#dark jack

Jack shuffles getting home from an away game, the plane was delayed taking off so they were just sitting on the tarmac for a couple hours. It's nearly 4 in the morning when he was supposed to get back around midnight.

Luke passed out before even closing his door leaving Jack to close it as he passed his young brother's room and headed down the hallway to find y/n's body under the sheets.

He notices her shift and sighs realises he's woken her up.

"I'm sorry, baby." Jack whispers keeping his tone hushed.

"Jacky." Y/n moans suddenly, her voice bouncing off the walls loud enough that he jumps at her volume.

Now to some, they'd panic but Jack's reaction of rushing to strip off is not unusual. He's been welcomed home by his girlfriend desperately waiting for him, so needy she couldn't wait for him to get back.

"I'm coming, baby. I'm right fucking here." Jack states, not even turning the light on as he slides in sheets and climbs over her.

Y/n whimpers at the weight over her before he grinds down against her, feeling her wetness slide along the length of his dick. His blood rush southwards was so quick he actually feels a little dizzy.

"Fu-ck baby." Jack pants slotting into her feeling her tighten at the intrusion before he starts thrusting in and out of her. "You always feel so good baby."

Now usually y/n would make some sort of response, she's not a quiet person in the bedroom and she knows how to talk filthy. Instead he's met with a soft squeak as he thrusts into her and that finally catches his attention.

"Baby? Where's that pretty voice?" Jack hums kissing her before realising she's not kissing back and then he realises, aside from huffs and whines, and that initial moan of his name that enticed him.

He manages to reach over turning on the lamp from her side of the bed to find y/n is completely passed out. Little twitches and breaths but other than that, she's not consciously responsive.

What he doesn't expect is to feel more heat to rush downwards, his hips moving before he has a second thought about it. A reinvigorated stamina.

How y/n is sleeping through this, he's not actually sure but suddenly seeing her out cold while he fucks her is a turn on that he didn't know would be so effective. In fact he'd never thought about fucking her like this but maybe this is just something new for him to enjoy and from the heat building and her unconscious build up he can tell her body is enjoying this.

More whimpers and whines pass y/n's lips as he uses her body, building up pleasure between them them. Him getting off more and more to the fact she's completely unaware of the pleasure he's bringing her.

Jack's tongue swirls around her nipple, his fingers pinch at her clit, stimulating her till another moan escapes her trembling lips while her body spasms beyond her control. He can't even try to contain himself as he spills into her, rutting and pushing deeper into her like he can't get enough of her.

He could swear he's never came so hard in his life. Not that sex with y/n has ever been disappointing or anything close to it, but this is just...different.

-

Y/n lifts her head, wrinkling her nose a little at the familiar soreness between her legs.

"Jack?" Y/n mumbles while he hums, half-asleep beside her as she shifts over and cuddles into him. "Did we have sex?"

"No. I wish." Jack grumbles almost impressing himself from his smooth lies.

He'd made sure to clean y/n up and if he says they didn't then she's not inclined to class him a liar just from a feeling of soreness.

"Oh."

"Why?" Jack asks making her shrug as she nuzzles further into him.

"Just feel a little sore. Maybe it's cramps." Y/n yawns settling back down in the worth of his body to get some more sleep while Jack hums at her words, smirking to himself as he keeps the knowledge of what really happened to himself.

He'll be doing it again.

-

Turns out that whatever y/n did to land herself in a deep sleep that night was a one time event because she's been a feather light sleeper every time he's attempted to get between her legs again. Not that it's stopped them from having sex, but there's a tug of frustration when it doesn't go the way he wants it to.

Sex always feels good but when you want a certain thing and don't get it, it just leads to more want for it.

So he decided to take another avenue.

"I'm just not sleeping well. I think it's the pick up of the season." Jack states to the doctor at the training centre.

One perk of being a professional athlete, instant access to a doctor if you need it. So when Jack voiced concerns about sleeping, they got him on some sleeping medication.

"For you." Jack smiles handing y/n a hot chocolate as they settle down for the night thankfully, him making her hot chocolate isn't unusual or something to be suspicious of.

"Thank you." Y/n grins taking a sip.

"Any time baby. Especially when you came in here looking like you were frozen."

"I never remember how harsh New Jersey winters are." Y/n mumbles nuzzling down into the sofa under the heated blanket Jack had bought for her last Christmas for days exactly like this. "I just didn't want to put someone out in that weather by ordering food in."

Jack hums feeling satisfaction as he watches her sipping away at the hot chocolate it takes a while but by the time she finishes the drink, she's blinking slowly, eyes directed at but unfocused on the tv, her visibly starting to drift when her cup slips from her hand and thuds down making her jump but not even that wakes her up as she slumps over.

"Oh baby." Jack chuckles to himself as he stands up moving to pick her up from the sofa where she mumbles some sort of gibberish.

Y/n is laid out before him like a meal once she's lying on the bed, he eases her clothes off of her. The more her body is exposed the harder he gets from doing all this.

He loves his girlfriend, he loves having sex with her however he can but there's something about her being completely at his mercy that makes him dizzy. So pliant to his every touch.

"You don't know what you do to me." Jack whispers while caressing down her body.

Jack plants kisses down her body, teeth nipping at her skin to earn some reaction but not hard enough for there to be any marks when she wakes up.

"Let's see what you got, baby." Jack states rubbing at her clit, feeling wetness build up under his touch quickly before he slides his fingers in and begins thrusting them in and out of her. Curling to press into her g-spot earnings a soft breathy moan.

There's something addictive about seeing her react exactly how she would without consciously thinking about.

His fingers work an orgasm out of her pretty effectively and he's practically splashed with how wet she is before he uses his soaked hand to spread across his dick, moaning at the feeling before he shudders in a wave of excitement.

"Fuck." Jack grunts beginning fast and deep thrusts that seem to knock the air out of y/n's lung with each aggressive movement.

He lifts her legs with his hands under her knees, using them to leverage his weight and press deeper into her, watching himself before he notices the slight poking of himself bulging in her stomach from this angle.

A sharp gasp makes him look back up to her face, the expression almost distressed like she's grasping desperately at a thread. Probably her weak grip on consciousness trying to source what is giving her so much pleasure.

When her body tenses and clamps down on him, every thrust is met with a small whine and moan, nudged further out by his movements.

"Y/n." Jack moans before slamming into her, grinding down as if he can make it stick in her permanently.

Thankfully y/n is on birth control and she's good about taking it without missing or forgetting so he doesn't have to be concerned in that regard.

-

It took a few times of y/n being knocked out for her to bring up that something isn't right.

"Jack..." Y/n mumbles as she rolls over to him while he hums looking at the book he's reading. "Are you sure we're not having sex when I'm asleep?"

"Pretty sure I'd know the difference." Jack smiles earning a sigh and he realises her needs to play the caring and concerned boyfriend who wants to help. Except he knows what's happening. "What's wrong baby?"

"I just feel like I'm losing my mind. I feel...like we've had sex-I'm sore. Really sore." Y/n murmurs before she rolls and lies on top of him so his thigh presses against her. "It doesn't make sense and I've been to the doctor. She said everything looks fine...maybe a little sore from sex, but we have sex. We're not prudes. But it's just-"

"Maybe you're just a little more sensitive at the moment."

"Maybe...they do say there's a second puberty in your 20s. This could be it." Y/n sighs then lying her head on his chest. "Why do men never have to go through this?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Jack hums then moving his hand to scratch her back. "It'll be fine. I'll take care of you baby."

"I know you will." Y/n mumbles then smiling. "You're just the best boyfriend. I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

They’ve seen you in the damn shower with the signature white stick tucked in the corner of your mouth. They’ve watched you get off with one still in place— they’re not beyond asking if it’s turning into a sexual fetish in their head.

Your obsession is hard to swallow. They think you’re more focused on the sugar than them. You get nervous if they even try to watch you run circles against your clit, yet you want a lollipop there. The jealousy might be pathetic— but that’s a trait they’re perfectly happy to brand themselves with.

They attack your stash. The count lowering with each passing day— enough to keep you unaware, it’s not like you track your overconsumption. They fill the void with fingers searching and prodding around your mouth. Until you start seeking the digits out under your own free will.

They rest their hands on their lap— the sight of you mouthing at their shorts, their underwear, making them more content. Yet you still seek out the lollipops. It's not enough for your brain, fingers not enough to replace the constant physical and mental fixation.

So they push it further. Instead of losing one a night, you lose three. Newly delivered boxes go missing. They nudge you enough to make you drop one. Your building frustration a part of a developed game plan. They can deal with the attitude spikes, can keep you fairly mellow by rolling your lollipops in crushed up sedation dressed as sourness— easy to convince you that you'd ordered wrong in desperation.

It doesn’t give you a free pass to act as a brat however. They’re fine with you having this fixation, but everything happens under their control, their guidance. You can’t have a reliance on something that isn’t them. It breeds an idea of freedom, of something existing outside of them. It has to be controlled.

Your freak out only confirms the need for a heavier hand. The hand tapping starting. The leg bouncing. The nervous nibbling of your fingers. The whines and huffs. It’s extra irritating to Jack— you’re more often on his lap, closer to his fingers. Yet you’re pushing his away when he tries to replace the stolen snack. Complaining about him. Driving him up the damn wall.

This is why it’s a problem. A threat. One he’ll solve. Quinn will take too long— you’re behaving better for him, not totally tuned out from the consequences. Luke is still a chicken. He’ll crack and get you more just to be showered in your love. He’d puff out his chest with pride at being the favourite.

He overdoses you on the spiked leftover lollipops. He burns through your supply at a rapid pace. You think he’s caving— that your temper tantrum paid off. He watches you zone out, watches how you lack the strength to bat his hands away from your mouth with each roll of your tongue around the treat.

He volunteers to take you to bed— fake concern coating his words. His nails sinking into the skin of your thigh to ward off the smirk threatening to mark itself on his face. Dazed mumbles the only sign of protest at his sudden lift.

He’s doing you a favour too, even if it might take a few days of medicine for it to really sink in. You were the one pawing at his cock. You were the one with his fingers in your mouth— he felt you lap at the digits.

The way he lays you down on your bed, the calm before the storm. A theatre act, with the way he uses your sleepy hands to drag the waistband of his boxers down. It’s part of the lesson. When your head settles, you’ll remember every part you played in it. There’ll be no blaming him. No childish follow ups.

You’re even opening your mouth for him— the gap widening with every released inch of his cock. Your tongue inching out of your mouth as if you’re expecting a replacement lollipop. Might as well be signing your name on the permission slip.

A slide down your throat— the brutal intrusion enough to make you gag— chased up with his hand around your throat. He can’t have any early lesson interruptions. The taste of him a change from the sweet snack. Cutting off more air than what you’ve learned to adapt to. His pre-cum mixing with your saliva, drowning your throat. Your fixation satisfied with the clenching of your cheeks around him, the swallowing. Your tongue unknowingly recreating your past moves on his veins.

He doesn't care when the door opens— it's only a matter of time before Quinn investigates everything to do with you. He knows how much it burrows and festers under his skin when someone else is alone with you, the jealous monster. The only indication from Jack that he’s noticed is a small smirk, a barely there lift of his mouth, his weight pressing his cock down further to make your sedated body twitch. An attack against Quinn. A dismissal. He doesn’t need a guide to give you your medicine. He’s perfectly capable of moulding your oral fixation himself.

Quinn had always taken it upon himself to take care of the important people in his life. It wasn't because he was raised like this, but because he had understood and known that the world would never be kind.

Not to Luke, who loved to play pretend with that sweet boy mask that had been present since he first step foot in elementary, using the innocent gaze that diverted any scolding that he should've received. Especially not when he had been so focused on playing with your innocence, taking advantage of your sweet adoration, while he was closing in on himself, untrusting anyone of to unmask, so ignorant that he didn't know his oldest brother had always been aware.

Not to Jack, who was so volatile and unhinged that he was wreaking havoc wherever he went, from violence to mischief, doing whatever it was that could give him the slightest hint of euphoria. Especially not when he started riling you up, appearing to tease you but not to the point of bullying you, but the insanity in his eyes always betrayed him, barely trying to reign himself in from wanting to corrupt every bit of your soul, always begging to be let out like a wild animal forced in his cage, so wild that he didn't know Quinn had never locked the cage.

Not to you, who were the purest soul he had ever laid eyes upon, perfectly able to go out and run free but always needed to crawl back in the safe walls of your home. Especially not when you were so bright that your existence drew in the worse and vile existence that was apart from Quinn and his brothers, so pure and kind that you didn't know how much Quinn was fighting back the ones that wanted to hurt you.

Quinn would do anything for his brothers and you even at the expense of himself. He barely slept a full eight hours of recommended sleep, on and off season. He would always be calling people—initially beyond his connection until he made it—to cover and straighten things up. Things that must've slipped from Luke's intricate and secretive plans. Things that Jack definitely didn't give a shit about. Things that lurked around you that were begging to be deleted from its existence.

His brothers were a handful. Jack was the one that needed more attention, but it would be remedied by telling him what to do. A simple instruction would always be like a lit path that kept him in the present instead of being trapped in the noise in his head. Luke might need less attention, but it didn't mean he was independent. Sure, he slipped once or twice, but most of the time he didn't. However, he needed the support, the stir to the right mindset that he was never doing anything wrong, that it was okay to do whatever he wanted to do.

Quinn had embraced their versions of darkness with his much darker hue.

If they were fucked up, he was more than that. He was the one with connections to hired arms, not just measly hackers that Luke knew about and hired to make that app in your phone but actual criminals that could bury a person's death and make it into a missing case. He was the one moving their money, not just simple bribes that Jack loved to hand out, but towards organizations to actively secure protection and liberties. Most of all, he was the one controlling Luke and Jack by fanning their darkened flames, fueling their obsessions towards you until they matched his.

It was exhausting to keep up with this insanity, but it needed to happen. They needed to keep up. They needed to understand that you were the most important thing and their lives. They needed to look at you like you were the only thing giving light in their lives. They needed to feel like they were breaking day by day as long as they didn't have you. They needed to feel how Quinn felt from the very beginning.

He fell so fucking hard and harder every fucking day that past. His mind was reeling at the memory of you—your smiles, your giggles, your pouts, your tears, your sobs. There was never a time that Quinn didn't visualize you even during the games.

You made him feel calm yet restless. Focused yet distracted. Whole yet incomplete.

You consumed him.

Heart, body, and soul.

There was not a piece of him that wasn't stolen away, but he had no complaints. You could have everything and everything else. You owned him. Ever since the day you greeted him with your eyes crinkling at the sides. Ever since you giggled at Jack's teasing. Ever since you called Luke, your Lukey. You were so perfect and so sweet that you ensnared all three of them at once. Different paces of falling and realizations, but all the same.

You gave him another reason beyond hockey and his brothers. You gave him someone to lean on when he got exhausted from all the pressure and things that he must do. You allowed him a light in his shadowed view of reality. Thus, you would be his.

Scratch that. You were already his.

And so, he found himself in your house. He sat back on your couch, watching you make your cookies perfectly rounded with a circular cookie cutter, breathing in its delightful smell spreading across the room, memorizing the tune you were silently humming along with your smile. He loved that the apron you were using was the one he had gifted you days ago. He loved the braid styled your hair in. He loved you making him cookies—the doughs had already been prepped and stored in your freezer—just because he told you that he missed eating one.

"Quinn, do you like milk?" You asked, plating up the cookies. Honestly, you could've served it in the baking tray and he would be satisfied, but you were always the sweetest. You reminded him, "Cookies are best with milk."

Quinn preferred coffee, but milk it was. He nodded, his fist gripped the armrest, forcing himself from jumping in to help you carry the plate of cookies and that impossibly filled-to-the-rim glass of milk, only relaxing when you placed it on the low-center table and when you plopped next to him.

"They look different." He looked at the cookies that were slightly different from your usual. Marking the excitement in your eyes, he took one, taking a bite of the sweet treat that he normally wouldn't eat. He could taste the vanilla, the caramel tone, the bitter yet sweetness of the dark and milk chocolate mixing, and the salt on top. "It tastes so fucking amazing," he muttered, eyeing you up and down, wishing he was tasting a different cookie, "What did you do differently?"

Oh, how he had started your rambles about cookies. You were so happy to be asked about it like no one had already. You explained about browning the butter, changing up the ratio of sugars and flour, and getting a better chocolate. You were on fire with the details, even showing him your notes in your tiny notebook, drawing his attention to how small your hands were. You were so excessively cute. So fucking edible.

"Leaving it in the freezer also developed the flavors! I tested it," you exclaimed, your eyes wide and alive. "Do you really like it?"

"Yes," he affirmed.

"Okay," you chimed. "Do you...want to eat a different pastry? I am kind of planning to make apple pie soon."

"I'll grab a slice when you make one." Quinn placed his hand on the couch, his pinky touching yours. He smirked. "Whenever that'll be."

You laughed at his teasing. "Hey, I've already done my recipe research!"

Quinn was aware of your tendency to test our different recipes and methods until you found the best one that worked for you. Trying out a dish or a pastry always took time, and he had time.

Always.

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Quinn meticulously placed a camera on top of your bookshelf after he brushed away the dust collecting on it. He carefully adjusted its angling it towards your reading nook, rechecking with the app on his phone, taping it down along with the wires. That should do it for your library, the space feeling more perfect with a device that would let Quinn watch you whenever you were reading.

He was climbing down the ladder when Jack popped in with a strip of tape sticking to his cheek. Why was it there and why on the cheek? Quinn didn't fucking know.

"We're really not going to tell Lukey?" Jack asked, frowning and crossing his arms. "This should be faster if he's here."

"Are you done with your task?" Quinn moved the ladder back to where it was, grabbing at the pan to dump into the garbage. When his brother grunted, he continued, "Luke doesn't need to know about this."

"Because he'd protest about it?" Jack followed Quinn out of your library, barely commenting when his work was being checked. "He'll be angry about being left out. He got that participation-seeking gene."

"That you also have?" Quinn smirked as Jack recoiled in offense. "Come on now."

"Hey! I helped you," the younger one grumbled, looking more like a child as he fucking pout. He was more childish than crazy today which was perfect for errands. If not, he would've been distracted before he could set up a camera. He huffed, "You would've taken another day if it weren't for me."

"I know, so thank you, Jack."

Jack's jaw dropped to the floor, his eyes growing with that weird adoration, his cheeks flushing. He nodded gingerly, eating up the simple words of gratitude. It was one of his quirks. He thought Quinn could do anything. And Luke picked that up.

Fuck, Quinn wished he could.

"So, what's the plan now?" Jack asked, not bothering when Quinn snatched his phone from his pocket. He leaned over, watching what was being done to his device. "Really? I can use it too?"

"I don't see why not." Quinn handed him the device. "Now, do your drills."

From excitement to annoyance, Jack sighed and protested under his breath about being worked to the bones, yet he still waved Quinn a goodbye and leftwith a simple huff in his breath, complaining to Quinn and appeasing himself in his whispers. He would be fine.

Now, it was time to set up other stuff.

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After days of the cameras rolling, Quinn could do his coping mechanism in the comfort—or discomfort—of his home. He watched you throw your head backwards, your back arching, your fingers knuckle deep inside your pretty pussy. The sounds that you let out—small sighs, tiny whimpers, muttering curses—were blasting in his earphones. His balls ached as he gave his cock another harsh tug, using his cum as lube, feeling himself tether in the thin line of overstimulation and fucking dreamland.

"Fuck," you cried out, your thighs shaking, coming with your fingers slipping out of you.

You should've ridden your orgasm, but you didn't. Maybe you didn't know how to. Maybe you needed help. Oh, definitely, you did. You rolled to the side, panting while you fixed your panties back in place.

Quinn changed the footage so he could see your face, his hand stopping around his cock, ignoring the ache settling all over his cock. He was still getting used to which camera was which, but he was getting better by the second. It wouldn't be long until he memorized them.

You were already dozing but you reached underneath your stuff toys, procuring a framed picture, staring at it with such longing that Quinn's chest constricted.

He knew what it was. It was a picture of all four of you that his mom took when you first visited their house. You were sitting in the middle of the couch with Luke and Jack beside you, while Quinn settled behind, leaning down with his weight on his hands. It was an important photo, proof that you were welcomed in the Hughes family. You just didn't know how deep their welcome was.

He knew you keep it hidden and close, but he didn't know that you gazed at it almost every single night if not for the cameras.

"What are you thinking about, Sweet Girl?" Quinn asked, fingertips tracing your image while his cum-slicked hand darting over his chest. "You already have us. Just tell me what it is."

Quinn never begged for anything, but he would for you. He just needed one word. Just a hint. He could decipher what it could mean. However, he didn't receive any answers beyond the smallest kiss you had given each of them and the sight of you hugging it close to your chest until you fell asleep.

"Next time then, my Love," Quinn sighed, cleaning up his mess with wipes. He gritted, his molars grinding, "Next time." A knock pushed him out of his mind. "Give me a sec."

Quinn changed out of his briefs and pants, sprayed a sprit of Lysol in the air, shut down his computer. He stepped out of the cramped room hidden in his walk-in closet. He brushed his hair back on his way to his door, opening it to see Jack.

His younger brother was adjusting his cap, his hands visibly shaking, his pupils blowing out. Next to him was Luke who was eyeing Jack with annoyance and worry.

"I need...I need to do something." Jack's tone had a dangerous edge, his bloodlust curdling the air. "I need to go out. We should go to a bar. Let's have some fun."

Jack was craving violence. It was obvious when he did. He would be dragging both Luke and Quinn somewhere, using them both like lures to any unsuspecting assholes who would dare mess with them, so he got an excuse to fight.

While Quinn wanted to spend his unusually free night, Quinn needed to make sure his brothers were safe, so he agreed.

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Quinn flinched when your hand landed on his sore shoulder. He immediately regretted his reaction because you looked so hurt and distraught, almost stepping away if he didn't grab your hand and kept it right there. He stared up at you, silently begging for you to stay, letting out a breath when you sat next to him, your feet dangling over the dock like his.

Your hand softly escaped his hold, running down the expanse of his back, your other hand joining in. You hugged him tightly, brushing your cheek against his arm, not caring if he was still damp from his earlier swim. When you moved to press a kiss on the developing bruise on his shoulder, your eyes shone with tears.

"What happened?" you asked. "Did you get into a fight too?"

Your words implied that you must've seen Jack first. While it normally didn't bother Quinn, sometimes he wished you came to him before his brothers. He also needed you.

"You could say that." Quinn looked straight ahead, towards the lake. He pretended that his skin wasn't burning from your kiss and that he wasn't feeling so much more than this. He watched as the sun's rays reflect on the waves. Its glare was getting warmer as the day approached noon. "We went out last night. I bumped on some college boys. They took it wrong and it just happened. It was mostly Jack who fought, and he almost got hit with a fucking chair."

Quinn gritted his teeth, still feeling the wood break on his shoulder. That wasn't supposed to happen. It should've just been a fistfight, but some idiot picked up a chair. It would've hit Jack's head. God only knew what would've happen if it did.

"We just fought back." It wasn't a lie. He and his brothers fought back even if the whole mess was initiated by Quinn so he could give Jack the excuse he needed. "It's us or them."

"I'm sorry," you apologized, your tears dripping on his skin, scalding his soul.

"Don't be. Not your fault," he whispered, glancing at you to see more tears sliding down your cheeks. He could feel you shaking. "We'll be okay."

"But your shoulder, Quinn," you hiccupped.

"It's just a bruise." It probably was. Quinn didn't hear a crack of his bones fracturing or a pop of his socket dislocating. "It will be gone soon." He smiled. "It gives me an excuse from shooting drills."

For a moment, you stared at him, weighing his words before you finally nodded. You hugged him tighter, just like that. You let him lean his head on yours, his hair dripping, his wet waves falling on his temple and the tops of your head. Then you started humming like you wanted to give him something that would soothe his soul.

It did.

His mind counted the seconds that turned into minutes. His heart skipped a beat when you shifted closer. His body became more relaxed, his exhaustion from the previous days finally catching up to him like a freight train. His eyelids felt heavier. His grip on the wood loosened.

"Quinn?" You called, sounding like a lullaby mixing with the sound of waves crashing against each other as a soft breeze blew past. "Take a nap, Quinny."

Quinn did, embracing the comfort you were offering.

From silence to pure fucking chaos, Quinn jolted awake to see his brothers roughhousing while you cheered from a single-seater, yelping when one of them overturned the odds alternately. He was on the couch in the lake house, obviously gotten carried—or dragged—from the dock. A fluffy blanket that could only be yours surrounded him like clouds plucked from the skies. He could smell takeouts before he saw the mess on the low table along with an untouched bowl of Chipotle near him.

He silently stretched, feeling the soreness on his shoulder, smiling when you caught him rousing.

"Quinn, Look! They're being so silly," you giggled, pointing at the two that fell to the floor, grappling at each other, trying to get a proper hold for a chance to choke the other. "They just started it and they won't stop. Oh my god, Lukey!"

Luke's hand slammed on Jack's bruised face, slamming his head down on the carpeted floor, pinning his older brother with a knee to his hips, successfully winning the scuffle.

Jack tried to fight back, but he was outclassed from Luke's weight alone, huffing when he couldn't find enough leverage to get out, refusing to surrender.

"Idiots," Quinn chuckled, taking another forkful of his lunch, his eyes capturing the time that told him that he had slept at least a couple of hours. He glanced at you, seeing your growing worry, catching your wince when Jack bit down on Luke's hand.

"Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you—" Luke tried to retrieve his hand, losing his footing, falling into Jack's trap, getting pounced like a prey, "—You are insane, Jack."

"Come here," Quinn called you, patting the space next to him. He waited until you raced next to him, cowering from how his brothers playfight turned more physical. He assured, his hand wrapping around yours, "They'll be okay."

"O-okay," you gulped, blinking like a little bunny.

"You were just cheering," Quinn teased when you let out another yelp because Luke let out another curse, almost sounding like a whimper. He frowned at the redness of Luke's face because wind got knocked out of him. "That's enough."

Just like that, the two parted from each other, glaring while rubbing wherever they were sore. It was Luke that turned to you first, pouting and whining that he could barely breathe. The fucker caused you to jump to his aid, fuzzing over him, rubbing his back to get him to breathe when he was already breathing.

"You could land a job as an actor, Lukey," Jack spat, standing to his feet, popping his bruised knuckles, seething from the lack of your attention. That was when he bit down on his split lip, reopening the wound, blood coating his teeth and his chin. "Fuck, this fucking hurts!"

Then you went to Jack, not seeing that they were just playing and fighting to get your attention, while Quinn sat back to watch it like he was watching a movie.

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Luke still didn't know about the cameras. If he had, he wouldn't do what he was doing right now. He wouldn't be so brave on serving you bottle after bottle, getting you drunker by the minute, riding whatever drunken thought you wanted to say. He wouldn't even dare, in essence, telling you that he liked someone. He wouldn't have been so careless not to see the sadness in your eyes as soon as he said it. He wouldn't have coaxed you to sleep only to groped you as he pleased.

His youngest brother was so brazen. His hands traced their way under your shirt, greedily touching you like an animal, so perverse, so opposite to his sweet image. An unmasked Luke was interesting to watch. Impatient. Depraved. Monstrous.

Just like Jack. Just like Quinn.

Quinn couldn't be more proud as Luke’s hand dipped to your pussy, touching you over your shorts, tracing and circling until you let out a pleasured sigh. He waited for his brother to do something more, reward you for being such a good girl for letting him touch you, but Luke stopped, proving how different he was.

Unlike Quinn who would've stripped you down to nothing so he could slide his cock along your slit until he made a mess on your pussy.

Unlike Jack who would've moved you so he could eat you out after he tore your panties into shreds.

Luke simply retreated, looking satisfied with a few touches and pets, taking you to your room so you wouldn't be sore tomorrow.

"You are so soft, Luke."

Quinn leaned his head on his fist, wondering when their youngest would break. It wouldn't be long. He could see Luke's hackles rising with his lingering gaze, the ropes that held him back snapping. Bit by bit. Fiber after fiber.

A cruel smile replaced his smirk.

Jack could break him.

Quinn didn't even have to lift a finger or tell Jack about it. It would happen one day or another.

His phone pinged with a message from an unknown number. When he opened it, the pictures of those college boys on their knees, their faces bloody, swollen, and bruised, bombarded his screen. Picture after picture, he swiped through them. Dirty. Mangled. Destroyed. Then a video was sent of them receiving a bullet to their heads. Serve them right.

They suffered enough to pay for every punch they threw at Jack and Luke, and they also met mercy because Quinn wasn't heartless. Death was mercy.

Quinn was about to send his remaining balance for that job, but he received a demand for game tickets instead, specific seats near the penalty box for at least seven games for a group of five. That was...interesting especially when it was still off season, but it was an easy ask. A bargain.

"Done," Quinn replied, shutting down his PC, heading straight down.

He found Jack sitting on a high stool near the counter. His torso was lying on top of the granite, his arms spread wide, his palms flattening on the marble.

"This feels like a great bed," Jack announced, moving his arms like he was doing snow angels. "Try it out, Q."

'Keep the counter clear', Quinn noted. He rested his hand on the cold surface. Then he moved to the thermostat, adjusting the temperature two degrees Celsius lower because he had an inkling his brother was overheating.

"Go to your room if you want to sleep, Jack."

"Idon'twanna." He turned away, continuing whatever the fuck he was doing. "I am comfy—" he giggled, using your cute vocabulary, "—here."

Comfortable. Sure.

Quinn took two bottles from the fridge. One he drank from. One he carefully balanced on Jack's head. He held his laughter because Jack just froze.

Was that still comfy?

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Quinn held his breath as he took you in, his heart racing to the point of pain. He couldn't take his eyes off you as you spun for him, your skirts flowing around you, your sleeves coming to the tips of your fingers, your innocent smile looking incredibly beautiful. It didn't help that your reflection doubled the sight.

"I like this one," you chimed, sounding so giddy.

He gulped the lump in his throat, trying to settle his heart, muttering, "Me too."

Quinn struggled with fashion more than finding and maintaining illegal connections. He could barely dress himself, heavily relying on his rotation of suits and casual attire, taking inspiration from Jack’s or Luke’s fit only to end up settling with his usual shirt, sweater, and pants. He didn't understand why you chose him for your shopping spree, but it was a pleasure to drive you around and seeing you try on different clothes.

He was enjoying his time, carefully adjusting himself when no one's watching.

"Okay." You grinned, folding your hands behind you, peering up at Quinn through your lashes. "Quinny, I still have a few things to try on."

You told him that it was the last piece you had in your basket, but it turned out a sweet girl could still lie.

"I can wait." He released the curtains, keeping his gaze on you as it cascaded down to give you privacy. He turned his back, his hand securing the curtains, eliminating any chance of exposure. At that point, he decided to look around and caught sight of a white dress. A pretty one. It would suit you, so he pointed. "She'll try that one too."

The clerk nearby almost jumped to grab it.

Quinn wasn't impressed, his jaw ticking, holding the dress. He waited and waited until you called. He faced the fitting room again, opening the curtains, falling in awe with your tank top and simple-patterned shorts that showed off your legs. He hummed his approval, offering you the dress, pretending to wait for your opinion when he already knew you liked it and would try it too.

"This is perfect, Quinn," you praised. "Give me a sec."

The cycle continued. You changed. You showed it off. You smiled with stars in your eyes. Although, you made the most effort to present him with the dress he chose. You looked like a princess that would take her first summer outing. So beautiful.

If only he could slip into the fitting room. If only he could fuck you against the glass until it fogged over. If only he could come deep inside you that you'd be dripping underneath that dress. If only he could brand you his right here, right fucking now. If only.

Quinn's mood plummeted from his unsatisfied needs, but it didn't stop him from smiling at you after you finally finished dressing to your initial clothes. It didn't stop him from overtaking your card with his to pay for every single clothes you bought in this store as he had from the previous one. It didn't stop him from ignoring your huffs and puffs on your ability to pay. It didn't stop him from grabbing your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

"What's next?" He asked, almost calling you his love, barely muttering your name as a cover.

"I think I am done shopping," you sighed, leaning against him. "Coffee?"

Coffee it was.

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Quinn locked the door behind him, tucking your keys in his pocket. Like clockwork, he walked around, making sure all your windows or doors were locked, sighing when he caught a few that were barely latched properly. Then he went upstairs, hearing groans and moans, ignoring them to continue with his task, checking the cameras and microphones along the way.

By the time he was done, he quietly opened your bedroom door, not at all surprised with Lukey jerking himself off and staring at you. He couldn't blame his brother, because you looked like the embodiment of a goddess.

Your nightgown draped over your skin as though it was mist. Your nipples taunted his control for every rise and fall of your chest. Your hair fanned underneath you. Your soft snores filled the air along with Luke's desperate noises.

Quinn knew that Luke was here because of the cameras, that he was masturbating at the sight of you sleeping, that he was on the verge of breaking—just the verge. He should probably give Luke some privacy with you, but he also needed to see the extent of your slumber.

You didn't rouse from the guttural groans from Luke or from the coldness enveloping your skin or from the danger of having two men who viciously wanted you in your vicinity. You were a heavy sleeper. Sober or not.

Quinn intended to keep that as a secret. Maybe Jack would finally discover it faster than Luke. Maybe it would be the other way around. Two possibilities that Quinn didn't give a fuck about, because he already knew.

When Luke finally came, not sloppy but still messy, Quinn couldn't stop staring at your peaceful face. A heavy sleeper indeed.

He lifted his gaze from you to his brother who was now aware of Quin's presence. His head tilting to the side, he observed the Luke's shaken and pale complexion despite the brightness of his cheeks. Your sweet Lukey was scared. A bit too scared, because when Quinn threw him tissues, he fucking flinched. What else did he expect when he was making a mess?

"Clean up." Quinn opened the windows and turned on your fan, making sure the smell of cum didn't linger because Luke, in his state, wouldn't have thought of it.

"Quinn, I was just..." Luke started and failed to finish.

"It's fine, Luke." Quinn didn't bother looking at him, allowing him to calm down on his own rather than make him stew on his actions. He sat on your bed and pulled up your blankets, shielding you from the cold. He couldn't help but feel your cheeks and savor your softness. "No need to explain."

No need to apologize.

Quinn didn't care if Luke jerked off to you. Who fucking cares. He had done worse. Not once did he regret when you came running to him about your unexplainable bruises and scratches on your thighs. Not once did he care about his brothers' opinions and thoughts if they had an inkling of what he was doing in his free time with you. Not once did he waste any time dwelling on what had happened. It didn't matter. Everything must be kept going.

Luke needed to understand that. He shouldn't waste his time being afraid of what and how Quinn would react. He should simply be.

That night wasn't the last time Quinn caught Luke. Also, Jack. The more the summer progressed, the more desperate all three of them got to get as much time as they could with you. Sometimes he went after checking the cameras. Sometimes it would be pure coincidence, Quinn just appearing then catching either of them in your house. The latter admittedly caused him disappointment. He also wanted time.

Just you. Just him.

Sacrifices like that left its mark in his soul, his insides filling with different emotions he couldn't bother to assess. He poured himself with work, with drills, with his deals, with investments. If he couldn't find an alone with you, he might as well use his time for something else. While love burned hotter, his existence was chipping at the edges. His energy dropped past empty.

So, when you popped up in the lake house instead of the little hangout you planned with his brothers, wearing that dress he picked out, he broke his own rules. He must be strong, but his resolve shattered when your hand grabbed his.

"Can I stay here instead of going out with Lukey and Jack?" You asked.

"Yes." His answer was immediate. He pulled you in, closing the door. The tension in his shoulders released the longer he gripped your hand. "What do you want to do?"

"What should we do?" You threw back, looking helpless, looking lost. You stared at him, your eyes drinking every bit of him, your teeth sinking onto your lower lip. "It's like I haven't seen you in so long, Quinn. Where were you?"

"I've been busy." Quinn tucked your hair behind your ear, his hand cupping your cheek. "I missed you. Do you want to eat some—"

Your gave him a tug then your arms wrapped around his lower back, rubbing your face on his chest. You trembled when he hugged you right back, muttering something so low that even with the silence, he couldn't hear it. Then you looked up, your eyes falling on his lips for one second.

"I'm not hungry. I just want some cuddles."

"We can do that." Quinn took you to his room, sitting you on the bed, helping you out of your sandals, noticing a blister on your left foot. "Oh, sweet girl."

"I'm fine. It's a new pair," you mumbled, your cheeks flushing. "It stings a little bit. Not too much."

"A little is already too much."

The only physical pain that you should feel should be mixed with pleasure. Grabbing an ointment from his nightstand, he applied some on your wound, covering it with a band-aid. Slowly, he looked up from your feet to your legs, to your face, his hand moving across the back of your leg.

You were so pliant under his touch even as his hand straight right at the hem of your dress, pushing and testing. Even as he rose until his face was breath away from yours. Even as his lips almost grazed your parting lips. His sweet girl was waiting for a kiss.

Not yet.

He pressed a kiss on the tip of your nose, watching you close your eyes as you swallowed groan.

"Lay down," he ordered, his voice rumbling, "Go on."

Quinn remained excessively close to you, forcing you to crawl backwards. He chuckled from your refusal to meet his gaze again and from how you shift under his blanket, your legs moving, giving him the glimpse of your red and lacy thong. His hand twitched, wanting to spread your legs so he could see it better. His tongue twisted, kind of needing to tell you about safety shorts. His mind hazed, envisioning sliding your panties to the side so he could drive his cock deep in your cunt.

"Quinn?" You peeped, your eyes wide, waiting for him to cuddle you like a good girl.

So, Quinn climbed in, his hand snaking around to your stomach, pulling you against his chest. He whispered, his lips grazing your ear, "What now? What else do you wanna do?"

"Maybe a nap?" Your voice sounded high, your ass scooting closer against his fucking crotch. A pretty little tease.

Quinn gripped your hip, forcing himself back, not letting you feel his cock that immediately hardened from the contact. "Behave, sweet girl. Close your eyes for me."

He waited until you did. His hand ran up and down your hip and waist, caressing you over your dress, giving you a squeeze here and there. His movements were languid but sure, because this was your norm for cuddles. He was only there to please, offering you his touch, grounding you with it. He listened to your satisfied sighs. The murmur of his name escaping your lips turned into even breaths.

It was barely a minute yet here you were, sleeping, fully at ease with his presence. So sure that he wouldn't hurt you. So sure that you were safe. You were, but you also weren't.

His innocent touch turned invasive after an hour. His hand slipped underneath you, groping your tits. His other pushed your dress up, curving around your thigh, cupping your pussy, pulling you back against his cock. He didn't waste any time in grinding against your ass, while he tweaked your nipples and teasing your clit over your panties.

"My Love, I missed you." He pressed a kiss on your head, swallowing his groans. He could feel you getting wetter and wetter, your thighs closing but it wasn't enough to impede his actions. He slid your panties to the side, his fingers dipping in your tight pussy, feeling your walls shake and welcome his intrusion. "You're so responsive, Sweet Girl."

He curled his fingers, reaching your special spot, drawing a tight moan from you. He fingerfucked your pussy, abusing your g-spot, stretching you out, loving how you were still stuck in your dreams. The possibility of them turning into sex dreams aroused Quinn even further.

Then a plan formed in his mind, his heart pounding from the anticipation. He shook you at the same time as he pulled his fingers out, slapping your slutty pussy.

"Wake up, Sweet Girl." He laughed as you jolted with scream as he landed another blow to your sensitive clit. He appeased you by pushing his fingers back in your heat. "Shh, it's okay. It's just me."

"Quinn—ohhh," you rasped, sleep still lingering in your voice, your hips rocking to meet his thrusts, lifting your leg slightly.

You were so greedy.

"I'll give you more if you promise to keep this as a secret." He swirled his thumb around your clit, causing your walls to spasm. "Just like before."

He had only done this once before when you crawled into his bed, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt. Oh, how he fucked you until you were creaming on his hand. He made you promise to keep it as a secret, and you kept it so well. It didn't even cause a rift between you two. He wouldn't have let it anyway.

"I-I promise," you gasped, writhing from the pleasure. You craned your head to the side, meeting his dark gaze with your pure one.

"We're just cuddling, aren't we?" Quinn mocked, savoring your hands snapping to his forearms, your nails immediately digging into his skin. "Don't come just yet, Sweet Girl. Hold it for me. I know you can do it."

You shook your head, sobbing when he gave you another slap. "I can't. It's—" your pussy sucking in his fingers, "—too much."

"You can do it." He nibbled on your ear, watching its tip flush. He thrusted against your ass as hard as his fingers pounded your pussy. He changed the tempo, slowing down ever so slightly. "You're doing so good. Just hold it, hmm?"

"It's so hard," you huffed, crying out, your thighs tensing. "Oh, please, I am—"

You came, sobbing your apology, muttering your relief. You were shaking as he rode your orgasm. You were flinching when he rubbed your cum on your clit, on your inner thighs, on your dress. You were panting while Quinn pushed you on your back and knelt between your thighs. You were gasping when he massaged your quivering thighs.

"You haven't fucked anyone yet, huh?" Quinn caught your cheeks reddened even more. He was so sure before because he felt a slight fight against his fingers, but now he was convinced because of your reaction. He carefully slid your panties back in place, his knuckles running down your slit. "Wear shorts under your dress."

"Okay," you agreed.

"This didn't happen," Quinn pushed, watching your eyes shimmer with tears.

"Okay," you cried.

Quinn leaned down, kissing your cheeks. "Time for another nap?"

"Yes," you sniffed, laying on your side, facing Quinn as he plopped next to you after he adjusted his pants. "I can keep secrets."

"I know." Quinn smiled at your determination. "That's why you're perfect."

He could see your slight hurt, taking something the wrong way, but it was how it should be. If Quinn and his brothers were spiraling because of you, you must feel the same.

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Quinn smirked at his brothers sneaking out of their tents, rushing to the lake house because they wanted to make you breakfast before their planned sailing activity. He only sat back on his chair, relaxing to the early morning chill accompanied bg the sound of nature waking.

He hadn't slept. He couldn't especially after he heard Luke scampering out of his tent in pure panic from a nightmare, crawling into your tent, humping your unresponsive body. He knew his brother was on the cusp of a breaking point despite him getting the pleasure he needed. It was just a waiting game now.

After a few more minutes and a distant scream following a loud metal thud coming from the lake house, you finally opened your tent, looking so flushed as you crawled out in a huge shirt that swallowed your frame. You were gripping its hem, keeping it low. Your legs were rubbing together. Your body trembled in a panic.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked.

"I...I had a weird dream," you stuttered, massaging your temples. "I think I remember Lukey...doing...he was doing something to me."

That was a first. Did you remember last night?

"But it was just a dream Lukey wouldn't do anything like that." You shook your head.

"Like what?" Quinn chimed, his head tilting. "What was he doing?"

You blushed, rubbing your legs together, panting as you visibly pondered, weighing whether you would tell him or not.

"Well?" he pushed.

"He was just doing things..." You covered your face, looking so adorably embarrassed. "…that felt good."

It was cute that you couldn't even tell what it was, looking excessively helpless like you were afraid Quinn would laugh at you or accuse you of horrifying things.

"You had a wet dream? With Luke? Out of the three of us? You dreamt of Luke?" He leaned his jaw on his loose fist, relaxing into the chair, knowing for certain that Luke's sweet image would be safe.

"Don't tease me, Quinny," you whisper-yelled, sitting down on your chair, scooting closer to Quinn. "It felt so real."

Because it was real.

"Wet dreams feel like that. You think your Lukey would violate you like that? I don't think he could fathom doing anything like that." His voice didn't even shake from the lie he was weaving to cover for Luke. "Although," he paused, drinking in your panicked gaze, "It would make sense if it were me, wouldn't it?" He looked at you head to toe, chuckling as you curled them. He licked his lips. "But no one came into your tent, Sweet Girl. I was watching."

A pause filled the air. Your hand gripped the hem of your shirt, baring more of your thighs. You gulped, closing your legs further. Your breaths got heavier the more you got flustered. You gulped, looking away. Then, instead of worrying about dilemma, instead of telling him off for reminding you of what happened days ago, you asked:

"You didn't sleep? All night?"

"Someone needed to keep watch." He reached for the thermos balancing on the sandy ground, pouring you a cup of tea he had brewed an hour ago. "Drink this. It'll help with the hangover."

You accepted the paper cup, still looking worried. "Quinn..."

"I don't mind staying up late." He stripped off his hoodie, shaking his hair out, offering it to you. "Here."

You accepted it too, placing it over your lap, sipping your tea gingerly. You were still visibly shaken from your 'dream', from his implications, from his admittance that he didn't sleep yet. You shouldn't really bother with anything. There was no need for unnecessary worry. You were safe.

Soon enough, his brothers appeared from the lake house, each holding a tray, each trying to overtake the other.

"Looks like breakfast is here."

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Quinn wished there was a way that his fingers would still smell like your pussy like how he could still feel your walls clamping around them. That would be such an ideal alternate reality. He would simply bring his hand up to his nose and smell them like he was snorting on fucking drugs. He might even lick and suck them, remembering your taste, wishing his tongue was fucking you as he ate the only thing he had been craving for in days. But alas, reality was boring.

Gone was your scent. Gone was his appetite for actual food.

He glared at the plate that Jack left for him. A simple chicken sandwich and a side salad with the dressing in a miniature cup. The idiot even left a note that he should eat and that he was gone to do Quinn's errand—fixing that specific camera which angle was off and was bothering Quinn for days.

He should be the one fixing that, but he saw Jack acting snappy during the morning, barely making progress in his hockey drills, jumping all over the place like he was high on his own existence, so he told Jack to do it.

His brother locked in his drills, even made lunch, rushing off like a tornado, leaving a mess behind him in terms of bowls and pans in the sink. Such a handful, that one.

Quinn didn't bother cleaning up, snatching the post-it from the counter, replacing it with a note for Luke to eat it instead. He went up to his room and laid down on his bed, scrolling to different video feeds through his phone. He watched Jack greet you with a hug, smiling at you with mischief, pretending that he was just passing by.

He shifted to his side, watching everything like he was watching a Netflix show instead. By the looks of it, as Jack sat on your bed with a plate of apple pie, he already knew his brother had forgotten what he was supposed to do.

Quinn sighed, rubbing his palm on his face, his touch lingering on his jaw. He needed to shave, but later.

"I'll take a quick shower, Jack. Finish the pie, okay?" You stood up, waiting and staring at Jack until he nodded, totally wrapped around your finger. "I'll be super quick."

"Take your time..." his brother murmured, his head following you to your ensuite, eating and eating.

Yeah, he totally fucking forgot what to do.

Instead of watching Jack alternate between wolfing down the pie and savoring it, he switched cameras to you standing in the shower. Fuck, you were majestic. Every curve, every line, your body was everything. He had touched every single part of you already and he wished to fuck you until he owned you. It included your precious ass.

What would you do if he pushed anal plug in there every night to stretch you out? Would you notice? Would you wake up at the tight stretch? Would you cry if he left it for you to discover in the morning? Would you call him for help?

You lathered up your body with soap, carefully washing yourself, looking like a delicious meal that he wished he could grab through the screen.

At that point, Quinn sent Jack a reminder on his task, shaking him out of his dissociation. When he was asked if he was watching, he affirmed but he didn't say that he was watching you. There was literally nothing he could get from watching his brother struggling with remembering. Quinn would always rather watch you.

When you finally rinsed and dried yourself, you only put on a specific shirt that Quinn had borrowed from Jack before, the one he labelled because Luke kept wearing it for practice, the one that he accused Quinn of stealing because it disappeared.

"You're the little thief," Quinn mused, a laugh bubbling up his throat. He stood to get to his PC, booting it up quickly. "Naughty girl, Jack would eat you up."

He was right.

As soon as you opened the door after you brushed your teeth and after you placed a towel on your head, Jack clocked the shirt. The shift in energy could be felt by Quinn too. There was a specific possessive glint in his eyes as he prowled to where you were, as he made you confess that was his, as he forced against your drawer.

"You think I'm fucking blind or something?" He trapped you there, barring his teeth just enough to shake you to the core.

"No, I..." You bit, when Jack grabbed the front of your shirt, giving you an unforgiving tug. You were so scared, your hands shaking, your eyes welling up with tears, your lips curving down in a pout. "Jack...come on. It's just one shirt."

"Wanna keep it?" Jack asked, his mood changing, the fury in his eyes turning into mischief. He grinned when you nodded, letting you go, reveling at the sight of you wobbling on your feet.

You were panting as your eyes dipped to Jack's lips, blinking slowly, staring until his brother did the same.

Quinn already knew what would happen as you two came closer like a magnet was drawing you in. His hands turned into fists as Jack captured your lips harshly, kissing you and biting you. His chest tightened as you tried to reciprocate his feral kiss, as you tried to push his brother away, as you whined when you were lifted over the dresser. A lump built into this throat as you pushed and pulled and melted, losing yourself in that kiss.

He wanted to be there too. He wanted to slide his hand to your pussy, feeling your arousal drip from your cunt. He wanted to kiss your neck, leaving mark after mark, biting down hard until you cried. He wanted to hear you cry out his name as you did with Jack's. He wanted—

Jack, the fucking idiot, stepped back. His face turned pale, panting in horror. Then he left you there, ignoring your calls.

"Jack, please," you sobbed. "Don't leave me."

Every sob was like a stab of a knife, driving deeper with a twist. It was painful to see you cry, to see you break, to see you all alone. Don't worry. Quinn could fix this.

His phone rang with Jack's name on the screen. It took him a second to calm down, to quell his anger, to clear his mind.

"Q, I—"

"If you want to fuck her, do it," he cut him off, rubbing at his chest. "You're making her cry."

"Is she?" A pause. "Fuck, she is." Then another pause. Like a petulant child getting what he wanted, he asked, "Can I really fuck her?"

"Do what you want but be patient with her." He brushed his hair back, his muscles flexing from the tension. "Do not tell Luke. Convince our girl to keep this a secret even from her precious Lukey."

Quinn threw his phone on the desk, shaking off the remnants of pain and anger inside him. He fixed it. Now, you had Jack giving you the affection you deserved. His brother had you. Quinn had the view unfolding before his eyes.

Oh, what a sight it was. You chasing after Jack's touches. You crying and writhing from being eaten out. You sobbing and flushing hard from the violent mixture of degradation and praises. You flinching and accepting the harsh and bruising slaps to your skin. Your pussy bleeding when Jack bottomed out inside you, fucking you in unforgiving thrusts. You were so perfect.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Quinn poured three glasses of whiskey, downing his before his brothers could take theirs, refilling his glass once more. He could barely feel the burn, the warmth settling in his empty stomach. He hadn't been eating as he needed according to his meal plans, but there was nothing he could do. He had a problem, it seemed.

"It's the ghosts!" Jack pointed at Quinn, shaking Luke's arm to get his attention as if he didn't just take your virginity that Luke was going for years. He kept the secret to himself. Unfazed. Carefree. Not a single change in his behavior. "The ghosts got to Quinn even if it's the off season."

"Read the room, Jack," Luke hissed, his fingers tracing over the rim of his glass.

Quinn drank again because of the headache caused by Jack's repetitive joke and pointing. It was funny at first, but it had gotten to that point. He remained silent, letting the two bicker around in circles, waiting until they finally got tired of each other.

"I'll visit her tonight," he announced. He needed you and he really had enough of them. "Do something else. I don't care, but I swear if either of you showed up, I'll take her for myself."

Luke gulped, nodding in understanding, while Jack huffed, glaring like he would complain.

"Fine, whatever," Jack huffed. "Only because you clearly need her." He crossed his arms, not even giving the glass of whiskey in front him a single glance. "What's wrong with you anyway?"

"You don't drink whiskey," Luke chimed in.

"I do." Quinn lifted his glass before he took it to the sink. The two shots were enough. He gave Jack a bland look. "I just need her. Alone. For one night." When they remained silent, he continued, "I get headaches and stuff. That's it."

"I thought it was something bad," Jack sighed, pushing his glass towards Luke. "It's just fucking withdrawal."

"As if you don't experience the same thing," Luke defended.

"I—"

"Enough." Quinn cut off Jack who immediately complained about being the one he cut off every time. "I'll bring her here tomorrow for breakfast."

That diverted what the two got going on from Quinn to breakfast. They talked about pancakes and waffles and the toppings you loved. It finally gave Quinn the opportunity to breathe, because for a second, he thought they'd try to bargain their way into his demand. However, they didn't.

It was wonderful, really. One of the reasons why he loved them. They might not have understood the depth of Quinn's frustration—or withdrawal—but they knew his limits as he knew theirs. They didn't push. They didn't tease too much. That was more than enough.

So, he finally sat down, commenting about breakfast here and there, feeling at ease.

In his silence, he pondered how the coming year would go. He would be ready if there were problems that came up. He would overcome it.

Then, they would finally have you.

All for themselves.

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Lovelies @probably--possessed @ijshockeygirlfriend @lovelygreatcheesecake @anthomanie @maluvv @miserymeats @kennyxkhaos

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the first time it happened, it was almost like a test, to see if you both liked it and if you were okay with including it in your games. And he was so worried before it happened, constantly asking if you were comfortable, if you were sure; talking about how he could stop if you didn't want to anymore, even though deep down he was dying to try.

and when it happened… it was like a button had been pressed for both of you.

from then on, you started doing it, not so often, but in a way that you were both comfortable with.

sometimes it happened when you were having sex, right in the middle of it all, maybe because he had just woken up, or by coincidence, but you no longer let him go to the bathroom and abandon you, so you started to take it in your hand, squeezing it, masturbating him, making his cock throb just before it started to release, staining your sweet skin with his pee, letting it slide into your pussy in an obscene way, colliding with your juices and making you throw your head back, enjoying it a little more than you should.

other times he'd ask you to hold it in your hand and help him slide inside you, filling you with his cock and his pee in seconds, without any sexual intent. Just you and him, sharing that intimate moment where he could use your body without limits, while you moaned, clung to his shoulders, and let him, squeezing your walls around him and leaving kisses on his neck as a reward.

and i have to admit, i think that's what got him hooked. Because now he can't stop. Every time he feels the tingle, he stops, holds it, because he has to wait for you, you have to be there. All the time. Ready to hold him, to make him feel good.

he needs to feel your soft skin, holding his cock, letting all his weight rest on your hand. And he loves it when you stroke him, when you gently squeeze him, guiding him, letting him release so comfortably.

even in the bathroom, he asks you to come in when he knows he needs to, because he doesn't want to hold it on his own anymore. He needs you. And you're more than happy to do it for him, feeling how hot his skin is from the moment he takes off his clothes, and noticing how it throbs when you hold him.

and it's mesmerizing, watching it fall, while he sighs and throws his head back, the pressure in his stomach disappearing, and hearing your sweet words in his ear, followed by your kisses on his shoulder.

and you love feeling useful, like you're helping him, saving him, even though you both knew it was almost an obscene whim.

but... how could you not like it?

today was another one of those moments, when you came home from shopping and saw him sitting on the couch, unable to stay still, fidgeting with his hands, one of his legs trembling. When he saw you, his eyes lit up, as if you were his salvation, and he stood up without a second thought, walking over to you, making you put your things down on the floor before heading to the bathroom in short, quick steps. And you didn't have to be a genius. You knew what he wanted, so you just smiled, following him without saying a word.

when he pulled down his pants, you took him in your hand, giving him gentle caresses and squeezes, playing with the tip and moving down to his balls when you noticed he was taking a moment to start. Until he began, wetting your hand and then the toilet, with that intense, heavy sound, the warm liquid mesmerizing your mind.

and you sighed happily, feeling his weight against you, letting go now that you were home, as it should be.

and later that day it happened again, this time while you were bouncing on his cock, moaning against his ear until you felt him force you to stay still, his hot pee wetting your walls, making you feel full, satisfied, ready to start rolling your hips once more while you listened to the obscene sound of wet bodies colliding again and again and again.

without feeling discomfort or disgust, because you'd both fallen into this hole of obsession. Sometimes even tried it with you, although for you it wasn't as pleasurable as holding him and feeling useful, so you only did that occasionally.

Jack is by the bar when he sees it. He tries to tell himself that it isn't any of his business, but the pretty brunette has already drawn him once. His brown eyes make him look like Bambi and he's cute. There's a man dragging the brunette and the brunette looks unfocused. Jack tries to tell himself that his heart is blacker than black, that he's lost the only person he's loved to his monster of a father, but his mind flashes to the brunette again and he follows.

Jack finds them in the alley. The brunette is drugged, uncoordinated so he stumbles. That makes the attacker angry. The attacker shoves the brunette into the wall face first. Jack moves. Years of honing his body, of being a brutal killing machine, means he can move quickly and quietly. The blonde doesn't see him, because of course it's a blonde. Jack hits precisely, twisting his knife into the blonde's spine and watching as he falls to the ground paralyzed. Jack smirks cruely as he bends down to crouch over him.

"I'm not saint but I got a thing about consent. Or maybe my heart isn't as black as I thought either way I don't like people that can't take no for an answer or decide drugging someone to sleep with them is the way to go," Jack says.

"He ain't even a man," the would be rapist yells out.

He takes pleasure in the squeal that comes out of the coward when he takes the knife he used to paralyze him and takes his favorite toy. He throws the offending appendage away from him and watches as the pig squeals and squirms until he passes out. Of course a coward like him wouldn't last long which is such a shame, but not the point and Jack makes sure to carve what he is into his skin for the world to see before he gets up and turns to the brunette. The pretty thing is on the ground staring at him with dazed eyes, he's bleeding from his lip and he also has a head wound and then he promptly pukes. Jack isn't sure what it is, he can't explain what made him move and act in the first place just like he can't explain the way he wants to instinctively take care of this man when he hasn't loved anyone like that except his mama.