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theemporium · 8 months

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[1.8k] when both hughes brothers think the pretty girl at the bar is way too out of quinn's league, not realising she is very much his girlfriend they were about to meet.

not totally convinced i like this but it's the first quinn piece so who knows

“There’s no fucking way, dude.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s out of your league, just drop it.”

“I don’t know, I think I could pull it off.”

Jack raised his brows at his older brother, examining his face like he was trying to work out if he was being serious or not. However, when Quinn showed no signs of joking around—not even a hint of a smile—the boy was inclined to snort and shake his head. Luke, sitting on the other side of his oldest brother, could only join in.

“I love you, but you’re fucking delusional,” Luke told him before his eyes glanced back over to where you were sat at the bar. “Not to be funny, dude, but she looks like she’d walk all over you.”

Quinn just lifted his bottle of beer to his lips, trying to hide the grin that was threatening to break out.

With the chaos of the hockey season and the summer months spent at the lake house, it was rare for his brothers to find a chance to come up to Vancouver. They flew up just as often as he came down to Jersey, which wasn’t enough by any of their likings but it was the unfortunate way things worked.

Unless they were playing a game—like they were in a few days.

With no games or pre-planned duties beforehand, it was easy for Jack and Luke to come up a little earlier than the rest of the team to spend a few days with Quinn. And he was glad to have them up in Vancouver.

Sometimes, it was hard not to feel a little isolated during the season when both his brothers played for the same team and he was left by himself. He wouldn’t change playing for the Canucks, and he adored his team. But he also adored his brothers and maybe, just sometimes, he missed having them be the biggest pain in his ass. Only every once in a while though, not that he would ever admit that to their faces.

But the distance between them and the chaos of the hockey season meant that sometimes it was hard to keep up to date with each other’s lives beyond the messages and odd phone calls they could slip in here or there.

And, to his brothers’ defence, he probably should have told them about you before they arrived in Vancouver.

But the thing between you and Quinn started as a small experiment, no real labels and just a lot of fucking chemistry that both of you were willing to explore during the pre-season training. It didn’t seem like a big deal, or something worth telling his brothers about.

Yet, the weeks went on and the relationship between you two grew stronger and, yeah, it took him a little bit longer than he cared to admit to grow the balls to ask you out. But he got to call you his now so he wasn’t all that bothered with the details.

But you being his girlfriend should have been a detail he shared with his brothers, along with the fact the night out to grab a drink at the local bar near his apartment wasn’t just a random decision but an opportunity to introduce you to them.

And that really was the plan.

However the second they walked into the bar, Jack and Luke had nabbed a table and didn’t give Quinn a chance to explain himself as they waited for his ‘friend’ to show up (not that Quinn used that word, once again, his brothers were just idiots who made assumptions). And Quinn was left staring helplessly at where you sat at the bar, sipping your drink as you probably waited for them to arrive.

And just when Quinn was about to open his mouth again, his brothers picked up on his staring at the pretty girl by the bar and did what brothers do best—rip the absolute shit out of Quinn for thinking he even had a chance.

And Quinn did what oldest brothers do best—he let them continue to embarrass themselves before he proved them both wrong after he had his fun with the situation.

“Let’s make a bet,” Quinn said casually, knowing full well he was about to exploit the competitiveness that ran through all three of them.

Jack’s eyes glimmered in interest. “Go on.”

“I get her number and you both have to give me a hundred bucks,” he said as he glanced between his two brothers.

Luke’s brows furrowed together. “And if she rejects you?”

“I’ll give you both two hundred each,” Quinn stated. “And you get bragging rights that you were correct.”

“Deal,” Jack said without even thinking twice.

“Wait, wait,” Luke quickly spoke up, giving the boy an exasperated look before turning back to Quinn. “You can’t tell her anything about the bet though, that’s cheating.”

Quinn raised his brows. “You don’t think I’m a good sport?”

Luke just shrugged. “Just covering all our bases.”

“Now, go on and embarrass yourself!” Jack grinned as he slapped his older brother on the back in a faux comforting gesture. “We will totally not be recording you from way back here.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “You’re on.”

The oldest Hughes said nothing more as he chugged the last dregs of his beer before stepping away from the table. His lips were pressed together to try and repress his grin as he walked away from his brothers and towards your spot at the bar.

Something in his chest eased a little as he closed the distance between you, his fingers itching to just reach out and hold you close after barely seeing you over the last two days since his brothers arrived. The messages were not enough, not when he was selfish and spoiled having you around him almost every day since the spark between you two started.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Your head snapped around at the familiar voice, and instantly a smile broke out on your face when you saw your boyfriend sliding into the spot beside you.

His fingers skimmed along the small of your back, the touch small and subtle before his warm palm was pressed against you. It was a comfort you grew to enjoy around Quinn, the fact he always needed to be touching you in some way, shape or form—even if he didn’t realise he was doing. Whether it was his knuckles skimming down your arm, or a hand resting on your ankle when you threw your feet on his lap during movie night, Quinn Hughes always liked the comfort of knowing you were there with him.

And after two days of not seeing you, the palm on the small of your back was almost like a reassurance you were actually sitting next to him and you were not running off again any time soon.

“Hey, baby,” you grinned as you turned on your stool, spreading your legs slightly so the boy could easily stand between them. “Where’s your brothers?”

“They grabbed a table by the back,” he said, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as it rode up slightly, exposing a small slit of skin along your back just above the waistband of your jeans. “You excited to meet them?”

“So excited I almost threw up on the way here,” you told him with a sheepish smile.

“They’re gonna love you,” Quinn reassured you.

“Aren’t you meant to be better at giving pep talks?” You murmured as your hand itched to reach for his, to intertwine your fingers and hold onto him.

“Nah, that’s the captain’s job,” he murmured with a small grin before he nodded vaguely towards the table his brothers were at. “C’mon, gorgeous, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you deadpanned before straightening your spine. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“You ready?” He asked, his brows raised slightly.

“Absolutely not,” you breathed out with a shaky smile. “But that’s what the two margaritas I had before you got here were for.”

Quinn’s lips twitched upwards as he lifted his hand from your back, raising it to gently hold your face in both his palms instead. “It’ll be fine, baby, I promise.”

You leaned in before you overthought it, enjoying the first kiss you were able to get from him after over forty-eight hours of nothing. You sunk into his embrace, your fingers looped into the belt hoops of his jeans as you tugged him closer, a needy noise sounding from the back of your throat that had him smiling against your lips.

“Easy, tiger,” he murmured, his nose playfully nudging yours.

“It was for confidence,” you said shamelessly as you pulled back, an innocent expression on his face.

Quinn huffed out a laugh. “Sure.”

The defenceman let you intertwine your hands together before he began to lead you through the bustling crowd at the bar, his hand squeezing yours to reassure you were behind him. But, his attention was momentarily drawn away from you as he noticed his brothers’ table a few feet away—and more importantly, the absolutely gobsmacked and baffled expressions both his younger brothers were wearing.

Their jaws were hitting the table by the time Quinn stood on the other side, pulling you forward until his arm was wound around your waist to hold you close to his side.

“Guys, meet my girlfriend.”

Luke blinked, his face absolutely blank.

However, Jack’s reaction was a lot more animated.

“Girlfriend?!” Jack spluttered out before shaking his head, a noise mixed between a scoff and a laugh leaving his lips as he pointed between the two of you. “This is cheating! You were in cahoots!”

Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “Cahoots?”

“Cahoots!” Jack repeated passionately.

Quinn only shrugged, glancing at you before he glanced back towards his brothers. “Say what you want but I’m pretty sure I won the bet.”

“The bet?” You questioned.

“They didn’t think you were in my league,” Quinn mused, a glint of mischief in his eyes that told you more than enough. It took mere seconds to put together what the boy had just pulled off, and you could only snort in response.

“You’re evil,” you murmured with a shake of your head.

“I agree with your girlfriend!” Jack huffed out as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Stop being dramatic, Rowdy.”

“You’re a cheat!” Jack shot back.

“Luke doesn’t seem to think so,” Quinn retorted, and all eyes turned to the youngest Hughes who looked up from his phone, a blush painted across his cheeks.

“Oh no, I think you’re a dirty cheat,” he said, his lips pressed together. “I was just messaging the family group chat so we don’t have to pay.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Dick.”

“Be nice,” you playfully scolded with a shake of your head. “You were the one that tricked them.”

“Their fault for being stupid enough to fall for it,” Quinn shrugged.

“You never told us you had a girlfriend!”

“All I’m hearing is excuses.”

“That’s it, I’m calling mom.”

#quinn hughes #nhl #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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sc0tters · 8 months

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It’s Captain Now | Quinn Hughes

summary: when you take Quinn out for drinks to celebrate his captains announcement you push his buttons landing you up on his bed.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature themes, p in v, oral (fem and m receiving!), minimal degradation used (slut once), swearing.

word count: 2.59k

authors note: okay so I definitely got carried away with how I wrote Quinn in this but it’s for his captaincy so I can’t get bashed for going big. Ending is a bit rushed because I want to go to sleep but I wanted this out today. Sort of felt like a full circle moment for those of you that remember the first smut I did on here with Jack and Quinn’s best friend so I figured it was only fair to do a Quinn and Jack best friend one 😭

Quinn’s brain was playing against him tonight.

You looked good in your little blue dress that barely covered your ass as you leaned over the bar counter to get your drinks.

The hockey player had to say that your strict instructions making him stay sat because this was your treat was something that Quinn enjoyed when you sent him a cheeky grin.

He knew it was wrong thinking about you like this, but Quinn knew that there was no other way for him to see you. Not after the summer.

The sound of your laugh erupted through the house as Jack threw you over his shoulder “let me go Jacky!” You groaned banging your fists on his back.

Quinn looked up from his phone as he heard the noise “can you not kill her before the rest of the boys get here?” He asked smiling as you were thrown onto the couch next to him.

Your breasts bounced in your bikini making it a sight for sore eyes “you’re no fun now that she lives with you.” Jack pointed out as he sent his brother an irritated look.

However those negative feelings were short lived as the knock at the door pulled the younger Hughes boys attention away from the way you smiled at Quinn “I’ll be back.” Jack announced making his way to the door.

The Canucks player had to say that he was surprised when you stayed on the couch with him “don’t you want to see your friends?” Quinn asked cocking his head.

You were quick to shake your head “like sitting with you,” you reached over to tap his nose letting out a giggle at how he scrunched his face “roomie,” you added using his new nickname.

After you graduated you couldn’t find an apartment in Vancouver so Quinn offered you his second bedroom. Not a single thought of hesitation went through your mind when he offered it to you because over your time in Vancouver you grew to love Quinn, in ways you shouldn’t love your best friends brother “you better not be avoiding me y/n!” Trevor called out making you both laugh from the couch.

You got up “wouldn’t dream of it ass hat!” You smiled running over to the boys as you left Quinn to watch you get pulled into a hug by the New York native.

As the eldest Hughes boy felt his heart grow green with jealous he knew it only meant one thing, that Quinn Hughes was in love with you.

You snapped your fingers in front of Quinn’s face “you good?” You asked cocking your head as Quinn seemed to come back to you.

His cheeks were red as the image of you in that stupidly small bikini was still in the front of his mind “y-yeah…sorry,” Quinn was quick to apologise as he chugged back some of his beer.

Despite the fact that you knew something was off you decided to not dig into it “how are you feeling about the news captain?” You smiled innocently as you turned to face him fully.

Quinn felt his jeans tighten as you used his new title “oh my god.” You slapped your hand over your mouth watching him puff out his cheeks.

That was his tell tale sign that he was horny and you had picked up on that years ago “what?” Quinn asked when you threw your head back with laughter.

Part of you wondered if you should really let him know “have you got something you want to tell me captain?” You teased placing your hand on his knee as he repeated his original reaction.

Now Quinn figured out what you were playing at “stop it!” He groaned growing embarrassed.

The teasing didn’t stop during the night, in fact it actually got worse. It continued all the way until you two got home “thanks for keeping me company cap,” you wrapped your hand around his arm as you used him for support as you took your heels off.

Just as you were about to walk away Quinn grabbed your hand pulling you back to him. Your body hit his chest before you looked up to him “you gotta stop saying that to me y/n.” He sighed cupping your cheek as he let the rough pad of his finger rub against the warmth of your skin.

You started to feel bad as you thought it was irritating him “not when you aren’t going do anything about the problem you’re causing.” Quinn added letting his voice float to your ear as his bulge rubbed against your thigh.

A groan left your throat as thoughts came through your head “didn’t mean to do that Quinn,” you apologised as your lips formed a pout.

He couldn’t stay mad at you for long when your hand trailed up his shorts “‘m sorry,” you mumbled palming his cock as the boy stayed silent.

The Canucks player almost drifted off into this state of peace as his eyes went hooded “should show me just how sorry you are princess.” Quinn gasped forcing the words out of his mouth.

A smile formed on your face “wanna make you feel so good cap,” you cooed bringing your lips to his. The kiss was soft as his hand locked in the back of your hair “stop teasing me then baby, fuck!” Quinn groaned feeling your hand just cup his balls.

You giggled as you dropped to your knees “do I make you horny Quinn?” You asked hooking your fingers in the waist band of his shorts pulling them down with his pants as you smiled.

His head fell back as your cold fingers wrapped around his cock “so much baby” he groaned feeling you kitten lick his tip “don’t deserve to be teased like this.” Quinn added as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

It felt like pure torture as you drunkenly giggled before you wrapped your lips around his cock “fuck me,” he gasped hearing the sounds of your gags along with your own moans that sent vibrations through his body.

Quinn wrapped his hand around your hair as he forced your throat to take his cock deeper “so good baby.” His praise made you clench your pussy around nothing.

Your hot mouth felt like heaven around his cock “ugh Quinn,” your words came out muffled as his cock seemed to swallow them hitting the back of your throat.

All of the tension that had built up in his pants over night were now falling apart as your tongue swirled around him trying to get Quinn to that high as quickly as his whole body tensed “keep doing so good baby.” The hockey player encouraged you as you continued to gurgle around his cock.

His orgasm hit him like a truck as he almost fell over “so fucking good princess.” It seemed like the boy couldn’t settle on a nickname for you as he pulled his cock out from your mouth.

You titled your head up letting your mouth hang open before you swallow his release “god y/n,” Quinn swore he was on cloud nine as he watched you stick your tongue out now empty.

He held his hand out to help you back up “you gonna fuck me like a real captain?” You asked grinning from ear to ear.

If Quinn knew that that you were going to be such a brat in the sheets he would have fucked you weeks if not months ago “I gotta taste you first.” Quinn blurted out cupping your cheeks again as he kissed you.

His tongue slid into your mouth letting him taste his release on your tongue as he pushed you all the way back until your knees hit the pillow of the couch sending you both back onto it “you knew you were gonna get fucked didn’t you?” The hockey player asked seeing your blue thong as your dress pushed up around your waist.

Quinn let his fingers run down your stomach stopping at the fabric of your panties picking a side up so it could snap back against your skin “asked you a question princess.” He muttered pulling the underwear down your legs painfully slowly “hoped you would fuck me Quinn,” you confessed arching your back into the couch.

You should have been embarrassed with how wet you were as Quinn stared down down at your soaked pussy “you know that’s not my name tonight baby.” Quinn mumbled laying his tongue down flat as he lick a stripe up your folds.

Your hands went to his hair “sorry cap,” you were quick to apologise as he smirked to himself “won’t make that mistake again,” you added puffing your cheeks out as Quinn took his two fingers and ran them over your clit a few times before he thrusted them inside of you.

The hockey player locked his eyes with yours “know you won’t because you’re my good girl right?” Quinn asked before he latched his lips around your clit.

It was quick to make you jump forward with pleasure as you gasped “fucking hell cap,” you groaned running your fingers over your chest.

The matching blue bra was seen thrown across the room as you let your fingers trace over the stiff peaks that your nipples had formed “please let me come,” you begged knowing that you weren’t going to last long with how turned on you were when you sucked Quinn off.

He groaned sending shivers up your spine “I promise I’ll be your good girl.” You nodded to yourself as you pulled at his hair trying to get him closer to your core than he already was.

It seemed that Quinn’s brain was telling his tongue to treat you like you were meant to be his last meal “don’t stop,” you groaned grinding your hips against his face as your thighs began to grow shaky.

Knowing that he was the one causing you to let out those moans and it wasn’t that little black vibrator that you hide in your makeup drawer was a total boost to Quinn’s ego “gotta ask for it like a good girl.” He mumbled somehow having you hear his words perfectly as he went back to sucking your clit whilst his fingers get your pussy occupied.

You were surprised you could even get the words out “please let me come captain.” You begged digging your hips into the couch “I promise I’ll be your good girl as you fuck me.” Those words caused him to grunt and that set off your orgasm.

Now Quinn wasn’t a cruel man, he wasn’t going to stop you because he said no. Instead he was going to fuck you through it and make you pay afterwards “shit Quinn!” You cried leaving that as the real cherry on top of the cake as he retracted his fingers from your pussy.

You were in trouble now “get up,” Quinn’s tone was serious making you listen to him quickly “why?” You asked following his request.

Quinn glared as he reached behind you to grab a handful of your ass “you didn’t listen to me baby so now I have to punish you,” he sighed softly slapping the your skin.

It was hard to concentrate as you rubbed your thighs together trying to alleviate some of the pleasure you felt “so go get naked and wait for me on the bed.” With that Quinn sent you off to his bed room leaving you oozing with anticipation as you got rid of your your dress laying down on his bed just like he wanted you.

But of course the moment Quinn saw you he had other ideas “face down baby, ass up.” He barked causing you to roll over onto your stomach as you heard him get rid of his T-shirt as it fell to the ground.

Quinn had to admit that you being so responsive to him was earning you some brownie points “now you know how to be a good girl for me huh?” He asked cocking his head as he joined you on his bed quickly reaching into the drawer for a condom.

All you could do was nod as you tried to hold back a squeal of excitement “please fuck me captain.” You begged feeling his hands wrap around your hips as his fingers dug into your sides.

There was no doubt about it that your were ready and Quinn was done waiting. So he took his covered cock as he ran it over your clit a few times before he thrusted inside of your pussy. The angle was perfect for him as it like his cock get wrapped up by your tight little cunt “baby ready to by my dumb little cock slut?” He asked thrusting his cock at a painfully slow pace as the hockey player continued to bottom you out.

Your whimpers practically lit Quinn’s skin of fire “yes cap, I’ll whatever you want.” You pleaded just wanting him to move faster.

Thankfully for you it didn’t take him long as those words seemed to trigger a switch in his head causing him to listen to you “so fucking good.” Quinn groaned letting his lower half do most of the work as he let his one hand reach down to rub your clit “if you behave for now on you might even be allowed to come without permission.” The hockey player proposed enjoying how your ass looked bouncing against his lower torso as your pussy swallowed his cock.

It felt like he was on cloud nine “wanna be your best girl,” you cried out feeling your eyes flutter as the boy continued to bottom you out.

He managed to hit spots that no dildo could dream of “you are my only girl baby,” Quinn cooed squeezing his face like he had eaten something sour as your pussy hadn’t stopped clenching around his cock.

The sound of skin slapping only added another layer of pleasure for both of you as the room went silent with you both trying to focus on only one thing “c’mon cap please,” you begged feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.

Quinn smiled as he used his other hand to reach down and tease your breast as he remembered you doing it early “oh shit,” you swore feeling it.

The hockey player pressed warm kisses up your neck stopping by your ear “be my good girl and come for me.” Quinn mumbled letting his hot breath fan against your ear.

That was all it took for you to come as your body dropped to the mattress as you shuddered letting your hands grab at the comforter beneath you “so fucking good baby,” he cooed helping you through your orgasm as his own was caused by that.

Quinn pulled out of you with heavy breathing as he lay down next to you, with the little energy you had left you turned to look up at him “you okay?” The hockey player asked brushing your hair out of your face.

You nodded as you let out a yawn “let’s run you a bath,” he mumbled scooping up your body like you were a child.

Your hand went to his jaw as you squeezed it forcing him to look at you “for us,” you corrected Quinn as you smiled watching him shut the bathroom door behind you two.

Now this is how you spend your first official day as captain of an NHL team.

#quinn hughes smut #Quinn Hughes imagines #quinn hughes oneshot #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #oneshots #imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey smut #nhl smut #amber writes fics

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quintinh43 · 2 months

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Fucking Canada | Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke is out with an injury, Y/n is on break from school. Obviously, the only logical thing is for them to head down to Vancouver to visit Quinn.

Pairings: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Meantions of Anxiety, Drinking (drink responsibly kids), Some light suggestive content. Use of the name Mariana. Let me know if I missed anything!

Wc: 4.9k

This one's for @toasttt11, stay awesome 🫶🏼

---

Luke had been been out with an injury for a week. And it was driving him insane. He had begged and begged the trainers to at least allow him on the ice with the team. He'd batted his long eyelashes and given them puppy dog eyes and the famous Hughes pout, yet somehow they resisted and firmly told him he was not to touch a pair of skates until after his two-week check up.

And that was only if his check-up came back all ok. So in his boredom, he flew down to Michigan to spend time with you, and then decided that as soon as your break started he was flying both of you down to Vancouver for the week, because fuck he missed his big brother.

He rolled his wrist around in its brace, and you smack him in the chest. "Stop doing that. You're gonna aggravate your wrist and make it worse."

"Baby, I swear its fine," he whined, "The trainers don't know what they're talking about."

You snort, and grab his arm, pinning it beneath your torso, being careful to ensure that the strained part of his wrist was not under you.

"Baby, please," he whined, tugging his arm gently. "Let me up,"

"Only if you promise to stop rolling your wrist." You glare.

"I promise" Luke mumbles shifting towards you to run his lips along your jaw. Your stomach flutters, pink dusts across your cheeks, and you let him go immediately. He leans on his elbows and kisses down your neck.

"Luke" you whisper breathlessly.

"Hmm" he hums, nipping at the sensitive skin along the column of your troat.

You bite your lip, debating telling him off. But kissing Luke is much much better than studying physiology, and you haven't had a break in a while. You slam your textbook shut, and all but kick it off the bed.

"You're such a menace," you huff, he wraps his uninjured arm around you, and drags himself fully on top of you, kissing gently down your neck.

"You know you love me," he grins.

"You're lucky I do, Hughes. Now get back to kissing me,"

"Yes ma'am," he chuckles, lips dancing along your collarbones.

There's a knock on your door and before you can tell whoever it is to fuck off, your roommate and best university friend; Mariana barges in.

"Enough sexy time, kids!" she says, ignoring the murderous glares both you and Luke throw her way, "If you still want a ride to the airport, we are leaving in ten." She walks out, leaving the door open. You sigh, nudging Luke with your shoulder, to get off of you. He pecks one last kiss to your cheek and rolls off you, pulling you to your feet so the two of you can get all your things together.

You slide your laptop into your bag, grab all your chargers, and make sure you have an extra set of headphones. Because God knows the worst thing that could possibly happen is being stuck on an airplane with no muisc. After double and triple checking that you have everything, Mariana ushers you out the door hurriedly.

The ride to the airport is nothing special. You and Mariana sit in the front while Luke is banished to the back. You stretch an arm back to hold his hand, and he leans his head on your seat to be closer to you.

"Have fun in Vancouver Babe," Mariana says giving you a tight parting hug, and kiss on the cheek.

"Better take care of my girl Hughes, or I'm coming for that other wrist" She threatens, giving Luke a hug. Luke laughs, patting Mariana's back.

"You know it, Mari," he grins, winking at you.

"Text me when you land, ok?" She says, squeezing your shoulder.

"I will. Thanks for the ride, Mar." You hive her one last squeeze goodbye and take Luke's hand as you head through the airport.

Everything goes smoothly, thank God, and soon you and Luke are boarded the plane. It's a fight over who takes the window seat. You think Luke should have it cause he has longer legs, and Luke thinks you should have it because you deserve the best seat.

After convincing Luke that as long as you're sitting beside him, you do have the best seat, he reluctantly takes the window seat. And makes sure to tell you that if you want to switch at any time, just tell him.

You nod, knowing that you absolutely won't be doing that, but what Luke doesn't know won't hurt him. You're set to arrive just before Quinn's game tonight, which means that the two of you won't get to see him until later. After going through your mental checklist, making sure everything is organized, you stick your headphones in and rest your head on Luke's shoulder and promptly pass out.

Luke is shaking you awake gently when it's time to get off the plane. "Wake up, Baby, it's time to get going," he says softly.

You sigh, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, "Alright lets go,"

You grab all of yours and Lukes belongings from the overhead compartment, much to his dismay. "Baby, let me help,"

"Luke Warren, I swear if you touch any of this luggage with that wrist, I'll chop it off," you say sternly. You hand him his backpack, and he slings it over his shoulder with a pout.

You grab his injured hand gently, lacing your fingers together as best as you can with his brace on, and head off the plane. As you step into the Uber, both your phones buzz with a text from Quinn.

Q: I left a key for you guys with the front desk, Luke just has to show some ID.

Q: You guys are coming to the game right?

Luke: Yep, excited to see you Q

You: Were just heading to your place now, to get settled and then we're on our way. See you soon!

Q: Excited to see you guys too.

You arrive at his apartment, and Luke shows his ID to the front desk, and they hand over the key. Quinn's apartment is nice, but it's so clean. It looks like a place out of a modern decor magazine, except for the photos of his family scattered here and there.

There's a two jerseys folded neatly on the bed with a sticky note that says 'Don't be a little bitch' on top. "Nope" Luke says as he immediately lays eyes on it, "I'm not wearing that, nither are you."

You roll your eyes at him, but don't argue. It makes sense that he wouldn't wear it. Players have a thing about not wearing another franchises merchandise. He unzips his suitcase and pulls out two black hoodies with white stitching that says Hughes 43 on the back. Except if you look carefully, the devils logo is stitched on the sleeve.

You shake your head with a smile and take the hoodie from him. "Let me just change into something better, and we'll head out."

Luke nods, digging around for a pair of jeans for himself. The two of you make quick work of changing, and then you're on your way to the game. Quinn, smartly left the tickets under your name, lest someone spill the beans that Luke Hughes is in Vancouver to watch his brother play.

Your seats are right by the glass. When Quinn notices you, he skates over, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Bitches" he mouths with a smile, as he takes in the lack of Canuck blue in your outfits.

You grin and flash him a heart with your fingers while Luke flips him off, making sure he can see the devils logo on the sleeve. Quinn shakes his head at Luke and skates off to finish warm-ups.

Thankfully, no one really takes note of the interaction. Luke has a cap pulled low, so unless someone is really looking for Luke Hughes, then he shouldn't be recognized. The atmosphere is electric. Canadian hockey really hits differently.

The game is nerve-wracking, and for most of it, you and Luke are on the edges of your seats, grabbing at eachother hands, and slapping eachothers knees in excitement whenever something particular exciting happens. And when Quinn picks up a goal, the two of you are jumping and screaming.

The game ends with a canuck win, and as you two make your way down to the locker room to greet Quinn, you're chattering excitedly about all the good plays that were made. Especially Quinn's. He picked up a goal and three assists, making him the top point scorer of the game.

As he walks out of the locker room, he can't keep the smile off his face as he lands eyes on you and Luke. As much as he doesn't mind being on his own, seeing his family is always the best. You've been around the Hughes boys since you were growing up. From Toronto to Michigan. Your family's were really close and still are to this day.

He pulls you into a hug first, "Good to see you Y/n" he says, patting you on the back.

He goes to hug Luke, and in true brotherly fashion, he can't help but make a jab at him as does so. "I swear to God, you get taller every time I see you." Rather than standing on his tip toes to throw his arms around Lukes neck, he hooks his ankle around the back of Luke's knee and Luke's knees buckle.

Quinn catches him in a hug before he can hit the floor. You and Quinn are laughing, while Luke grumbles. He snatches Quinns hat off his head, making his hair stick up in every which way and holds it as high as he can. Quinn rolls his eyes, not taking the bait, and starts to walk.

Luke huffs and throws his hat back at him. "How did y'all get here?"

"Uber," you say, throwing an arm around Luke's waist as you walk. He drapes his arm around your shoulder, fingers brushing patters against your shoulder.

"The team is going out to celebrate. Do you guys wanna join, or do you want a ride home first?"

"Well, come with," Luke smiles, "Good game, dude, you made some nasty moves."

Pink dusts Quinn's cheeks, and he changes the conversation. "How's the wrist?"

Luke rolls his eyes, and before he can roll his wrist, you glare at him. "It's completely fucking fine."

"It's not" you say

"The trainers don't know what they are talking about." He mutters.

"They do" You add poking luke in the side.

Quinn scoffs, "Yes, im sure the people whose literal job it is to treat your injures don't know what they are talking about."

Luke pouts, "I can't believe my girl and my brother are ganging up on me like this,"

"Well, maybe if you weren't so stubborn." You and Quinn say simultaneously, looking at each other with a grin.

Luke grumbles unintelligiblly and Quinn throws his bags in this trunk. Luke takes the front seat, and this time, he's the one reaching his arm back to hold your hand. You smile, lacing your fingers together. Quinn rolls the eyes at the two of you with a smile.

The drive to the bar is filled with the light chatter of the three of you catching up about life. Unsurprisingly, Quinn has nothing interesting happening in his love life. The man eats, breathes, sleeps, and lives hockey. Luke teases him about becoming an old spinster while he glances at you lovingly. No doubt envisioning the magnificence that your lives will be together.

The bar is absolutely packed. Not surprisingly. It's a Friday night and the Canucks won. Some of the team is already there, in a roped off Vip area. They wave Quin over urgently. He grabs your hand and you grab Luke's so as not to get separated in the crowd of drunk people.

Quinn greets his teammates with hugs and back slaps and inside jokes. Some of them grin at you and Luke, wiggling their eyebrows at you and dragging Luke into hugs.

"So why are Mr. And Mrs. Huggy Jr. Here?" Brock asks, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Luke smiles at that, tracing his finger over the back of your left ring finger. "Luke is out injured, and I'm on a break from school," you shrug, playing with Luke's hand in yours.

"I'm going to get a refill," Luke hums, kissing the tip of your ear as he detangles himself from you, "want anything?"

"I'm good for now, baby," you say, kissing him on the cheek. When you turn back to the guys, they are all leaning close to you, batting their eyelashes like a group of High-school girls waiting to hear the latest drama about your crush.

Petey is the first to speak, "So when is he proposing?"

Millsy slaps him in the back of the head, "How is she supposed to know when he's proposing dumbass?"

"That man is so fucking whipped for you," Brock smirks, and you can't help the blush that colours your cheeks.

"You guys will have some cute babiess," Garland grins, just the slightest bit tipsy.

"Alright, alright, leave her alone. That's my sister-in-law you're bullying" Quinn says, coming to your rescue. He throws an arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently.

"You ok?" He asks quietly, the guys already forgetting the previous topic of conversation.

"Yeah, thanks Quinn," you smile, squeezing his hand back.

"Well, I'm absolutely beat, so I'm gonna go home. Do y'all wanna stay, or are you ready to head home?"

"We'll stay I think, me and Lukey are having fun, and I have yet to drag him to the dance floor. Are you ok to drive home?"

"Yeah, I haven't been drinking," Quinn says, smiling softly at your concern for him. "Sorry to leave y'all hanging."

"Don't worry about it, Quinn, we'll see you tomorrow. You played a good game, go get lots of rest," you smile, wrapping him in a quick hug.

He hugs you back and turns to address the guys. "I'm heading out if anyone wants a ride," Before the sentence fully leaves his mouth, Petey is practically throwing himself at Quinn. He stumbles into the two of you, and you both reach out to make sure he doesn't eat the floor. "I drank too much," he mumbles.

You laugh, patting his back, as Quinn stabilizes him. "I'm making you do bag skates next practice," Quinn says with entirely too much joy, as he practically half carries Petey out of the bar.

With Quinn gone, you dip out of the Vip section to find Luke, you spot him sitting at the bar, cheeks flushed, empty shot glasses littered suspiciously close to him. He's holding another glass that looks like soda, and there's a girl leaning much to close to him. He's leaning back slowly, looking very unimpressed.

Until he spots you. His megawatt lady killer smile appears as he all but pushes the other girl out of the way, and practically sprints to you, as well as someone can sprint in a crowded bar. Your hands rest on his arms, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Luke, are you ok?" You ask concerned, eyes flitting across his face, "have you been drinking?"

"Y/n!" He is way too giddy to be sober, "I know we said, we weren't drinking, but then I was sad about my wrist and someone said that the alcohol would make me feel better, so drank a little teeny tiny shot, and then another one cause somone got me another one, and then this group of girls asked me if I wanted to do shots with them, and I was gonna say no, but then they already ordered the shots and then-"

You cut off his drunk rambling, your voice laced with concern. "Luke baby, do you remember how many shots you took?" You ask, the calmness of your voice not giving way to the absolutely disastrous thoughts swimming in your head.

"Four, I think!" He grins, trying to count the glasses that were littered on the bar top in front of where he was sitting. There were five. Your eyes widen almost comically. He was barely gone for half an hour. He took five shots of straight alcohol in less than half an hour. Fuck.

Now it wasn't as if Luke hadn't drank before, undoubtedly he had. But definitely not that amount of alcohol in that span of time. Plus, it wasnt really recommended for professional athletes to drink anyways, so the amount of alcohol he'd consumed since the beginning of the season probably didn't even equate the amount that he'd drank tonight alone. Double Fuck.

And on top of all of that, Quinn had already left. "My wrist feels so much better!" Luke says happily, "I can take off my brace!" As he reaches for straps on his brace, you grab his hand.

"Absolutely not Luke." You lace your fingers with his to keep him from taking off his brace while you try to figure out what to do. Before you know what's happening, there's another full shot glass in front of you, and Luke is knocking it back. Triple Fuck.

"It burns," he pouts, shaking his head like he just ate something sour.

"Luke, how did you even get alcohol? we're underage!" The disbelief is evident in your voice.

The bartender hears your statement and decides that he'd better clear up that misconception before he gets into some kond of trouble. "No ma'am," he says, leaning over the counter. "I checked his ID, says he's twenty, that's legal"

Suddenly, you are very pissed that the bartender is telling you how old your own boyfriend is. Just as you're about to snap at him for clearly not being able to to his job correctly, if he thinks twenty is legal, you remember that you're no longer in the States.

You're in Canada. Fucking Canada. Racking your brain, you try to recall the legal age in British Columbia. You feel so stupid. It's nineteen. Ninteen year olds are legally allowed to drink in B.C. Luke is twenty. Fuck fuck fucking fuckitty fuck.

Before you sprial into a full-on panic, you take a deep breath. Luke is drunk out of his mind, and he needs to get home now, and you panicking will not help the situation. You slap your card down on the bar top and tell the bartender to close Luke's tab.

You don't trust Luke to be left to his own devices, so you sling his arm around your shoulder and half drag him to where you left your phone and purse with Brock. You gently guide Luke to sit on one of the chairs. He does so shakily and wraps one arm around your chest, pulling you flush against his body.

His knees are squeezing your hips, his fingers are tracing over your collarbones, and his face is tucked against your neck.

"Woah! is Huggy Jr. drunk?" Brock asks, grinning madly as he hands you your phone and purse.

"In the span of time that he disappeared, he took six fucking shots" you grumble, as you order an Uber to get home.

Brock almsot chokes on his drink. He stares wide eyes, "oh so he's fucking blackout," he takes his phone and snaps a photo of you and Luke. The glare that you send him is so murderous that if looks could kill he'd be six feet under.

"Sorry," he shrugs with a shit eating grin that says he's not sorry at all, "I need some proof of this for when he wakes up hating his life tomorrow."

"Alright, well, at least send it to me." You grumble, Brock laughs, and your phone buzzes with a notification from him immediately after. "And hey, please don't tell Quinn anything right now. He's probably home and in bed by now, and I don't wanna stress him out unnecessarily."

Brock nods, "Don't worry, kid, my lips are sealed." He sighs like an older brother, "if I was sober, i'd be driving you home."

"Oh Brock, don't worry about it. You guys had great games, and you deserve to celebrate. We'll be fine, I promise," you smile. Your heart melts a little, you've only met the canucks a few times but from the instant that you did they treated you like family.

"Alright, alright, just let me know when you're home safe, I'll feel much better."

"You got it, Brocky," you smile, standing on your tip toes to give him a friendly kiss on the cheek. Brock grins like a school boy who just got a kiss from his crush. Thankfully, drunk Luke doesn't decide to make an appearance. Otherwise, he might have absolutely decked Brock in the face.

Not that he would've succeeded, based on how drunk he is. You're almost sure he's fallen asleep. Until his lips start moving against your neck. Quadruple fuck. You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud as he nips at your throat with so much care you'd think he was fully sober.

His fingers start to make patterns along your collarbones, dipping lower toward the curve of your breasts. You don't want him to stop.

"Luke," you whisper desperately, laying your head atop his gently.

His hum of response reverberates against your skin, and pleasure melts down your spine, stomach fluttering.

"Luke," you try again, voice strained as his teeth screen against the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, "not here baby, we're in public."

" 's go home" he murmers into your skin, "wanna fuck my pretty girl."

Your cheeks go red faster than you thought possible. What a time to find out Luke is a horny drunk.

"Luke," his name is a prayer on your lips. The fingers of his injured hand burn as they press into your waist.

" 'm starvin for you baby," he mumbles, the tips of his fingers brushing under the waistband of your jeans.

Heat coils in your stomach, and you bite your lip to keep a whimper from spilling from your lips. As if some Devine power is on your side, you get a notification that your Uber has arrived.

"Our ride is here." Your voice is practically a squeak.

"Want you to ride me." Luke says, and you can feel his lips turn up into a smirk against your skin. You have to cover your mouth with your hand. Luke chuckles darkly. "Pretty girl has to cover her mouth so everyone doesn't know what a dirty girl she is." he hums nosing at your neck. If you're here any longer, you might actually combust. You make sure you have everything because you can quite literally never return to this bar every again.

You help pull Luke out of his chair and drape one of his arms over your shoulder. You wrap your arm around his waist to keep him steady. "Gonna eat you up when we're alone," he mutters, his grin all teeth. He's so fucking beautiful it makes your troat go dry.

You're blushing like a school girl as you help him out of the bar. He's leaning most of his weight on you while he whispers dirty things in your ear. You're surprised that you even manage to get him out of the bar on your own, mainly because his comments are making you weak in the knees. And partially because he's a 6'2, 185-pound man.

You successfully get him into the backseat and give the driver Quinns address. Thank God he lives close. A ten minute drive at most. But unfortunately for you, it feels like hours. Because Luke had been very perceptive as to how his advances were making you react and continues them with no mercy.

"So pretty f' me" he mumbles, hand trailing up your thigh, lips fluttering over your neck, "gonna let me fuck you pretty girl?"

"Not here, Luke," You whisper, grabbing his hand. You kiss the back of his knuckles and looks at you with such desire in his eyes it takes every ounce of self control not strip and let him fuck you in the back seat of this random car. Your eyes flick to the driver and you swallow the nervous lump in your throat, and say a prayer for forgiveness as your lips trail up his hand.

You close your lips over two of his fingers, and he groans, his head falling against your shoulder. "Gotta be quiet, baby," you murmer, squeezing his knee with one hand before closing your lips back over his fingers.

"m' quiet, m' quiet," he murmers against your neck. Then he's grinding his hips against yours, and there's a whimper caught in your throat. The car comes to a stop in front of Quinns building, and you are hopping out of the car like it's on fire and dragging Luke out behind you.

He stumbles into your back, an arm wrapping around your waist, his lips reattach to your neck, and you can't help the moan that slips out. As soon as the elevator door shuts, Luke pins you to the wall with a knee between your legs, and you drag him down for a desperate kiss.

He tastes like alcohol and cinnamon and home. And you never want to let him go. Then he's hissing with fire, a yearning, pleading fire as he grinds his hips against yours. All you want to do is let him have his way, but he's so so drunk. And no matter how many years the two of you have been dating, and how many times you've slept together, you made your decision way back at the bar that you wouldn't go further than kissing and grinding.

The elevator opens on Quinns floor, and the two of you stumble out. You pat your pockets for the keys to his apartment, and fuck- they aren't there. They must have gotten left in his car on the way to the bar.

You knock on the door nervously. One hand wrapped around Luke's waist, and the other braced against his chest. His uninjured hand is tracing up and down your side and in a way that makes it hard not to squirm as he places tender kisses along your jaw.

Quinn opens the door, looking oh so tired, a toothbrush hanging half out of his mouth. Clearly, he didn't expect you back so soon. His eyes go wide at the sight in front of him, and he resists the urge to gag, lest his toothbrush fall out of his mouth.

"Whad da fack!" He exclaims, spitting into the kitchen sink and closing the apartment door behind you. "Is he drunk?"

"Yes, just let me get him into bed, and I'll explain," you say urgently.

"Only going to bed if you're coming with me," he murmers, squeezing your hip, "need m' pretty girl."

"Do you have advil?" You ask Quinn, ignoring Luke's statement, Quinn wisely chooses not to comment as he grabs advil and a glass of water.

You deposit luke on the bed, huffing from his weight. He pulls you down with a smirk. "Wait, baby, let me get your clothes," you say quickly.

Luke wiggles his eyebrows and lets you undress him. You strip him of his jeans and t-shirt leaving him in his boxers. "Be good and drink this for me," you say, sliding the advil into his mouth.

"I'm good for you, baby," he mutters after he swallows.

"So good for me," you assured as he slipped under the blanket. As soon as his head hits the pillow, his eyes are fluttering. " 'm tir'd."

You stroke his hair back from his forehead softly. "I know, baby, I know,"

"Still want you," he pouted.

"I know, baby, and you'll have me tomorrow. It's sleep time now, ok?"

"Mm'kay," he mumbles, barely audible. You stroke his hair and mutter sweet nothings to him as he falls asleep. You change into a pair of sweats and one of Luke's devils' hoodies before shutting the bedroom door with a quiet click.

Quinn is sitting on the couch, with two mugs of steaming tea. You flop onto the couch, leaning your back against the armrest and tucking your feet under his legs. He hands you a mug of tea, and you take it gratefully, holding it close to your face and letting the steam warm you.

"So what the fuck happened?" Quinn questions.

"After you left, Luke still wasn't back and I went to find him, I don't know what really happened on his end, but he said he was sad about his wrist, and someone convinced him alchool would make it better." You sigh, taking a sip of your tea.

"Anyways, by the time I got him, he had had six shots in the span of a half hour."

Quinns eyes practically bulge out of his head. He looks like he's running calculations in his head, and his jaw drops. "I know," you grimace, "I'm sorry, I should've watched him better, I knew he wasn't happy about his wrist, and I let him -"

"Hush, Y/n, it's not your fault. He's a big boy he knows what he's doing." Quinn says softly, drawing you into his arms.

"How did he even get drinks?" Quinn asks, "He's not 21."

"It's Canada," you mutter like that explains everything. And to Quinn, it does explain it all.

"Fucking Canada" he mutters shaking his head.

---

Hi guys!! I was very excited while writing this, so I hope y'all like it. Comment comment comment! I love comments, I wanna hear all your thoughts! They always make my day a bit brighter.

On that note, I'm going on a bit of a writing break for a week-ish cause schools getting a bit busy with midterms and final papers and whatnot. I'll still be active, tho (unless i feel like it's distracting, then I might fall off the face of the earth for a bit).

Anyways, with that, I hope y'all have a lovely, lovely evening. Love Soph ♡

#luke hughes #lh43 #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hughes brothers #quinn hughes #qh43 #elias pettersson #brock boeser #vancover canucks #nj devils #fuck fuck fucking fuckity fuck #megawatt ladykiller will be making a reappearance

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flaticeball · 5 months

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a jew review of: nhl team happy hanukkah posts

good evening and chag sameach to my hanukkah-celebrating pals out there on hockeyblr. today i bring you: a non-comprehensive and entirely subjective review from one (1) jewish hockey fan of the graphics posted by various nhl teams in celebration of the first night tonight. i definitely missed some, and some teams didn't post any at all, so it's a bit patchwork. here we go.

vancouver canucks: this is an extremely serviceable graphic. love the blurred dreidels to give the effect that they are spinning. very funny. props for the detail that there is a shadow of the menorah on the ice. straightforward. icemenorah is a themeTM but some did it better than others and this is a classic. 7/10

post continues under the cut for the sake of your dash and mine.

carolina hurricanes: obsessed with what the canes have done here though i cannot comprehend it. the weird techno style textured background. the out of focus magen david around. THE HURRICANES. IN HEBREW. WITH THE LITTLE CANES LOGO THING I FORGET THE NAME OF ON THE HEI? INCREDIBLE. points for creativity. overall baffling vibes. 6/10.

pittsburgh penguins: this is just adorable. you hired someone to draw this. spectacular work, guys. it's giving a bit of 'we browsed the target hanukkah deco section for inspo' but it's too adorable for me to care. it's team themed, it's hockey themed, it's holiday appropriate. love everything going on here. they get points for doing what very few other teams are doing and remembering this is night one, so only one candle is lit. most everyone else is getting a bit a head of themselves. 9/10.

washington capitals: and here we have another edition of the icemenorah, with a minimalist twist. this graphic screams 'oh fuck wait is that tonight' which to be fair is also how i, a jew, felt about realizing tonight was the first night of hanukkah. could'a done more, but it's perfectly fine. 6/10.

new jersey devils: this fucks. it's got devils themes. it's got a cool style. it's got vibes. it's got: more hockey stick menorahs which i am always excited about. that shamash candle is a graphic design nightmare but other than that i am all on board. 8/10

vegas golden knights: i love the gold foil effect and that you remembered there was more to hanukkah than candles, that's nice, as is involving the other affiliates! however. where are the vibes. this is not the vgk wishes you a chag sameach, this is a greeting card i got on etsy. 6/10 just bc i KNOW you can do better. where's the neon, babes.

los angeles kings: oh this is fun. it's icemenorah: WITH A TWIST. the art style is cute, it's got plenty of hockey theme, it's also very obviously LA-y, i'm giving them points for this one. the shadow is insane but that's okay, it's ~stylistic. it's cute. 7/10. UPDATE: definitely AI. boo hiss. 0/10.

montréal canadiens: this is probably my favourite for sheer vibes. you got: levitating icemenorah. you got: action-shot candle lighting. you got: remembering this is night ONE. you got: the implication that the torch is the shamash candle????? you got: JOYEUSE HANOUKKA!!!!!!!! (and like happy hanukkah or whatever i guess). obsessed. it's so funny. it's amazing. 9/10.

#long post #happy hanukkah besties here is: SOME THOUGHTS #chag sameach!!!#vancouver canucks #carolina hurricanes #pittsburgh penguins #washington capitals #new jersey devils #vegas golden knights #los angeles kings #montréal canadiens

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 2 days

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Caught the L-O-V-E

masterlist

note: writing nonsense outros is the funnest thing ever

warnings: none :)

word count: 980

♡ summary: Quinn only falls more and more in love after going to his girlfriends concert

♡ Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

request ✓

The team was excited. They had been since Y/n insisted on giving them free tickets, some of the guys even brought their wives or girlfriends that were big fans. They were sat in the VIP tent, a couple fans had come to say ‘hi’ and Quinn got a few friendship bracelets he knew Y/n would love to see on the ride home.

Suddenly the screen behind started a countdown, causing the crowd to scream in excitement. And when the number got to zero out came the woman of the hour came out singing the opening lyrics of the first song.

“Unexpected, this thing that we fell into

Like, so connected

You came at a time when my heart was selective”

When she came into the light Quinn could finally fully see her, he’d seen the outfit backstage before the show but it looked even better in the spotlight. Her short white skirt complemented her tan skin and puffed out at her hips to accentuate her hips.

This song was written at the start of their relationship, he knew Y/n was nervous about what would happen when they had to be long distance after they made it official, but after hearing her concerns Quinn made it his job to constantly call and make it work. And it did.

When the first song came to an end and when the cheering died down, Y/n started talking to the crowd. Even after performing for so long, and getting to bigger and better stages, talking to fans was still her favourite part of the show.

“Hello, Vancouver! It’s so nice to meet you all! But I just have to point out, during that first song I saw a sign! I think it was over here!” She walked across to the other side out the stage, reading the signs as she meant along, finally stopping when she found it, “Yeah here it is! The sign says ‘I’d never make you get on top’ and that is so kind thank you so much!”

Quinn had always admired Y/n stage presence, the way when she was on stage or in front of a camera all eyes were on her. And of course her ability to be effortlessly funny. He admired her as she continued to talk to fans and about the next song, he knew the setlist like the back of his hand so he didn’t listen too hard to the explanation since he lived it.

He more so paid attention to the smile that was on her face, she was in her element and he loved seeing her on stage, just like how she loves watching him play. Her hair cascaded down her back, the curls were shiny in the bright lights, her bangs were perfect as always as well as the pieces that framed her face beautifully.

What eventually broke him from his loving gaze was the crowd yelling the lyrics to a song written about him.

“He’s good for my heart, but he’s bad for business”

He admired her more, loving the sound of her voice and her subtle dance moves, mostly the sway of her hips. After that song song and many more it was the second to last song of the night. Really Quinn was just thankful that after this son he could go backstage and wait to meet Y/n as soon as she gets off.

“Think I only want one number in my phone!”

He loved watching his girl dance on stage to this song, he loved watching how much fun she had and how much fun the fans had singing along. He looked around at his group and it seemed the Canuck’s girls were having just as much fun. And the Canucks had fun patting Quinn on the back during the song.

“I caught the L-O-V-E

How do you do this to me?”

That, despite popular belief, was his favourite line of the song. Because it was when she first showed him this song that she said she loved him. Her own, right on brand, silly way of telling him and he loved her for that. She made it even better by looking at him while she sang it, neither told anyone of how they first said it, it was just between them.

“Woke up this morning thought I’d write a-!” “POP HIT”

“How quickly can you take your clothes off!” “POP QUIZ!”

Everyone quieted down when it got to the time of the outro, the most anticipated and shared part of the show.

“He said that I taste like sugar, he’s a little younger, don't call me a cougar, c’mon you know I love you, Vancouver!”

The words about his age caused him to lower his head, while shaking it, laughing under his breath and a rose colour coming to his cheeks. The security came over after the outro to escort him backstage. Which he was happy about since it meant he didn’t have to stick around for any teasing from his teammates.

He got to catch the last few lines of Y/n’s closing number from backstage, they directed him to where she was supposed to leave the stage so he could see her first. Which he did.

She yelled her goodbyes and sent for her kisses to the crowd as she disappeared backstage and as soon as she saw Quinn she ran to him, he lifted her up so her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms were around his neck, he supported her under her thighs.

“You were amazing, baby.” “Thank you. I love you!” “I love you too, so much. I’m so proud of you.”

She brought her face out of his neck and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, not caring about the crew that could see them, she only cared about him. And him about her.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x female reader #quinn hughes x fem!reader #quinn hughes x fem reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x famous!reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes imagine

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ijustreallylovethem · 4 months

Text

hectic schedules (i’ll be home for christmas)

quinn hughes x reader

words: 2,735

masterlist

your family had been friends with the hughes family ever since they moved next door to you in michigan. it worked well, with the parents all being about the same age, you and quinn in the same class, and your younger brother the grade between jack and luke. you quickly became accustomed to seeing the three boys out in the driveway or the street, hockey nets set up and pucks flying, your brother running out to join them. if it wasn’t too cold, you would sit on the porch and watch, enjoying the chaos of the game. sometimes, they would try to rope you in. you always refused. as much as you loved to watch, you would never play. you knew it would end in your feet rolling out from under you or being hit with a puck, neither of which sounded very fun.

there were times, however, when it would just be quinn outside by himself. you would see him in the driveway, shooting pucks on an empty net. so you would walk over and watch, make small talk about your assignments and the people in your class and the plans your families had made that weekend. once, he asked if you wanted to try, and held his stick out to you. you were nervous, you had never tried it before. he knew that, and he smiled.

“come here, let me show you.” he wrapped his arms around you from behind, showing you how to hold the stick and how to swing it. you almost shivered when he stepped away. you tried a few times, about half of the pucks going into the goal, and then jack and luke were running out of the house with their gear and asking where your brother was.

one thing you looked forward to every year was christmas. especially now that you were all in different places. you were still in michigan, jack and luke in new jersey, quinn in vancouver, and your brother had decided to go to ucla. your brother had been home for a week and you were already counting down the days until jack and luke would come home and get him out of your hair. as much as you loved him, he was annoying the shit out of you. luckily, three days before christmas, your phone was blowing up with texts from the boys, still trying to pull you into a game of street hockey. you walked outside to the porch, leaning on the railing.

“you guys play hockey for a living. do you not want a break from playing while you have a few days off?” they both shook their heads.

“quinn isn’t here yet, so we need you to step in,” jack tried to convince you, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“you want me, the person that has only stick handled once in her life, to step in for the captain of the vancouver canucks?” they nodded, as if this wasn’t a ridiculous request. “absolutely not.” they groaned, all three boys now trying to drag you into their game, but you stood your ground. you were opening your mouth to protest again when your phone rang from your back pocket. you recognized the ringtone instantly, and a smile covered your face. you pulled your phone up to your ear as you walked back inside, closing the door on the three distraught boys.

“hey quinny,” you spoke sweetly, the smile evident in your voice as you made your way to your room.

“hey y/n.” the two words were enough for you to hear the hurt in his tone and the smile instantly dropped from your face.

“what’s wrong?” he sighed, and you could practically see him running his hand through his hair.

“i uh… it’s looking like i’m not gonna make it home.” you had to take a second to process his words. he wasn’t going to make it home? this was the first time he would ever be away for christmas. if he didn’t come home, what would you do with his present that you had so meticulously picked out? what would you do about the fact that you were possibly planning to finally, finally tell him how you truly feel about him?

“what? why not?”

“our game schedule is shitty, a game tomorrow still and another one two days after christmas.both of them are away games. plus, now i’m captain so i have some extra stuff i have to do. i just don’t think i can get away.” you wiped away the tears that were welling up in your eyes before they could spill over onto your cheeks.

“oh,” was all you whispered, afraid that if you said more, your voice would give you away. you seemed to forget how well quinn knew you, though. as he was instantly doing damage control.

“hey, we’ll see each other soon, right? i’ll be in detroit middle of january. you’re still planning on coming?” you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“yeah.”

“we can go out for dinner after, you can stay in my hotel room if you want.” your chest hurt, the thought of not seeing quinn in two days like you hoped causing your throat to close up and the tears to fall.

“yeah. um, i have to go. my mom is calling for me. see ya.” you hung up without waiting for an answer, flopping onto your bed and burying your face into the pillow. the material absorbed most of your sobs, but it was soaked with your tears by the time you fell asleep, exhausted from the rush of emotions and the crying.

the next day was terrible. you woke up in a bad mood, not wanting to talk to anyone. you spent most of the morning in your bed and the afternoon on the couch. your eyes caught quinn’s present, which sat perfectly wrapped under the tree in the corner of the living room. the sight of it just soured your mood even more. no matter how upset you were, you would never purposely miss one of quinn’s games, so you made sure you had the broadcast up and ready to go. there were lots of highs and lows, but the canucks ended up winning. you sent quinn your normal text of congratulations and then turned off the tv, tucking yourself into bed.

the next day you only climbed out of bed to get yourself ready for the christmas eve activities. you did your hair and some light makeup, pulled on the outfit you had picked out a week ago, and sat down in front of your mirror. you took a deep breath.

“okay, quinn may not be here, and this may not be the best christmas eve ever, but you’re gonna go out there and pretend it is,” you said quietly to your reflection. you gazed into the mirror for a moment, then nodded to yourself and got up.

the doorbell rang as you walked into the living room so you detoured to the front door to open it. ellen stood there smiling, a bag full of presents in her hand. behind her was jim with a crockpot and jack and luke behind him. you stepped to the side, letting the family enter the house.

“you guys know where everything goes right? presents under the tree, food in the kitchen…” you stopped as jack walked past you. “what did you bring as your offering to enter?”

“myself. pretty great gift, right?” you rolled your eyes, closing the door behind luke once he was inside.

“self absorbed brat is what you are,” you mumbled.

“i heard that!” jack called after you as you walked into the kitchen. you made small talk with your mom and ellen as the three of you finished up the food. ellen asked about your job and you told her you were looking for a new one but not in any rush to leave what you had. you congratulated her on her new role and she beamed as she told you all about it. when dinner was ready and you were about to make that fact known to the boys, luke burst into the kitchen.

“dad said we can do gifts first this year.” ellen sighed.

“of course he did. alright, let’s go. time to open gifts i guess.” you giggled as you followed behind her, your mom turning burners to low and making sure the food was okay to sit for a bit. you squeezed yourself onto the couch between luke and your brother, jack on the other side of luke and your dads on the loveseat. ellen sat next to the tree, ready to do her job of present sorting and when your mom came in she took her spot next to ellen to pass out the gifts.

everyone did a great job this year, not doing too much but still managing to hit the nail right on the head. jack and luke had both gotten you some new jewelry, ellen and jim spoiling you with face masks and self care items. you watched as everyone opened your gifts, loving the look of enjoyment on their faces when they saw what they had received. only three gifts remained under the tree, and you knew they were all for quinn. looking at them just made your heart hurt, so you tore your gaze away.

“okay! time to eat!” your mom announced. the three boys sharing the couch with you were immediately up, pushing each other to be the first to get to the kitchen. you, however, carefully put all of your presents in one bag and took your time cleaning up the tissue paper. you looked up confused when the front door opened, your mouth falling open slightly when your eyes met quinn’s.

“did you guys start without me?” he asked, a smile on his face.

“quinn?” ellen peeked around the corner, confirming that the voice she heard was, in fact, her oldest.

“merry christmas!” she was immediately back in the room, pulling him into a hug. jim wasn’t far behind and neither were jack and luke. you stood from your spot on the couch, but hung back out of the way of the family reunion. it wasn’t until quinn turned toward you that you finally spoke to him.

“i thought you weren’t able to make it.”

“found a last minute flight,” he shrugged. you couldn’t help yourself from practically jumping into his arms, taking a moment to just breathe him in.

“i’ve missed you so much.” he chuckled into your hair.

“i’ve missed you too. did you do presents already?”

“yours are still under the tree.” you pulled away just enough to look over at where his three presents sat.

“i’ll get to them. but i want you to open yours.” he pulled away from you, turned to the bag he had dropped when he walked in and pulling out a neatly wrapped box.

“let me get yours!” you were quick to run over and retrieve the gift, then sit next to him on the couch. you held the box out to him, taking the one he held out to you. it was big but light for its size.

“you first.” you smiled, pulling open the wrapping paper and then sliding the lid off the box. you smiled as you started to pull out the contents. on top was a tie blanket, two different fabrics tied together around the edges. “it took a while but i made two, one for me and one for you. and the canucks logo fabric is for me and the michigan logo is for you.”

“you went to michigan too,” you teased.

“yeah well, you actually graduated.” you set the blanket to the side then pulled out some of your favorite candy. you glanced up at quinn with a smile and then kept going. next was a small wrapped box, and you knew what was inside. quinn had gotten you a charm bracelet for christmas when you turned 18 and every year since then, a new charm has been included in your present.

“what could this be this year?” you wondered aloud. you ripped off the paper and opens the box, gasping lightly at the small 43 charm inside.

“so i’ll always be with you,” quinn said softly. you smiled up at him.

“i’ll put it on while you open yours.” there was one last thing in the box, covered by a few pieces of tissue paper. “what did you hide down here?” you asked, and quinn just laughed. you pulled the paper back, your smile growing at what lay underneath.

“figured you needed an updated jersey to wear to my games,” he said, as you pulled out a captain quinn hughes black skate jersey.

“i did. i love it.” you leaned in, pulling him into a hug the best you could with the box and the pile of things surrounding you. “thank you so much.”

“there’s actually something i wanted to ask you after you opened my gift,” quinn said, causing you to pout.

“but i want you to open mine!” he smiled, nodding.

“okay, but after i open yours.” you clapped, then started to place everything back in the box.

“okay,” you said, setting the box on the ground, “open it.” you watched as he carefully pulled the paper off the gift, balling it up and tossing it on the coffee table. he slid the top off the shoebox you had placed it in, and then pulled the book out.

“a scrapbook?”

“look inside!” you urged. quinn flipped open the cover and was met with pictures of the two of you, only a day after meeting. the pages were beautiful, telling a story and filled with memorabilia. he laughed at the picture of you on the ground, skates on your feet, and a bloody knee. you had written a caption next to it: “just one game, i promise you won’t get hurt.” that’s what quinn had told you ten minutes prior to the picture being taken. he smiled at the ticket stubs taped to the pages, for various movies, hockey games, and other places you had gone over the years. he ran his fingers over the dried flower petals of the corsage he gave you for prom, right next to the cringy pictures ellen had made you both take. you had even included the letter he wrote you when he went off to vancouver, not wanting to leave you without saying goodbye but knowing he would never be able to get his words together well enough in person.

“this is… holy shit, this is amazing!”

“you really think so?” you asked, looking down at the pages. “we’ve been through so much so there was a lot to include but in times like this, being a memory hoarder comes in handy i guess.” quinn was silent, and you assumed he was reading the letter, just like you were. but no, he was staring at you, trying to figure out if he should say something or just go for it. he decided on the former.

“y/n.” when you looked up at him, dreamy smile on your face, all thoughts went out the window. he cupped your cheeks, pulling your lips to his. he tried to convey everything he was feeling into the kiss, but he was feeling a lot. so instead, he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours.

“quinn…”

“what i was going to talk to you about, before you demanded that i open my present and make me fall even more in love with you,”

“you’re in love with me?” you asked, pulling away to look at him with wide, happy eyes.

“i am. and i want you to be mine because i don’t think i can go another day without you being more than my best friend.”

“i don’t think i can go another day like that either,” you admitted. he smiled, then pulled you back into a kiss, though this one was softer.

“i love you, y/n y/l/n.”

“i love you too, quinn hughes.” you could vaguely hear your mom failing to whisper something about “finally happening” from the kitchen, but you didn’t care at the moment. you had your boy the way you had always wanted him, and that was all you needed.

#quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #raegan’s advent calendar

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wintfleur · 5 months

Note

pictures that remind you of luke and stella? i love their sibling bond

ꔫ pictures that remind me of stella and luke

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( Tysm for requesting! I’m so happy you love there bond! I do too! It was fun looking for pictures of them! )

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ stella and Luke’s photo gallery ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

.❀。they were genuinely the cutest kids, they always spent so much time together. Luke is a great big brother to Stella, always by her side and making sure she’s okay. This picture is taken when they family went out together. Stella was running after her older brothers who were playing tag, and stella tripped and fell and scratched up her knee. Poor Stella was crying as her dad cleaned her cuts, Stella stoped crying once Luke sat by her and held her hand. Luke kissed her cheek to make her feel better and Ellen just had to take a picture of the cute moment. 📸 by Ellen Hughes

.❀。these two are always falling asleep in the car. This picture was taken after the siblings decided to spend all day together, and after the fun day and the nice dinner the two youngest passed out in the back of the car, absolutely wrecked. Jack couldn’t help but laugh at how cute they looked and he snapped a picture to send in the group chat. Quinn definitely got onto Jack for having the flash on, saying that he could have woke them up. 📸 by Jack Hughes

.❀。(when I saw this picture it just screamed luke and Stella) Stella wasn’t in school yet, but she would go with her parents to take her siblings to school, and would always be there to greet them when they get home from school. Ugh Stella is so cute. This picture is when stella forgot to zip up her jacket and Luke made her stop so he could zip it up for her, saying that she can’t get sick 📸 by Jim Hughes

.❀。Ellen loved dressing luke and Stella up when they were younger and before they could complain. Everyone always assumed they that they were twins because they were almost always matching when they were little. They also always had a habit of holding hands, not wanting to loose each other 📸 by Ellen Hughes

.❀。as the youngest they were always the ones who enjoyed baking with there mom the most, and the ones that were always there to help. There’s always two moods in the kitchen with them, calm and sweet as they bake or chaotic, there’s never a middle ground. They love sneaking ingredients to eat, almost always blaming it on Jack. It’s funny because they never let Jack sneak cookie dough, but they always let Quinn have some. Stella kinda takes charge of the recipes and she leaves anything that involves the oven to Luke, she has a fear of the oven (Jack told her a scary story when she was little about falling into a oven, and it stuck with her) Stella and Luke loving baking together 📸 by Cole Caufield

.❀。Stella loves walking, but she gets tired from walking a lot. So Luke is always there to give her a piggyback ride. Sometimes Stella doesn’t even have to ask, he can tell when she’s getting tired so he just stops in front of her and motions for her to get on his back. Stella loves piggyback rides, especially from Luke because he’s so tall. 📸 by mark estapa

.❀。Stella and Luke can get pretty competitive with each other and Stella likes to prove that she can do anything that he can. So after Luke easily held Stella up she decided to try, they both couldn’t help but laugh as she tried, this picture was taken seconds before Luke fell on top of her. Let’s just say both of there stomachs were hurting from how hard they laughed 📸 by Trevor Zegras

.❀。Luke and Stella decided to go and visit Quinn in Vancouver, and let’s just say Stella wasn’t so happy when Quinn decided to wake them up early for breakfast. Luke found Stella’s grumpy mood hilarious and enjoyed teasing her all morning 📸 by Quinn Hughes

.❀。these two absolutely destroy each other in the snow, they show no mercy when they have snowball fights. They could be making a snowman together and then the next minute full on tackling each other in the snow. They could spend hours playing in the snow but sadly they are always told to come back inside after a little 📸 by Rutger McGroarty

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I LOVE THEM SM! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @bradenschneider @cixrosie )

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨👩🏻‍🎨୧˚ stella hughes au!#💌stellahughes!#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #hughes brothers #hughes sister #jack hughes #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #umich imagine

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hopelesslys-world · 10 months

Text

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 1

Pairing: Christian Grey x innocent!reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

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*𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐈 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐈𝐍 the reflection of the mirror. Damn my hair—it just won’t behave! And also damn Isabella Clark for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission.

I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at my reflection in the mirror, you blow dry your hair into oblivion and with the help of some hairspray you managed to put your soft curls into place.

Now you finally look somewhat presentable.

Bella is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered.

I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no–today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious—much more precious than mine–but he has granted Bella an interview. A real coup, she tells me.

Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Bella is huddled on the couch in the living room. “Y/N, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Bella begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice.

How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go Bella. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?”

“Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Bella, would I do this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks Y/N/N – as usual, you’re my lifesaver.”

Gathering my things, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Bella talk me into this. But then Bella can talk anyone into anything.

She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Bella’s lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK.

I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Mercedes is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors.

It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimidating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see Mr. Grey. Y/N Y/L/N for Isabella Clark.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Y/L/N.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Bella’s formal blazers.

My outfit definitely didn't suit for something like this, but at the same time I've neve done anything like this.

I love my skirts, basically all of my closet is filled with skirts, dresses, sweaters and the occasional jeans and formal pants.

For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Miss Clark is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Y/L/N. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators pastthe two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby – again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and white who rises to greet me.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my bag, and go through them, inwardly cursing Bella for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty.

The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Y/N. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss Y/L/N?” the latest blonde asks.

“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident.

“Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your coat?”

“Oh please.” I struggle out of the long black coat.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Um – no.”

Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Y/L/N a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

“My apologies, Miss Y/L/N, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you.”

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Grey.”

I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!

“Good afternoon ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding door.

“Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Y/L/N. Do go through,” Blonde Number Two says.

I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my bag, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock – just go in.” She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through the impressively giant office. I notice a man his face hidden behind the computer. But in a moment he raises his head and approaches me.

That's when I see his face.

Holy Cow, his young nothing like I'd imagined him.

“Miss Clark” He extends a long-fingered hand to me. “I’m Christian Grey.”

So young – and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

“Um. Actually–” I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static.

I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. “Miss Clark is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Grey.”

“And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m studying English Literature with Bella, um… Isabella… um… Miss Clark at Washington State.”

“I see,” he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I’m not sure.

“Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.

His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

“A local artist. Trouton,” says Grey when he catches my gaze.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Y/L/N,” he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the person who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Bella’s questions from my bag.

Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Y/L/N,” he says.

“Do you mind if I record your answers?”

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?”

I flush. He’s teasing me? I hope. I smile shyly, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Bella, I mean, Miss Clark, explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.”

Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree.

I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

“Good,” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Mr. Grey.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“I thought you might,” he says, deadpan. He’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss Y/L/N, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare.

“My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Bella’s list – but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Y/L/N. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing theirenergies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’ ”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Y/L/N,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak.

“I employ over forty thousand people Miss Y/L/N. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility. “Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he’s so arrogant. I change tack.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Miss Y/L/N.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.”

And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.”

He shifts in his chair. “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss Y/L/N, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance quickly at Bella’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable?

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me. “Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?” I ask, intrigued by that information.

“Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Bella’s list.

“I’m a very private person, Miss Y/L/N. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews,” he trails off.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Clark off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”

I know how tenacious Bella can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss Y/L/N, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”

He shrugs, very non-committal. “It’s shrewd business,” he shrugs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense – feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle. I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over.

Surely Bella has enough material now? I glance at the next question.“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows. “I have no way of knowing.”

My interest is piqued.

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Y/L/N.” His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap.

Yes of course – if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly.

“You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” He’s terse.

“Sorry.” I squirm, and he’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Shoot. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I’m just reading the questions?

Damn Bella and her curiosity!

“No Y/N, I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does

not look pleased.

“I apologize. It’s um… written here.” It’s the first time he’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

He cocks his head to one side.

“These aren’t your own questions?”

The blood drains from my head. Oh no.

“Err… no. Bella – Miss Clark – she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame. “No. She’s my roommate.”

He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. “Did you volunteer to do this interview?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I’m compelled to answer with the truth.

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She’s appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It’s not just me.

“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

“Where were we, Miss Y/L/N?”

Oh, we’re back to ‘Miss Y/L/N’ now.

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” His gray eyes are alight with curiosity.

Where’s he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting. I swallow.

“There’s not much to know,” I say, flushing again.

“What are your plans after you graduate?”

I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seattle with Bella, find a place, find a job. I haven’t really thought beyond my finals.

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze. “We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job? “Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I answer, completely confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

Oh no. I’m musing out loud again.

“Why do you say that?” He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde.

“Not to me,” he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers.

What’s going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

“Would you like me to show you around?” he asks.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It’s begun to rain. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” His tone is stern, authoritative.

Why should he care? “Did you get everything you need?” he adds.

“Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my bag. His eyes narrow, speculatively.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever.

As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.

“Until we meet again, Miss Y/L/N.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown.

When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Mr. Grey.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

“Allow me to escort you outside.” He gives me a small smile.

He's so polite now.

“Sure, Mr. Grey,” I smile, and his smile widens. Together, we walk into the foyer. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

“Did you have a coat?” Grey asks.

“Yes.” Olivia leaps up and retrieves my black, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on.

Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his.

The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. His burning gray eyes gaze at me.

“Y/N,” he says as a farewell.

“Christian,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

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[ series masterlist ]

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painted-bees · 6 months

Text

part i

Hitting a cafe during rush hour wasn’t Raf’s definition of a fun idea, and he was well practised in the art of saying ‘no’. Yet, for some reason or another, that skill failed to find him when the wide-eyed little Portasound busker insisted on treating him to a coffee.

The streets outside Granville Station were abuzz with traffic of all kinds. The wide sidewalks were, at least, accommodating to the amount of pedestrians that relied on them during the city’s busiest times of day. The same could not be said for the roads as cars rolled slowly forward, bumper to bumper. Still, the ambience was manageable despite all the bustle. Only the hissing, honking noises of transit bus breaks would coax the occasional wince out of him in their random, unpredictable intervals.

The little Portasound busker, ‘Magritte’, kept up beside him in lock step. She hadn’t stopped talking since they began their walk together and, in honesty, he preferred it that way. She was a disheveled little thing, more than a head shorter than he was. Her manner of dress was as sloppy as the thick bundle of curly, dark red hair that flopped loosely atop her head. Her grey sweater was several sizes too large, covering her to the knees. With sleeves that hung far past her hands if she didn’t scrunch them in her palms. Black leggings were tucked into knock-off ugg boots whose soles had eroded so severely on the outer edge, Raf was concerned she’d roll an ankle if he made her walk too briskly. She smiled so vehemently as she spoke, that her lips rarely closed around consonants, making it difficult to understand her at times.

“–so when my dad was like, ‘you can stay here and work, or you can move out and do your music stuff’, I moved out. That was like…oh–almost three years! I was eighteen. I just turned twenty-one today!” She accompanied that last sentence with a joyful little skip that caused Raf to turn his head and watch her.

“Well, happy birthday.” He exhaled a small laugh. “Vancouver’s an expensive place to live, but house hunting here probably already gave you the full story on that.”

“Rent’s insane,” Magritte echoed his small chuckle. “But the weather’s way more agreeable in the winter, which is what I’m after. And the music scene! I heard there were tons of musicians in Van, and look–I’ve already met two in the first few hours of being here!”

“Oh, you’ll meet more.” The way he said it made it sound more cautioning than he intended and he diffused it with a snort. “Guess the music stuff must have paid off after all, if you can afford a place in the city.”

There was silence between them and Magritte chewed the nail of her forefinger for a moment. “It actually hasn’t, I’m not a professional musician by any means. I’m just really good at finding a lot of short term work and stuff. Sometimes it’s music related, but not often enough to call it a living.”

“Mmh.” Raf glanced down at her. The bounce in her step had vanished and he watched her chew on her lip beneath a knitted brow. With a shrug he said, “You sounded good in the station, all things considered. You stopped, you listened, you came in at appropriate moments, you improvised really well. The pieces I played weren’t really…great for busking…and demanded a lot more than what your little keyboard could reasonably provide, but even your rests were composed and natural. You didn’t drop off abruptly any time the melody brought you past the range of your keys, you played into it.” He smirked. “I’m not gonna lie and say we did a great justice to Paganini today or anything, but I was very surprised by what you were able to pull off. I dunno, seemed like the chops of a professional to me.”

That brought the bounce back into her step, though she continued to chew on her lower lip. Raf was content to see her spirits buoyed at least somewhat by his sentiments. He hadn’t embedded a single white lie into his assessment.

They arrived at the cafe of his choosing; a popular spot, very near to the station, named Caffe Artigiano. The outside seating was full up with patrons, but Raf hoped the inside would be a quieter space to sit anyways. Opening the door, he followed Magritte in. It was busier than he would have liked, but he couldn’t have expected differently, considering the hour. Still, one thing he appreciated about the place was that it did not play music. Only the sound of numerous quiet conversations filled the air. Raf gravitated towards a freshly vacated table in a far corner, and Magritte followed him to it. Her gaze hung on the coffee menu that loomed above the counter.

He waited for Magritte to pick her seat before gently offloading his violin case onto the seat across from her. “I’ll go order. Was it a latte you said you wanted?”

“Actually…” She let out an indecisive little sigh. “A mocha, I think. I want…choco. Oh, but–!” She dropped her duffel bag onto the ground before unzipping a side pouch and pulling out the twenty dollar bill that had found its way into her upturned ball cap at the station. She held it out to him. “With this! Please?”

He hesitated before taking the bill from her. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no point in telling her that the twenty had been his before it became hers. The thought was what mattered.

The line at the counter wasn’t long, despite the busy patronage, and Raf soon returned to their table and evicted his violin case out of the seat across from Magritte. Finding an unused chair from a nearby table, he pulled it up next to him and sat his carrying case on it.

He reached over the table to hand Magritte the change, and she stared at it blankly for a moment before saying, “–Oh!” with a bit of a start. She turned her palm up to receive it.

Magritte stuffed the money back into the pocket of her duffel bag. “So, Question.” She sat back up and looked to Raf. “You say you’re not a professional, but you sound like...you know…Properly trained, or whatever.”

“Mmh.” It was a predictable topic, but not one he wanted to stay on. “Or whatever.” He laughed. “Yeah. Parents pushed it onto me a little too hard. I’ve got the training, but playing it is a chore and I kinda hate it.”

Magritte’s eyes grew wide and rueful and she shrank against the backrest of her chair. “Wait, really?” She covered her face with the sleeves of her sweater and threw her head back with a guilty little groan. “I’m sorry, I made you play so many songs!”

Raf patted the air in front of him in a placating gesture, “No, no. You didn’t make me do anything, relax.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I did that to myself. I meant it, though, when I said it was fun. It was the first time in a long while where I actually enjoyed myself once things got going.”

Magritte drew in a deep breath, recollecting herself before tentatively asking, “Enough that you’d wanna do it again sometime?”

A beleaguered laugh escaped him, “No.” He had given her much of his time and energy already, and being asked for more put a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrival of his iced americano and her hot mocha couldn’t have been better timed. As soon as it was placed in front of him, he brought the drink to his lips and took a long sip.

Magritte sheepishly turned her gaze down to admire the little white hearts in the foam of her coffee before she started to drink it. She placed the cup back down but kept both hands curled around it. “Did you enjoy it when you were younger?”

“Music?” Raf shrugged. “I don’t remember. It doesn’t really matter.” His gaze turned down towards her duffel bag as he grasped for a better topic. “Is your main instrument the piano?”

“Yeah! It’s what I had access to, growing up.”

“Who taught you?”

“Oh, I, uh…mostly just the internet and stuff. My parents didn’t wanna waste money on it, and my highschool didn’t have like…a music class or anything. Just choir. None of my friends played music.”

“...You learned online?”

“Well, like…on Myspace and LiveJournal. Lots of people share what they know there, and I made some really good online friends who tried to teach me things. We’d share music with each other and do weekly challenges and stuff. It was fun.”

“So, self-taught, more or less.”

“Mostly. Oh, except–!” Magritte ducked down to unzip the main pocket of her duffel bag and dove her hands into it. She rummaged around until she produced a small mp3 player and earbuds attached by a chord. “There was a year when I was living in Montreal, my girlfriend was a jazz pianist. And then we met other, um…friends who taught me more in that one year than I think I ever learned in my entire life. It was her and a whole lotta horns. They all let me use their instruments and taught me proper technique and stuff. I think they liked watching me stubbornly struggle with it. In the end, I was only able to record one song before I had to, um, move on. But I’m still kinda proud of it. I dunno if you wanna–it’s instrumental and kinda eclectic, but I loved making it.”

In response, Raf extended his hand, and Magritte spent a second scrolling through her library of mp3s before stuffing the little music device and earbuds into his open palm.

She performed an excited little wiggle in her seat as Raf wordlessly placed an earbud into his ear. “Just hit play, and it should be the right song.”

Raf wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear. He was, at least, perfectly comfortable with listening and offering his honest input. He didn’t believe in ‘bad’ music. There was skilled and unskilled music, there was music that fit his tastes and music that really didn’t. But none of it was bad. All music created deserved to be created and allowed to exist–if only for the satisfaction of the musician who produced it. He was prepared to tell her that the best music she could make is the music she enjoyed making, even if it didn’t resonate with his personal tastes. He pressed ‘play’.

What hit his ear was an uptempo half-time funk sound carried on a unison horn line; crystal clear, well mixed, high quality audio. Right from the jump, the sound had a quirky, catching character. He fitted the other earbud into his ear as a sustained note leapt into an energetic, off-beat ska groove. His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to discern the instrumentation. The drum fill might have been digital, but the winds sounded far too dynamic to be synthetic. And there were…three of them; the two horns he couldn’t quite specify, and then a baritone sax. The horns took centre stage, confident and playful, supported by a jaunty walking bassline and synthetic, bubbly organ accompaniment. Despite its G minor key signature, the character of the piece was lively and a little goofy, smart but playful; it was simply–fun. A smile lit across his face as the melody modulated G minor into G Phrygian for the bridge section. The effect was a jesting ooh gonna getcha vibe.

He listened to the end of the song before he began to comment on it. “Very cool. Your jazz friends weren’t sleeping on their music theory classes. I assume the organ is you?”

Magritte shifted nervously in her seat as her thumb smoothed over the handle of her coffee cup in small, repeated strokes. “I borrowed instruments for this one and recorded it in…um, my girlfriend’s parents' house. They had a music room where I was allowed to record things.”

“You borrowed–right. But the horns..?”

“Yeah.”

Raf levelled a measuring stare at her.

“I recorded each instrument separately,” she began explaining, “It’s uh, piano, trumpet, trombone, and–oh! The baritone sax was played by Sadie, one of my, um…jazz friends.” She let out a weak laugh. “And then, like…a bass, I also played. And a synthetic drum fill ‘cus…none of us knew how to actually play drums.”

“You played each instrument? Learned them and recorded this song within the span…of a year?”

“No, just the trumpet and trombone! I already knew piano and bass.” Confusion must have been apparent on Raf’s face, and she tried to address it by saying, “It’s all digitally processed, so it sounds a little more–”

“No, I–I know that.” Raf massaged an eyebrow with one hand. “You’re the songwriter too, I assume?” His tone was a little more sharp than he’d have liked it to be. It betrayed his incredulity.

Magritte picked up her cup and eyed him nervously over the rim as she sipped from it.

“No, I don’t know how.” She sounded embarrassed. “I can’t read or write music. I just sketched a bunch of it out digitally first, and then–”

“Fresh compositions? By ear?”

“Yeah. And then I recreated it with the correct instrumentation.” She chewed on the nail of her thumb. “It works, I think.”

“That’s still songwriting. It counts.” Raf sniffed and leaned back in his seat. “I gotta be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s a little hard to believe.”

Magritte’s nervousness dissolved into a flattered grin. “Yeah?”

Raf’s brow twitched downward as he tried to read past her demeanour. He had expected a more sheepish response, if not a more defensive one. His doubt wasn’t intended as a compliment, but if she were being wholly honest with him, perhaps it made sense that she’d take it as one.

He drained the last of his americano. “So, you’re not pursuing this professionally, because..?”

“Oh, I am!” Magritte shrugged and turned her eyes to the upper right corner of the room. “It’s just been kinda…difficult.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” It was a stupid question he already knew the answer to. Music was more easy to find nowadays than ever before, but discoverability still relied on knowing how to promote the work and get the right ears onto it. And, across the entire spectrum of skill, this is what everyone tended to blame for the inability to live off their–

“Money.”

“M–!” The response was so sudden and matter-of-fact in tone, Raf couldn’t stop a bark of surprised laughter from escaping him. He’d have laughed the same way if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

Magritte slapped her palms down on the table and leaned forward with wide eyes to state her defence. “Instruments are expensive, lessons are expensive, computers are expensive, software and sound libraries are expensive! Everything’s so expensive!” She slumped back in her seat, turning her palms over in an exasperated gesture. “If I could afford to go to school and actually like–learn music, and if I could afford to rent instruments and recording equipment and stuff, I could make more songs! I could upload like…whole albums! I’ve got all these doodles with my shitty midi libraries and they might sound actually good if I could just record them properly! But it’s been like…four years since I left home, and the only properly produced track I have to show for it is that one.” She flopped her hand towards the mp3 player on the table. “So, I just make my little digital doodles, and I come up with tunes that suit the sounds I have access to. I like it. I’m happy I get to make any music at all, but it’s a bit niche, you know? And I have all these other ideas in my head that need like…better, less…synthetic sounds. There are libraries that sound pretty convincing, but all the best ones are…expensive. And vocals are hard to record with the stuff I’ve got.”

Raf held up his hands in effort to placate her. “No, I know, you’re right–money. I just–” It wasn’t a struggle he had ever faced, and he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a heel over the fact that he hadn’t even considered it as an obstacle to the extent that she was describing it.

“On the other hand,” Magritte’s voice took on a capitulating tone, “With the right skill, I should be able to produce bangers with whatever I’ve got, yeah? And,” she took up her coffee cup in one hand, staring into its contents, “if I was better at saving money, I’d be able to afford those really good sample libraries just fine, probably. I just like my sweet foamy lattes too much.” She sighed a little laugh at herself.

Raf let out a low groan of disagreement, but didn’t elaborate on it. “I kinda…want to listen to those ‘digital doodles’ you mentioned.” If nothing else, it’d give him an idea of how much input her jazz friends had over the composition of the song he heard. If the obvious compositional prowess flexed in that fun-loving jazzy ska piece were completely absent in her little sketches, he wouldn’t chalk it up to being just a fluke.

Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, Margritte reached for the mp3 player and scrolled through its contents before handing it to Raf. “You can just skip through these as you like. It’s all a little–” She wrinkled her nose and let out a grunt in place of any real adjective.

With an affirming little snort of his own, Raf took the little music player and put the earbuds into his ears once more. He pressed play, and immediately understood what she meant. The synthetic instrumentation was wholly lacking in dynamics, and the musical ideas present in the melodies begged for more colourful phrasing. As he skipped from one song to the next, he grew more frustrated. The compositional writing was good. Consistent with the first song he had heard, Magritte seemed to really love playing with eccentric progressions and modulations that were unconventional for the mood or emotion that the song was attempting to capture. And ever present in each little composition was this boundless sense of joy. But god, the instrumentation (or rather, the lack thereof) really, really held it all back.

As he listened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, with a low groan that betrayed his thoughts, he took out the earbuds and handed the music player back. “Yeah, that sucks.” The end of that statement stuck in his throat as he sputtered to clarify, “Not the music–”

“Yes, the music.” Magritte’s giggle was one of genuine affirmation as she tucked the mp3 player away into her duffle bag.

“No,” Raf argued, “your toolset. There’s a lot of skill here, but the cheap synthy sounds aren’t doing it any favours. You went absolutely ham on those horns in the first song, and I don’t hear any of that in these sketches because it’s just not possible. There’s a lot of energy that is just…missing. Even watching you play at the station, yeah your keyboard suffers the same limitations, but at least in person I noticed you’ll even make use of like…the percussion of your fingers hitting the keys, which, you know…is dynamic.”

As he spoke, Magritte retained a smile and provided small nods before asking, “You like it, then?”

Raf leaned back, folded his arms and chewed on the question for a second before replying, “Yeah. I do. A lot.”

A lot.

There was a corner of his mind that begged him to get back home to his apartment and try out the melodies with an instrument that could do it proper justice. Jesus Christ, this actually makes me want to play the violin.

The realisation made his lip curl with a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite identify. “You know…”

Magritte, taking the last remaining sips of her latte, turned her eyes up at him with a little “Hm?”

There was a pause while Raf wrestled with himself. “I, uh…work at a recording studio not too far from here. Just down on uh…Powell Street.” He felt his jaw clench. There was no good reason for him to tell strangers about where he worked. There was no possible good outcome in doing so. Mentioning it felt too much like an open invitation for her to pop in at any time, for no good reason at all except to make things uncomfortable. “It’s called Hi-Note, and it’s got like…a pretty standard assortment of instruments to rent out and such. It closes early.” He wasn’t looking at her. Brow furrowed, he stared at the ice melting in his otherwise empty glass. “Swing by tomorrow night, after eight, and maybe we can jam for like..half an hour or something before I head home.”

He didn’t glance up to see her expression, but her voice was slow to rise to his ears. “..Wait, really?”

No. “Yeah.” What the fuck? “Really.” Unable to unfurrow his brow, he managed to at least turn his gaze towards her. Her eyes were so large on that petite face of hers, and her lips parted slightly, muscles tense with the anticipation of some kind of catch or condition. Or, perhaps she had picked up on his apprehension and was waiting for him to revoke the offer. For some reason, the idea of doing so suddenly felt…unconscionable to him.

In a small voice, she said, “I’d really like that.” The restraint of her response was belied by the way she wiggled in her chair. Beneath the table, her leg wagged restlessly like an excited dog’s tail. “Eight o’clock?”

“Mmhm.” Raf felt some of the tension in his browline relax as a slight smile passed his lips. “Let's see if we can revisit some of those tunes you have. Just–for fun. No recording, nothing serious.”

It seemed that Magritte could never keep a smile off her face for long, and once again, that broad, delighted grin of hers painted her features. “Yeah, yeah! I’d like that a lot!”

“Alright then.” Raf knocked his knuckles twice on the table like a gavel, before standing up.

As he reached to retrieve his violin case off the chair next to him, Magritte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Hi-Note, eight o’clock.”

Raf favoured her with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. I’ll see you there!”

He provided her with an affirmative little wave, but by the time she had realised he was taking his leave, Raf was already halfway to the door.

He heard her call out to him, “Thank you for the–um–everything!”

Looking back to her, Raf returned the sentiment with an appreciative nod before pushing through the cafe doors; exiting onto the busy sidewalk outside.

He wanted to get home before sundown…

To play his violin.

#Hi-Note #I'm not a very good writer I don't paint very well with words haha but this is at least one way to get the scenes outta my head!#rafael #magritte

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beyondthisdarkhouse · 25 days

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Well, I just got VERY distracted.

I was researching wholesale sewing supplies companies, and came across one from Eastern Canada that showed their shipping policies and times, which included a map like... this.

I've simplified the colours from the original, but not the positions of anything. And that made me DISTRACTED, because like... if you have also spent time staring at road maps of the prairie provinces, let me ask you: what the entire actual fuck, eh?

Let's superimpose. (Click for better resolution)

This map is sus in so many ways I can't even explain what went wrong here. The northern shore of Lake Athabasca gets faster shipping than Winnipeg? Kindersley is a priority destination, but Regina isn't? Edmonton has been usurped by (*reads smudged writing on hand*) Edson? The best shipping in Alberta is not centrered around Calgary, but, like... Nordegg? It's not on the map, but I swear to god it's fucking Nordegg. Also, who the hell did Saskatchewan have to fuck to get that kind of relative priority? (Come to think about it, though, if I were in charge of Saskatchewan, I'd absolutely sell my honour for some kind of rural logistics boost. What else would I do with it?)

And I wouldn't mind, except that this is the map that tells me how fast my shipping is gonna be! This is the only indicator on their website that lets me know whether my shit will arrive tomorrow, or a week from now!

(Okay, self. Deep breaths. I'm getting a bit upset and overblown here. It's okay. Clearly my shit wouldn't arrive until the next business week whether I lived in the Pembina Valley or not.)

So, in the larger map, Ontario, Nova Scotia, Vancouver, and Victoria are all where they ought to be. But what if, I don't know, these shipping zones were the right size and shape, but just in the wrong place?

I'd still be desperately curious to know what Saskatchewan did. And if I had to accept them, I'd guess they'd be more like...

If I'm right, clearly it's not just one thing wrong with them. They're not off in similar directions or amounts. At which point my only explanation would be that, like... someone started out with a shitty map, compressed the image, and then tried to blow it back up into a regular image again. And then it happened three more times, if not more.

MY FELLOW CANADIANS: DO BETTER

That's it that's my post. I wash my hands of the subject and will focus on suppliers from BC.

Except, just for fun, Saskatchewan's suspiciously spacious shipping corridor (what a great new tongue-twister!) with some European scale for spice.

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sc0tters · 7 months

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Wanna Bet | Quinn Hughes

summary: when Quinn tries to put you in your place it lands him in your sheets.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, oral (fem receiving!), p in v, swearing, choking.

word count: 2.51k

authors note: okay I liked this smut like way more than the Luke one from this morning. Quinn with enemies to lovers is something I don’t remember writing before but this was fun so we are gonna allow it.

Seeing Quinn always felt weird to you.

Since the moment you joined the Canucks you two just didn’t seem to get on, the constant bickering was enough to make anyone want to avoid you both. So eventually you both just accepted the fact that you were destined to be colleagues who tolerated each other. It was a silent yet assumed to be mutual agreement.

Yet it seemed that Quinn felt like testing that agreement as you were walking to your car as you were only meant to be working during the first groups practice session. Quinn had been apart of it and with what felt like the worst practice of his life especially after getting the C when you started asking him questions about his performance it only felt like a twist of the knife.

Quinn swore he was seeing red as he was hot on your tail “what the hell was that today y/n?” He spat as the door to the rink shut behind him.

You two were the only ones in the parking lot as you sighed “Quinn I did my job-” you spun around to explain it to him when you realised just how close he was to you.

The hockey player sent you a glare “your job is not to make me look like an idiot.” He pointed out crossing his arms that tightened as he was still in his compression shirt due to the rush he was in to get to you “don’t need to do that when you seem to do it all by yourself.” You flashed him a sarcastic smile as you turned back to your car where your face quickly dropped to a frown.

Quinn furrowed his eyes seeing that you had stopped “you forgotten how to walk to your car or something now?” The boy smirked “forgot to plug my car in.” You pointed out as you walked over to the plug your car into its charging station.

He couldn’t help but laugh “c’mon,” the hockey player motioned to you to follow him “you think I’m going home with you then you’ve got another thing coming Hughes.” Your eyes formed a glare as he walked over to you “princess I hate to be the one to tell you that it’s starting to rain so without me you’re shit out of luck right now.” Quinn’s harsh words made you look up at the sky to see the grey clouds that loomed over Vancouver.

Against your better judgement you nodded “where is your car?” You asked avoiding his smirk not wanting to see him win.

The drive back to your place had been awkward to put it lightly “you know you interviewing me like that was fucked up.” Quinn spoke as you stared at the traffic lights that illuminated a red glow in front of you “Quinn if you can’t handle the truth from me then maybe you need a reality check.” Your words were honest as you pointed your finger at him.

It made the boy scowl “I’m starting to see why Tito turned you down.” The Hughes boy mumbled as he started driving again “what happened between him and I is none of you business!” You groaned as you had helped the Canadian settle into the team when he got traded, and one night he ended up in your bed. The same thing happened twice more before you both agreed to simply be friends.

Quinn took your irritated state as an encouragement to go on “that must have been a bad night for him.” The boy continued driving on as the light changed to green “please I was a great fuck!” You blurted out no longer caring about your desire to have a filter “if anything I feel sorry for the girls that you sleep with.” Your words made the boy tense up as he turned to your apartment building “in fact I don’t think you could even make a girl come.” If you knew the response your words would get then maybe you wouldn’t have said it.

His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as he gripped at it “don’t think you’re ready to eat your words.” Quinn confessed as you leaned against the centre console “I think you’re not ready to see that I’m right.” The car almost crashed as the boy kissed your lips.

It was strong as he brought his hand behind your head making sure that you couldn’t pull away “where do I park princess?” The boy asked as a hoot car from the car behind his “just up here.” Your cheeks turned pink as you could still feel his lips against yours.

He slipped his arm through your bags strap as he smiled watching you direct him to the elevator “who would have thought that the way to get you quiet is just by kissing ya?” Quinn cocked his head as your back was pressed against the elevator wall after you pressed the floor number “shut up,” you grumbled placing your hands on his cheeks as you pulled him into a kiss. His tongue danced over your lip as you moaned letting him slide it into your mouth “sorry,” a voice came from the doors as someone let out an awkward cough. You sent the guy a smile as Quinn pulled away from you. Thankfully you only had to stand there for a mere few minutes before you two got to your floor.

Your apartment door called your name as you dug into your purse to grab your keys when Quinn’s hands went to your waist “Quinn behave.” You pleaded as you felt his head drop to your neck “have I ever told you how much I love this skirt?” Quinn asked letting his lips nip at your neck as his fingers trailed over the shirt skirt “n-no,” you shook your head as you finally got the door open.

The two of you barely got into the apartment before he spun you around “want to see me make you come?” The hockey player smirked as he pushed your body against your door shutting it behind you “don’t think you could.” You tried to remain calm.

Quinn let his lips hover over yours “was gonna take you to your bed.” He confessed as he clicked his tongue “but now I’m going to make you come right here.” Your eyes went wide watching him drop to his knees “like to see you t-try.” Your palms grew sweaty as the hockey player pulled your skirt up revealing your white panties.

He let out a whistle hooking his fingers in either side of your panties “think you knew that you were gonna get fucked tonight.” Quinn pointed out as he let your panties slide down your legs “told Tito to come o-” your words were cut off as Quinn lay his tongue flat against your slit licking a straight line before he practically pecked your clit “not so talkative now are you?” The hockey player smirked setting his tongue back on your clit as he let his two fingers thrust into your cunt.

Your hand slapped over your mouth as the boy comfortably found himself between your legs “let me hear you princess.” Quinn’s words sent shivers up your spine as you looked down to nod.

If you didn’t know any better you would have sworn that he was a starved man as he let his tongue work on you like you were his last meal “shit Quinn.” You groaned forcing your hips further into his face as your head pushed against the wood of your door.

Quinn left his pants grow tight at the sheer squelching noise that left your core as his fingers formed his scissoring motion as they thrusted deeper into you “you want to come princess?” He asked using his free thumb to rub against your clit “c’mon I know you want to just let it go.” With that the hockey player brought his lips back to your clit finally setting you over the edge “don’t stop.” You cried out as your fingers locked into his hair as you rode his face feeling him smile beneath you.

The hockey player pulled his fingers out from your core watching how they shone begin covered in your juices “taste how sweet you are princess.” Quinn ordered bringing himself back up to his feet as he tapped his fingers on your lips “pretty good for a guy that can’t make you come huh?” The boy smirked as your tongue swirled around his fingers like it was his cock in your mouth.

When you moaned it made him realise that his pants could no longer take simply watching you “where is your bedroom?” Quinn asked furrowing his eyebrows as he picked your panties off of the ground shoving them into his sweatpants pocket “you can get those back if you are good in bed.” The boy reminded you about the claim that you had yet to make good on.

You giggled beginning your walk to your room as you slowly began to shed your clothing starting with the Canucks polo that you were sporting revealing your black bra “you’re playing a dangerous game princess.” Quinn warned as you sent him an innocent grin “what are you going to do about that?” You clicked your tongue as you slipped behind your bedroom door pulling the skirt off of your legs as you were left in nothing but your bra when he came into the room.

Quinn took in the sight of your gorgeous body as he smiled eyes meeting yours “isn’t fair that you’re in so little is it now?” His voice was soft as your fingers danced over his compression shirt “leaves little to the imagination.” You pointed out shaking your head “knew you liked looking at me in this.” The hockey player lightly pushed you onto your bed as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders revealing his abs that made your mouth water “like what you see?” Quinn teased as he repeated the same action with his sweatpants leaving himself in his boxers.

Your eyes were practically glued to the bulge i that was barely hidden by the material “think you do too.” You teased as you watched him grab a condom from his wallet before he came down onto your bed with you “you’re taking your time cap.” You pointed out as you smirked seeing his expression harden.

What you didn’t expect was that he would flip you over causing your face to land in the fluffy blanket that sat on your bed “fuck princess I wanted to fuck you good but I guess I’m gonna have to fuck you like the brat you are.” Quinn grunted reaching down to break the clip in your bra letting your breasts hang free.

A whimper left your lips as you heard the sound of the condom wrapper ripping behind you “please Quinn.” You begged waiting to feel him against you.

Quinn smirked “you know that you aren’t calling me that anymore.” Before the hockey player gave you a chance to respond his cock was running over your clit before he let it thrust into your cunt.

Your hands could barely keep your body up as you adjusted to his size “Jesus cap!” You groaned letting your head drop into the mattress.

His hands grabbed at your hips bringing your body back to meet each of his thrusts “god princess you’re so right.” Quinn let out a grunt as he watched how your cunt repeatedly swallowed his cock as he made sure to bottom you out.

All you could do was nod as your hands grabbed at the comforter beneath you “shit Quinn.” You moaned as you began grinding your hips against him when the boy brought his hand down to slap your ass.

The gesture made you jump “you know that’s not what you’re calling me tonight.” The boy mumbled increasing the pace of his thrusts “you got a captains kink huh cap?” You asked letting your head turn to look at him as you smirked “get all hot thinking about me-” you were cut off as a moan left your lips “calling you cap when you fuck me?” You got your words out before he slapped your ass again.

Quinn felt his breath waiver as you clenched around his cock “should be finding a way to get you to keep quiet before you start running that fucking mouth.” With one movement he leaned down picking your body up “guess I’ve got to take matters into my own hands.” His words vibrated in the shell of your ear as his hand wrapped around your throat bringing you flushed against his torso.

The angle caused the boys cock to slide deeper into your cunt and that combined with the decreasing blood flow to your brain meant that you were overwhelmed with pleasure “fuck cap.” You cried bringing your hand down to rub at your clit as your head lay against his shoulder.

He took it as encouragement to go faster as your pussy began clenching around his cock more frequently “I’m gonna come,” you announced not seeing him shake his head “fucking beg for it.”

His order rang through your ears as you forced your eyes open “please let me come cap, I need you.” You pleaded almost having tears from in your eyes as you feared him saying no.

Quinn felt his cock throb “I’ll be your good little girl.” You added making him laugh “think you are already that baby.” The hockey player pointed out as he pressed a kiss to your temple “got you right where I want you right now and you can’t do shit about it.” His reminder made your cunt clamp down on his cock.

The boys hand squeezed around your throat “let me hear you go.” He smiled as you let out a min forcing your fingers to go even faster on your clit.

Your orgasm caused your body to shake against him “fuck fuck fuck!’ You cried not realising that your actions spurred on his own orgasm “so good princess.” Quinn cooed as he coated the inside of the condom with his come.

As his hand released your throat your body came down onto your bed as you let out a large breath “was I too rough?” He asked letting his cock slide out of your soaked cunt.

Quinn lay next to you as he watched you look up to him with a smile “not that was hot.” You blurted out leaning up to grab a hoodie off of your floor “where do you think you’re going?” The hockey player furrowed his eyebrows.

You turned to him with a smirk “I’ve got to go pick up my car.” You explained as to your surprise he shook his head reaching out for your hands as he pulled you back onto your bed “we aren’t done just yet.” Quinn mumbled cupping your face in his hands as he kissed you.

Clearly you were in for a long afternoon.

#Quinn Hughes smut #hockey smut #nhl smut #Quinn Hughes imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #oneshots #imagines #amber writes fics

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