#and scars from quinn

[maladaptiveobsession]

“Magic pocket pussy”

Synopsis: DOL NPCS acquiring a magical pocket pussy synced to you.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, discipline, multi penetration, noncon, overstimulation, somnopihlia, toys

Words: 588

A/N: I only differentiated yandere!sirris from his normal conterpart as he is the only character I can imagine having drastically different behavior for this particular prompt. You can’t convince me Gwylan isn’t cooking up magic (probably illicit substances as well) in their shop. Something about them feels underlined with nefarious intent. I’d like to flesh out this concept with some of the characters at some point; there’s so much nuance and potential.

Abuses the hell out of it

With access to your cunt at all times, your pussy will be consistently puffy and raw from abuse. He’s stuffing you with cock whenever the urge strikes, torturing you with toys when his dick can’t keep up with his libido. He purposely teases you at inconvenient times. Watching you struggle to maintain composure in public is his favorite pastime. Most nights you wake up to the feeling of an invisible cock dragging along your gummy walls. If for whatever reason he can’t torment you at night, the pocket pussy is being stuffed with a vibrator so you wake up drenched in the morning. He’ll insert random objects throughout the day of various sizes and shapes, all to watch you squirm. Sometimes he’ll cram the largest dildo he can find inside to see you waddle around town in discomfort. He’s likely to fill the silicone hole with a dildo or vibrator of some sort—possibly both or even multiple of each—and then fuck you for real with the toys still inside. Really though, seeing your reactions is his favorite part of all. While your real pussy will always reign supreme, there’s a charm to watching you break apart without even actually touching you. The fleshlight is just so convenient.

↳ Anxious Gaurd, Briar, Kylar, Leighton, Morgan, Quinn, Scarred Inmate, Yandere!Sirris, Corrupt!Sydney, Whitney, Wren

Generally only when you’re not available

He doesn’t usually care for toys (why bother when he has you), but this one is an exception. It’s hardly a replacement for the real thing, but he can at least admit the convenience is alluring. It’s not all too often it gets used, but there are times when he misses you and can’t resist. It’s just so easy to punish you for being away for too long or simply to remind you of them. He could always just shove a vibrator inside and forget about it if he feels like it. Watching you fall apart without touching you proves enjoyable, as well. There’s a possibility he could even order a custom dildo, a replica of his length, to stuff the silicone cunt with, so you seek them out sooner. No chance you can forget about him when you can’t even sit. This opens the possibility of double stuffing you using only their dick. The longer you avoid them, the less patience and willpower they’ll have, therefore being less likely to wait.

↳ Alex, Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Harper, Landry, Methodical Gaurd, Niki, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, Veteran Gaurd, Zephyr

Only once in a moment weakness

He’s rather unlikely to use any toy, let alone a magical onahole. Just owning the thing feels like a breach of trust, but they can’t risk having it fall into anyone else’s hands. It sits in a drawer, hidden away until he eventually forgets about it. It’s not until he’s humping a pillow in the pitch dark of his room that he remembers it exists. He’ll scold himself, suddenly too ashamed to feel horny. Days will go by, constantly plagued by curiosity. When he finally concedes, apologies will spill from his lips as he rocks his hips into the silicone. It feels so good, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same. More than that, he wonders if the real thing—the real you—feels this good. His orgasm is the most intense he’s ever felt, electricity taking over him and his essence flooding the silicone imitation of you. The post-nut clarity is potent, mortifying. He’ll avoid you for some time after that, unable to even look you in the eye for even longer. Shame creeps along his spine like a parasite, vowing never to lose control like that again. Below the guilt, desire grows and bites at his willpower. Who knows how long it’ll be before he gives in again?

↳ Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Jordan, Mason, Mickey, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, Pure!Sydney, Winter

Bonus

The likely creator of said pocket pussy

↳ Gwylan

Minors Do Not Interact; MDNI

[ruinix]

Could you make a Quinn X Reader, where the reader is deaf and communicates by sign language? How would Quinn be about it?

Hello, lovely. I tried my best writing this. Please do note that I am not deaf or hard-of-hearing. I unfortunately don’t know any sign languages, even the one in my country. [I tried learning but it didn’t stick. I lack people to converse with it]. Simply, I hope this doesn’t offend anyone. If people do, I can take this down… 😔

Spoken Gestures

TW/CW: Deaf!Reader, 18+ MDNI, Smut, Slight description of a past injury (blood and stitches), Choking (is it choking? Yes, ask Quinn, he’s the receiver. 😏 😏 😏), Oral sex (fem receiving), Unprotected Sex (use protections, silly), Just Quinn in love and horny over here

Count: 3532 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re washing the dishes by hand early in the morning. Quinn yawns, sneakily getting himself a glass of orange juice. At that moment, you slam a cup down. He startles, jumping, almost spilling on himself.

He instantly faces you, his eyes zeroing in your hand, making sure you aren’t hurt if the cup breaks. Thankfully, you’re fine. The cup didn’t break. If you had, it won’t be the first time that you’ll break something when you unknowingly slam it. It’s not your fault. You simply can’t hear it.

Plus, it’s not like you do it all the time. You just occasionally put down some things harshly. Honestly, Quinn does that too.

On one side, breaking glassware—or anything at all—isn’t a big deal, because Quinn can always buy replacements. On the other, the possibility of you getting hurt during or after the process is his major concern. He doesn’t want another repeat of you getting a laceration across your palm like before. No. He can’t bear it. Even if it didn’t leave a scar, it burns through his memory. Forever haunting him.

Grounding himself, he focuses on the fact that you’re not hurt right not. He exhales a sigh of relief.

‘You’re okay’, he repeats in his head.

Slowly, he approaches you, taking the oven mitt on the counter, he uses it to lightly fan at you.

The gust of wind makes you turn towards him, smiling your kind grin. You dry your hands on a towel, then you sign, “Hi, Quinn.”

The sight of his signed name always makes his heart flutter, skipping a beat as it races in his chest. You’ve given that name to him and he will forever cherish it. It makes him feel so connected with you, especially when he knows yours. He signs it while he says, “My Love.”

A flush paints your cheeks when you watch both his hands and his lips. For a moment, you turn your face away, covering it with your hands as a soft ‘hmmm’ escapes you.

Yeah, you do that sometimes. Like you’re brimming with so much giddiness at the simple sight of him calling you your name and his endearment for you. It makes Quinn want to do it again and again and again.

He comes closer, gently putting his hands around your wrists, pulling down from your face. You look at him with wide eyes, your cheeks still so red. His thumbs trace circles on your skin of your inner wrists before tracing over your palms, feeling your delicate skin.

The laceration didn’t scar—thank fuck—but for Quinn, he swears he can still feel its existence. He can never forget how hot the blood rushing from the gash before he pressed a towel on it, how his heart slammed in his chest like battering ram from your panicked sounds as you cried until you two got to the hospital. It truly haunts him. He doesn’t want it to happen again.

He runs his thumbs over your palms once more, then he lets go.

“Be careful. You are slamming the glassware,” he says while signing it, just like how you taught him.

Your head tilts to the side. “I did?”

“Yes, please be careful. You might get hurt again.” He sighs, rubbing his chest as an ache bloom right there. “Why are you even doing the dishes? We have a dishwasher.”

“For a few cups and plates?” You sign exasperatedly, lecturing him about saving water and energy, explaining how you find it therapeutic to wash them.

Your gestures start small then turn bigger when you suddenly go into a tangent about electric energy, electric cars, and then crocheting beanies. How you get to that subject is a mystery to Quinn.

He can only blink as he tries to keep up. There are a few signs he fails to understand but by context clues, he gets it.

He makes a mental note to ask for your help. He needs to understand everything you say. It’s not good if he still heavily relies on clues when he’s been learning sign for quite a while now. It’s hard learning sign. No. Not that. It’s more of he’s still very new to it despite the whole year of learning it.  

He still finds himself going word-for-word. He doesn’t realize it until he replays the gestures in his mind and realizes he could’ve done another sign. Sometimes you sign so quickly that he cannot catch it. Like right now. You’re getting so fast that he’s getting overwhelmed instead of understanding. It makes his eyes sting as tears build up from his slight panic.

He brings up his hand, making you pause. Slowly he takes your hands, a silent plea for help, because he truly needs it. He can’t keep up.

“Sorry,”he mutters, enunciating the word.

You step closer, gripping his hands back as tightly as he does. You shake your head. Quinn understands the look in your eyes, because he knows you so well. They say, “No need to apologize. Do you want me to repeat it?”

To that, he nods. You both take a seat on the stools by the counter. The dishes are long forgotten as you repeat everything slower. It’s a wonder how you manage to remember everything you’ve said. Still, you carried every bit of emotions—though all over the place—like you had. Your gestures are bigger as they were.

Quinn finds himself relaxing when he can understand you.

You’ve been utterly patient with him. So warm. You’re perfectly the reason why he does his best in his sign language classes which he keeps as a secret. There will be a time in the future when you don’t need to repeat yourself because he’ll understand everything no matter how fast you speak. A time when he doesn’t need to sneak to his classes because he’s done with them. A time when he won’t be so clumsy with his signs. He just hopes it comes sooner.

He wants to talk to you so much every day. He wants his words to be seen by you. You lip-reading him is not enough when he has limbs to speak with you. He needs to learn so when—not if—you two have children, he’ll teach them too.

“I want to crochet a sweater for you.” Your eyes are twinkling with excitement. You ask, “Will you wear it after I finish it?”

It’s such a wonder how washing the dishes came to crocheting, but Quinn’s here for it.

“Yes,” he says breathlessly as your fingers traces the veins on his hand, feeling up his forearms and back to his hand. When your eyes come back up his face, he mutters, “Thank you for repeating what you said.”

“No problem, Quinn. You always repeat what you say for me too.”

Your words make him wonder. Does he? He never notices if he repeats himself. His memories are more locked onto him making you go over what you’ve said. Maybe he does. He doesn’t mind it if he does. He’ll continue doing it, because you’re so important to him.

He notes the grin on your face, showing your pretty teeth, the corners of your eyes crinkling. He loves how expressive you are. Always communicating with him. Your face and your body.

When you’re happy, your eyes basically beam like stars in the skies of a rural area where they can be seen without the pollution in the air. When you’re so excited, you are basically jumping while you gesture with lightness and just pure joy, which he can feel. 

When you’re sad or disheartened, your shoulders will slump, and your signs will be a lot smaller. When you’re angry or pissed, your ears would turn so red, your eyebrows extremely furrowed, and your signs would be so choppy and wild. You would either face him or turn away so you wouldn’t see him retort. Luckily, he doesn’t get you angry at him frequently. He tries not to.

He loves your sounds. They’re indiscernible, coming out when you’re getting into the conversation so much. He doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t think that he should at all. It’s just you. It’s another way of how you communicate. Sometimes you try to speak his name. The slightest sound of Q. Quinn takes that. The sound basically ingrained in his soul.

You’re trying to say his name.

His. Name.

Nothing’s better than that.

On that note, he always gets annoyed when people throw glances when you sign and let out those noises in public. He doesn’t mind curious or confused glances, but he loathes those who judge or scoffs. They should mind their fucking business. Every time he gets pissed, you will give his forehead a chop, reprimanding him. When he doesn’t ease, you will walk away because you’re so done with his antics, and he has no other choice but to stalk after you like a lost puppy, trying to get you to look at him for minutes until you finally do.

He can’t help it. He gets protective over you, even when you don’t need him to. You told him many times, but he really, really, really can’t help it.

He needs you to be comfortable. Anywhere. Everywhere.

That includes your—and his—home.

It’s really casual changes. Really. Like the doorbell that’s connected to lights he installed in every room, so you’ll know if there’s someone at the door when he’s not home. Like the flashing alarm for fire, smoke, carbon monoxide, so that you’ll always be safe like him in case of emergency. Like the speakers that have good bass, so you’ll enjoy your music. Like the TV with a permanently on closed captions—along the subscription programs that should always automatically play with them—so that you’ll have fun with your shows. Like the little nook he prepared for your reading or crafting or working or whatever you want to do. Little things. Casual things. Just for you.

If you two were to move to a bigger place, he can’t wait to do it all over again. He’s making a home for you. It has to be perfect.

When you first got together, Quinn did a ton of research on having a relationship with a person with hearing disability. That was why for your second date, he asked how you wanted him to approach you. Honestly, he feels so fucking proud when you stared at him with surprise and your jaw open, because you didn’t expect that. Then you smiled so widely that it made him fall so deeply in love with you on the second date. It’s surreal.

Quinn still didn’t know sign back then, so you conversed with your notebook or your phone. You explained about flicking the lights on and off, lightly fanning at you, doing a bigger wave when he’s in your peripherals, and even stomping on the wooden floor. He’s been doing those things and still to this day, he feels so amazing whenever you greet him with that beautiful smile.

“Hmm,” you hum, bringing him back to reality. “Where did you go?”

“Just here,” he scoots closer, putting a thigh between yours so he can get even closer. “What are your plans today?”

He shudders when your hand comes up to rest over his neck while he speaks, his hands stopping immediately mid sign. He sees the way your eyes dart from lips to his eyes, your slow and seductive blinks over your eyes with your pupils blowing out, your breaths that come out deeper like pants. The corner of his lips comes up, a chuckle escaping him which makes you preen and visibly crave for more.

“No plans,” you sign with so much longing in your eyes, “Your voice rumbles.”

“Does it?” He presses your hand firmer against his throat. He groans when you take that as invitation—thank fuck—and squeezes perfectly against his carotid arteries, controlling his blood circulation to his head. He moans, eyes rolling up for a second. “Fuck, yes.”

He’s so fucking hard. Another squeeze, and he’s making a fucking mess in his briefs. When your other hand runs down his chest, down to his crotch, he groans which makes you moan. Fuck, you sound so good. Feel so good.

He gives both of you a few more minutes to take each of your touches in, before he drags you back to your shared bedroom. He immediately kisses you, his tongue immediately seeking comfort against yours. He pushes you on the bed, crawling over you, panting as you spread your legs so readily for him. Yet, he still hooks his knee under your thigh, spreading further.

When your hand slips under his shirt, he quickly removes it, helping off yours, until both of you are naked. He grinds his aching cock against your wet slit, rubbing on your clit over and over again. Damn it. He’s already so fucking close. He’s not even inside of you yet.

Your whines are tiny as you breathe them out. He wants to sink into your pussy so bad but the way you tug at his hair, your touch around his throat before it snakes to his shoulder to push him down, he knows what you need.

 So he kisses your lips, your jaw, your delicate neck. He sucks on your skin hard enough to leave his marks. He licks his way down to your wonderful tits that fit so well in his hands. He licks the underside of your breast before sucking your pert nipple.

One after another.

Oh the way you sigh. The way your fingers slip into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp so wonderfully. You look like a Goddess looking down at him, urging him to do your bidding. So he lightly nip at your buds, groaning when you moan and whine, making sure to press his front against yours to let you feel all the noises he makes. He needs you to know how much you affect him.

When your hips lift, begging for friction, he pushes them down, but he starts kissing his way down, down, and down. Pressing a light kiss on each of your hip, he hooks his hands over your thighs and lifts and settles between. He watches your arousal drip from your pussy.

Taking deep inhales, he takes in your scent. It’s so heady, making him all dizzy, his eyesight blurring as he leans closer, greedily taking in every hint of you. Then he licks from your entrance to your throbbing clit. He doesn’t stop when your thighs squeeze around his head, when your delicate fingers tug his hair. He laves at your cunt like it’s his last chance to consume you. You tastes so exquisite, and when he blows over your clit, you hips buck off, threatening to suffocate him. He doesn’t care if he does.

He continues eating you out, fucking you with his tongue and his fingers. He moans into your heat, letting you feel the vibrations from every sound he makes. By the time your pussy walls convulse around his tongue, you are screaming. The sound of you being undone by him is music to his ears.

Giving your clit one last suck, he crawls over you, kissing your lips, ensuring that you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your sharp inhale only ignites the fire in him as your hands hook over his shoulder, pulling him closer and closer, bearing his weight on you. His cock slides against your sensitized pussy, making you both moan into each other’s lips.

Fuck.

He needs you.

He pulls away, not wanting to crush you with his weight for so long, only for your hand to wrap around his neck, pressing once more on his pulse points. Its thud, thud, thud is so loud, so strong.

Can you feel it?

Can you feel how his heart race for you? How it only beats for you? How every space, every atom, every cell running through it is yours?

Can you?

Do you?

You overwhelm his senses the right way. His head swims with nothing else but your feel, your touch, your smell, your sight. Maybe it’s just him being light-headed from your hand. Maybe. No. It’s just that. He—

You give him a squeeze, pulling him out of his head. He sees the worry in your eyes before it turns to relief. You smile, pressing a soft peck on his nose. An intelligible grumble escapes him, before he goes all out. He showers you with kisses. On the tip of your nose, your eyelids, your eyebrows, your cheeks, your temples, your forehead, your chin. He just can’t get enough of you.

When you give his throat another squeeze, he groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Gonna come if you don’t stop,” Quinn gasps, rubbing his length on your slicked folds, shuddering when your thumbs trace over his chin, over his lips. “Harder, my Love.”

He watches your lips mimic his word like you’re tasting it, savoring the two syllables. A small smile dances on your lips, pressing one thumb over his lower lip keep pressing your thumb over his lower lip. Quinn grunts, kissing it, saying his name like a plea, as you choke him harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses both in his head and out loud, never afraid to be vocal. He knows you can feel every rumble of a word that escapes him. He knows how much you like it.

He grinds harder into your pussy. He’s so hyperfocus on the feel of your pussy, of your hands around his throat, of your warm breath on his skin, of your pussy walls as it hugs him so perfectly when he finally slides in, that he doesn’t care how much lightheaded he’s getting.

The only thing important for him now is for you to come around him and for him to come deep inside you.

He wants that so fucking bad. You always let him come deep inside you, always let him lick your cum-filled pussy right after, always let him get his fill even if you get too overstimulated.

Fuck.

He needs that.

“Q,” you cry out, fueling his thrusts.

You said his name. His name.

“Again, please. Please,” he pleads.

Your mewls and moans are music to his soul that wants nothing but to be one with you, his Love. His nickname with your whimpering sounds amazing, alluring as you say it again. Just for him. Oh, he loves hearing his name on your tongue. He kisses you as he angles his thrusts to hit that specific spot that has you screaming into his lips, has your hips bucking up to meet his brutal thrusts, has your nails digging into the skin of his neck.

The pain just amplifies the pleasure Quinn is feeling.

He needs more, so he bites into your lower lip.

The action is responded with a tighter grip around his throat, as your pussy convulses. You’re coming so hard, wet pussy walls clamping around him, your thighs shaking, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting with your silent and breathy scream.

The next thing Quinn knows is him slamming deep as he spills and paints your walls white with his cum.

And he fucking faints.

Just for a second because you immediately slap him awake.

“Ow,” he groans. “What the fuck, my Love?”

You chuckle as if you two didn’t just get the best fucking orgasm—every orgasm is the best with you—of your lives. Your hand gently rubs along his neck, making him hiss from the slight pain from the nail marks you’ve left. He shifts, gasping as your pussy clenches around his softening cock. Shamelessly, he starts getting hard again like his body is cursing him from trying to rest when he’s still seated inside you.

“You’re heavy,” you tease, keeping him in place with your shaking leg. “I love your weight on me.”

Quinn lets out a choking sound, burying his head into your neck, making sure he’s not fully crushing you. You can’t just say things like that.

Now, he’s really, really hard again.

It hurts being so hard after coming. Did you know that?

When your fingers gently tap the shell of his ear, a little signal that you want him to look at you, he does. He parts from your neck after he places a kiss right on your pulse. He meets your beautiful gaze, lips parting at how ethereal you look all fucked by him. Your hair is sticking to your skin that glistens with sweat. Your cheeks are flushed and red. You’re so pretty.

“Let’s stay like this for a moment,” you request to which Quinn nods.

He easily shifts your position on your sides. His cock is still in your pussy. Both of you spend minutes just staring into each other’s eyes, your hands on each other’s chest, feeling each other’s racing heartbeats.

Quinn can hear his own.

He swears he can hear yours as it beats under his palm.

He hears both for the two of you.

That’s enough for him.

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[clockwayswrites]

Birdritch part 2 Yeah, there's a subscription post now...

Danny pulled another sweet potato fry from his bag before refolding the top to keep it warm. He’d finish all the fries before he even got home, he knew that, but that was future him’s problem. Right then being able to munch on the sweet, salty goodness as he took a shortcut through the park was just what he needed. There was something about Robinson park that always settled him.

It was probably because of the park’s wild, otherworldly nature that came from Poison Ivy’s control. It almost felt ghostly in how unreal it was. It was another thing Danny tried not to think too hard on and just enjoyed. It wasn’t that Danny was ignoring the fact that he was half ghost (as he always tried to convince himself), he just wasn’t dwelling on it anymore. Ghosts had consumed his life for so long and he needed a break.

Even before his accident (it was easier to just call it an accident when people asked about his scars), his parent’s obsession controlled their house, family, and lives. He got now that it wasn’t normal to grow up not cooking because the food might eat you. Or because your parents were too busy in the basement lab to remember. His time away from Amity Park in college made Danny realize that Jazz and his childhood had been at best unsafe and at worst negligent.

It had taken Danny a lot of therapy to be able to say those words.

Being honest, Danny still needed a lot of therapy, but there was only so much progress he could make when he couldn’t really explain that he was half dead and had spent the end of his childhood fighting ghosts, the government, and his parents. He was half tempted to try and track down Harley Quinn and see if she was up to taking on a new patient. (Danny was pretty sure that she wouldn’t rat him out to the authorities.)

A vine thrashed suddenly in front of Danny, hitting the sidewalk with a meaty thump.

Danny froze.

Fuck.

His phone was out of power.

He couldn’t check if something was going on in the park.

While Poison Ivy was much more Pamela Isley than rogue these days, as seen by the city just letting her have control of much of the park, she was still temperamental and the right— or wrong— sort of thing could set her and her plants off. (Sometimes the plants went off on their own. Everyone knew not to be a sleaze bag in Robinson park.)

Slowly Danny started to back up.

Several more vines wretched themselves out of the ground around him.

He could hear shouting somewhere off to his left. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement from the plants that direction.

Alright, not angry at him then.

Danny crept forward slowly, keeping his motions as calm and small as possible. Just because they plants weren’t angry at him it didn’t mean they weren’t a threat to him. His best chance was to stay on the path and head in the direction away from the noise.

And away from the over sized flowers.

Well fuckity fuck.

Most things Poison Ivy could do weren’t really a threat to Danny. He could phase away from vines, after all. But the flowers? The flowers had pollen and pollen was an unknown; one that Danny didn’t want to be known. Sam was rather certain that the pollens could effect Danny in odd and unknown ways due to his half ghost nature.

He had refused to let Sam experiment on him to figure it out. Comparing her fervor to his parent’s helped shut that idea down for good. Danny didn’t regret avoiding being a lab rat, even as he was staring down the ruby red flowers to his right. He still just had to keep his motions as calm and small as possible.

The flowers were only an issue if they let their pollen out.

Danny started to move in as wide of an arc as he could around the flowers.

While they were closed up he was safe.

Danny’s left hand spasmed.

The paper bag of food crinkled.

The flower petals unfurled.

Fuck.

---

AN: I know there are issues, another no read through late night post, but I'm getting my serotonin where I can. Stay delightful, darlings.

[kyndahot]

When Quinn witnesses Darlin fight in their wolf form, all he sees is a beast. A ferocious monster, big and intimidating and powerful. One at his beck and call, no less. He lets them lick their own wounds when the fight is over. If they did well enough, maybe he’ll offer them a quick pat on the haunches before leaving them be in their own blood and sweat. They don’t know a lick of healing magic, let alone anyone in their circle at the time that might help them. Darlin walks around with large bruises and bandages strung lazily across their body. Not for lack of trying— they’re just so sore, so tired that it takes effort to reach the places that need covering. Their poor eating habits and lack of sleep make the healing process especially slow.

When Sam witnesses Darlin fight in their wolf form he sees a scared animal. Cornered, wild eyes darting around— as if looking for a way out. Lip curled with low posture. They fight like they’ve been backed into a corner even in the most open of spaces. Once they shift back, he’s all over them in seconds. Checking for wounds, healing said wounds, tight hugs and deep breaths. Affirming to them that they’re ok, he’s ok. More than anything he’s reassuring himself. The wounds he can’t heal he wraps and treats with the supplies he has until he’s recuperated enough to continue healing them. He’ll bring them food in bed, much to their chagrin.

“I can get up myself! You don’t have to bring it to me I’m fine.”

“You’ll pop a stitch if you move around too soon. Quit your whinin’, you big baby.”

When they’re alone, Darlin will shift and lay in Sam’s lap sleeping soundly. He’ll run his hands through their fur and get caught tracing the large scars where fur refuses to grow back. Soft and gentle as if they’re still fresh, still tender. He 's caught in a trance staring at nothing while doing so until a rhythmic thumping breaks him from it.

Still asleep, it’s Darlin’s wagging tail.

[honeyslibrary]

Sweet Girl | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Dad!Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); None I believe. Fluff, established relationship, pregnancy + birth (ish), only edited once

Summary; The three times Quinn spoke to your belly + the one time he spoke to your baby

Word Count; 5.5k

Author’s note; I love this fic so much, I might make it a universe since I'm a sucker for girl dads + I'm not ready to give baby Scar and Quinn up (: As usual, any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated. Thank you for all of the support! -Honey

When you heard a knock on the door, and opened it to find a package from Amazon sitting on your doorstep, your first thought was that it must be for Quinn. It wasn’t unusual for him to order things online, especially when he was on the road and needed something shipped to the house. And though you often used his Prime account to order things for yourself too, this time you were sure you hadn’t ordered anything recently. You bent down to pick it up, the familiar brown box light in your hands as you brought it inside.

Glancing at the label, you furrowed your brow slightly. It had your name on it, but nothing about it gave you any clue what was inside. Shrugging it off, you left the package on the nightstand by Quinn's side of the bed, figuring it was something he'd ordered for himself, maybe some last-minute necessity he’d remembered while traveling.

The hours passed, and with the Canucks playing in Minnesota on another road game stint, you didn’t give much thought to the package sitting by the bed. It wasn’t until later that night, after the game, that you got a FaceTime call from Quinn. The familiar ping of your phone lit up the screen, and you smiled as his name appeared. You answered quickly, eager to see his face after missing him more than you'd care to admit.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling softly when his face appeared on your screen. His hair was still damp from his postgame shower, strands falling messily over his forehead, and the sight of him looking relaxed in his hotel room after a win sent a warm feeling through your chest.

“Hey, baby,” Quinn replied, his voice soft, but with a touch of fatigue. You could tell he was still riding the post-game high, but the exhaustion of the season was starting to creep in.

You both spent a few minutes catching up—him telling you about the game, the energy in the arena, and you sharing small details about your day, filling in the little gaps left by his absence. The conversation flowed easily, like it always did, but then, as the conversation lulled, Quinn’s brow furrowed slightly, like he’d remembered something.

“Did you get the package?” he asked suddenly, his voice casual but with a hint of elation as he adjusted the phone, leaning back against the headboard of his hotel bed.

You blinked in surprise, momentarily confused. "Package?" you echoed, your mind flipping back to the brown box you’d left on the nightstand. "Oh, yeah! That came this morning. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I just left it on your side of the bed."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Quinn’s lips, but he shook his head, his eyes softening as he looked at you through the screen. "It’s not for me," he said, his voice a little lower, with that familiar warmth that always made your heart flutter. “It’s for you, for us. I ordered it.”

Surprise flickered across your face, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly curious. "Really?" Your heart gave a little skip. Quinn wasn’t one to make a big deal out of surprises, but when he did, they were always thoughtful, something that showed how much attention he paid to the little details of your life.

He nodded, a small grin pulling at his lips as he watched your reaction. "Yeah. Go open it," he urged, his voice playful now, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you as you stood up from the couch and padded into the bedroom, phone in hand, feeling suddenly giddy. You picked up the box from the nightstand, shaking it lightly, though it didn’t give away much about what was inside. Setting your phone down on the bed so Quinn could still see you, you grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and sat down on the plush comforter, carefully slicing through the tape, your curiosity growing with every second.

"Any hints?" you asked as you opened the flaps of the box, glancing up at the screen to see him smiling.

"Not a chance," he replied, his voice filled with that playful mischief that always made your heart skip. "You’ll see in a second."

Inside the package, nestled among the packing paper, is a small green-and-white box that immediately catches your eye. You pull it out, flipping it over in your hands to examine the front. The box is labeled "Bellybuds," and your brow furrows slightly in curiosity. You’ve never heard of it before, and the image of a pregnant woman with small adhesive speakers attached to her belly leaves you wondering what exactly this is.

You hold it up toward your phone, angling it so Quinn can see the box through the screen. "What is this?" you ask, amusement coloring your voice as you turn it over again, your fingers lightly tracing the packaging.

On the other side of the phone, Quinn's face lights up, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "It's headphones... for babygirl," he says, his voice warm and filled with excitement, like a child presenting their favorite toy. "We can talk to her, play music, and stuff. Thought it'd be nice for her to hear us more clearly."

A small laugh escapes your lips, the sound light against the stillness of the room, as you glance down at your baby bump, gently resting your free hand on the slight curve of your belly. You look back at the screen, shaking your head affectionately at him. "But we already talk to her all the time," you say with a smile, "do we really need these?"

Quinn shrugs a little, but there’s a certain softness in the way he does it, a sheepish look crossing his face. His grin doesn’t fade, though—if anything, it only deepens as he watches your reaction, his eyes bright with affection. "I figured it could be fun," he admits, his voice quieter now, the tone laced with a hint of vulnerability that tugs at your heart. "You know... just something special we can do. I thought maybe she’d like hearing music, or hearing us talk to her in a different way."

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, a gentle wave of affection washing over you. The thought of Quinn, so excited to connect with your unborn daughter, to create memories and bonds even before she arrives—it fills you with a deep sense of love for him. He’s always been thoughtful, but there’s something about this moment, something about the quiet sincerity in his voice, that makes your heart swell.

You lower the box slightly, your hand still resting on your belly as you glance down at it again. The idea of playing music for her, of letting her hear the rhythm of your favorite songs, or of Quinn’s voice as he talks to her when he’s away on trips, suddenly feels incredibly sweet and meaningful.

"You’re so sweet," you murmur, lifting your gaze back to him, your voice soft and filled with affection. "I didn’t even think of something like this. But I love it."

Quinn’s grin widens at your words, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a flush of pride washes over his face. "I’m glad," he says, his tone lighter now, clearly pleased with himself. "Figured it was something a little different. Plus, I can play her some good music while I’m gone. Gotta get her used to my playlists early," he adds with a chuckle.

A snort escapes you, as you shake your head. "Right, because I’m sure she’s going to love Counting Crows just as much as you do," you tease, your smile growing as you imagine him curating a playlist of all his favorite songs just for her.

"Hey, she’ll have great taste, thanks to me," he replies, feigning mock offense, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s enjoying the playful banter as much as you are. "She’s gonna be the coolest kid around, trust me."

You roll your eyes with a grin, but your heart swells with warmth at the thought of the two of you already imagining what kind of music she’ll like, how she’ll react to the sounds of your voices. It makes everything feel more real, more tangible—like your little family is slowly but surely coming together.

You open the box carefully, pulling out the small circular speakers, running your fingers over the smooth surface. The adhesive pads are meant to stick to your belly, gently transmitting sound into your womb.

"You know," you begin, your gaze flickering back to the phone screen, "I think it’ll be really nice. She’ll get to hear your voice more often when you’re away for games... it’ll be like you’re still here, even when you’re not."

Quinn’s expression softens at that, his grin fading into something more tender, more intimate. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet warmth. "That’s exactly what I was hoping for. I hate being away, especially now. But this... I thought it could help. Like, she’ll know I’m still with you two, even when I’m on the road."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can feel the emotions welling up inside you, your eyes watering as you look at him. The way he talks about your daughter, the way he’s so thoughtful and attentive to both of you, makes you fall in love with him even more. You bite your lip, a smile spreading across your face as you press your hand a little more firmly against your belly, feeling the weight of your daughter resting there.

"She’s going to love hearing your voice," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "And so will I."

1

"Hey there, sweet girl," Quinn’s voice is a low, soothing murmur, barely above a whisper, as he speaks into the microphone of his phone. "Daddy here," he adds softly, his tone filled with warmth and tenderness, like every word is wrapped in love.

He shifts carefully on the bed, moving slowly so as not to disturb you from your deep sleep. The dim light from his phone screen casts a soft glow over the room, the only sound being the quiet hum of the fan and the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Quinn settles back against the pillows, adjusting himself so he can be closer to you, his body leaning into your side.

His free hand reaches out, fingertips grazing the soft fabric of your tank top before gently coming to rest on the curve of your baby bump. His touch is light, reverent, like he’s afraid he might wake you if he presses too hard. But even in your sleep, the warmth of his hand resting on your belly sends a sense of comfort through you, as though even unconsciously, your body knows that he's there. His thumb starts moving in slow, gentle circles over your bump, a calming rhythm that has become second nature to him—his way of connecting with both of you.

His eyes soften as he gazes down at the swell of your stomach, where your baby girl is growing, nestled safely inside you. The sight still fills him with awe every time he sees it—the miracle of life forming between you both, the quiet anticipation of becoming a father. He leans closer, careful not to disturb the Bellybuds that are attached to your bump, the small adhesive pads delivering his voice directly to the baby through the connected cord in the phone.

"Just wanted to let you know how much I love you," he whispers softly, his voice low and full of affection. "Before I go to sleep tonight."

The corners of his lips twitch into a small smile as he speaks, his thumb continuing its gentle movements over your belly, tracing slow, lazy circles. He takes a deep breath, letting the moment wash over him. It’s something he’s done often lately—these quiet talks with your baby girl before bed. He knows she might not fully understand, but the thought of her possibly hearing his voice, growing familiar with the sound of her dad, fills him with a sense of happiness he can’t quite put into words.

"I had a long day, and I know you’re probably resting too," he continues, his voice steady but filled with a kind of quiet wonder. "But I couldn’t let the night end without saying goodnight." He leans forward just slightly, brushing a soft kiss against the top of your belly, the warmth of his lips barely touching your skin. "I can’t wait to meet you, sweet girl. Every day, I think about what it’s going to be like when you’re finally here with us."

There’s a pause as he glances up at you, still sound asleep beside him, your breathing steady and peaceful. The room feels still, but in a way that makes everything feel more intimate, more present. His eyes flicker back down to your belly, the small life growing inside, and he feels the overwhelming sense of love flood him once again—an emotion so strong it almost takes his breath away.

"I promise I’ll always take care of you," Quinn whispers into the microphone, his voice dropping even lower, as though he’s sharing a secret just between him and his daughter. "And your mom, too. We’re a team, the three of us. And I’m gonna do my best to make sure you have everything you need, to keep you safe, and to love you more than anything in this world."

His hand moves slightly, his palm now resting flat against the curve of your belly, feeling the faint, subtle movements beneath. Sometimes, when the timing is right, he can feel her respond, little kicks or shifts, as though she knows he’s there. It’s in those moments that the reality of fatherhood feels most real to him, the little reminders that soon, she’ll be here in his arms.

"You’re already so loved, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice soft and tender as he speaks into the microphone, his gaze never leaving your bump. "Your mom and I... we talk about you all the time. What you’ll be like, what you’ll look like. I think you’re going to be perfect. And I can’t wait to see who you become."

The weight of his words lingers in the air, and Quinn takes another breath, feeling the warmth of your body beside him, the closeness of your shared space. He glances back at you, his heart swelling with affection as he takes in the peaceful look on your face, the way you look so serene in your sleep. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

"I’m so lucky to have you," he whispers, his voice barely audible, meant only for your sleeping ears. "Both of you."

For a long moment, Quinn just lays there, his hand resting protectively over your belly, his heart full of so much love he can barely contain it. He thinks about the future—the late-night feedings, the first steps, the endless love he’s ready to give to both you and your daughter. It all feels so real, so close, and he can’t help but feel grateful for everything you’ve built together.

After a few more moments of quiet, he shifts slightly, letting out a soft sigh as his hand lingers on your bump one last time. "Goodnight, sweet girl," he whispers softly into the microphone, his voice full of tenderness and love. "I’ll see you soon."

2

"Hey there, sweet girl, Daddy here." Quinn speaks into the microphone of his phone, the sound laced with a soft chuckle as he follows you around the kitchen, making sure the Bellybuds stay securely attached to your baby bump. Every step you take, he mirrors, careful not to let the wires tangle or the pads come loose.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile that tugs at your lips as you shuffle around the counter. "Quinn, I’m trying to cook," you say, your tone a mix of amusement and exasperation as you glance over your shoulder at him.

"It’s not my fault Mommy got out of bed before I could say good morning, right, sweet girl?" His grin widens as he speaks into the phone, leaning in slightly as though your daughter, nestled safely in your belly, can hear him more clearly that way. There’s a lightness in his voice, full of the kind of joy that comes naturally when he’s talking to your unborn child—like he’s already practicing the loving banter he’ll share with her once she’s here.

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you move back to the stove, carefully flipping the strips of bacon sizzling in the pan. The kitchen is cozy, the rich, savory smell of breakfast filling the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee brewing on the counter. Sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a golden glow across the countertops, and the whole scene feels peaceful, wrapped in the simple comfort of a Saturday morning.

Quinn trails behind you, keeping close, the ever-present grin still on his face. His eyes are filled with that familiar playful glint, the one that tells you he’s not taking any of this too seriously—but at the same time, you know just how much these moments mean to him. He takes every chance he can get to bond with your little one, to talk to her, even if it’s just silly things or affectionate words whispered against your belly. It’s something you’ve grown to love even more about him during this pregnancy—how committed he is to being present, even before she’s here.

You shuffle across the kitchen to grab a plate for the bacon, and as you do, Quinn follows closely behind, adjusting the Bellybuds’ cord as you move. You shoot him another glance, one eyebrow raised, even as a smile pulls at the corner of your lips. "Shouldn’t you be getting ready for morning skate?" you ask, your tone teasing as you gesture vaguely toward the clock on the wall.

Quinn shrugs, leaning casually against the counter, his hand resting on your bump for just a moment before he drops it back to his side. "Nah," he says with a playful smirk, "I’ve got a few minutes. Besides, what’s more important—hockey or talking to my daughter?" His eyes sparkle with mischief as he shifts his focus back to your belly, speaking directly into the microphone. "See, sweet girl? Daddy has his priorities straight. Morning skate can wait."

You let out another huff of amusement, shaking your head as you plate the crispy bacon. "Priorities, huh?" You glance at him, a soft smile dancing on your lips. "I’ll remember that the next time you’re in the playoffs."

He laughs, the sound rich and easy, and steps closer, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist from behind, careful not to disrupt your cooking. You feel the warmth of his chest press against your back, the familiar weight of his body comforting as he leans his chin gently on your shoulder, peeking around to watch you cook. His hand slides down, resting protectively over your bump, his fingers splayed across your belly as if he’s trying to feel every little movement she might make.

"I promise," he murmurs, his voice softer now, his lips brushing your ear, "she’ll always come first. Even during playoffs."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, you pause in your task, turning your head just enough to catch his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, that quiet kind of love that’s always been there, but seems to have grown even deeper during this pregnancy. You lean back into him slightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against your back, and for a brief moment, everything feels perfectly still.

"I know," you murmur, your hand resting on top of his as it cradles your belly.

The moment stretches on for a beat longer, before Quinn presses a soft kiss to your temple, then pulls back with a playful grin. "But seriously," he adds, "we can’t have her growing up thinking she's not the light of my life."

You laugh, the sound bright and easy as you turn back to the stove, flipping the eggs that are now starting to sizzle in the pan. "No, we definitely can’t have that." You agree, amused.

Quinn leans against the counter, still keeping a close eye on you as you move around the kitchen, his eyes occasionally flicking down to your belly. He’s quiet for a moment, just watching, but there’s a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Besides, I think she’s already going to have pretty high expectations for you," you say, glancing at him with a smile as you finish cooking, setting the eggs and bacon on the table. "Talking to her every day, following me around like a puppy..."

He shrugs again, not even trying to hide the grin this time. "Hey, I’ve got to make sure she knows she’s got the best dad in the world, right?"

You shake your head, laughing as you move toward him, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck as he pulls you close. "I think she’s going to know that no matter what," you say softly, your eyes meeting his, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, the kind that’s full of love and gratitude, the kind that says more than words ever could. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but full of warmth.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. You glance down at your belly, where the Bellybuds are still securely attached, and grab his phone from his hand, bringing the microphone to your lips. "And I know you love daddy too, right sweet girl?"

3

"Hey there, sweet girl, Daddy here," Quinn whispers softly into the microphone, his voice a murmur in the stillness of the night. The house around you is silent, save for the faint rustling of the trees outside the window and the gentle sound of your breathing as you sleep peacefully beside him. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts a warm, golden light over the room, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of comfort.

Carefully, Quinn adjusts the Bellybuds, making sure the small adhesive speakers are securely attached to your growing belly, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he does. Once satisfied that everything is in place, he leans back against the pillows, settling himself beside you and letting out a quiet, contented sigh.

"You're due to come see me and Mommy very soon," he begins. His free hand moves to rest gently on your belly, the warmth of his palm spreading across your skin as his thumb traces slow, soothing circles over the curve of your bump. "And we're so excited to finally meet you."

The smile on his face widens as he speaks the words aloud, the reality of it sinking in more and more with every passing day. His heart swells with emotion, a mixture of excitement and nerves at the thought of holding his daughter in his arms for the first time. He’s imagined it a thousand times already—what it will feel like, what she’ll look like—and yet, he knows nothing can truly prepare him for the moment when she finally arrives.

"We have your nursery all set up," he continues, his voice full of pride. "Mommy picked out the prettiest colors and decorations. And she bought you so many cute outfits... I know you’ll be just adorable." His words are filled with affection as he thinks about the hours you spent meticulously planning and decorating the nursery. He remembers the way your eyes lit up with excitement every time a new package arrived at the door—tiny clothes, soft blankets, little shoes too small to seem real.

Quinn chuckles softly to himself, his thumb still moving in slow circles over your belly. "I can already picture you wearing those little onesies. Mommy’s got good taste," he says with a grin, though his voice softens as he adds, "You’re going to be the most beautiful girl in the world, and I can’t wait to see you."

The room falls into a comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His gaze drifts back to you, watching as you shift slightly in your sleep, snuggling deeper into the blankets. He loves these quiet moments with you, when the world feels small and the love he has for you and your growing family feels like the only thing that matters.

"You're our first, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower, as if he's sharing a secret meant just for her. His thumb continues its rhythmic motion on your belly, grounding him in the moment, the connection between the three of you palpable. "So Mommy and I... we might not be perfect. We’ll probably make mistakes, and we’re still learning. But I promise you, we’ll always try our best for you."

The sincerity in his words hangs in the air, a promise that he knows will shape the rest of his life. Fatherhood is something he’s thought about for so long, and now that it’s just around the corner, the weight of it feels both exhilarating and humbling. He knows there will be challenges, sleepless nights, moments of doubt—but he also knows that the love he feels for you and your daughter will guide him through it all. It already has.

"Daddy loves you," he whispers softly into the microphone, his voice filled with all the love and devotion he can possibly give. "So much. And I can’t wait to show you just how much when you get here." He leans down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your belly, his lips warm against your skin.

+1

Scarlett Eloise Hughes was born on July 2nd, arriving into the world at seven pounds, four ounces, with the tiniest tuft of brown hair and the clearest green eyes you’d ever seen. From the moment you heard her first cry, a quiet, delicate sound that filled the room, your heart swelled with a love so overwhelming, it felt like nothing else existed beyond that moment. Time seemed to slow as the nurses moved around you, murmuring their congratulations as they swiftly began their work.

The delivery couldn’t have gone smoother. It was as if Scarlett herself had been eager to meet you and Quinn, arriving just two hours after you checked into the hospital. Your contractions had come on strong that morning, starting as a dull ache and quickly intensifying until you knew it was time.

But even considering the relative ease of it all, you were exhausted—utterly spent in the best possible way. The rush of adrenaline from labor, the flood of emotions that came with bringing new life into the world, had left you physically and emotionally drained, but also more fulfilled than ever before.

You watched through hazy eyes as Quinn, who had been by your side every second, stepped forward to cut Scarlett’s umbilical cord. The nurse handed him the scissors, and though his hand trembled slightly, his face was full of awe. You could see the tears glistening in his eyes as he gently snipped the cord, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check. It was such a simple act, but in that moment, it felt monumental—like a bridge between pregnancy and the start of your new lives as parents.

Once the nurses had gently taken Scarlett away to clean her off, weigh her, and perform the routine newborn checks, the room felt quiet, almost surreal. You lay back against the pillows, your body heavy with fatigue but your heart full of love. Every so often, you could hear the soft sound of Scarlett’s tiny cries as they swaddled her in a warm blanket and placed her in the bassinet.

Then, at last, they brought her over to you.

The moment they placed her in your arms, everything else melted away. Scarlett was so small, so delicate, her skin still slightly flushed from the effort of being born. Her tiny fingers curled reflexively into a fist, her eyes blinking up at you as though she were trying to focus on the face she had yet to fully see but already knew so well. The warmth of her little body pressed against yours made your chest tighten with emotion, and as you gazed down at her, you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

"Hi, Scarlett," you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion as you leaned your forehead against hers for just a moment, taking in her scent, that unmistakable newborn smell that was somehow both sweet and comforting. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Scarlett blinked again, her tiny lips parting slightly as she made a soft cooing sound, and in that moment, it was as though your entire world had shifted. Every hope, every dream, every little piece of your life had led to this—this beautiful, perfect baby girl in your arms.

You shifted her gently, positioning her so you could nurse her for the first time. Her tiny mouth latched onto your breast instinctively, and the sensation was both strange and wonderful all at once.

It was breathtaking moment, just you and her, connected in a way that felt profound to you. You could feel her little body relax against yours as she fed, her breathing evening out, her tiny fingers resting against your chest.

Tears filled your eyes again, and you glanced over at Quinn, who stood watching silently. His eyes held a mix of emotions—joy, admiration, and a deep, unwavering love. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment she was born, but now, watching you nurse Scarlett, that smile softened into something more tender, more meaningful.

Once Scarlett finished feeding, you gently lifted her and cradled her close to your chest, marveling at how perfectly she fit into your arms, like she was meant to be there all along. After a few moments, you met Quinn’s gaze and smiled softly.

"You're up next, daddy." you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn nodded, his throat visibly working as he tried to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to overcome him, though you could see the eagerness in his eyes.

"Take off your shirt," you added, remembering the advice about skin-to-skin contact. You wanted him to experience that bond, the warmth of her small body against his, just as you had.

Without hesitation, Quinn pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the nearby chair. He stepped closer, his movements careful and measured, as though he were afraid of disturbing the fragile moment. Gently, you passed Scarlett into his arms, watching as he settled into the chair beside your hospital bed.

The second Scarlett was in his arms, her little body resting against his bare chest, something changed in Quinn. His entire posture softened, his shoulders relaxing as if every ounce of tension had melted away. He held her with the utmost care, his large hands supporting her tiny head, his thumb brushing gently across her back as she nestled against him.

"Hey there, sweet girl," Quinn whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he gazed down at her in awe. "Daddy here."

Scarlett’s small hand flexed against his chest, and Quinn let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He leaned his head down slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as though he couldn’t bear to pull away.

The sight of them together—the love radiating from Quinn, the peaceful way Scarlett settled into his arms—filled you with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. This was your family now. The three of you, together, bound by the deepest kind of love.

Quinn rocked gently in the chair, his eyes never leaving Scarlett’s face, as though he were committing every detail of this moment to memory. "You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I love you so much. You have no idea."

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you watched them, your heart full to bursting. This was everything you had hoped for and more—a moment of pure, unfiltered love. "She’s perfect," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Quinn glanced up at you, his eyes shining with tears of his own. "Yeah, she really is."

[sunflower1experiment]

Trust in me

Risk

What have you done?

Lower, lower, and stop in front of the playtime care, walking beside Harley in silence when you both walk by the toys, they cower or hiss. Kneeling down to their level to get a better look at the children, you hold one of the smaller critters. That was when Catnap came to view, he leaned in with a head tilt, you rubbed a hand over his head with careful poise, leaning into your hand the giant toy breathed out, Red...smoke...

"Enough." Harley orders and you both split apart, so the follow continues, "Who is that?"

"Theodore." It was quiet but he was prideful and held no remorse while you stared at each toy with a sad gaze, it was beside you. Any other time you held a gaze of firm animosity for every scientist who mistreated the toys. Scolding, yelling, even demonstrating the pain the toys experienced. But this is beyond you, Mommy and Huggy were easy access to your kind words and gentle touch. But these toys, these children, are out of reach.

Out of your hands, "Earth to my dear partner."

"Oh, sorry I was just spacing out."

"You seem to be doing that often." You both go silent knowing that this would wedge a rift if no one spoke, so you get ready to plead, but he cuts you off. "Listen, just because you cater to that bleeding heart of yours doesn't mean it'll save you from this moral veil you hide behind. You aren't the only one who had their moral compass challenged, and you will not be the last. I'm doing this because these orphans deserve better, I'm giving them better. Elliot didn't understand but you will soon enough."

He walks further ahead while your unshed tears begin to slide down your face, "......"

The walk was quieter than ever, the fight, flight, freeze or fawn triggers were rising in the head. All you can think of was, "Stop wallowing" or "Huggy is being patient for you." He was, wasn't he?

What have you done?

You first met Huggy, it was frightening, what happened to this toy? "What did you do?"

"We were training him; he's shown signs of complete obedience and respect.."

"Are you daft!? Damn it, he's practically seething!" You open the cell, bringing in a basket filled with fruits. "What are you doing!?"

Eddie tried to open the cell, but you continued your job, placing the basket down, holding Huggy's paw and then feeding the bigger toy. "You, okay?" He was quiet...

Unblinking, unmoving, he ate the apple, then the fruits after, and afterwards the giant toy was showing you his scars, so you wrap a bandage around them. "....."

It was irritating, to see these toys, above, below...

How much lower does this go?

That memory was so far behind, Eddie was furious, and you simply didn't care. Now that you know the truth, how dare he show signs of fury!? You're no better, the sinking feeling and the idea to manipulate Harley to be gentler. How stupid.

"Ya know, Elliot has a daughter. Poppy....she's further up, you and Poppy didn't meet yet, but I don't plan to let you both meet." Sawyer's words cut deep, he knew you well enough to know that if Poppy had any chance to whisper any form of the truth, you'd lose your mind.

What have you done?

That suspicion reaching your eyes, it made Harley shudder with excitement, he adores the reactions. The nights spent together, the breakfasts, or times you'd visit his place just to cook him some food or sometimes give him a loving break.

Spoiled is what he is, and he didn't even realize how badly this was hurting you and him both.

When you both went back up, the critters crawled up and you knelt down, hugging one of them. It was then Harley realized something, he noticed your gentle demeanor, somber smile, the way you cradled this critter...

"You're pregnant."

You try to avoid giving an obvious reaction, but the way his hands held your face, his fingers move to the back of your ears. He was searching for a pulse; you blink then chuckle out weakly. "Of course not, silly! I just really wanted to adopt Quinn, He's very sweet. Precious too."

He hums in thought, "Stella told me."

That made it skip two beats, and he was back to his calm apathetic demeanor. "So, when did you plan to tell me?"

"I...I don't know." You turn ahead as if that would even matter.

"You should have told me."

"Why?" Harley sighs as if he was tired of hearing you question his nuance, he suddenly snaps.

"Because it makes you more sentimental, your bleeding heart is already interrupting my handwork, because that simply means you're having our child, and it most of all means you are being a threat to yourself and this unborn life." You wince at each word, ignoring the rising tears that you blink away.

"I wouldn't have to put myself at risk if you weren't actively lying and manipulating me. But who am I kidding, I'm no better, those toys, those children. They were looking up to us, to Elliot. I'm not perfect but my worst mistake was letting you into my heart." The train stops, and you both go your separate ways.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

TW//bleeding, miscarriage, adoption plans, signs of depression (If you or a loved one is experiencing anything like this, seek help or call a trusted adult/loved one/ take the chance to therapy)

You were so stupid, it's all your fault, yes, your fault.

The metal floors clank with fury while you march past Stella, Leith, more scientists, Stella notices your angry tears and she follows.

"Hey- Hey!" She holds your face, while you sniffle weakly. "....Did..."

The woman looks at your stomach, then you while those unshed tears fall once more. "Oh..." She hugs you close, "It's okay."

"No, it's not..."

When you reach the door, her door....

"Poppy."

You open the door.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

Walking inside this playhouse, you see the doll. "Poppy."

She turns with her giant doll-like eyes, staring in fear of being hurt again, but you merely kneel down and hug her close. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Poppy didn't know what to say, are you a friend? Did Ollie....no.

You continue hugging her.

She told you everything, Elliot, Harley, Quinn, all these children...Ollie.

The stress was enough to create such a dark mindset, in the back of your mind you weren't any better.

Rich noticed the signs carefully placing a hand on your shoulder, "Hey, um...try not to let this place get to you."

"It's fine Rich, you don't have to comfort me. Especially with the privileges I have compared to you, yea." It was true but so what!? Rich knew that, yet he still cared, the idea was simply that you were grieving.

"Ya know, I loved that boy. Quinn, I cherished him as if he were my own. Then I stupidly...." You look at the cameras, letting more tears cascade down.

No amount of comfort could save you, even with how stressful things were getting.

Prototype acknowledged that the third time you visit him, "liFE gROwS wItHin....YOu, aRe not Happy?"

"No, I'm not..." His hand holds yours; a twisted form of comfort arises, he wasn't one of them and yet...his voice, Harley's voice.

You found comfort in them, ".....Catnap, in one of the files I read, he mentioned a further...down..."

"tHe pRIsOn..."

The prison, your eyes widen...No, no no..

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

Prototype knew what he was doing, surely you didn't.

Harley slams his fist down, "What have you done!?" He shouts, "What did you tell them!?"

Prototype chuckles darkly at Harley's anger, thriving off his agony even if it meant you were the one suffering. To Prototype you were indeed, no different than the rest, which is why you needed to find out the hard way.

You stare at this creature, files on the side, holding your stomach while Yarnaby breathes heavily through his cell. Unable to recognize you, Quinn, could not see the person who was so excited to take him in. Share the sweet life of home with Harley, what a stupid naive dream!

As you move further, you see Doey, and your mind races back to things you brushed off. "Experiment 1322 A and B.." Then to the accident, you were here long enough to acknowledge the dough incident. "Jack.." What of his parents?

Doey looks at you in confusion while you feel sweat beads going down your face, sensing your stress he begins to knock on the window, as if to warn the scientist. But no avail, suddenly you were on the ground, cradling your now shaking form.

Scientists only stopped when you were on the ground, the immediate thought was to call Stella.

You feel something...pain...contraption, Stella was beside you, once more hugging your feeble form. She breathes heavily, "How far- Hey. How far along was it!?"

"......T-Two months." Stelle sweats, while she anxiously orders for you to be taken to a lab.

Hours would pass, and she was on the floor weeping, sniffling with self-loathing. She had this chance to send you to the hospital, hell frame Harley or give up the evidence...but Lieth remains on her mind, his words. Their miracle working goal...

Now all she could remember was the blood curdling screams of anguish you let out; they filled the room. Her ears keep ringing as they start to turn into cries and then voices of another scientist trying to comfort you. Whispers upon rumors fill the prison and laboratory.

"Why would he do that?"

"What was even going on in their head?"

They blamed him, then you, then they'd call you ignorant or naive..

Privileged, Stella remembered when you tried so hard to protect that sweet bliss of hers. Keeping a smile, even sugarcoating Harley's words while she was a bit offended by his remarks. She remembered when you placed a yellow daisy in her vase, she enjoyed those a lot.

Her mind then went to Harley's when he placed that Tuberose, that Poppy flower, you tried so hard to protect her, and she failed you.

Harley had to cover this up, he sat beside the medical examination bed, while you say nothing. "I- didn't expect you to.."

"Be so naive?"

He sighs with regret of spilling out those words, "You didn't expect me to want to adopt Quinn?"

Harley merely covers his face while you list out more things that contradicted his work, for you to acknowledge your own flaws merely simply made it worse.

"I love you." Harley weakly responds, now holding your hand. "I should've just transferred or-"

"Fired me? Or baby trap me?" No not that that was cruel and just, uncalled for. It would be disgusting; he's seen cases like those. So, have you and for you to say that it made him want to cringe at the idea.

"I don't hate you Harley, I'm just disappointed in myself for falling for the facade I made up about you."

Harley stays silent when he realizes his perspective didn't match yours, his...you...

he failed; you were his failed experiment. He'd have to live with that forever.

When he left, Stella came in and hugged your hand to her head with sadness. You both were silent; it was a sad comfortable silence.

One week later and a Peony was resting in your vase, Stella's had a Yellow Carnation and Harley's had a butterfly weed.

Things were tense as they should be, Leith expected this but to find out the reason. He was disappointed rather than snarky about the incident, so he placed a white rose in the vase. You look at him while he walks away.

To him you were the one scientist he despised, not because of envy, or hatred, or disdain, but because he knew someone of your caliber and heart would get torn apart by Harley. Whether Harley wanted to or not, that was what made Leith, and you clash, he was usually bemused with your interaction with the toys.

He just wishes he could have stopped you in time.

[metal-raccoons]

Jason Todd meets Joker Jr.

............................................................................

Jason stops by the Manor after his patrol and he sees everyone huddled around in a group, and sound like they are panicking.

Out of curiosity he tries to listen to what they are saying and he hears someone mention something happened to Tim.

Jason, expecting it to just be a dumb accident from patrol, wanders over to check it out but finds himself befuddled when the others try to block him from seeing Tim.

As Jason shoves the others out of the way he sees a thirteen-year-old Tim Drake, jittery and panicking instead of the calm seventeen year-old he's used to seeing around on patrol.

Once Jason sees Tim fully he goes to ask someone what is happening when he hears a giggle, that slowly turns into manic laughter-

ha ha Ha Ha HA HA HA HA HA HA

It dawns on Jason what Tim looks like. The Joker.

Jason stumbles back trying to get his bearings back on where he is and all he can see is green. Not the Lazarus green he is oh so uncomfortably used to, but Joker green, just like Tim's hair, and just like one of the last things he saw before his death.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and hits it away quickly, still panicking slightly on the inside, although it did help ground him, he looks towards Tim on the floor again, laughing, and as he looks closer he sees scars just like the Jokers right from cheek to cheek across his mouth in a twisted version of a smile.

Jason turns to Bruce ready to interrogate him about this but gets cut off by the sound of younger Tim's voice muttering to himself unintelligent, it sounds reminiscent to Harley Quinn's voice, unlike his normal higher class Gotham accent.

Jason looks around his family and notices almost everyone looks confused but not as horrified as Jason himself. The only others who don't look confused are Barbara, Alfred, and Bruce who Jason realises are the only ones who were around for when Tim was still new to being robin.

Jason notes everyone still seems to be too shocked to try to fully help the boy, even though he looks so close to the man who killed him he can see this isn't a recreation, this is a victim as well.

Jason warily goes closer to Tim and calls Ace the Bat-Hound over just as something that Tim would recognize and as a grounding weight. Tims laughter slowly dies down into a small quiet giggle and Jason sits beside him, still on the Manor floor trying to make sure Tim is alright, hating the fact Bruce has failed another Robin without his knowledge.

While Jason sits beside Tim all he can think about is "I almost killed him, and he's like me. This boy. This thirteen-year-old boy."

The laughter and strain of being brought to his mental and physical state made Tim slowly fall asleep under Ace's weight and he slumps against Jason.

Jason carefully picks Tim up and lays hin down on the couch before advancing towards Bruce wanting to know "What the fuck is THIS".

Bruce goes to the front of those at the manor tonight and explains "During Tim's first year of being Robin he was kidnapped by Harley Quinn and The Joker for three months, and by Joker's choice, they used different tortures to break Tim's mind and force him into believing he was their son." Bruce has a solemn expression as he explains

Jason takes a deep breath not wanting to yell on the off chance it would wake Tim up again. "He was stuck with the Joker for three months. Three months. You couldn't find him for the entirety of three Months." Jason grabs Bruce's shirt collar out of anger and for emphasis. "And you didn't even kill him after that. He still lived, didn't he." Jason's voice in the end comes out closer to a snarl.

"I didn't kill him, but the Joker isn't alive. He hasn't been for over a year now, that's why you never saw him when you came back." Bruce looks strangely guilty in Jason's perspective.

"How did he die." Jason's voice has less outrage than before but he still has warning in his tone.

"Tim" Bruce only says the one name and Jason can feel all his anger and infuriation melt away and now he just feels even more worry for the kid's mental state. Even though Jason himself doesn't feel bad for killing anyone this is just a kid. A thirteen-year-old kid.

............................................................................

First ever one shot thing! I never write so forgive me for bad grammar etc.

[hughes-your-daddy]

Do you think jack and reader will be having any more babies in "oh baby"

(Totally fine if not I'm just so curious)

Do the two they have ever learn about their sister in heaven?

Love it so so so much, I was full on sobbing reading she's gone. You portrayed the emotions of infant loss so well. Props to you friend 🫶🏼

-🐥

what about sissy?

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

i’ve not thought about more kids yet but here’s brooks asking about his sister

summary: brooks has a few questions about his twin

warning: mention of pregnancy and miscarriages

you and jack lounge on the sun lounges, near the end of the decking at the lake house, brooks playing with quinn, luke and trevor on the glass, toys scattered on a picnic blanket.

you hear his squeals, smiling softly at the two children running around, brooks almost 5 now. jack moves his arm to lay across your shoulders, you dressed in a bikini, your small showing bump on display, a pair of shorts on your lower half while he just wears his swim shorts.

“mmh, im gonna go make him some lunch, he’ll be getting hungry soon.” you smile stretching, moving your sunglasses onto your head to see jack better, turning to press a small kiss to his lips, “want anything?” you ask, getting up and sliding jacks discarded tshirt over your small but visible bump.

“just a bottle of water please baby.” he smiles before you head back inside, making a ham sandwich and cutting it into 1/4’s, taking off the crust.

you carefully hold his plate on one hand, your drink in the other. jacks water tucked under your arm before heading back out calling him over.

“brooks, come get some lunch.” you call out, brooks immediately coming over, but insisting on bringing luke and quinn with him, each holding one of his hands.

“mom, can we go out on the boat today?” brooks asks taking his plate from you, immediately eating his sandwich.

“take your time baby,” you say a small giggle coming out at how hungry he is, just like his dad, before brooks climbs into your lap, luke and quinn sitting in the other vacant chairs.

“if your good bud, im sure we can take the boat out.” jack smiles, taking a sip of his own water, brooks smiling.

“you gotta be early tonight cause we’re going out with grandma and grandpa remember.” you say, moving to wipe the side of brooks mouth, crumbs covering his face.

“can i ask you something mommy?” brooks asks, quietly, moving off your lap to slot himself between you and jack.

“course baby.” you smile, placing brooks now empty plate down beside your water.

“was i in your belly like my little sister?” he asks, finger poking your belly hidden under jacks shirt.

“yeh baby, you were in the for only a little bit though,” you say, jack clocking you, “you see mommy got a bit ill and you had to come out earlier than normal.” you say, lifting the top up to see the scar from your c-section.

“you see there?” you ask, brooks finger tracing the scar, “that’s where you came out baby, the doctors helped mommy.” you smile, seeing his eyes scan your stomach.

“why were you ill? did i make you ill mommy?” he asks, tears welling up in his eyes.

“no buddy,” jack chuckles pulling brooks sideways into his lap, the boys head falling against his chest, “the thing is, you weren’t in mommy’s belly by yourself.” he says and brooks head snaps up looking between you.

“what you mean?” he asks, his little brows furrowing.

“you had a twin baby, but she got ill which caused mommy to get ill.” jack says, looking between you and brooks, you sending him a sad smile.

“why don’t you talk about my twin that much?” he asks and you and jack freeze, quinn and luke too absorbed in the own conversation to hear.

“uh, i don’t know.” you say, brows furrowing slightly as you look down, gently pushing brooks hair off his forehead.

“it’s hard for mommy and daddy you know,” jack says, looping an arm over you, hand resting on your shoulder.

“but that doesn’t mean we don’t talk about her you know.” you say nudging brooks with your shoulder, “we do talk about her a lot actually, you’ve just been a bit too young in the past” you smile, seeing him look between you and jack brows furrowed.

“and now my little sister is in there?” he asks, hand back on your bump.

“yeh, but she’s not quite ready to come out yet.” you smile before pulling jacks that back over your exposed bump.

“so where’s my twin now?” brooks asks looking between you and jack.

“she’s in heaven baby, she’ll be watching over you, making sure your doing ok.” you smile seeing brooks nod, resting back against jack.

“get some rest baby, we’ll was you up when it’s time for the boat ok?” jack says, shuffling further down to make it more comfortable for brooks who just nods eyes already dropping against his chest, before falling into a peaceful sleep.

jack tucks you under his arm, you head falling to his shoulder feelings sense of peace and love for the frost time in a while.

[invincibledc]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: this OC is an OC I’ve written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome. Although, these aren’t really headcannons I suppose as this is what happened to him as my OC.

Let’s state this off here, the reason why Jason and him don’t get along is of course due to joker. Joker killed Jason, and joker having a son that literally had sprayed green hair made Jason livid. But the only thing Jack and Jason have in common is hating joker after Jack starts to live with Harley more. They also hate each other because personally, they’ve both been traumatized by joker.

Jack has been choked out aggressively by joker, his own father who didn’t and doesn’t see him as a son but as a tool. Due to Jack being young and disrespecting joker, joker had choked Jack out, straining his voice as the young boy screamed. Harley had to get involve. That’s why Jack lives with Harley. And yes that’s why his voice is always raspy and hoarse.

Yes, Jack is a natural Yandere for batsib!reader. In all universes or multiverses. He is possessive and obsessive over the poor Wayne.

Jack never once cared for himself, leading to him looking emotionless at times with dull blue eyes. But once batsib!reader started to care for him, he’s been putting effort to not make them worried.

After joker was fully secured into Arkham Asylum, that’s when he fully changed as he took out the dye from his hair to be a blonde like his mother. He is a naturally blonde but it gets mistaken as time as dirty blonde.

He has a scar on his lip due to one of your batarang’s hitting his lip.

The reason for his real name being “Jacklyn” is because he was supposed to be a girl only for him to come out a boy. (Yes you can also headcannon him as transmasc. That’s fine)

He’s a creep at times, but that’s okay. It’s not like he knows all of batsib!reader passwords or anything to get into their phone and put his number in.

He’s smart, he isn’t dumb. He knows a lot about technology and explosives.

He mostly likes to be like his mother, wanting to have her color palette so he can forget that he’s ever joker’s son, and just harley’s son.

Jack is very flexible, him and dick has competed before. You can guess who won it.

Damian doesn’t like Jack, but he doesn’t despise him as much as Jason does. As long as he keeps his sibling happy, he’s fine with the boy.

Is homeschooled, would love to go to Gotham academy, but what’s the point when he’s the son of the worse criminal in the world that killed lives.

He loves rock and metal music, don’t even get him started.

It’s obvious he’s a momma’s boy, he said it himself once

But in the end, he’s a crazed boy that had a fucked up life and is trying to be redeemed.

[incloudcity]

omg your pwhl player x quinn hughes fic is sooo good! i could read a whole series on them, really liked your writing, and hope that you'll maybe do a part 2 to that one? 🩷🩷

offside 2 | qh43

requests are open a/n: hehe kinda left it open-ended, would love to see where y'all would want them to go from here. also i have no idea whats up with the tumblr spacing you guys dont even with me

You sign with Vancouver quietly. A press release, a few reposted highlights, and a thirty-second welcome video where you say you’re excited to be here. You don’t lie, but you don’t oversell it either.

You’ve learned how to be strategic with your enthusiasm.

The city is familiar but not nostalgic. You walk past restaurants you used to haunt during the campaign, ignore the flashbacks. They’re not important. Not anymore.

Your agent texts you after the announcement: Bet he knows already. You don’t ask who she means.

You practice like your spot depends on it. It doesn’t—not technically—but you don’t believe in comfort. Not in this league. Not with your name. You skate hard, tape tight, zero flash.

The media tries to bait you with old questions. You don’t bite. They try again. You skate away.

You’re deliberate now. Not difficult.

You meet Brock in a team facility hallway, half by accident. You’re leaving physio. He’s coming out of a video session, still chewing gum, still in that backwards hat he wears like it’s contractually obligated.

He grins when he sees you. “Finally. The myth, the legend, the PR nightmare.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re still using jokes from 2023?”

He laughs. Doesn’t take offense. Doesn’t take much seriously, by the look of it.

“You’re friends with Hughes,” you say after a pause, because someone had to name it first.

Brock shrugs. “I’m friends with a lot of people.”

You don’t ask what Quinn told him. You don’t want to know.

But Brock watches you the way some people watch warmups—like they’re not taking notes, but they are.

You see Quinn again for the first time in a shared training facility. Off-ice day. Your team’s lifting. His is doing some half-hearted stick-handling drills in the corner. You catch him in the mirror first.

He doesn’t do a double take. Doesn’t flinch.

Just nods once. Professional. Bored, even.

You return it.

The girl beside him—tall, polished, the kind of pretty that’s designed for optics—leans in to say something to him. He smiles at her. It’s not fake. Not full either.

You pretend it doesn’t hit somewhere you thought had scarred over.

Later, Brock nudges you on your way to the parking lot. “She’s PR-adjacent,” he says, meaning the girlfriend. “Met her at some Canucks event. Works in branding.”

You glance over. “Why are you telling me?”

Brock shrugs. “Not sure.”

The friendship happens slowly. Brock’s the kind of guy who doesn’t mind silence, which you appreciate. He’s also observant. Too much so.

“You don’t talk about him,” he says once, over a post-practice burrito.

“You don’t talk about your stats either,” you shoot back.

He nods. Accepts it.

Doesn’t bring it up again.

The tension starts to show in the gaps. Eye contact that lingers too long. Jokes that skirt the edge of inside. The way you and Quinn pass each other in corridors like ghosts. Like you never fake-dated. Like you never fell asleep on the same couch with his jacket over your legs.

But Brock sees it. Of course he does.

One night, your teams have staggered games at the same arena. You stay after yours, hoodie pulled low, unnoticed in the back row. Quinn’s on the ice. Fast. Clinical. Distant.

He looks up once during warmup and finds you. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Brock finds you after the final horn. Offers you a ride back.

You sit in silence the whole way. Until the red light at West Georgia.

“He’s not over it,” Brock says, without turning the music down. You don’t answer. He doesn’t expect one.

Two weeks later, it breaks.

You’re in a locker room hallway, after a city outreach event. Media’s gone. Team buses are delayed. You’re answering a text when you hear him behind you.

“Wasn’t expecting you to sign here.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Neither were half the front offices, apparently.”

He smiles, a little. It’s tired. Careful.

There’s a beat. Then another.

“Brock says you’re fitting in.”

You tilt your head. “You asking or checking in?”

He doesn’t reply.

You shift your stance. “So. That’s your girlfriend?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

You wait.

He doesn’t elaborate.

Typical.

You look at him long enough to remember every headline they wrote about you—too cold, too calculated, too much. Then say:

“You look good together.”

He flinches, barely. “She’s easy to be with.”

You nod. “And I’m not.”

He doesn’t correct you.

Doesn’t have to.

The silence sits between you like it used to—dense, unspoken, honest in the worst way.

You don’t say goodbye when you walk past him.

He doesn’t stop you.

But that night, your phone buzzes once. Unknown number. No name.

Still think about Calgary. No follow-up. No sign-off.

You don’t respond.

But you don’t delete it either.

[onlyquinns]

COFFEE SHOP CONFESSIONS, q. hughes

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

content: sitting for a cup of coffee with quinn takes a turn when unspoken thoughts from years ago finally arise, angsty, quinn might be ooc, allusions to sex but no actual smut

rain patters harshly against the window panes of the little coffee shop quinn sits inside of, calloused fingers wrapped tenderly around a warm ceramic mug. his head is ducked low and his hair is pulled back into a black yankees cap—one that he had to steal back from jack during the devils's short visit to the city.

a memory from years ago comes to the front of his mind as he peers up at you sitting across from him; glimpses of long limbs tangled in his sheets, his hands and fingers pressed into your soft skin, your hair sprawled out beneath you, and the soft sound of gasps and moans.

he doesn’t know how the two of you have got to this point, gone from lovers and best friends to acquaintances who meet once or twice in a blue moon to ‘catch up,’ an excuse quinn makes up every time to see your face one more time before he thinks you’ll inevitably refuse to.

you glance up from your own mug and smile softly at quinn, and he tries to memorize every freckle and faded acne scar on your face, so desperate to recall the way you look in the case you go from acquaintances to strangers. your cheeks are far less rounded now than when you’d first met during orientation at umich, more defined now that you’re older and out of college, and quinn is so devastatingly aware of how sharper and more defined his own face is—how fast time goes by without you by his side even though to him it feels like an eternity.

“so,” you start softly, drawing quinn from his thoughts, “what’s up?” you say it so casually that quinn’s chest aches and he swallows harshly, his throat dry and burning.

“aren’t you sick of this?” he blurts, his green-blue eyes peering at his own reflection in his coffee mug. the distorted version of himself seems to mock him, glaring at him for trying to destroy something that could be good with someone the both of them need.

confusion splits across your face, soft smile turned unsure and brows pinched together—quinn grips his mug a little tighter to keep himself from smoothing the space between them over, a habit he’d developed during your first finals week in college.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, unsure smile now gone and a small frown pulling at your lips instead. you tilt your chin down toward your mug and stare blankly into the liquid inside, losing yourself in the dark contents. “what’s there to be sick of?”

anger bubbles in quinn’s chest, not at you—never at you—but at the situation he’s put himself in. “this,” he vaguely insists, freeing his mug from his rough fingers and instead taking hold of his cap and hair. “where we act like i’m not in love with you anymore, where we pretend everything is fine and ignore that at one point we knew every detail about one another. aren’t you sick of that?”

tears prickle in your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. quinn’s right; you were so tired of pretending with him, so exhausted from going about your daily life trying to rid yourself of every thought of him only to end up back in vancouver in a desperate act to see him again.

“yeah, i am,” you whimper, breaking quinn’s heart a fraction. “i’m really tired of acting like… like i don’t pretend every other person i’ve ever been with is you.”

your admission sends shock rippling through quinn’s body, stunning him momentarily. the little reflection of himself in his coffee mug ripples away, like a little spirit finished with what it intended to do before separating from the real world.

“then don’t,” he tells you, reaching toward you to grip your soft fingers between his. he runs his thumb in circles and letters over the backs of your knuckles, the action soothing for the both of you. “i want to be yours—if you’ll let me. i won’t mess things up this time; i won’t leave you.”

your fingers weakly grip his, trembling in his hold. your guys’ drinks are long cold and the rain outside has lightened, inviting the sun back through the clouds. light streaks across quinn’s eyes, wide and hopeful, and the growing sunlight highlights the specks of brown scattered through the blue.

you inhale deeply, the sound rattly from the unshed tears and emotions deep in your chest. “what if you do, though,” you breathe. “what if i wake up and one day you’re gone, realized i’m not worth it.” insecurity plagues your mind, ebbing its way into your features, into the way you look at quinn through watery lashes.

quinn’s heart sinks deeper with your words, regret filling his entire body. “i’m sorry for leaving you,” he says, inhaling deeply as the memory of his last morning in michigan with you several years ago comes to mind. he’d left you still asleep in his bed at his parents’ house, the sheets curled tightly to your chest and smelling so heavily like him you hadn’t noticed he’d left. “it was a stupid mistake. i didn’t realize that what i had back then—with you—was the best thing to have ever happened to me. i thought… i thought playing in the nhl was the most important thing to have ever happened to me, but i know now that it was actually meeting you—loving you, being loved by you. i’m sorry.”

tears stream down your cheeks as you sob in the quiet coffee shop, fingers tightly digging into quinn’s. the way he looks at you is so earnest you have no choice but to believe him, believe that if you were to pack up your life back home and haul it to canada that quinn wouldn’t abandon you like an old toy after a week.

“please,” quinn nearly begs as he squeezes your hand even tighter, knuckles whitening against yours. “i need you in every way possible, in every universe ever. we can work things out, here in vancouver—or anywhere. i’d drop anything, everything, for you. i promise—i swear.”

quinn’s throat bobs as he watches you intently, waiting for a response. you nod your head furiously, nose scrunched up as you choke on a sob. you cover your mouth with the back of your free hand, still nodding.

“okay,” you rasp against your hand, tears no longer streaming down your face. “i believe you. we can work this out together. i believe you.”

quinn ducks his head graciously, reaching across to cup your hand with both of his. his palms easily envelop yours, tightly wrapped around it as if you’ll take your words back and walk away from him forever.

“thank you,” he whispers, his lips nearly brushing the table. “thank you.”

all photos from pinterest

[ruinix-dark]

🚩 Dark content 🚩

Chains and Leather

Summary: In which he takes you back.

Relationship: dark ex bf!Q x F!Reader

Disclaimer | Inbox Rules | Dark Masterlist | Taglist

Request detail: dark Quinn actually tying you up because you broke up with him

Hello, lovely! Of course 🤓. This is actually dark-dark, i think. So I insist you read the warnings before you scroll!

Chains and Leather

Summary: In which he takes you back.

Relationship: dark ex bf!Q x F!Reader

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Dark, Extremely Deranged Behavior, Mean + Psychotic + Rough + Extremely Dark Behavior (i'm not kidding), Cursing, Kidnapping, Drugging (sleeping pills), Non-Con/Dub-Con (off-page but mentioned: jerking off when you're drugged), Horrible train of thoughts

After a week of your breakup, Quinn was done pretending.

He truly tried to be a good boyfriend. He was kind and patient whenever you acted fucking brat. He was careful and gentle when he fucked you because you hated rough sex. He spoiled you with gifts, even had a card for you to use, always tapping his card for dinners. He listened to your worries.

He did everything.

He. Did. Everything.

What fucked him more than anything was that he would do those things again and fucking again. He kept trying to convince himself that you were worth the frustration of holding back. He had literally wept so many times, whenever you were off to work or a girls' day, because his body ached for release. The tension in his muscles grew like ice on a lake, expanding and cracking and howling. He did his fucking best.

His everything, his best, was not enough.

You left.

You fucking left him.

Why would you leave him? He was good. He was so good. So fucking good. You said it yourself over and over again but you left. You left. You left. You left him—

How could you leave him?

Did you actually think you could?

That would be funny, wouldn't it? And incredibly idiotic. You didn't know Quinn. You only knew what he let you see, yet you had the audacity to hurt him. You were stupid. You were a fucking brat. A bad-fucking-girl that needed to be taught a lesson. Hence, the reason why he did this. You couldn't fault him for this. You made him do this.

He stared at you sleeping on the four poster bed that was bolted into the floor. The metal bar on its headboard was the perfect height for the bracket for the chains of the leather cuffs you wore. If it was up to the darker voices in his head, he should've cuffed you in metal. That would hurt. It would fucking scar when you thrashed and wounded yourself. He shouldn't have cared, but he still found himself securing you in leather cuffs. You were so fucking fragile and he loved you.

His eyes roved through your naked body, his cock aching. He watched your chest rise and fall, his cum drying on your pretty tits. Your hips were already bruising from how tightly he gripped them when he grinded on your clothed pussy, jerking himself with your thighs until he came all over you. Your slicked panties were already tucked in his pocket after he inhaled your scent like a starved man.

He wanted to do more. He wanted to fuck that cunt until you woke up from the drug. It didn't matter if you would still out until morning, he could last until then. He had always lasted even when he was being good.

But for some reason, he fucking couldn't. The need to stay good for you still remained. He could envision your fear that he craved but also loathed. He hated himself for that. He shouldn't care if you were scared. You hurt him. But he cared for you so much.

Gritting his teeth, he threw his phone off the wall, running his hands over his face before he combed it through his hair. His jaw worked, his eyes glaring at the annoying stain on the ceiling that he should've painted over.

It should be fucking simple.

He should've fucked that pussy. He should have teased you by cutting your skin and dripping hot wax on you. He should've choked branded you with his kiss marks. You could not fight him anyway. The drug he slipped in your drink could last about twelve hours—you would be waking up soon. He had all the chances to defile and ruin you.

After a long time he had to tamped down his darkness, he could've, but he didn't.

He couldn't even delude himself into thinking that he would hurt you so fucking badly when you woke up. He would hear your screams, your moans, your whimpers. You were finally at his mercy. He could release the darkness that longed to be released. He would no longer need to contain the pain that had him crying pathetically as he jerked himself in the shower or on your bed while he inhaled the lingering scent of your shampoo.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He planned to take everything that you have—your mind, your body, your fucking soul. Why the fuck wasn't he doing that?

Maybe he needed fucking air.

So he stood, ignoring the fact that you were rousing from your drug-induced slumber, closing his ears from the sound of you whispering his name.

He forced the heavy wooden door open, slamming it shut with a loud bang.

You could wait.

He, after all, had.

Good morning to me. Good night to most of you. 🙂‍↕️

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @macka @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @bpinkblink @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings @bellaione

-> 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! 💜💜💜💜

[vinecstasy]

joseph quinn x actress!reader

dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

joseph quinn who first met you when you both started at LAMDA and everyone else seemed to know someone else apart from the two of you.

so naturally that was the strategy; join forces rather than trying to get on with anyone else straight away. and ever since then you’d been stuck with him.

joseph quinn who awkwardly asked you out near the end of your first year, wearing an odd coloured shirt that was quite frankly ugly, but he’d chose it because he thought it would impress you. it wasn’t cheap after all…at least for a student.

of course you had said yes as you were already smitten with the boy since your second month of knowing him. when your flatmates found out, you both expected a massive reaction, but rather they were unfazed and thought you were secretly together anyways.

joseph quinn who had already had multiple stage kisses with you in the plays that you had both performed alongside each other in, but was absolutely sick to his stomach that first time he would kiss you after a date to see a shitty film at the cheap film club you had both signed up to just to make fun of the bad acting.

afterwards getting home, closing the door and sliding down it giggling and smiling to himself like a madman…until he realised that wesley stood there staring at him with a look in his eyes that joe knew would mean he would not let him forget this.

joseph quinn who had gotten his ‘big break’ as eddie in stranger things alongside his lover, which just felt like a full circle moment.

although, this time there was no terrible dialogue written by some acne scarred 19 year old who fancied themselves the next tarentino or awkward love scenes that would leave him with his own ‘problems’ to sort out afterwards.

joseph quinn who never fails to mention you in some way in every interview or podcast he does. always having to get in a little anecdote or words of wisdom you had shared with him.

seriously, he thinks he has a problem. even his cast mates could predict when your name was going to come into the conversation after having to deal with months of him going on about how brilliant you are and how much he wishes you were here right now. he’s just such a sap…but you love it.

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: Ceaelyan First

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The war room was louder than usual—voices clashing, commands flying. But Y/n’s voice rose above them all, sharp and desperate.

“They burned it.” Her fists slammed against the table, her voice cracking. “You let them burn it!”

“Y/n—” Brennan’s voice was low, warning, but she didn’t flinch.

“My home is gone!” she shouted, eyes glassy. “Our village, our people—our family. You’re telling me we’re not even allowed to go check? Not even allowed to say goodbye?”

Ridoc stood behind her, jaw tight, his entire body vibrating with rage. He wasn’t saying anything—he didn’t have to. The way his hands curled into fists at his sides said enough.

“Intel says the venin might still be nearby,” the officer replied evenly. “It’s not safe.”

“I don’t care if it’s safe!” she snapped. “That’s our home. You can’t just expect us to sit here and do nothing.”

Xaden had entered quietly with the rest of the squad, but the second he saw Y/n like that—unraveled, eyes red, breathing uneven—he was at her side.

“Y/n—”

“Don’t.” She turned away from him, voice trembling as she held herself upright. “Don’t try to calm me down. You of all people know what this feels like.”

That stopped him cold. Because he did. And so did Imogen. Garrick. Bodhi. Quinn. Every one of them bore the scars of Aretia’s ashes, of running too late, of remembering how the sky looked blackened by the smoke of everything they ever loved.

“It’s the same,” Bodhi said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s just like Aretia. And no one let us go either.”

Y/n’s shoulders shuddered at the weight of it, her throat tightening around unshed tears. “They should have warned us. They should have let us go.”

“I know,” Xaden said gently, stepping closer, but not touching her yet. “I know.”

She turned toward the window, fists clenched at her sides. “There’s nothing left.”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispered. “We heard the scouts. The village… only a few homes made it. A handful of people. The rest—”

Ridoc looked like he might punch a wall, or someone, as he took a shap breathe.

Y/n shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. “That place raised us.”

“I know,” Xaden repeated. “And when it’s safe… I’ll take you there. I swear to you, Y/n. We’ll go. You’ll see it again. You’ll say goodbye.”

She closed her eyes, silent tears trailing down her cheeks, and finally let Xaden step forward and wrap his arms around her. She didn’t sob. She just leaned into him and held tight—like she was trying to keep the pieces of herself from slipping through her fingers.

The squad surrounded them, quiet, protective. Mourning with them. Because they understood what it meant to lose a home—and to not even be allowed to bury it.

That night, the Riorson estate was still, the kind of stillness that came after bad news—when even the wind outside seemed to quiet in respect.

Y/n stood in the doorway of Ridoc’s room, her arms wrapped around herself, sleeves of her black undershirt pushed halfway up. She didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t need to.

Ridoc was already sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair still damp from the shower. His eyes lifted to hers and something broke quietly between them. The bond only twins could understand—grief mirrored in each other’s eyes.

Without a word, she stepped inside and crawled under the blankets beside him, like she used to when storms scared her as a child. He didn’t question it. He didn’t tease her like he might have on any other night. He just lay back beside her, one arm coming around her shoulders.

For a while, they didn’t speak. The silence between them was heavy but not unbearable. It was shared.

“I keep seeing it,” she whispered eventually, voice rough from hours of crying. “Our house. The beach. Maelyn’s garden. The little pier where we used to race to see who could jump in first.”

“I know,” Ridoc murmured, staring at the ceiling. “I can smell the saltwater. Hear that old merchant yelling about fresh fruit.”

Y/n gave a broken laugh, the sound fragile. “We didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“No,” he agreed softly, tightening his hold on her. “But we still have each other. That’s something.”

She blinked hard, trying to will the tears away again. “You’re the only piece of home I’ve got left.”

Ridoc turned his head toward her, his expression unusually soft. “You’ll always have me, princess. You know that, right?”

She nodded into his chest, finally letting herself breathe a little easier. In this moment, wrapped in the comfort of the only person who knew her entire world from the very beginning, Y/n let herself rest.

That night, Xaden walked past the closed door and paused. He didn’t knock. He didn’t open it. He simply pressed his hand briefly to the wood, understanding that tonight—Y/n wasn’t his to hold.

She was Ridoc’s sister first. A child of the coast. And right now, she needed the one soul who had lost the same pieces of home she had.

The sun had just begun to stretch over the horizon, painting the Riorson estate in soft, amber light. The halls were quiet—too quiet for Xaden’s liking—but he knew better than to disturb that silence right now.

He stood just outside the training courtyard, leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed as he waited. Moments later, Ridoc emerged from the west wing, hair tousled, shirt wrinkled from sleep. He stopped short when he saw Xaden already there.

“You didn’t sleep,” Ridoc said bluntly, reading him too easily.

“Didn’t want to,” Xaden replied. “Did she?”

“Eventually.”

There was a pause, heavy but not tense.

“She needed someone who remembered what it smelled like at low tide,” Ridoc said, eyes flicking out toward the horizon. “The fish market. The old inn with the green shutters. The salt in the air. We both did.”

“I know.” Xaden’s voice was quiet. “That’s why I didn’t go to her.”

Ridoc looked at him then—really looked. And though he didn’t say it, there was something like respect in his gaze. “She still loves you,” he said, as if Xaden needed the reassurance. “She just… needed to be someone’s sister last night. Not a cadet. Not your future anything. Just a girl who lost the only home she’s ever known.”

“I understand,” Xaden said. And he did.

He looked up toward the window of Ridoc’s room where the curtain fluttered faintly. “When she’s ready, I’ll be here. For whatever she needs.”

Ridoc nodded slowly. “You always are.”

They stood in silence for another moment before Ridoc added, quieter, “You should eat. You look like shit.”

A dry huff escaped Xaden’s throat. “I’ll take it under advisement, Gamlyn.”

Ridoc gave him a tired grin, the first one in days. “Good. You’ll need your strength. She’s not done fighting yet.”

Xaden nodded, the weight of those words sinking into his bones. “Neither am I.”

It was past midday when Y/n found him.

Xaden was in the empty strategy room, the fireplace crackling softly, maps spread across the table but forgotten. He stood with his back to the door, arms braced on the edge of the stone, head lowered, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, analyzing.

She didn’t say a word—just stepped inside, quiet as the grief clinging to her skin.

He turned at the sound of the door closing, and the second his eyes met hers, everything in him stilled. No words. No breath.

Her face was streaked with dried tears, her hair, messy and undone, the faint scent of home still clinging to her—salt and wind and something fragile. For a heartbeat, she looked so young. So heartbreakingly tired.

“I couldn’t…” her voice broke before she could finish.

He crossed the room in two long strides and pulled her into his arms like the world depended on it.

Y/n collapsed against him, fists twisting into the front of his shirt as the dam finally cracked open. The sob that tore out of her shook them both, shattered his heart into pieces. Xaden tightened his arms around her, holding her like he could keep her world from falling apart if he just held her hard enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest, voice hoarse. “I should’ve come sooner. I just— I couldn’t breathe, Xaden. I couldn’t—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, lips pressed to her hair. “You don’t owe me anything, Y/n. You never have to apologize for hurting.”

Her hands fisted tighter, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck as more tears slipped free. “It was my home. My people. And I wasn’t there.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know what that guilt feels like. But none of it was your fault.”

He rocked her gently, grounding her in his warmth, his presence, the slow rhythm of his breathing. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t tell her to stop crying. Just held her until her shaking began to slow.

When she finally pulled back, eyes puffy and red, he cupped her face with both hands and kissed her forehead.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said, voice steady and low. “You have Ridoc. You have our squad. You have me.”

Y/n nodded slowly, pressing her cheek into his palm. “I didn’t want to feel anything good again. But then I thought of you. And gods, Xaden, that scared me.”

He kissed her again, this time gently on the lips, a touch full of sorrow and love. “Don’t ever be afraid of needing me. I’ll carry the weight if you can’t. I’ll carry all of it.”

And in that quiet room, where only the fire witnessed their brokenness, she let herself believe him.

The morning sun filtered faintly through the clouds, soft and golden, casting a warm haze over the training grounds. The squad was already gathered—stretching, gearing up, exchanging tired but familiar banter.

Y/n stood at the edge of the field, her posture rigid, brows furrowed. Her uniform was perfectly in place, daggers strapped to her side, hair neatly braided with Tyrrish silks in red and gold—but her eyes were distant. Hollow.

She hadn’t trained with them in days. Had barely spoken. And yet… she was here. That mattered.

Rhiannon noticed her first and didn’t say anything—just walked up to her and held out a waterskin with a soft, knowing smile. “You’ll need it, twin blade. Bodhi’s already bragging he’s faster than you now.”

Y/n gave a small huff, a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips as she took it. “He always was delusional.”

Bodhi grinned from a few paces away. “Hey! I resent that.”

Imogen elbowed him lightly. “Good. Means it’s true.”

Violet joined her side silently, tossing a throwing dagger into the air with casual ease before handing it to her. “Missed your aim, princess.”

Y/n took it with careful fingers, glancing at him. “I missed being needed.”

“Always needed,” she said firmly, and nudged her shoulder. “Always loved.”

Across the yard, Garrick was setting up the course with Quinn, both of them stealing glances at her. When she looked their way, Quinn gave her a cheeky salute, and Garrick winked, calling out, “Hope you’re not rusty, Gamlyn! I’ve been waiting to beat you for weeks!”

Xaden stood quietly near the weapons rack, not interfering. Not pushing. Just watching her with eyes so full of silent support it almost hurt.

Y/n inhaled deeply, rolled her shoulders back, and finally stepped forward onto the field.

“I’m not rusty,” she said, voice steadier now. “You all just got lazy without me.”

A round of playful groans, cheers, and laughter erupted around her, and just like that, the rhythm of the squad began to stitch itself back together. Not whole—not yet—but healing.

And Xaden, still silent, let the corner of his mouth lift ever so slightly.

A few weeks later, they were able to finally fly over to Ceaelyn.

The wind carried the scent of salt and smoke as their dragons circled low over the coast. From the sky, Y/n could see the damage—burned rooftops, broken fishing boats, crumbled stone walls. The once-colorful market square was now half-collapsed, and the beach looked faded without the children that used to run across its shores.

Her fingers gripped Tiamats’s scales tightly as the dragon descended. Xaden’s shadow fell beside hers as Sgaeyl landed silently nearby.

Y/n dismounted before Tiamat had even fully settled, boots crunching softly against the earth she hadn’t touched in over a year. Ridoc followed quietly, his expression unreadable, but his steps mirrored hers. Together, the Gamlyn twins walked toward the heart of the village.

It was quiet. Too quiet. But then—

A door creaked open. Another. And then a voice.

“…Y/n?”

She turned.

An older man—Master Elric, the baker who used to sneak her extra sweetbread when she was little—stood with wide, disbelieving eyes. He looked thinner now, grayer, but his eyes softened the moment they found hers.

“Stars above, it is you.”

The next moment was a blur. More doors opened. More faces emerged. Children peeked out from behind their mothers. And then—

“The Gamlyn twins have come home,” someone whispered.

And it spread.

Soon, hands reached for them—weathered, calloused, gentle. She was embraced by people they hadn’t seen since they were children. A woman with tears in her eyes placed a beaded bracelet in her hand—her grandmother’s, saved from the rubble. Another handed Ridoc a handful of seashells from the rebuilt shoreline. A boy clung to her leg, looking up at her with awe.

“You really fight the Venin?” he asked.

“We do,” Y/n said softly, brushing his hair back. “For you. For all of us.”

Behind her, Xaden watched in silence, eyes locked on the way the villagers held her, how they lit up just from her presence. She didn’t just belong here—she was hope here. She was the girl they remembered, and the warrior they now looked to.

Someone handed her a woven sash—one she had once worn during coastal festivals—and tied it gently around her waist.

“I thought we lost you,” the baker whispered, hugging her again.

“I thought I lost you,” Y/n replied, voice cracking as she leaned into him. “But I’m here. I’m still yours.”

And as Ridoc stood by her side, as Xaden approached and laced his fingers quietly with hers, she felt it.

Not closure.

But the start of healing.

After walking around some of the square, Y/n went to the beach, needing to check out something.

The sky was painted in muted oranges and purples as the sun dipped low over the horizon. The tide lapped gently against the shore, soft and steady, as if trying to erase the memories of fire and ash.

Y/n walked barefoot through the sand, Ridoc and the rest of the squad giving her space. Xaden trailed behind at a respectful distance, watching her with quiet eyes, knowing she needed this moment alone.

Her boots were discarded by the jagged rocks, and her toes curled into the familiar grain of sand. She walked down the shoreline, scanning the landscape with a heart full of hope and dread—until she saw it.

The tide pools.

Her favorite spot.

Her place for her mental shields.

Nestled between two craggy outcroppings of rock was a shallow, crescent-shaped dip in the stone where the sea always pooled, trapping tiny fish, star-shaped shells, and smooth stones. As children, she and Ridoc used to sit there for hours, pointing at the creatures, skipping stones, and pretending they were ocean royalty guarding a sacred cove.

It had survived.

She dropped to her knees at its edge, chest tightening as she stared down into the water—clear, gentle, untouched by the flames that had taken so much. Her reflection shimmered back at her, mingled with the sway of seaweed and darting silver flashes beneath the surface.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her fingers brushing the water.

“I thought this would be gone,” she whispered.

She didn't hear Xaden’s footsteps, but she felt him when he sank down behind her. He didn’t speak—he just wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin gently on her shoulder. Together, they looked down at the little pool.

“So these are the famous tide pools,” he murmured.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t cry. She leaned back against his chest, her voice trembling. “I used to come here when things felt too big. When I needed quiet. It’s like… even the sea remembers me.”

Xaden pressed a kiss to her temple. “Of course it does. You’re unforgettable.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, barely there. She laced her fingers with his over her stomach.

For the first time in weeks, Y/n didn’t feel like she was grieving something lost. She felt like she had rediscovered something precious—something no war could take from her.

A few weeks later...

The town still bore its scars — blackened stone, hollowed frames of houses, streets that once bustled now only stirred quietly with the wind. But life had clawed its way back. Flowers bloomed defiantly in cracked earth, new beams propped up old walls, and children laughed again in narrow alleyways. The scent of the sea mixed with fresh bread and salt-dried nets, weaving something alive into what had once felt like a ghost.

Y/n walked beside Xaden, her hand in his, proudly guiding him through the parts of the village that had risen from the ashes. Troops had come after she’d insisted—no, demanded—reconstruction aid, and with it, hope had trickled back into her coastal home. She’d stood before the council with a sharp tongue and fire in her eyes, declaring, "You expect loyalty from Navarrian citizens and yet abandon them in ruin? You forget I’m not just a cadet. I am the future duchess of Tyrrendor—and I don’t forget where I come from. Neither should you."

Now, as she strolled down the cobbled main road, Tyrrish silks in her braid and sea-colored earrings glinting in the sun, people looked up from their stalls and shops—and smiled.

But not at her.

At him.

Xaden’s shoulders stiffened slightly at the attention, but Y/n squeezed his hand and tugged him gently closer.

A baker stepped forward first, wiping flour from her hands. “So this is the brooding rider who stole our girl’s heart,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye.

Y/n smiled, but didn’t deny it.

An older man leaned on his cane, nodding once at Xaden with quiet approval. “The Gamlyn twins… they were always ours. She gave us pride. You… you’ve given her a reason to smile again.”

Another woman reached up and straightened a thread from Y/n’s silk ribbon, then looked at Xaden. “You hold her heart, boy. That’s not something we give lightly here.”

A chorus of agreements rippled from around the square. Children stared at the sword on his back in awe. A few of the elders clapped his shoulder as he passed. One even muttered something about how he “better stay good to her, or the whole coast would rise up against him.”

Xaden took it all in with silent grace, but Y/n could feel the way his fingers tightened around hers. She leaned closer, whispered, “This is how I felt in Aretia.”

He looked at her, gaze softening. “I didn’t think I’d ever be welcomed like this.”

She tilted her head. “You didn’t just win me, Xaden. You protected what I love. Of course they see you.”

He paused then, standing still in the center of the square as more people smiled and went back to work—comforted by the sight of the couple who had somehow weathered the war and still held each other close. The Gamlyn girl and the Tyrrish heir. Sea and shadow.

And for once, Xaden Riorson didn’t feel like a weapon.

He felt like home.

The sky had faded into soft indigo by the time they returned to the small inn overlooking the edge of the village—the one Y/n had claimed for their stay. From the window, the sea whispered to the shore below, and the air was filled with the scent of salt and night-blooming jasmine.

Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, loosening the silk tie from her braid, her expression soft and unreadable. Xaden stood by the window, arms folded, gaze fixed on the stars scattered over the sea. He hadn’t said much since they left the town square. Just held her hand a little tighter. Just glanced her way a little longer.

She looked over at him now, brushing a curl from her face. “You’ve been quiet.”

He turned his head slowly, meeting her eyes.

“I’ve never had a place… that saw me as more than my father’s shadow,” he said quietly. “Or a weapon to be used. Even in Aretia, I was the general’s son. A child to grieve after the Apostasy. But this? These people? They looked at me like… like I belong.”

“You do,” Y/n said without hesitation. “You belong with me. And I belong to them. So they’re yours too now.”

He let out a soft breath, walking over and kneeling in front of her, resting his head lightly against her knee. “You fought for them, for your village. You fought for me, for Tyrrendor. You fight every day, and somehow still smile, still braid silk into your hair, still light up every room you walk into.”

She ran her fingers through his hair gently, soothing. “They weren’t just welcoming you, Xaden. They were thanking you. For loving me.”

He looked up at her, something raw in his expression. “That’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Y/n swallowed hard, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “I’m glad you felt it. That you felt seen. Because you are. Not for what you can do. But for who you are.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her thigh, then rested his forehead there again, eyes closed. “Thank you. For bringing me here. For sharing this part of yourself with me.”

“You’ve shared your world with me too,” she whispered. “It only felt right.”

And in the quiet that followed, filled only with the sound of waves and the warmth between them, Xaden Riorson—tyrrish duke, rebel, rider, shadow wielder—let himself feel something he rarely gave into: peace.

Because being with Y/n meant he didn’t have to fight to be understood. He simply was.

A few days - Aretia - Riorson Estate

Y/n had just returned from training, her braid loose and tousled, the scent of salt and metal still clinging to her skin. Aretia was unusually calm—cool winds rolling in from the cliffs, quiet murmurs from the kitchens, the distant flap of wings as dragons settled into the ridge.

She opened the door to their shared room, expecting to find Xaden already halfway into a report or sharpening one of his obsidian daggers.

Instead, she froze in the doorway.

He stood by the window, back to her, dressed not in his usual black leathers but in a pirate like shirt—loose and linen-soft, dyed a rich ocean-blue with cream threadwork stitched along the collar and sleeves. Traditional wear from her home. The kind her father wore on rest days. The kind Ridoc would sometimes pull on in summer.

It took her a moment to breathe again.

Xaden turned slowly, his dark hair still damp from a recent wash, and the shirt somehow made him look softer… warmer. And yet just as dangerous.

“I know it’s not black,” he teased, one brow arched as he took in her stunned expression. “But I saw it on the last run to the coast. Picked it up without telling you.”

Her throat tightened. “You—you remembered?”

He crossed the room to her, every step calm, deliberate, and folded his arms around her waist. “Of course I did. I saw your face every time you looked at the old merchants, at the shirts in the stalls. I know what it meant to you.”

She blinked quickly, a tear threatening to fall. “You wore it.”

“I’m yours, aren’t I?” he said quietly. “And that place—that culture—is part of you. So now it’s part of me too.”

Y/n smiled, eyes glinting as she traced her fingers along the collar of the shirt. “You look like a coastal lord.”

He smirked. “Then I guess I’ll need my duchess to stand beside me.”

She kissed him before he could say another word, and in that moment, wrapped in sea-colored cloth and the weight of their shared histories, they found something deeper than words: understanding, belonging, and love that honored all their roots.

Author's note: I love having a complex multifaceted/multilayered overthinking but fierce and strong Y/n.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life

If you want be added to the taglist, leave a comment. <3

[hellodaekko]

DARLIN I LOVE YEWWW!! Headcanons to go with the sketches below! (also this was made bc I needed a ref of their wolf form for a different piece and I got carried away LMFAO)

Pretty strong when they were younger (sketch 1) but they were more focused on strength training than aesthetic so they've got a sleeper build

Loses an alarming amount of weight in their relationship with Quinn. They develop some more muscle definition from it but they're much weaker than they were prior meeting him because of it.

Had a breakdown and went at their hair after their initial confrontation with Quinn-- which is why its so choppy (sketch 2). He liked their hair long and shaggy and it made them feel sick to see their reflection when it was

The stress of being with Quinn and his type of people made them develop gray hairs early. Their wolf form also reflects this with the beginnings of a gray muzzle and significant loss of hair compared to when they first met him.

Alongside that, they quickly become littered in a myriad of different scars. Their ear is torn to shreds, and a good portion of their tail is so badly damaged in a fight that it becomes necrotic and falls off.

The Shaw Pack wears dog tags with the Shaw name on it along with another tag that has their own full names on them. They stop wearing the tag while they're with Quinn, opting for a vial of his blood (a gift from him) but they go back to the old dog tags after their fight/return to Dahlia. It's chipped and the engravings are worn but they refuse to swap it out for a newer one when David offers them one. Their current one is the same one they had when Gabe was still alpha.

They bulk up a bit after they're settled back into the pack. They're still big on mostly strength training but they like the aesthetic of more defined muscles now. Their wolf form reflects this change as well-- becoming noticeably more muscular even through the mountains of fur that grew back now that they're in a better spot nutritionally.

Not embarrassed to shift if they want to be pet. It'll be the middle of a pack meeting and they'll shift and rest their head on Sam's lap for it. The younger members of the pack will join them, much to their parent's chagrin and David actively has to keep himself from getting distracted while he's trying to talk. Thankfully, they don't do it so often that it's an issue, and the pack will just share a hushed laughter and move on.

ERM... das it! OH and the inspo for their wolf design :] for cartoony purposes I'll draw them like shown above but in my minds eye their wolf form looks like this

just a puppy

[homestylehughes]

reading interruptions

pairing(s): quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: when yn gets interrupted by quinn and his dirty mouth, while reading on the boat.

warning(s): plot with porn, smut 18+, oral fem!receiving, dirty talk, cussing. quinn has a dirty mouth in this. fluff, cute reader and quinn.

wc: 2.8k

an: hiiiii!!! new quinn ficcccc. i will never leave my quinn era. ever. recently ive been in a summer mood, first with sundresses and now with boats idk whats going on LOL. i honestly dont know where this idea came from, and for some reason i think it's bad? idk maybe ive just been looking at it too long i couldnt tell you LOL. so let me know if you guys like it or not. anyways!! i'll stop yapping now. i hope you guys enjoyyyy, like and reblog if you do! as always much love <3

happy reading <3

The morning sun comes through the window, peeking through everglow slightly illuminating the room, casting a light glow over the walls and a sleeping quinn. Quinns body lays partially over mine, our legs intertwined together. his face nuzzled into my neck, soft snores leave his mouth as he sleeps soundly against me.

There weren't many days where I'd wake up before Quinn, his schedule keeping and waking him up at the early hours of the day. Ever since the hockey season ended in a heartbreaking loss in the playoffs, he'd been sleeping more, getting the much deserved rest he’s needed. Quinn wanted away from hockey, from Vancouver, so he decided heading to the lake house earlier than usual to get away from everyone would be the fix. 

Which leads us to the position we're in now, my hands moving slowly up and down his back as he still sleeps soundly against me. Quinn always looks the most peaceful when he’s sleeping, so at peace and calm.

I feel quinns body shift slightly besides me, feeling him roll away from me, my body already feeling cold without his warmth beside me. I sit up in the bed, watching Quinn stretch and yawn himself awake, rubbing his eyes like a little kid before he turns to me with a soft smile on his face.

“Good morning” he says, his voice thick with sleep. 

“Good morning handsome” I smile back “sleep well?” 

“Mhm” he mumbles out as he makes his way to me from across the bed, grabbing my thighs pulling me on top of him. 

“Hi” i giggle from above him 

“Hi baby” he grins at me, his hands finding my neck pulling me down into a sweet kiss. My hands lay flat against his chest as I melt into the kiss. After a few moments I pull away to catch my breath, and to get a better look at him. The glow of the sun now being at its brightest, covering most of the room. Highlighting Quinn's body, his golden brown locks and blue eyes shining brightly in the glow. 

“You look so pretty” I say, as I bring my hands to his cheeks, running my fingers over his jaw, over every scar. Tracing and taking in everything part of him, memorizing every line like I've never seen them before. Quinn blushes at my complement, nuzzling his face into my hand, a smile breaking through on his features as he does so.

“Thank you baby” he says, bringing his head back to lay against the pillow looking back at me. “What do you want to do today?” his hands running across my bare thighs, his touch spreading warmth throughout my body. 

“Could we go on the boat?” i ask

“Is that what you want to do?” he asks me again.

“Mhm, yes. I even brought a new book to read to you, just for this, " I say with a smile.

 Quinn loves when i read to him, the peaceful feeling of being on the boat, the waves flowing beneath would be the perfect setting. 

“Alright you've convinced me, maybe we could even have lunch on the boat too? If you're up for that?” 

“That's fine with me, just want to be around you” I say before dropping my head into his neck, breathing in his scent, his arms circling around my waist pulling my body flush against his. 

“Okay baby” he says into my hair

 “Okay come on, let's get up. '' I said, lifting myself from him, patting his chest before swinging my legs off of him getting out of bed.

“I'm cominggggg” Quinn says from the bed, as I make my way to the bathroom, turning back around to see him lying face down in the middle of the bed, his arms and legs fanning out across the bed. 

Giggles rip through my body as I look at his childlike state, shaking my head as I take another glance at him before turning around heading to the bathroom to start getting ready for my day.

Taking a quick shower, throwing on a random swimsuit, before heading down stairs to start making lunch for myself and Quinn to take on the boat. 

Deciding on sandwiches and chips, with some fruit would be the best option for lunch. Just as I'm packing everything up I see Quinn coming down the stairs, in a pair of black swim trunks and a Canucks shirt. 

'What did you pack for lunch?’ he asks, pressing a kiss to the side of my head, walking behind me to the fridge to grab bottles of water before turning back the counter, putting the bottles of water in the cooler.

“Sandwiches, chips and fruit, is that okay with you?” I say as I place the food into the cooler along with the water, closing the top before looking up at quinn. 

“Yeah that's fine with me baby, perfect” he says leaning in for a quick kiss

“Do you have everything you need?” he says while grabbing the cooler from the counter walking towards the back door

“Yes I think so, let me go grab my bag from the couch then I'm ready” I say smiling at him, making my way to the living room grabbing my bag that has my book, sunglasses and other things in it, pulling it over my shoulder before following Quinn out the back door.

Following him down the dock towards the boat, reaching the boat, Quinn got on first placing the cooler down before turning around offering me his hand, helping me step on the boat. 

Walking over, placing my things on one of the seats, turning around, taking a look at the lake, the site never fails to take my breath away. I feel Quinn's arms circle my waist, pulling my body against his. 

“Where do you wanna go today?” he asks me, his chin resting on my shoulder as he looks out at the lake. 

“Doesn't matter me” i say turning around wrapping my arms around his neck, “take us where the wind takes you” 

“That was so corny” he laughs 

“Yeah it sounded better in my head..” i say laughing along with him

“It was still cute” he says, giving a kiss to my forehead, turning around making his way to the dock, untying the boat from the dock. 

“Okay ma'am we’re about to take off, all passengers please remain in your seats” he says with a smile spreading along his features. 

“Yes caption” I say, saluting him, taking a seat on the boat.

Making his way to the cockpit sitting down, turning on the boat before taking off along the water, the wind blowing in my hair as we ride across the lake

The boat rocks gently to the calm waves that run through the lake, Quinn docking the boat, now at a standstill in the middle of the lake. The bright summer sun beating on our skin, the warmth casting over my body as I grab my book, before settling back in my seat. Moving a pillow to rest under my neck and part of my upper back, laying down to rest myself against it, pulling my knees up, so i can rest my book on my thighs opening it book, i begin reading,

The romance novel pulls me into an alternate reality so deep that  I forget that I'm even on the boat with Quinn until his voice breaks through the silence. 

“I missed it out here” he says his eyes looking around the lake taking in it like it's his first time seeing it, “i forgot how peaceful it is out here” he continues.

“ It's so peaceful out here, it's nice to see you so relaxed” I say to Quinn, looking at him above the pages of my book.

“I thought you were supposed to read to me baby?” he asks

“Come over here” I say with a smile, opening my legs so he can rest in between them. his footsteps padding across the boat, as he lays himself between my legs, his warm skin laying against mine, his arms circling around my waist as he pulls himself closer to me. 

“Comfortable?” I say looking down at him, his head resting against my stomach, Quinn shaking his head up and down in response. 

“Good. okay, now where was I?” my eyes searched for where I left off on my page, finding my spot again, taking a deep breath before I began reading. My eyes glance down every few minutes to see if Quinn is asleep or not, occasionally feeling his fingers trace down my sides, as I continue to read to him. Just as I'm getting to an interesting part in my chapter, I feel Quinn's body move lower against mine, not thinking anything of his movement. I continue reading. 

Pausing to take a deep breath before reading the next line, I feel a warm kiss being placed right below my belly button, causing me to stop reading, lifting the book up, looking down at Quinn whose face is right in front of my covered core, his eyes locked with mine. 

“What are you doing?” I ask slightly confused at his actions

“Nothing, just wanted to lay down here, keep reading for me baby” 

“Okay” I say before licking my lips, picking up on the unread line. 

I don't even make it through half the page before I feel Quinn pressing more kisses across my lower stomach, kissing all along the top of my bottoms. His fingers sliding under the ties on the slides pulling down slightly, rubbing his fingers along the skin under. 

Clearing my throat before starting again, my brain struggling to register the words I'm reading, all of my focus on the man between my legs. My brain goes completely to mush, when I feel quinn pressed kisses against my covered core, my breath immediately hitching at the sudden touch. 

“Quinn, i'm trying to read '' my eyes locking with his, a small smirk dances along his face. 

“No ones stopping you from reading baby” he says, his fingers moving under the sides of my bottoms. 

His hands move to pull on one of the strings that hold the left side of my bottom together, pulling it apart with one tug, repeating the same action on the other side, his eyes still locked with mine. 

“Quinn '' my breath hitching, as he moved his thumbs under the now loosened fabric, peeling it back, exposing my bare cunt, the wind casting a slight breeze causing me to shutter when it hits my exposed center. 

“Quinn” I say again, my voice slightly higher than the previous attempt, trying to get his attention. 

“Yes?” 

“What are you doing? I thought you wanted me to read to you?” 

“I did, but now I want to hear that pretty mouth make some other noises,” he says, before grabbing the loosened bottoms from my body, throwing them somewhere on the boat. Grabbing the book out of my hands, closing it, throwing it in the same direction. 

“Quinn, are you serious, I was reading!” I am slightly annoyed but turned on at the sudden change of Quinn's intentions.

“Shhhhhh, lay back and let me have a taste” his eyes locked with mine as he began tracing random shapes on the insides of my thighs, his hand inching closer and closer to my exposed cunt. 

I couldn't help but comply with his words, his face inching closer and closer to my center, I felt his warm breath against my folds. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe down my center. My head falls back against the pillow, as he begins to lick at my folds. his hands pulling my thighs apart, gaining better access to my cunt. 

His tongue finds my clit as he begins to run his tongue along the bud, my jaw falling slack as my hands grab his hair, needing something to stabilize myself with. As he continues to lap up my clit, like a popsicle on a hot summer day. 

“Quinn, fuck” I moan out from above him, his movements never slowing running his tounge over every part of my cunt. The sound of him sucking up everybit of my wetness, is like music to my ears.

“Taste so good baby” he mutters against my cunt, before diving back in, his hands pulling my thighs further apart as he continues to devour my cunt. 

“Quinn don't stop please” my chest rising and falling quickly as I struggle to catch my breath. My body feels like it's on fire, not just from the heat of the sun on my skin but from the feeling of Quinn’s burning touch.

His tongue continues to thrust in and out of my weeping hole, my moans growing louder and louder as I feel myself getting closer to my peak. 

“Fuck look at you baby” pulling his face away from my cunt, bringing two of his fingers dragging them through my cunt, my wetness coating his fingers. 

“Look at that baby” he says now looking up at me, holding the two fingers in front of him, “do you wanna taste?” he asks me 

Nodding my head in a yes, Quinn brings his fingers to my mouth pushing my lips apart, shoving them into my mouth slowly. My tongue swirls around the digits, the taste of my cunt wrapping around each of my taste buds. 

My eyes are locked with Quinn’s as I continue to suck on his fingers, his eyes hooded with mine, blown with lust and he looks up at me. He slowly pulls the fingers out of my mouth, a string of saliva following them. Tracing his fingers down my stomach down to my core, before running them across my cunt, my body itching around nothing from the action. 

“Quinn” i whine

“What baby?” he says as continues to run his fingers along my cunt. 

“Do you want my fingers? Is that what you want?” 

“Yes fuck please” i whine again, my hands finding his hair again pulling it, hoping that, that will urge him along. 

“So needy baby” he says laughing against my cunt, placing a kiss to my slit before pushing two fingers into my cunt. 

My head dropping back instantly, my body feeling full, as he starts thrusting his fingers in and out. Broken moans are falling from my lips, my eyes closed as my body moves against his. Moving my hips to help meet his thrusts. 

“Right there right there” I moaned, my legs beginning to shake as I felt myself about to come. 

“Quinn” i whine out, as he attaches his mouth to my clit, rolling his tongue over it, as his fingers continue to fuck me. 

“Please dont stop fuck” lifting my head to look at quinn, the sight of him inbetween my legs, mouth wrapped around my clit, as i watch his fingers thrust in and out me, takes my breath away. 

Quinn's eyes looking up, locking them with mine, his movements never stilling. My hips continue to move against his, the burning feeling in the pit of my stomach continues to grow with every touch, thrust, everything setting my body a blaze. 

One last curl of his fingers sends me into a frenzy, my head dropping back against the pillow, my month agape but no words are coming out. My legs shaking as I come, my hands still in Quinn's hair pulling the locks so hard that it probably hurts. My vision clouds over as my orgasm takes over my body. 

I don't even realize Quinn's fingers have left my body, until I feel him pressing kisses along my neck. My eyes opened slowly, my chest still rising and falling, struggling to catch my breath and find my words. 

“Are you with me, pretty girl?” Quinn says, looking down at me, pushing hair that's fallen into my face back. 

“Yeah i think so” bringing my hands to his face, pulling him down into a kiss. 

“Did so good for me” he says once he pulls back, “always so good to me” he says peppering kisses all over my face. 

“I love you” i mumble to him

“I love you more” rubbing small circles on my sides, as he looks at me, a wide smile on his face. 

“Can you go grab my book?” I ask him with a small pout on my lips

“Oh im not done with you yet” quinn says with a smirk playing his face, before flipping us over, my hips now straddling his lap. 

“I think this is next to go” pulling at my top, undoing the strings in the back pulling it from my body tossing it somewhere in the boat, my top now completely bare to him. 

“Now where was i?” he says licking his lips, before crashing ours together.