#dark jack

(Separate)

Dark Quinn would lean against the door, his arms crossing, his lips twitching into a smirk at the sight of you so lost in your pleasure. He found it amusing that his cautious stalker didn't seem aware of his arrival, still continuing your desperate onslaught on your sopping wet pussy. His mouth watered at the sight of your arousal leaking aroung your fingers, dripping down your other hole, down to his silk bedsheets. His ears honed to your cries, to your little sobs of his name, to your mewls. He would wonder what he would do. Perhaps he should force that shirt you were smelling over your face, hold it there and fingerfuck you himself, and discover the spots that would make you scream and beg. Perhaps he should bring you close to your peak and take it away again and again. Perhaps he should just flip you over your stomach and spank you for being a naughty tease until your ass turned red and bruised. Perhaps he should just...snap a shackle around your ankle and keep you here like a pet who he could fuck and breed while you gave him all of your attention. Choices. Choices. He could do all of them and in any order so he would start with the shackle, successfully gaining your attention and your horror mixing with your realization as he unbuckled his belt. He would fuck you then. Rough and deep, exactly as how you were fingering your poor pussy.

Dark Jack would simply chuckle, enjoying the thrill of amusement and obsession wrapping and forming in his chest, his eyes turning crazed when you let out a tiny yelp, forcing your legs close, your cheeks shining a bright crimson, your body shaking with the need to bolt. He would mock how pathetic you were for staying, for masturbating on his bed like a slut, for leaving your gifts that he had thrown every single fucking time. He kept them all but he wanted to see you cry, to hear you say your sorry, to bargain your way out of a police report. All while he came closer and closer. All while he was snapping picture after picture All while he was planning exactly what he wanted to do. Then he would strike, grasping your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bed, spreading you wide. He would make you touch yourself again, spitting on your pussy to make you filthier. He would degrade you, tell you how much you had fucked up, and then when you came, he would praise you before urging you to touch yourself again, making you promise that you'd show up tomorrow and the day after the next so he could watch you get off, giving you a bait that he might fuck your pussy instead.

Dark Luke would watch you for a moment, drinking in your sheer desperation for him, not believing that he managed to catch you red handed in his room, then he would be silently prowling towards you, licking his lips at the sight of your fingers disappearing into your quivering pussy. He would take in your rhythm, your movements, and sounds while he reached the bed, his knees hitting the floor, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you to him, ignoring your surprise and your fight, forcing your hand off your pussy so he could feast. Luke was just a man. He had a willing pussy on his bed. Not just any pussy, the pussy that had been stalking him and now had been making a mess on his fresh sheets. It meant it was his to eat, his to fuck with anything he wanted to use. His tongue. His fingers. His cock. He got time and he didn't care if you try to pull away because he could feel your want. He could hear his name escaping your lips like a plea. He could see you cave into the pleasure he would make you addicted to until you could no longer breathe without him.

(All three)

Seeing you masturbate on their couch was an open invitation to be fucked, because what else woud it be? They would move in perfect symphony like different instruments playing the same piece for an orchestra. Luke would grab your hands, forcing them over your head, his touch bruising. Jack would grab one of your thighs and your throat, squeezing when you try to speak, muttering 'shut up' like a threat. Quinn would push the jacket—you chose his—up to reveal your tits, using the same hand to flatten your thigh on the couch, while he tugged his pants down.

"Such a needy pussy," he mocked as he slapped his length on your clit, before sinking inside you with a deep thrust. "So ready to be fucked, aren't you, little stalker?"

When you moaned while your eyes showed your alarm, Jack would coo, "Of course, we know the flowers were from you. We love them so much."

"Did you like the flowers we send to you too?" Luke would blurt out, his thumbs carressing your pulse in a steady rhythm while Quinn fucked into you so roughly that you were coming in no time. "We never got scared of your gifts but you get scared from ours. It is a bit...funny."

"So funny," Jack would chime.

The two would talk over you, both praising your gifts while mocking your attempts to grab their attentions. They overwhelmed you with it along with the cock rutting against your spot that had your back arching, your toes curling, your scream fighting through the firm hold around your throat. They wouldn't let you speak beyond your moans and screams. They wouldn't let you come rest from your high. Why should they? They wanted to show that they owned your body as they owned you mentally.

When Quinn finally came, his cum sitting inside your pussy, he would switch with Jack who would fuck you through your oversensitivity. Then Quinn and Luke would be the one mocking you next. The same went by when it was Luke's turn to fuck your sore pussy.

Turn after turn.

There was no rest for you even when you passed out from the exhaustion or from when your orgasm toppled over the last or from your obsession being reflected with theirs.

You would just woke up to the harsh roll of your pleasure peaking into an incredible high that your body tensed and bowed as your pussy clamped around a cock that pounded right at that spot that had you screaming a helpless plea. You could barely see their eyes looking down at you because your brain was still trapped in your dreams while you could feel the ache, the soreness, the pain of the unrelentless fucking that led you over another cliff when you haven't came down from your earlier high.

"Fuck," you cried out, trying to get away, failing as a bruising grip held your hips, as a rough hand wrapped around your throat, as a cock slapped your lips before invading your throat. "Hngg—"

You would be choking around the cock, tasting the salty pre-cum dribbling on your tonge then your throat, feeling yourself get used like you were nothing but a toy. You might as well be.

When you tried to push, hands would grip your already bruised wrists. When your mind tried to keep up, your clit was assaulted with a wand vibrating until you were seeing white from the intense pleasure doubling, tripling, quadrupling—

"Stop. Please," you pleaded when the thick and twitching cock slipped out of your lips, a trail of saliva connecting your swollen lips to its leaking tip. You stared up and saw an amused gaze looking down at you before your eyes rolled at the feel of the cock brushing against the deepest parts of you. "Fuck yes."

"Such a fucking whore," someone said as you came so hard that you were drenching the one who was fucking you. "Move."

The next thing you knew besides the pressure of your orgasm threatening to burn your entire existence was the cock being replaced by a greedy tongue, lapping and the juices you squirted, gulping at the cream that dripped down your ass, spitting into your pussy to make you filthier.

At one point, you'd be passing out.

You would be too lost in your pleasure that your consciousness was fading in and out. You would be too fucked as two cocks slapped at your face, taking turns into dipping into your slutty mouth, making you choke and sputter as your legs shook from another orgasm. Again. Again. And again.

At one point, you'd be woken up by another wave of an intense orgasm followed by cum painting overfucked pussy.

At one point, you were flipped to your knees two cocks stretched your cunt and another fucking into your throat.

At one point, you would be filled by so much cum that you doubt your birth control was enough.

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.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

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.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

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.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

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.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

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?

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

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.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

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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Luke didn't know who convinced you that you were a heavy drinker, because they lied and you were definitely not one. You still insisted on it despite how red and wobbly you were on your seat, despite how much your words slurred and stumbled and mixed, despite how much you'd been hounding your next beer can like your life depended on it. He only watched—amused and satisfied—while he greedily stared at your white lacey panties peeking at him whenever you shifted, happily thanking your decision to wear your extremely short shorts.

Who knew white would show through white? It was an amazing sight. A very dangerous one.

He shifted, casually grabbing a pillow to put over his lap. When you gave him a questioning look, he just shrugged, patting the spot next to him.

"I'm not drunk," you swore for the fifth time. Unprompted. You were suddenly stretching, your shirt lifting and revealing your abdomen, showing him your smooth and silky skin. "You need to keep this as a secret, Lukey."

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "If you play with me."

"Games?" You giggled, sighing when he nodded. "Shouldn't we have played before we drank...how many have you drunk, Lukey? I think I drank two cans."

You'd already drank five.

"Yeah, me too," Luke lied. He wasn't even finished with one, because if he was drunk, he might not be able to stop himself. His arms flexed as he casually laid them over the couch's back rest. Not even trying to come up with a game, he proposed, "Truth or drink?"

"Sounds dumb." You hummed.

It was dumb, but he already knew when you were this drunk, you wouldn't remember anything tomorrow. After all, you were that type. He had known that ever since you'd drink with just him—even with him and his brothers. You wouldn't remember any of the stuff that you said and done.

Like when you confessed to him that you hadn't gotten past second base and cried so helplessly and so hard that you passed out. Luke couldn't keep that to himself. When he got home, he immediately told his brothers who were both smirking. Quinn just said, "I know." Jack was instantly spewing that you could be a kinky fucking virgin, his words rattling Luke.

Like when Jack dared you to strip and you did. Well, almost. You were so drunk that you got stuck in your shirt, ending up crying and having a panic attack. Quinn punched Jack's stomach for that before teasing and mocking the fuck out of you, making you panic until Luke objected. He had gotten you out of your dilemma, cuddling you until you fell asleep.

Like when you spilled almost everything about you, about your friends and family, about how you really liked Luke and his brothers.

You were always so fucking talkative and were asked so many questions. You were so easy and not seeing that you were in danger every time you hung out with them. You didn't seem to care, smiling and giggling and having the time of your life. Then you would forget. Quinn prodded you time and time again, but you would be clueless and failing to connect and recount anything that he said. Luke also did the same, of course. Again, nothing.

Luke grabbed it, opening it for you, basically pushing it into your hand. "You wanna start?"

"Okay, whatareyou—" your words sounded like it was one word, "—umm...looking forward to in New Jersey?" You frowned, clearly not happy with the question you came up.

"Just hockey. You know I like hockey." Luke shrugged, his eyes dropping to your hand slipping in your shirt to scratch your side. "Any new crushes?"

Luke expected you to say, "I don't have any crushes," which is an ideal answer, but you stared at him, your lips parting, looking pale, then you took a large swig.

What. The. Fuck.

"You got a crush?" he asked, his head tilting, his chest squeezing in panic. You could have a celebrity crush. That was normal and you would tell him about any of the people in your shows or movies or what the fuck not, but you were not telling him anything right now. That meant an actual fucking person in your life. "Who?"

You lips trembled, your hands death-gripping your beer. "I'm not supposed to say."

He looked away, his jaw working. He almost pulled out his phone and sent Quinn a text. This was wrong—

"Are you angry?" You asked, your voice breaking. When he shook his head, you screamed, "You're lying!"

"I mean, it's fine. You just don't trust me enough to tell me."

"I trust you, Lukey." You crawled to sit next to him, your neckline dropping, letting him see your tits in a lacey bra. "It's dumb. I just came across these TikToks for this show. You could say it's a crush."

Fucking hell. It really was just a fictional character. Were you fucking serious? You could've told him immediately. Why did you have to—

"Do you have crush, Lukey?"

Luke actually contemplated on telling you the truth. He only ever had one crush in his entire life, and it was you, but he agreed to keep it as a secret, so he shook his head. His chest squeezed because he could easily say it. He liked you. He liked your smile because it lit up your face. He liked your eyes because they were so clear, carrying your emotions like glass. He liked your body, your softness, your curves. He liked hearing your voice. He liked everything about you, but he couldn't say it just yet.

Quinn would have his ass if Luke told you. His older brother was always strict with his orders—there was no other way to describe it—being followed. They might be testing Luke's patience time and time again, but everything worked out once the plans were snapped into place. It would be all good. It would be fine.

You were waiting for his answers with wide eyes, but when he took a sip of his beer, you deflated. "You are so mean. You know I won't tell..."

"I know." He smirked. Then he pretended to yawn which caused you to actually yawn, because you were watching him so fucking closely. "Wanna sleep?"

You gingerly nodded, crawling closer to him, dragging your blanket, resting against his side. "Wanna sleep here."

He didn't do anything much. He just wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving you tiny pats, listening to your incoherent ramblings. He waited until your eyes finally drooped with sleep. Until your breaths evened out. Until he was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted with your sleeping body.

He rolled your hair around his fingers, smelling your shampoo lingering on them, observing your reaction when he gave it a tug.

He slipped his hand under your blanket, his fingers grazing your tits, moving down and down. He pressed on your tummy until he got impatient, so he slipped his hand under your shirt, feeling your body heat directly. He dove lower, his big hand pushing between your legs, cupping your pussy over your shorts. This pussy would be his soon.

Carefully yet firmly, he glided his hand right where your slit was, fingertips rubbing over your clit. His.

When you let out a tiny moan, Luke continued on and on, loving it when your arousal was seeping past your shorts, when your tiny sighs and moans were slipping out of you and were escalating. You were such a sweet girl, spoiling him with you. He finally stopped when he thought you'd wake up. He stayed there with your weight against him while he stared at the darkness of your TV screen, his heart pounding, his lips curving into a victorious grin.

He let the hour pass before he decided to take you to bed. He carried you in a princess carry, his forearm under your knees, his other hand on your back, your face pressing on his neck. He softly laid you down, tucked you in with your blanket, and watched you for a few more moments before he got up to clean.

This was a fun day.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

All your lights were off again. You really should leave one on as a precaution. It could deter thieves or whatever idiots who'd try to break in your house—well, idiots who were not Luke. He would make sure to destroy anyone who would shatter your peaceful bubble. You weren't allowed to worry, so Luke was justified for breaking in through your balcony. Right?

Of course, he was right.

There was no way he wasn't.

After a day of still feeling your warmth on his palms and your weight on his side after that brief drinking game, he had enough of the distance. He needed to see you. He needed more. The touches he could steal weren't enough. The greedy looks he memorized were only making him ravenous. The smell of your lotion lingering in the air everywhere you go had him parched for a chance to smell it directly from your skin.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, softly tugging your heavy comforter down and down and down until he could see the outline of your nipples hardening under your silk nightgown. Wow, you're so pretty. His hand hover over your face, wanting to touch you.

What if he just...closed his hand over your mouth?

What if he forced his fingers in your lips instead?

He shook his head, trying to keep those thoughts away, but it already did its damage. He was hard and aching in his pants. He groaned, daring a touch on your lips, gasping at the warmth of your breath, moaning when you let out an incoherent gibberish. Why the fuck are you so adorable without even trying?

You were trouble. Trouble in the form of the sweetest girl he had ever met.

He cursed, pulling out his heavy and hard cock, his hand wrapping around it, squeezing until he was dripping. He wasn't supposed to do this, but what else was he supposed to do? His cock hurt. He hadn't touched himself in weeks. He keep tamping his needs from that night like he always had. He was actually trying to be good—his own version of good—instead of pretending to be, but he was weak and here he was.

He swiped his thumb over his dribbling slit, gritting his teeth, letting out a loud groan, fully knowing that you wouldn't wake up.

You were a heavy sleeper. Well, not too heavy. If he shook you, you would definitely wake up, but he wasn't.

He was just there, stroking his cock, his senses being filled by you. He could see you sleeping like princess, unaware of the danger right inside your room. He could hear your soft breaths and tiny snores, so peacefully unbroken. He could smell your pureness, always so clean and wonderful. He could feel your skin from when he touched earlier.

"Fuck," he gasped, your name escaping his lips, sounding more like a prayer to whatever god there was.

Heat pooled deep inside his core for every stroke, every squeeze, every dream that instead of his hand, it was yours or your pussy aiming to milk him dry. Fuck, he would give you every drop of cum in his body. It was all yours. He was yours.

Luke came onto his other hand, being careful about his mess, gasping and groaning as he tightened his grip around his base. After his last spurt, he sagged, staring at the ceiling, his sweat dripping down his temple. That felt good. He needed that.

His body felt electrified. His mind was buzzing. He finally looked down, turning his hand over, seeing how thick seed dripping from it, while he fixed his briefs and his pants. He was going to make a mess. He needed tissues. Why didn't he bring his handkerchief—

He jolted, his eyes nearly budging out his head, his body going in fight-or-flight, because Quinn was there.

His older brother was standing on the doorway like a looming presence that Luke didn't even noticed. He was just looking over at you rather than at Luke, his eyes roving down your body and back to your face, then he turned towards Luke, lifting his eyebrow, tilting his head. He was assessing. Silently. Dauntingly.

Luke felt a shiver ran down his spine, flinching when Quinn threw something at him. He caught it in reflex. A pack of tissues.

"Clean up," Quinn said. His tone was unbothered. He moved, turning on the small fan you have in the corner of the room, opening the windows. He was airing out your room. The room Luke just filled with the scent of his cum.

"Quinn." Luke gulped, quickly and clumsily wiping at his hand, at the mess that dripped on his pants, at any trace left behind. His cheeks were burning not just from his orgasm but also from being caught by his older brother. "I was just..."

"It's fine, Luke." Quinn sat on the other side of the bed, pulling your blanket over you. He grazed your cheek with his knuckles, up and down, gently like he was handling porcelain. "No need to explain."

Luke thought he would be lectured. It wouldn't be new, because it was Quinn. However, the next hour was filled by both of them watching you sleep. The panic in his chest dying down into calmness. He understood it then that him visiting you at night and jerking off to you was okay. It wouldn't anger or disappoint his older brother.

But what would?

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Luke laughed at the idiocy Jack was doing with the roasted marshmallows. His brother was toasting the fuck out the gigantic marshmallows you brought. Then he was complaining that it tasted fucking burnt, because he fucking bit on the charcoal of a lump on his stick. He was so dumb.

"Who are you laughing at, Lukey?" Jack hissed, spitting on the sandy soil, picking at his tongue with his fingers. "Stop laugh—Oh, thank you." He instantly simmered down, his mood shifting in a snap as you handed him a perfectly golden marshmallow, his eyes shining with a mix of amazement and crazy. "Wow."

"It's just marshmallows, Jack," you said shyly, slowly turning your marshmallow, looking so cozy with your decorated camping chair. "I can't believe we're camping outside your lake house."

"Better than mountains." Jack shivered. "Imagine the," he gulped, his eyes wide, "bugs..."

You and Jack shared a terrified look. Yours were genuine, but Jack’s was well-crafted, it looked real, but Luke knew better. As you started ranting about the cockroach you saw one day in a restaurant, your feet stomping when you motioned how exactly it flew towards you, Jack reacted in disgusted and scared winces. It was just ruse. Jack was psychotic. There was no way he was afraid of roaches, but you didn't know that.

"Stop talking about bugs," Quinn sighed, finally coming back with a cooler full of beers. He handed all of you one after he uncapped it with the opener that you had given them before.

"Bugs are the bane of my existence," Jack gasped, while you nodded, folding your marshmallow between your crackers. "Zero tolerance for bugs here."

"Yes," you agreed.

You took a bite of your smore, the marshmallow spilling, leaving white fluff sticking to the corners of your lips, totally mesmerizing the fuck out of all of them. You were so clueless about the change of atmosphere as the sound of wood snapping filled the air along with your small and satisfied moans. Of course, you loved that sweet treat, don't you? This was—

"Jack! Make your own!" You whined as Jack grabbed your wrist, taking a huge bite of your smore.

It wasn't just the smore he got. He also had the tips of your fingers past his lips. he even greedily lingered before pulling away with a fucking smirk on his crazy fucking face. He was taunting Luke and Quinn. There was no other explanation because you gave them pointed looks, humming to himself as he laid back, his legs stretching before him, drinking a huge swig of beer to down the sweetness of your treat.

"I liked that batch," you huffed, eating the leftover crumbs, licking at the melted chocolate and marshmallow on your fingers.

Luke tried to look away, but he just couldn't. Your innocent licks had his blood rushing through his veins. He rubbed his hand over his face, subtly hiding his rousing problem with his hand holding the beer bottle. You were going to be the death of him.

He knew he wasn't the only one. Jack's smirk dwindled. Quinn's already seething eyes darkened further, a wordless warning aiming at him and Jack.

Luke swallowed, shaking off your effect with difficulty, but as soon as Quinn roped you in a conversation about your plans during hockey season, he was settling down. He listened, chiming in when he got something to say, observing how he and his brothers took turns swapping your empty bottle with a new one.

They were making your drunk. A small punishment for teasing them without knowing. it didn't take too long until your words were melting together, until you had forgotten about your marshmallows, munching on the Cadbury bar instead.

"It's getting late," Quinn announced, stretching in his seat. He nodded to the four tents they propped up for the night. One for each to lessen any arguments, specifically to quiet down Jack's incessant request to tent with you. "If we want to sail out before sunrise, we need to sleep."

Luke started to lightly clean up, just dumping the cans in a trash bag. Jack just nodded, giving you a pat on the head, not bothering with anything else as he slipped in his tent. Quinn came closer to you, leading you to your tent, shaking his head when you tried to pull him inside for a cuddle. He helped Luke put your treats in your containers, saving them from any ants or whatnots, dousing the campfire with water.

"Night, Luke," Quinn sat on his chair while Luke dipped inside his tent, answering, "Good night, Q."

Luke woke up after an hour, his body burning, his cock swelling. His mind tried to remember what he had just dreamt about. He failed and ended up overheating. He rushed to unzip his tent, fresh air hitting him in the face. He panted, brushing his curls away from his face.

The night was silent. Quinn was already in his tent, probably sleeping his exhaustion away. He was always exhausted. There was never a day that Quinn wasn't. There might be a few days he was more open, the shadows under his eyes brighter, but those days were rare. He never shared why, but he was okay. It was his normal.

Luke crawled out, letting the wind cool him down. It wasn't fucking working.

When it wasn't working, there was only one solution. Quietly, he went to your tent. He unzipped the zipper quickly, pausing to hear if he had woken up any of his brothers, then coming inside. The space was cramped, but he could still fit. The tents were made for two people after all.

He smiled at how you were barely covered in your blankets, then he broke as he noticed that you were only wearing an oversized shirt that was pulled up to your chest, your hand resting on your tummy, your cotton panties looking so delectable.

"Hey," he called, muttering your name. "Wake up. I need your help, sweetheart."

No response.

Luke carefully run his hands on your thighs, feeling your softness and firmness. He called you again as he dragged them apart, slotting himself in between. He reached to open your tent further, letting in the moonlight. He tugged his shorts down, keeping his boxers on, pressing against your pussy.

"I don't know what happened, I swear. I just woke up and I am fucking burning." He gritted, rolling his hips to hump at your clothed pussy, gasping at the friction of his boxers against his skin. "I wish I could fuck you."

"Mmm," you moaned, your head falling to the side, your eyebrows meeting. Your pussy was getting wet the more he grinded against your clit, soaking through your panties, the white cotton turning transparent. "Ahh."

"Does it feel good?" He asked, gritting his teeth, grasping, looking down to see the wet stain on his boxers from his pre-cum and your arousal. "You're so wet."

Pleasure stabbed at his core the more he rolled his hips. He wanted to rip your panties off. He wanted to grind directly on your slit, to push his tip in your pussy, to tease you until you came with just that. He wanted to fill you up with cum and pray that it would take so he could own up to the responsibility of taking care of you beyond how he was already doing. He wanted so much more, but he didn't want to betray his brothers.

He could hold back. He could do it.

Luke would thrust onto you, imagining he was inside you instead, imagining you staring up at him while he claimed your body. When it got too much that his head was fogging up, his hand nearly pulling your panties to the side, he would pause to trace your pussy with his fingers, pressing firmly as if he could just pushed into you.

"You need to wake up, Sweetheart." Luke groaned, pulling you by your thighs, pressing tightly against you. "Please."

His tears stung his eyes for every desperate thrusts, for every moan you let out, for every second that you still lay asleep. He just wanted to be seen. Fuck his sweet image. Fuck everything. He wished that you could see him.

All of him.

All the bad that he was disguising with the good.

You must see him for yourself, and you had to accept it, because you would destroy him if you don't.

Luke came with a strangled moan, forcing his hand to let go of your thighs so he wouldn't leave bruises on your skin. He spilled inside his boxers, making a fucking mess on himself, but it didn't matter. He was still coming when he dipped down your body, lapping at your pussy, swearing because it was as if he directly licking you. God, you tasted so fucking good.

He could feel your entrance quivering, clenching and dripping with more and more of your arousal, and feel your body tensing and shaking. Your delicate hands gripped at your shirt so he reached to hold them. Your breaths and your incoherent murmurs echoed in his mind as new ones sounded from your lips.

Luke sucked on your clit, teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves, muttering for you to wake up again and again.

He didn't stop until you came, your hips jutting forwards, your thighs shaking, your eyes fluttering open. You panted, staring at him with half-lidded eyes that were still snared with dreams and beyond.

Luke gave your pussy a kiss, crawling over you, but before he could even level your gaze, you were already sleeping again. Fuck.

Holy fuck. You caught him.

Luke scrambled out of your teeth, hurriedly pulling his shorts back up, zipping your tent as quietly as he could, watching if you were to wake up fully, but he managed to close your tent without that happening. He spun on his heels, aiming to get to the lake house to change his cum stained boxers, freezing at the sight of Quinn sitting on his camping chair.

Quinn caught him too. What the fuck was this kind of luck?

"Did she wake up?" He asked, his head tilting.

"I don't know," Luke blurted, his hackles rising at the thought of you pulling away from him tomorrow. He licked at his lip, still tasting your pussy on it. "Her eyes opened. I don't know."

"She won't remember it, Luke." Quinn uncapped another bottle of beer. "Calm down."

"But—"

"It's okay." Quinn took a sip of his beer, the moonlight casting shadows on his sharp features, making him look more of creature of the dark than ever. He smirked. "I never knew you spook so easily."

Luke flushed, blinking in disbelief. Easily? It was a fucking shock. Yes, he wanted you to see him, but maybe not actually. He didn't fucking know. It was complicated. He was gone in his head. He wanted to retort, try to defend his honor or something, but Quinn waved him away, telling him to clean up and not tell Jack about it.

With a huff, he turned away, stomping his way to the lake house for a shower and a fresh set of clothes.

Of course, he wouldn't tell Jack.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Quinn wasn't lying when he said you wouldn't remember, because if you had, you wouldn't come with Luke on your scheduled excursion to the amusement park.

Luke handed you the bear he won in that dart mini game here in the amusement part, grinning at how puny you looked holding that massive fucking bear. He tried to snatch your cotton candy so you could hold the bear properly for a photo, but you glared at him.

"I got it," you huffed, taking a big bite of cotton candy. "Oh no, no, no." You panicked at the soft treat shrinking from where you bit it. "Lukey, help me!"

With a sigh, he tore that part off, saving your treat from your saliva. His heart fluttered when you smiled in delight like he had done so much after simply tearing a piece of your cotton candy. He took a quick photo of you and finally grabbed the bear.

"We should probably take that to the car," you giggled. "It's so big."

After a quick trip to the car, strapping the bear in the back seat, you two were back to walking around the amusement park until Luke pulled you to the roller coaster line.

"I don't really want to ride anything today," you grumbled, jumping when his hand snaked to your waist to pull you towards him. "Lukey?"

"There's so many people," Luke complained, making sure no one touched a hair on your body. He gritted his teeth when the people behind stepped to close, so he pulled you in front of him, keeping you tight against his chest that he felt you shudder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just..." You took a step forward, leaning against the metal railing, looking at Lukey with your cheeks turning red. You paused, before motioning him to come close, so he did, offering you his ear, his curls falling on his forehead. "My ass is sore."

That surprised Luke. Why would your ass be sore—

"I fell down the stairs." You pouted, your tone light yet it sounded off. Why did it sound off? Were you hiding something?

When he picked you up, you had this sad look while you sat on the steps of your front porch. Your bag of essentials including some spare clothes were next to you while you sat there, staring at your phone like you were waiting for someone to call ro text. So, Luke called you, smiling when you finally noticed him parked in front of your house. You perked up like a freshly watered flower.

Maybe there was something more to that sad look. Luke assumed you got sad because he ran late, but what if it was something else. He wanted to ask, make sure you were okay but also test what you were hiding, but when your arms wrapped around his torso, rubbing your face on his chest, he got distracted. He hugged you back, feeling how well you fit together.

You were so tiny.

"What are Quinn and Jack doing?" You asked, parting from him just in time for the line moving. You glanced at Luke, waiting.

"Quinn's probably off for errands like usual. He gets busy during summer. Jack...is probably doing drills."

Luke shrugged. While he knew his brothers, he didn't really know whatever the fuck they were doing, except for Jack. He saw his schedule of the day. When he arrived at 8AM—two hours early than he was supposed to—earlier from his parents, he caught Jack dozing right on top of the fucking kitchen counter like it was his bed because he was wrong in the head. Next to him were notes of the drills he had to do.

"Jack missed his drills yesterday, so he might be finishing it today."

"Ohh." You nodded, wrapping your arm around Luke's. More to yourself than to Luke, you mumbled, "Missed his drills..."

"Yeah." Luke took your empty paper cone, folded it and tucked it in his pants. "Why?"

"Nothing. Just wondering about what they're doing. How about you, Lukey? What about your drills?"

"I'll do it tomorrow." He averted his gaze.

"Oh my god, you're skipping!" You gasped in disbelief.

"It's fine. It's summer," Luke defended.

"Naughty Lukey," you tutted, crossing your arms playfully.

To be called naughty for skipping today's drills when he had been doing so much more vile things to you was so funny. You have no idea how naughty he could be.

⊹˚.⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆✮⋆ ˖ ݁ 𖥔. ࣪˖⟡.˚⊹

Luke was floating in his mind, recalling the lightness and fluffiness he had felt during his time with you, savoring the memories of your body pressing against him in different rides, wincing at how he feigned innocence because he nearly let his mask slip. It was hard to do it when you were staring at him with your sparkly eyes, your innocence seducing the fuck out him.

One day, he would slip accidentally. Or one day, he would let his darkness took over and demand you to look at him and not back out by the possibility that you'd reject him. One day.

"Are you sick?" Jack popped up next to Luke like a fucking jump scare. "Whoa, whoa. Why are you being physical?" Jack huffed, stepping back and effectively dodging a punch to his face. "I am being a concerned big brother and you're gonna punch me?"

"You scared me, you asshole." Luke grunted, rolling his eyes when Jack plopped down next to him anyway. "And why would I be sick?"

Jack stretched, his arms settling on the back of the couch. With a straight face, he joked, "You were looking haunted like Quinn."

Then his older brother started cackling at his joke. He was unbelievable, downright wrong in the head, crazy. He needed to be locked up with a straitjacket. It wasn't even funny, and he was laughing too fucking hard. He was even bending over and holding his stomach.

"Don't you know about that meme?" Jack could barely say in between laughs. "Holy fuck, you don't! I'll show you. It is so funny."

He coughed, fighting his laugh until it turned into a giggle, scrolling through his phone. He showed Luke several posts of Quinn dissociating on the bench. Swipe after swipe. There were so many memes about their oldest brother. The screenshots turned into videos of Quinn and ghosts.

"See? You looked exactly like Quinn." Jack continued to scroll through his phone.

It was funny, yes, but Luke couldn't fucking laugh when Quinn—the supposed haunted Hughes brother—was standing right there, his eyes following whatever it was on Jack's phone. Only when Quinn let out an amused chuckle did Luke laugh a bit, feeling relieved.

"Oh, you're there, Quinn. Look." Jack shoved his phone at their oldest, not even getting jumpy at Quinn's presence. "Congratulations for being haunted by ghosts."

"That's funny." Quinn took his phone and sat on the other side of Luke. "Seems like being worked to my bones are equal to being haunted by a ghost."

Jack snapped, nodding in agreement. "And Luke looked haunted just now."

"No, I was not." Luke frowned. "Was I?"

"Yep." Jack nodded willfully.

After a moment of silence, Quinn looked at Luke up and down and with an actual worried tone, he asked, "Are you good, Luke?"

He contemplated, sighing. He could trust them. Both of them, including lunatic Jack. So, he said, "I want her now."

He had expected Jack to turn away and leave Quinn to convince Luke that the wait was still not fucking over, but he perked up, his eyes incredibly clearer than ever. He couldn't say the same with Quinn who gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching.

"Fuck, I know. We're still taking our fucking time." Luke leaned back, his head falling backwards, ignoring Jack who was now grumbling fuck knows what. "I just need her."

"Why are you two so impatient these days?" Quinn crossed his arms, laying backwards too.

"Because we wanna have her, Q!" Jack plopped back dramatically, jostling the cushions. Now, all three of them were just sprawled on the couch like three fucking idiots. "Even Lukey wants to stop this. Can we just grab her for us?"

Luke agreed. It was fun to play and get you more and more hooked for them, but it was also so fucking bad. The more time passed, especially with the hockey season coming soon, the more their fucked-up cravings fester. Their wants turned into volatile need, trapping them in a place where they had you, but they also didn't.

"I don't want her to meet anyone else," Luke muttered, shaking his head to keep any image of you with another person that wasn't any of them. "She's so beautiful. People will want her."

"They already do," Jack spat, his voice ice cold. "It's hard not to want such a sweet girl."

"No one will take her from us, and she will not find someone else." Quinn sat up, staring down Luke and Jack. "Just one more year. That was always the plan."

Luke sighed, conceding, unlike Jack who let out another huff before agreeing. He was  used to Quinn and his timelines, but he was getting antsy. Sometimes. It was inevitable.

He grunted at his hair getting messed up by the pats from Quinn who stood to answer a phone call, leaving him to listen to Jack's chaotic rants about anything and everything. He stayed quiet, half-ignoring Jack and half-listening, pondering.

To be fair, Luke could pass time by playing with you. Then the year would be over before he knew it.

Well, it was decided then. Luke would wait.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. 💜

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

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The blood is viscous in his mouth, filling every open space, each violent strike of his teeth against his tongue and cheeks filling his mouth with hot, red, clarifying pain. A bitter taste, an ache in his gums. Irritation welling up inside at him at your poor idea of safety, your misguided views of what you need in your life, who you need in your life.

Balled fists hitting the sides of his thigh with every insult he spits out towards you in his head, every insult he swallows back. Punishment for thinking awful thoughts about you. So riled from the ring of yours drowning his brain— you’d had the audacity to insult him, to state how afraid you are of him, how his attention isn’t appreciated. All his hours following you to keep you safe. All his hours keeping you isolated from every man wishing you harm.

An easier pill to swallow if you were with someone else— he knows you’d be overwhelmed with guilt for leaving them for him. He could’ve worked with that, maintained his view. He could’ve handled this calmly, you could’ve gone along with it.

The lock on your door is horrendous— traces of rust and corrosion mirroring his tainting of the view of you. Another reason why you need him as a shield to hide behind. His feet halted in front of your door, fighting through the options in his head. There’s nothing stopping him from flying off the handle with you, torching the foundation of your relationship with him. Toes curling inside his shoes, the heavy weight pressed into the creaking wood at his feet.

Your apartment isn’t structurally sound in any shape or form. You could’ve moved in with him, would have experienced luxury that only he could provide for you. Shifting his weight side to side to amplify the creaking. He knows you’re asleep in there, snuggled in the sheets, sleeping well with no guilt keeping you up. No sympathy for the damage you’ve done.

Fingers trailing across each metal chain, tugging on each link. The pry-bar resting in his hand a serious weight. The chill of the metal stinging his palm, colliding with the red hot anger surging through him. Each clench an engine combustion. Sliding the edge behind the feeble chain, yanking it towards him with an unhinged recklessness, breaking the seal of your safety. Baring every weakness of your life.

Hand reaching to snatch the pressure broken chain, silencing the warning crash of metal against the floor. Another building block to the plan sliding into his pocket— if he doesn’t leave any concrete evidence for you to use against him, it’ll breed another level of panic for you. No power behind the accusations. No police. Nobody to truly believe you— only he can offer you that devotion.

A tremble in the hand reaching to open the door, a shake he violently smacks out with the other. He won’t let himself be sabotaged by his own body, by the small chunk of his conscious crying out for him to stop. He needs the unpredictable streak, he needs to herd you into his arms with a firmer touch.

Every inhale of the air fills him with the taste and smell of your body. The smell of your lotion, your shampoo, your body wash— everything lingers as a slow drug in the air. His breathing accelerated from greed, his tongue pressing into every corner of his mouth to feel you. Running a path over each tooth, soothing the need to physically show you why he’s for you. Biting back the urge to truly invade your space and strike your skin with his teeth as daggers.

He lets his feet drop deeper with every step towards your bedroom, towards the object of his obsession contaminated love. More weight on his heels, the heavy sound climbing with every floorboard. His face fighting the growing elation tugging at the corners of his mouth, flickering between the wave of forced calm and the twisted smirk. Home with you. He’s here with you. The closest he’s ever got to being wrapped in your arms.

Resisting the urge to creak open your door feels like a brutal punishment, one forming from his behaviour, letting your rejection sit. Letting you escape from him, the brief moment of rationality taking over enough to have kept his feet planted in front of the devastation you’d caused around him. Each word a stab into his heart. A weakness he needs to burn out of his system.

A chair wedged behind the cold handle of the door, the feet firm against the floor. It’s not time to play with you yet, to let you around him. A shaken trust in your sanity and decision making. Pilling as many heavy things as he can on top of the seat, weighing down the makeshift lock. His weight equalising from the relief.

He’s through with his investigation, the pads of his fingers grazing every surface in your apartment. Fingers curling around the edge of your fridge door, dipping his hand in every drawer, observing the weight of your knives. The texture of your clothes, scattered around. The book titles littered across your shelves. Observing, cataloguing.

Sinking down into your sofa, fluffing the pillows behind his back. Tapping an impatient rhythm against the firm touch of his leg, crossed over the side. The rim of his cap clouding his eyes in a reflection of his head, gaze shooting to your bedroom door with every new noise, a knife twisting in his spare. An extra method of persuasion. The glint of his madness reflecting in the blade.

The sound of the soft snores leaking out from your door, calming him enough to keep him level. The knowledge that he’s got over your hurdle— his place cemented in your life, in your home. You’ll be appreciative of the effort he’s put in, you’ll fall for him. You’ll come around. His head dropping back to rest against the couch. Measured patience.

You can't blame him for indulging in your body. Not when you look so at peace in his own space. Not when your phone flashes his own face back to him when he leans over— the light of the screen highlighting both the insanity present in his eyes and the dark marks under them, crafted from exhaustion. The insanity dialled up from the separation.

The concept of you being exhausted and scared of him coming home— to the point of watching the screen compulsively until your body gave way to the false serenity of sleep, doesn’t enter his head. He's devoted to you and you should be devoted to him. Clouding his own vision with falsified lies about your love for him, twisting your facial expression and words in his head.

He was the one to change your phone wallpaper to his own face. Claiming false truths about how it would calm you. His mouth sharply down-turned if you made a single peep of protest. His face swiping away any telltale emotion. He knows you worry when you can’t predict his behaviour. A method of keeping you in line, while he corrects your behaviour. Submerging himself in the delusion to get through the conflict.

You look like his wife. One of his shirts draped over the length of your body, hiding yourself away from him just enough to make it erotic for him. He replaced all of your clothing with his own. You don’t need to be dressed up for anyone, considering he doesn’t let you leave. It’s too dangerous outside for you. You just need to be dressed for him. Having you in his own clothes is perfect. Saturating you in the scent of his skin. In the scent of all the dried cum, staining the fabric. All his nights before he had you spent jerking off against them. Making a nest for you.

You don’t stir when he pounces— a mistake from your body. You can't give him an inch, a second alone, if you want him to behave. If you want him to hold off from his indulgence. He’d do everything for you— but that doesn’t apply if you’re asleep. If you can’t talk. If you can’t move.

Too easy to slowly drag both of your arms behind you— insurance, to stop you getting any ideas and squirming if you wake.

Too easy for him to circle both your wrists with one of his palms. You're vulnerable, this is why you have to be purely his.

His hand left to gently wrestle with your body, fully settling behind you. He needs to be swallowed by your cunt. He needs you to welcome him home like a good wife. He needs you to choke on your love for him. He needs your body to remember how perfect he is inside you.

His eyes rolling back when he forces his way through, bottoming out inside you with no warning, no prep, no guilt. Your warmth hugging him like you should, when he comes home. Clenching around him as if you need him to breathe, to live, just as he does.

Maybe he should be concerned at how you don’t stir— he’s sure he hasn’t done anything to you this time. Yet he can’t muster anything close when he’s violently slamming into you, angling his cock head to violate and possess every inch of your walls. When he's experiencing true bliss and affection inside you.

Not when he expresses his built up rage from the horrendous plays on the ice with purple, striking bruises on your hips. Every fucked shot. Every dink off the bar. Every humiliating defeat. Every face off lost a dig against his personal pride.

He needs his future wife for comfort. It’s your responsibility to soothe him. To provide a home for him. To learn your place.

Dayoff with Dark Quinn would be spending time at home and watching movies, talking with him about anything while he cooked lunch, telling him about your new friend that you met at work and him softly reminding you that workplace friends weren't actually friends, messing with your mental that you'd get betrayed ovet the smallest issue. He would feed you as you squirmed in anxiety. He would distract you by eating you out for hours after lunch that you'd be so weak on the couch while he prepared dinner.

Day off with Dark Jack would be reading books right next to each other with a fresh batch of cookies or cupcakes you had baked last night while he cleaned up after you. When you came across some smutty parts, you would show it to him and he would gladly do it. He would do it so good and beyond what was written because there was no fucking way he would lose to a fictional character.

Day off with Dark Luke would be a date with home cooked meals and a few takeouts. He would entice you with different types of games depending on the day, offering that loser would do what winner says. He would not hold back, bullying you by winning, bullying you with chirps. Then he would be coaxing you with a makeout session that would end with him filling your pussy with cum that he would eat out after.

You wouldn't know that it wasn't mere coincidence that they showed up on your trail towards your rented little cabin because there were several other cabins here. You wouldn't know that the Hughes had paid a heft sum to buy all those properties out and basically closed off the trail. You wouldn't know the suspiscious rustlings and heavy gaze on you were caused by them. You wouldn't know how hard they were when you quickened your pace or when you looked over your shoulder or when you squeaked as they popped out from a cover of trees, perfectly emerging from an intersecting trail to another cabin.

You were so naive yet so good that you couldn't refuse their offer to walk with you and show you a cave they discovered. You were so frightened every time one of them brushed their hand against the back of yours whenever they were by your side. You were so clueless that they knew you were only afraid because you didn't know if being with three people—brothers—was possible, because you didn't know that they knew about each other's obsession that didn't affect their relationship, because you didn't know that they had matked you as theirs.

You were so beautiful. So pure. So perfect. Just the sight of you had them focusing on nothing but you.

Maybe that was why they didn't anticipate what just happened. Just before reaching the cave where a natural spring was, a gust of wind just fell down heavily on all of you and with it something thick, flowery, and earthy smell that had you all in a coughing fit, taking more and more of it, your minds getting hazy, your body instantaneously heating up, electricity zapping down your spines.

Before you knew it, you were panting, not caring about what just happened, your skin getting too sensitive that every rub of your clothes burn, your heart beating against your chest, your pussy aching and leaking and—it hurt. It fucking hurt. You need—

You need—

Then your eyes met theirs. And it all happened so fast.

Quinn would kiss you rougher than Jack and Luke combined. His teeth were unforgiving as they nipped at your lips. His hand gripped your throat while his other slipped through your hair and tugging. He would be laughing as you whimpered in pain, growling as you bit back, groaning when you submitted into his kiss. Then he would kiss down your neck, biting, licking, sucking, then went back up.

Luke would be the one tearing off your clothes, getting pure satisfaction when you cried out in pain of the fabric tugging on your skin, his nails scratching you when he finally decided to rip the fabric on itself. He would be groping your ass the most, spreading and rubbing them, grinding against you until youbwere soaking the front of his pants from the outside while his pre-cum soak it from the inside. Luke would impatiently grab your jawz taking you away from his brother to kiss you.

Jack would be taking his turn to kiss you, but only briefly, because he needed something else. He knelt to the ground, cramming himself between you and Quinn, his rough hands tracing at the redness fron where Luke had snagged your clothes on you, then he would be kissing them, biting on them, spitting on them. He would push your legs open, lifting one over his shoulder, pulling you away from Luke's insistent grinds that had their youngest complaining. It didn't matter. Jack got first fucking taste. And fuck you were so divine. So wet. So fucking wet that you were dripping on his tongue immediately.

They would take turns in eating you out until you were coming and shaking as the other two kept you up and your body marked with more and more of bruises and bitemarks. They would have you crying and sobbing from overstimulation that didn't help the burning in your core. It was until they couldn't bear the aching of their cocks did they finally take turns in fucking your cunt, using you like you were a doll, breaking you with orgasm after orgasm.

There was a point when they would fuck you on the ground with your and their torn clothes as cover. When another—you didn't know who was doing what anymore—was pushing their fingers in your pussy while you were full of a cock and cum spilling out. When you were gagging on a thick cock and chasing after it if it was taken away. When you were pushed down on the one below. When another cock was pushing into your pussy, stretching you out, making you feel extemely fucking full and weak.

They used you. One after another. Yet you were also using them. Nothing was satiating all of you. They couldn't soften. You couldn't stop burning. The only thing that stopped you all momentarily was the fatigue settling in, causing you to just lay there while they sat in different postures.

You were fully sobbing in the insanity of it all but you also noticed how they were shaking, gripping the bases lf their cocks, pure frustration and confusion in their faces.

"What the fuck is happening?" Luke panted, whimpering as his cock twitched. "What the fuck was that?"

"Fuck, it fucking hurts," Jack sobbed, his voice breaking. "It hurts."

"I don—"

"I'm scared," you cut off Quinn. You stared at him, trembling, feeling so tired and needing more.

"I got you. We got you," was all you heard the oldest Hughes said before you actually blacked out, but his voice was also the next thing you heard when you came to as pleasure speared through your body. Actual pleadure instead of the insanity-muddled pleasure from before.

"Come on, my Love, take Jack in your pussy. Yeah, that's it. Move those hips."

Quinn was moving you on his brother, his arm wrapped on your torso, his other hand on your hip. Water sloshed on your body as Jack gripped your waist, his blunt nails digging in your flesh. His lips pressing soft kisses on your tits as if he wasn't roughly thrusting in you.

You grabbed his shoulders, embracing evry wave of pleasure. This actuakly felt so good. Not painful. Not scary. When Jack lifted his head, you were there to kiss him, his thrusts stopping and so fid Quinn's ministrations. You noted that Jack got extremely soft lips.

You parted from Jack, your hand lifting to Quinn's jaw, kissing him next. Soft yet also kind of dry lips were Quinn's.

Luke, who was only sitting ay the edge of the spring, was already there after you finish kissing Quinn. He kissed you first. So, so soft.

You all stared at each other after that brief moment. Questions about the burst of whatever happened were left unsaid. Or about how Quinn was just controlling your body so his brother could fuck you. For some reason, you were just...at ease, because they weren't fighting like you thought they would.

Because you could hear the echoes of everything they had said over the hazy sex.

"My Love."

"I fucking love you, baby."

"I like you. I like you so much, sweetheart."