAMA SHES DONE IT AGAIN Y’ALL! ILY @ruinix KISSES FROM MOI

Fun Fact/s

I have a masters degree and currently applying to get another master’s degree. My current master’s is literally an MBA and I am applying to get my second master’s in Informatics. I am someone who adores learning, especially with history. 

I got into hockey this past March. The only reason I got into it was because my friend’s birthday was coming up in April and we talked about going to see a hockey game in Dallas (bc my state is a heavy football state), but we never went. I decided to watch a few Seattle Kraken games (bc that’s her favorite team) and went down a rabbit hole from there! Now I’m so happy to have hockey in my life and cannot wait to watch a FULL season!

I just started chewing gum like three months ago..I’m 26. I never got the hype until I actually tried it and now gum helps me focus so much it’s insane.

As you can see..I’m not that interesting lmao

No pressure tags: @jarrensweb @jarrensangel @jarrenstopia @lilg16

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Is it stupid of me to get giddy every time you tag me in something?? Bc I do :) @ruinix

Things that bring me comfort:

Comfort Food: the possibilities are endless, but maybe chicken alfredo? A hash brown from waffle house?

Favorite Type of Silverware: whatever tf is in my kitchen drawer lol

Comfort stuffed animal: The Professor! He’s from a series called ‘Puppet History’ on YouTube. That’s my dude.

Comfort Item: My UGG blanket I got when I bought my first house from my mother. I love that thing so much.

Comfort music: Either No Guidnce or Hailey Knox

Headphones or Earphones: big headphone girly. I got tiny little ears so no earphones stay in.

Best time of day: Nap time/Bed time or Lunch time

Comfort Shows: Hmm okay so I like Big Brother, Below Deck (any of them besides the sailing yacht one), I loved the Resident, but there are some shows I do need to get into..especially on Netflix.

No pressure tags: @jarrensweb, @jarrensangel, @jarrenstopia, @lilg16

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@theotherstanleycup turns into the tasmanian devil whenever she sees Will and I love it

Um… 🫦

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This is so fucking cute 🥹my heart definitely melted

Package Deal - Will SMith

Summary: Y/n was a young single mom just trying to get through until she met Will. Now, months later, he wants to make it official by inviting them both to this game.

Words: 1404

Note: I just had to write this with Will 🥲

The apartment was quiet, except for the low hum of lullaby music drifting from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner. The living room was dimly lit, scattered with baby toys, a half-folded blanket, and a bottle that had rolled off the couch. It looked lived-in, a little chaotic but warm. Safe.

Y/n stood in the doorway to the nursery, watching with a full heart as Will paced slowly with her baby girl nestled into his shoulder, humming gently.

“She’s out,” he whispered, smiling as he turned to her.

Y/n chuckled, walking over and pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s head. “You’ve got magic in your arms. She always sleeps better on you.”

Will gave her that familiar grin, crooked, boyish, laced with a little disbelief. “Still can’t believe this is real,” he murmured.

Neither could she, sometimes. Well, most of the time.

Because there were nights and not that long ago when she had curled up alone on this very couch, a hand on her pregnant belly, crying and wondering how she was going to do this. She was young. Still figuring herself out. And the father? He bailed out the second the pregnancy test turned positive. Said he “wasn’t ready,” as if she was.

But she got ready.

She got through the ultrasounds and checkups alone. Bought the crib alone. Walked out of the hospital with a newborn in her arms and no one to hand the car keys to. There were tears. So many tears. So many hours of wondering if her life had ended or just begun. Countless days of crying in desperation while the baby cried too.

And then Will happened.

They met by chance. Her best friend had dragged her to a mutual friend’s party, promising “just one hour” of socialization would do her good. She hadn’t worn makeup in weeks or had her hair properly styled. It’s been long months since she last saw herself in a nice dress. She felt quilt, quilt of leaving her baby alone while she was going to have fun. Worried sick something would happen, and she wouldn’t be there with her. She almost turned around in the parking lot. But she went ahead.

And then Will had walked up to her, beer in one hand, that easy boyish smile in place.

He tried to flirt. She laughed and told him she had to be home before 10. He joked “are you a Cinderella or something?”. She smiled shaking her head no, her daughter would be up for her next feed.

She thought he’d back off. All guys did.

He froze for a moment, sorting his thoughts, figuring out what that meant. And when he realized he didn’t back off. He lit up. Asked about her daughter, about her. He asked questions like he cared; not like he was just wanting to talk. He then offered to walk her to her car.

Will hesitated before asking, “So… why the baby’s dad isn’t picking you up?”

She paused, glancing at him, and shook her head. “There’s no dad.”

He smiled to himself, selfishly relieved she was single.

But he didn’t try anything. “Text me if she doesn’t go back to sleep. I’m a great late-night distraction.” And handed her a piece of paper with his phone number.

And he was.

One text turned into two. Then into calls. Then into grocery runs and coffee drop-offs. He asked to meet the baby. He held her like he’d done it his whole life. He was gentle, patient and somehow, never made her feel like she was baggage.

Now, months later, he was holding that same baby girl in her apartment, pressing soft kisses to her forehead as he murmured nonsense about how pretty she was.

“She’s gonna be trouble when she’s older,” Will whispered, settling into the rocking chair. “Just like her mom.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, stifling a smile. “Excuse me?”

“You’re impossible not to fall for,” he said, without hesitation.

She knelt beside him, her head resting on his knee, eyes drifting to their daughter’s tiny face.

“I never thought I’d have this,” she admitted. “I didn’t think anyone would want this.”

Will’s hand moved to her hair. “I didn’t think I’d ever want this so badly.”

….

Y/n adjusted the baby’s soft onesie with one hand and balanced a bottle in the other, seated cross-legged on Will’s couch while he sat beside her in sweats and a hoodie, completely mesmerized.

“Okay, but you have to admit,” Will said with a grin, “she kind of looks like me when she scrunches her nose like that.” He saw himself in her more and more with each day.

Y/n gave him a playful side-eye. “Will, she’s eight months old. She’s allowed to make funny faces unlike you.”

Will leaned over and kissed her cheek anyway, then reached for the tiny girl curled up against Y/n’s chest.

“Hi, little bean,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles softly against her rounded cheek. “You know your mom is the strongest person I know, right?”

Y/n swallowed. It wasn’t the first time Will had said something that left a lump in her throat. Since the beginning, he was never overwhelmed by the reality of her life, never treating her daughter like a burden. He just… stepped in. Kind, present, quietly dependable. And the baby loved him. Her gummy smile always bloomed at the sound of his voice. She slept better in his arms than hers.

That afternoon, as they cleaned up after lunch, Will leaned against the counter and looked over at her, nervous energy buzzing under his skin.

“Hey,” he said. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “That’s dangerous.”

Will laughed, then shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “I want to make this official. Like, not just between us. I want you to come to the game tomorrow.”

She blinked. “You want me there?”

“I want you there. Both of you,” he clarified, gaze softening. “I know it might be loud and crazy but we will get her some of those tiny baby noise-canceling headphones. And you sit near the glass. I just… I want people to know who my girls are.”

Y/n’s heart twisted, melted, reformed.

So, they went.

Game Day.

It was her baby’s first hockey game. First time in a rink that wasn’t a practice skate. First time being introduced to the noise, the lights, the chaos.

Y/n was terrified and excited all at once.

She dressed her daughter in a tiny Sharks jersey with the name Smith on the back, obviously and tucked a pink bow on the headband under her noise-canceling headphones. She looked like a baby influencer, and Y/n had taken at least fifteen photos before they even left the house.

The moment they stepped into the SAP Center, the baby’s eyes went wide with wonder. Y/n bounced her gently, whispering soothing words as the music thumped through the concourse.

Will texted her just before warmups.

“Bring her down by the tunnel if she’s not sleeping. I want her to see the lights.”

And so there they were, front row by the tunnel, pressed against the glass, her daughter blinking slowly and then grinning as the team skated out.

Will spotted them instantly.

His whole face lit up.

He tapped his stick against the glass and mouthed, “MY GIRLS,” before pointing at the baby and miming a heart with his hands.

Y/n blushed but smiled, waving her baby’s tiny hand for her. Will grinned even wider and skated off though she noticed how he kept glancing back.

As the game progressed, Y/n watched with pride swelling in her chest. Every time Will came on the ice, the commentators mentioned his energy, his control.

The Sharks won 4 - 2.

And when they let her back by the tunnel post-game, Will was already waiting, drenched in sweat and full of adrenaline.

He kissed her quickly, then took the baby in his arms.

“She liked it?” he asked, bouncing her.

“She loved it,” Y/n whispered.

Will looked up at her, eyes shining. “Can we frame that picture of her in my jersey? I wanna hang it everywhere possible.”

Y/n laughed. “You’re obsessed.”

“With both of you,” he said simply.

And there, in the concrete tunnel of a roaring stadium, Y/n realized something she hadn’t dared believe before:

She wasn’t just surviving anymore. She was living. She was loved. They were a family.

[quinnintheabyss]

Better yet, can he meet me at the altar??

Oh, Quintin, can you make me your plus 1?! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

[quinnintheabyss]

Amazon delivered my package to my neighbors house and my ass is too anxious to go get it.

I just moved to this house and I don’t want people to think I’m stealing from grandma 😬

[quinnintheabyss]

everyone adores you (atleast i do) ✶ qh43

summary ⋆⭒˚.⋆ quinn has just gotten back from a long roadie. he’s tired, hair a mess, eyes barely open — but he’s still grinning as you crawl into his lap with your fake microphone. ready to hold a fake interview with the boy everyone adores (well, at least you do) ⋆

word count 0.8k ⋆.˚

the door clicks open just after midnight, and you’re already halfway down the hall.

you hear the bag drop before you even see him.

quinn’s hair is a mess, his hoodie’s half-zipped, sleeves tugged over his knuckles, and he’s holding his duffle like it personally betrayed him. he looks tired — eyes bleary, lips chapped, shoulders a little hunched. the kind of worn-down that only comes from bouncing between time zones and ice rinks and hotel pillows that never feel quite right. his eyes are puffy in that way they get when he hasn’t slept, when he’s running on fumes and coffee and the soft ache behind his temples.

but when he sees you? god.

he smiles like he forgot how to be tired.

“hi,” he says, voice low and raspy, like gravel softened by rain.

you don’t even say it back. you just walk right into him like you’ve been waiting your whole life to do it, like your body doesn’t remember how to exist without his right there.

you wrap your arms tight around his middle, bury your face in the cotton warmth of his hoodie. he lets out this tiny breath — quiet, wrecked, like the weight of the last few days just slipped off his shoulders and into your hands.

and then he holds you.

slow and solid and all-encompassing. arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on top of your head, swaying you both side to side like he can rock the ache out of both of you.

like nothing else matters now that you’re here.

“you smell like airplane,” you mumble into the soft fabric at his chest.

“you smell like home,” he says back, without hesitation.

his hands rub slow circles between your shoulder blades. your fingers fist in the hem of his hoodie. neither of you move, not really, not until he whispers, “can i just stand here for a second?” like he’s scared you might pull away.

“you can stand here forever,” you whisper back.

twenty minutes later, he’s clean and warm and stretched out across your bed, damp curls sticking to his forehead and his legs tangled in the blanket like he doesn’t know what to do with them. he’s blinking up at the ceiling with that soft, dopey post-travel look — like he’s not really sure where he is yet, but he knows it’s safe.

his cheeks are flushed, skin pink from the shower, and he smells like your shampoo. one arm is tucked under his head, the other resting across his stomach like it’s too much effort to move it.

he looks like something out of a dream — if your dreams were full of exhausted hockey boys and too much cologne and hearts so big you could fall asleep inside them.

you crawl onto the bed with a grin already tugging at your mouth and a pen in your hand, holding it like a microphone. your knees brush his side, and he looks over at you like he just remembered you’re real — and not just some beautiful thing he made up on the plane when he missed you too much to sleep.

“quinn hughes,” you declare, straddling his thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “you’ve just returned from a grueling road trip. three cities. four days. how does it feel to be back with your number one fan?”

his head lolls to the side, and he smiles — slow and sleepy, a little crooked, like it’s rising up straight from his chest.

“honestly,” he says, voice gravelly again, “i missed her so much, i almost cried when the plane landed.”

you laugh — soft, delighted, wrecked in the best way. “so emotional. the fans are gonna eat that up.”

“my fans,” he mumbles, already reaching for your waist, “are dramatic.”

“but loyal,” you counter, tapping his cheek with the pen. “they wanna know everything. so, mr. hughes, care to comment on the recent rumors that you are, in fact, the most cuddly man in the league?”

he hums like he’s considering it. eyes flutter shut, a smirk playing lazy at the corners of his mouth.

“i can neither confirm nor deny,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “but i will be requesting immediate cuddles as part of my post-game recovery.”

you try not to giggle — you really do — but he opens one eye just to check if he got you, and that does it. your laugh bursts out before you can stop it. and quinn? he looks so proud of himself you could cry.

you collapse forward, hiding your smile in the crook of his neck.

“and the rumors,” you whisper, lips brushing against his skin, “that your girlfriend is devastatingly cool, and beautiful, and the love of your life?”

he doesn’t even blink.

“those,” he says, already pulling you closer, “are confirmed.”

you can feel him smiling against your temple. the kind of smile that says i’m home now. the kind that settles in your bones.

you don’t say anything back. just twist your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and breathe him in.

because you don’t need a microphone to know the truth —

everyone adores him.

well, atleast you do.