#bfb!au

Your face goes slack. “What?”

“I know it hasn’t been long but you guys have known each for ages. No one would think—”

“Chelsea,” you interrupt, grabbing her waving her hands. “Quinn and I—we’re not together.”

She frowns, jaw jutting out. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m telling you that we’re not.”

You unconsciously squeeze her wrists and she winces. Horrified, you drop her hands and tuck yours underneath your thighs.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, surprise flitting across her face. “I just thought you guys…and from what Nasir and Brock were saying I assumed…”

It’s been years of Nasir’s teasing at this point. You can’t believe he’s wrangled Brock into it as well while also misleading his own fiancée.

“Quinn and I get that all the time but no,” you say, shaking your head. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

The joke has long been stale but after you wore Quinn’s jersey for a few games in a row, it has been revitalized with a vengeance. You don’t know how Quinn stands it because surely the teasing must be worse when it’s just him and the boys.

The couch creaks as Chelsea moves. She finishes off her wine, staring at the leftover drink as if it will tell her what she wants to hear.

“But would you want to?” She bites her lip. “Be with Quinn I mean.”

The wine is acrid on your tongue. “Absolutely not,” you say immediately.

“Why not?”

“I don’t date hockey players.” And you don’t like Quinn. But that one doesn’t seem to go over as well.

“But Quinn’s sooo sweet. And cute too!” she says, a touch defensively.

She goes on about Quinn’s good qualities—ones you helped foster in him and Nasir, mind you—working herself up until the flush on her cheeks seems to come from her breathless rambling rather than the alcohol. She clambers for something about Quinn to hook you but you remain impassive.

You have to wonder if she has an ulterior motive or if she’s hoping for double dates when she finally moves to Minneapolis. Nasir took the time before she came to plead with you to reassure her that she is family to you and your parents. With the wedding coming up in six months, insecurities she didn’t even think could appear were sitting at the forefront of her mind and making her question every certainty she once had.

Luckily, she lets you change the topic from Quinn to the wedding once she pleads his case. With how her blood is currently cut with wine, she’s honest about how stressful it’s been planning it on her own and you offer your sympathies as she vents.

You think the crisis is averted until you get a call from your brother an hour after she’s fallen asleep.

“Chelsea thinks you hate her.”

He’s got his phone propped up on a pillow as he miserably watches you through the screen. His cheeks are sunken in and his eyes watery as he yawns.

“What? Why?”

“Because she thinks she messed up asking you if Quinn was going to propose.”

“You set her up to say that,” you accuse, irritated.

A tear drips down his cheek when he widens his eyes. “No I didn’t! I mean, have you seen you and Quinn? Anyone would think that you guys were together.”

“No one would think that. And besides, going straight into proposing? That’s insane and you know it.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters under his breath.

You stop washing your face to glare at your camera. “What do you mean it could’ve fooled you?”

“You and Quinn.”

“There is no me and Quinn!”

“Well, you should stop giving him mixed signals then,” Nasir admonishes, voice scratchy. “He’s a great guy. I don’t know why you don’t just go for it.”

“I’m not giving him mixed signals,” you hiss. “And it’s Quinn. Why would I date him?”

“Did you not hear me literally five seconds ago? He’s a good guy. He’s always been the nicest to you out of all my friends. He even asks about you and what you’re up to when we’re at practice.”

You pinch your nose bridge, looking upwards to your ceiling. Fuck you need to dust those corners. “Look, I don’t want to date your friend okay?”

“He’s your friend, too,” Nasir snaps. “Is it because you don’t want to be a cougar? Is that the problem?”

You hang up without saying goodbye.

-

It’s a testament to how excruciating you found this week that you pick up on the first ring.

“Oh wow, you actually picked up.”

“Hi Quinny,” you greet, rubbing at your eyes. Hopefully Chelsea has made it past TSA by now. “How have you been?”

His face fills the screen as he looks closely at you. “Fine,” he says unconvincingly.

You laugh. Dodging the virus that’s taken hold of his teammates was likely his priority these past six days.

“What about you?”

Without fail, there’s a genuineness to Quinn’s reciprocating question that makes you think he actually cares. So you decide to go with honesty when you answer.

“It’s been a really weird week,” you admit.

“Yeah? You want to come over and talk about it?”

I catch her eye from across the bar and find myself smirking into my beer. No matter where she is, no matter how many people are in the room, I always manage to find her. It’s like she fucking calls to me, a siren singing her beautiful song to lure me in.

Well fuck it, I don’t care if she’s a siren. I want her all to myself. 

Some girl slides up next to me, getting way too close for comfort, and batts her long eyelashes at me. “You wanna buy me a drink?” She asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. I can tell she bleaches it too much; it looks fried. 

“Not really,” I reply, not caring to soften my tone for this girl. Maybe before I would’ve bought her one, maybe I would’ve entertained whatever this girl is trying to accomplish, but not anymore. Not since Becca’s gorgeous best friend turned my world upside down.

“You sure?” I feel the girl’s long, manicured fingers squeeze my arm, and I have to bite back the urge to tell her I’m taken. We’re not telling people yet. Neither of us are ready for the consequences of Becca finding out. 

“He’s sure,” Steve says, patting me on the back. The girl rolls her eyes as Steve shoos her away, but I don’t bother watching her leave. My eyes are back on the only girl I want to see tonight and every night.

She smiles at me brightly before her friend snags her attention again. Steve orders us another round as I text her. I want her with me tonight; I don’t care where we end up. I just want us together.

Bucky: You got plans after this, pretty girl?

Boo Bear: hm… i’m not sure yet

Bucky: Boo Bear? Really?

Boo Bear: i’m surprised it took you this long to notice

Bucky: anyways, i’ve decided you have plans we’re going home together in 20 minutes. 

Boo Bear: becca’s hanging out with ethan tonight, she said she won’t be home until after her class tomorrow morning

Bucky: perfect, see you in a few, boo bear

I try not to smile too hard at my phone, especially with Steve standing right next to me. He’s caught me practically kicking my feet while I text her way too many times. It’s becoming a problem at this point. 

Steve and I shoot the shit for a bit, and I pay my tab, shooting off another text to my girl, letting her know to meet me across the street. A few minutes later, I see her exit the crowded bar. She looks fucking fantastic, good enough to eat. Her jeans are tight in all the right places, and her top shows off enough skin to make my mouth water.

I never get over how perfect she looks, no matter what she wears or where we are. I don’t know how I held off for so long; I’m addicted now. 

“Hey, boo bear,” I whisper once she’s close enough. I tug her close and breathe her in, pressing a kiss to her neck. 

“Hey, Buck.”

The second the door shuts behind us, I’m on her. I press her against the wall, loving how soft she is against my body. Her hands grip my shirt, nails gently scraping against my chest. I kiss her deeply, tasting her.

“You’re gonna kill me, Buck,” she whispers, nipping at my lip. I dip my head, kissing along the soft skin of her neck as my hands trace down her body. I hook my arms under her legs and pick her up, wrapping her legs around my waist. 

“You got it all wrong, pretty girl. You’re gonna be the death of me.” I walk us to the couch and sit, positioning her on my lap, and she immediately grinds her hips against me, drawing a groan out of me. 

I tug at the bottom of her shirt until she lifts her arms, letting me pull it over her head, and I bite back a moan at the sight of her in just her bra and tight jeans. My lips immediately attack her collarbone, biting and nipping a trail down to her perfect tits.

She watches me, lips parted, as my hands find their way to her back, undoing the clasp on her bra. When I pull the garment away, she shivers, and I practically come in my goddamn pants. 

“I love when you look at me like that,” she whispers, fingers tugging at my hair. I take one of her nipples in my mouth, running my tongue over the bud. She gasps, gripping me tighter. 

While I tease her with my mouth, my left hand traces her skin, the metal cool against her heated body, and my right finds the button on her jeans.

“Pants. Off, Now,” I tell her.

“Ooh, Caveman Bucky is coming out to play,” she teases, standing on shaky legs to strip her jeans off. I shift until I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, my eyes level with her belly, and gaze up at her. 

She’d never believe her if I told her, but she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

I run my fingers along the band of her panties; she’s ticklish there, before I tug them down her legs. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Buck,” she tells me, reaching for my shirt. I let her pull it off of me, my jeans following soon after, and before I know it, I have her pressed into the couch with my head between her legs. 

I love the way she grips my hair, showing me exactly what she wants while I eat her out. My hips grind against the couch, seeking any sort of friction I can find. I work her up with my tongue and fingers, desperate to feel her come.

Her face twists up, and she makes these beautiful breathy sounds, and I know she’s close. “Come on, baby, come for me,” I practically grunt, circling her clit the way she likes.

She comes with my name on her lips, and I can’t help but smile, knowing I’m the one that gets to do this to her, the one that gets to have her like this. I shift off the couch and pick her up, carrying her to her room. 

I settle her onto the bed, kiss her until she’s breathless one more time, and run out into the main room to grab our clothes. We can never be too careful. Once I’m back, I pounce on her. I’m starving when it comes to my girl. I can never get enough.

“Please, Bucky,” she whines when I settle myself between her legs. She can feel how much I want her, how badly I’m aching for her, but I need her to beg a little more.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper. She knows what I want her to say.

“Fuck, Bucky, please fuck me.” I grin and sit up, watching her writhe on the bed. I fucking love her like this.

“You want me to fuck your pretty pussy?” I ask her, running my thumb over her sensitive clit. 

“Please, please, please,” she chants, giving in to the feeling. 

“Your wish is my command, baby.” I line my cock up with her and slowly press in, gritting my teeth at how tight she is. Once I’m fully inside her, I don’t move slow; I don’t give her much of a warning before I set a quick, deep pace.

I kiss her all over, needing to feel her everywhere. Her hands grip my back, scratching her nails against my skin, and I love that I’ll probably have marks tomorrow. Steve’ll probably give me shit, but I can’t wait. 

I lose myself in fucking her, in pouring myself into the beautiful girl below me. She’s blissed out, loving the pleasure I give her. I press deeply inside of her, making her moan. She clenches around me, and I know she’s close again.

I help her turn over, lifting her hips into the air. She settles her upper body onto the mattress, and I have to groan at how perfect she looks like this. Gripping her hips, I press back into her and fuck her, my dick hitting deeper inside her in this position. 

She’s a bumbling mess, moaning incoherently, and a sense of pride bubbles up in me. I know I won’t last much longer, so I reach around and find her clit again, bringing her back up to her peak.

“Come on, pretty girl.” She presses her hips against me, begging me to keep going. “I know you wanna come again; you wanna come all over my dick, don’t you?” She nods even though her face is pressed into the mattress.

“Yes, Bucky.”

“Then come for me, baby. I wanna see you come on my cock.” I fuck her harder, picking up the pace on her clit, and a few moments later, she comes hard, sending me over the edge right along with her. 

Together, we collapse onto the bed, and I pull her close, needing the skin to skin contact. I know I need to get up and grab a towel so I can clean her up, but right now, this is where I need to be. I need to be wrapped up in my girl.

As we’re catching our breath, I hear the front door click open, and the familiar sound of my sister’s voice rings loudly through the apartment. I roll my eyes as I stand, looking for my boxers. I look over at my girl and see her frantically searching for her phone. When she grabs it, she shows me a text from Becca saying that since Ethan’s roommate is home, they’re coming back here.

I stifle a laugh; we always have shit luck with this stuff. We settle back into bed and wait for Becca and Ethan to find their way into Becca’s room, but in the meantime, I enjoy cuddling with my beautiful girl.

I want to go public. I want to tell Becca. I hate all this secret stuff, even though it’s fun sometimes. Hopefully, she feels the same. I press a kiss to her forehead as she scrolls through her various social media apps and make sure she knows just how much I like being here with her.

please message me to be added to a taglist. must be 18+

general tags: @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @emi11ie @paulasocean @silverfire475 @lovingchoices14 @nekoannie-chan @late-to-the-party-81 @chibijusstuff @midnightramyeoncravings @wickidlady @buckyb-stan @adoreyouusugar

everything bucky tags: @peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @hawsx3 @meetmeatyourworst @harrysthiccthighss @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @luxeavenger @cloudyfeelin @searchf0rtheskyline @keliiiiiiii @urmom4130

1.

Your flight is delayed an hour.

You’ve made it past TSA with minimal casualties and are settled in a seat with your bag sitting next to your feet. Quinn had cut it close dropping you off and it seems his speeding has been nullified. Not that it matters anyway. Every cop in the city and adjacent cities wave off any traffic violations from players.

With time to kill, you dig through your bag until you find the book Quinn loaned you. He’d finished it the night before and raved about it so your expectations are high.

The book automatically opens to the midway point and something brushes your hand as it falls out. You lean over to pick it up, expecting a regular bookmark.

Instead, it’s a photo.

The date on the back is fairly recent. If you’re remembering it correctly, it’s the day of his debut game. You flip it over, prepared to see him in that cowboy hat.

You blink. It’s a picture of the two of you after the game. He convinced you to wear one of the jerseys the team provided for his family and it hangs on you like it should belong to someone else.

The puck from his goal is held close to your face as you smile at the camera, wide enough that most of your teeth are on display. You’d been practically vibrating with excitement when he met you afterwards. Throwing your arms around him and pulling him into a hug felt natural given the pressure on him to perform had you queasy up until he scored. That goal was as much for you as it was for him.

You trace the puck. Try as you might, you’ve never been able to outgrow the incessant worry you felt for Nasir or Quinn before games.

He’s grinning but with less intensity than you. His arm rests around you, pulling you close. A wired exhaustion makes his expression brighter and satisfaction softens the lines by his eyes.

You remember how happy he was that night.

Huh. What about that? He’s grown sentimental over the years.

2.

You’re in Detroit for work which means you’re having dinner at the Hughes’.

The conversation feels strangely loaded throughout the meal. You’ve known Quinn’s parents nearly as long as you’ve known him so it’s always been easy to talk to them about anything. Ellen is personable and Jim is quick to laugh but tonight feels different in a way you can’t put your finger on.

You help clean up despite Ellen’s insistence that her and Jim can handle it and you shoo them out of the kitchen so you can wash the dishes. They’d been the ones to pick you up from the airport and drop you off at your client meeting, waiting until you finished to take you back. The least you can do is tidy up.

You’re filling up your cup when you notice the pictures on the fridge. There are so many different family members scattered across the door though the boys dominate most of the space. There’s even a picture of Nasir and Quinn, arms wrapped around each other and bandanas in their hair.

You skim through the other photos, amused at all the ones you know Jack would be embarrassed about if they were to ever see the light of day. You pull out your phone, ready to take a picture and send it to him when one photo gives you pause.

It’s you and Quinn. From New Years.

Except this captures the moment when you went from tipsy to drunk. He’s laughing as he tries to take away your drink and all you do is cling to him, a whine likely on your lips as you try to keep it from him.

“You guys are so cute,” Ellen says from behind. “I keep telling Quinn to send more but he’s so stingy.”

Your dinner sits heavy in your stomach.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one,” you say with a strained smile.

You don’t think you’ve seen the things you should’ve been paying attention to either.

3.

Quinn’s in the shower when the food comes.

You grab his wallet as you head to the door. Slipping out a couple bills, you exchange them for the food and thank the delivery man.

The water’s still running so you sit down, placing the bag on top of the counter. There’s no reason why you start thumbing through his wallet other than boredom.

You’re surprised he had cash to begin with but he told you he always kept some on him in the off chance he’d need it. You’re less surprised at the condom you find and bypass it accordingly.

Everything else is pretty standard and you shake your head at his driver’s license as you always do. He’s never cared too much for how he looks in photos which is admirable because you think he rolled out of bed and went straight to the DMV for this one.

Something flimsy bends behind it as you push the plastic back in. Curious, you carefully dig out the worn plasticky paper.

It’s an old picture of you. And Nasir technically but Quinn’s folded the photo so only you appear.

You’re at the lake, sunglasses placed atop your head and arms wrapped around your knees. There’s the faintest sheen of sunscreen on your skin, highlighted by the dying rays of the day. You’re smiling for whoever’s behind the camera—your best friend Maisy most likely—while your brother pulls an ugly face that he knows will piss you off once Maisy turns the phone around to show you.

It’s from when Quinn and Jack first bought their house. But you don’t remember sending this picture to Quinn. Nasir certainly but this is not the type of thing you’d send in your groupchat with them.

And even if you had, it doesn’t explain why Quinn has it printed. Or why it’s in his wallet.

You’re painfully aware of how your breathing picks up. Your fingers tremble as you tuck the photo back behind his license, praying he won’t notice it’s been disturbed.

You need to leave.

You needed to leave months ago.

+1

“You still have this?”

Quinn peers over you and to the side of your vanity. There are six Polaroids you keep tucked in the frame. The earliest one is from twelve years ago while the newest one is from last year. The one Quinn’s pointing out is from around seven years ago during his first full season in Vancouver.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you say, glancing up at him.

He leans closer then plucks the photo from its spot, scowling. “Because I look stupid,” he complains, flattening the corner he’s accidentally pushed back.

“Don’t say that,” you say, affronted. “I love that picture.”

The adjustment to the NHL had been a brutal one on Quinn. You spent months on calls with him where he wouldn’t admit what was bothering him so you elected to end both of your suffering and book a flight to Vancouver.

It’d been a fun trip. He wasn’t familiar with Vancouver enough to take you around the city just yet but you managed to visit all of the places he’d been meaning to check out.

The Polaroid in question is one you forced Quinn to take with you. The two of you were wearing matching sheet masks and Quinn’s hair was pushed back with your headband. He looks more sulky than anything while you smile next to him but you think it’s a cute picture.

“You were such a brat back then,” you muse, pinching his cheek. “It took me physically going there for you to finally just say you were homesick.” And having a hard time but Quinn hates being reminded of that period.

Quinn groans, ducking away. “Because it was embarrassing.”

“It was just me, Quinny,” you say, turning back to your makeup.

Your brother’s coming in tonight and you need to hide how much you’ve been crying over the news lest he get an even bigger head. Quinn came over before you got the call, adrenaline thrumming under his skin as he vaguely asked if you had talked to Nasir today.

He let you chant ‘oh my god’ a million times with you slapping at his thigh as Nasir spoke. Your hand rested on his thigh at one point, too focused on listening to Quinn and your brother talk about what to expect and how Nasir will have to hit the ground running with the playoffs looming ahead.

Your fingers ache as you stretch them out into a more relaxed position. Thankfully, you’re in jeans so the crumpled fabric straightens out when you shift in your seat. 

“Do you have pictures of me on your phone?” you repeat, enunciating each syllable. 

“It’d be kind of weird if I didn’t,” he says cautiously. “Why?” 

He’s right, you suppose. You’ve known him for ten years and have more than your fair share of pictures of Quinn from over the years. 

The latest photo you have of him is one from the latest outing with his teammates. He had propped his leg up on the seat in a way you know would make your brother laugh so you quickly took the picture and sent it to him. 

The most recent photo you have with Quinn is from New Year’s Eve, his arm wrapped around your waist as you drunkenly leaned into him. You’re laughing at someone off camera while Quinn looks at the camera, cheeks pink and smile wide. 

The latest photo Quinn has of you is one from last night at a dinner with your brother. You’re arguing with your brother who Quinn didn’t bother to include, eyes rolling and finger raised to point at him. 

The most recent photo Quinn has with you is from last week if you are to believe the time stamp. You’re nuzzled against his collarbone, fast asleep with your hand curled somewhere below. He captures the lower half of his face as he angles the phone to get more of you in it. There is an endeared smile on his mouth. 

Neither of those photos are the one he uses for your contact picture. 

There is a dry patch in your throat as you swallow. It takes effort for you to drop your tensing shoulders and give him a nonchalant shrug. 

“Just wondering.” 

Your phone died last night towards the end of dinner and there was something you wanted to show your brother. Luckily, Quinn had the photo you sent of the new lamp you thought your brother should buy—having consulted Quinn to see if it would be considered too girly—and pulled up your message thread to find it. In a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, your contact photo appeared in a tiny circle before being replaced by an enlarged picture of the lamp. 

But the picture seared itself in your memory in that brief half second. It was one you had never seen of yourself before. 

With the game today, you knew you could convince Quinn to let you come over while he napped. He had always been a deep sleeper so tilting his head back to unlock his phone was easy. 

You went to your messages and clicked on your contact. Then you went to his photo album and scrolled. And kept scrolling. 

He clears his throat, turning back to the road. The skin over his knuckles is bloodless as he grips the steering wheel. 

This car has never felt so small. You’re lightheaded and don’t know where to look that will stop the vertigo beginning to creep up on you. 

The bathroom light flickers, making her smile come off distinctly unsympathetic. You let her leave first, not trusting that she’ll actually give Nasir and Quinn the earful they deserve. Weston had been exceedingly polite despite how they interrogated him to the third degree but his pride could only take so many hits before he called it a night.

It’s your fault for thinking you could use a game as a first date activity. You set yourself up for failure by letting Chelsea and Nasir convince you to bring him to the team outing afterwards. He’d been excited when Nasir extended the offer, side eyeing you with enough hope that you relented. And look where it got you.

“Fuck.”

You finish washing your hands. Surely one of the wives is heading home already and you can catch a ride with them.

There’s no exit near the bathroom so you’re left to walk back into the restaurant with your head on a swivel. Most of the team, including your brother, is out on the patio and you’d like to avoid arguing with your brother for a second time in one night in front of them. The entrance is in Chelsea’s direct line of sight and you know she’ll be keeping an eye out for your reappearance.

The side exit you find empties out adjacent to the patio. When you look up, Quinn’s right in front of you.

He moves to the side to let you pass as he speaks to Kirill but he turns sharply when you try to inch past him.

“Are you leaving?” he asks, incredulous.

Kirill takes in the guilty expression on your face and knocks his shoulder against Quinn’s before heading back to the patio. He mutters something under his breath that makes Quinn look pained.

“Are you seriously that mad?” He switches his beer to his other hand. “And over that guy?”

“You guys were being dicks to him,” you say, annoyed.

“Because he sucked,” he says flatly.

“How would you know? You didn’t even give him a chance.”

Quinn scoffs, bringing the bottle to his mouth. “I can just tell.” He licks the beer off lips. “And a hockey game as a first date? Did he even pay for anything?”

“It was my idea, asshole,” you say. You close your eyes, counting until sixteen. “Today was the only time we could meet and he’s never been so I thought…it was stupid. You’re right.”

The only good thing hockey has brought you is being able to see your brother live out his dream but the costs it took to get to this point are not an equivalent exchange. There’s not much else you like about the sport so this date was destined for failure from the start.

“But you guys have to stop doing that,” you say, frustrated. And because you know Quinn will try and act stupid, you point at him and add, “Interrogating the guys I’m seeing like we’re high schoolers.”

You’re closer to thirty than you are to twenty and Nasir’s overprotectiveness has only gotten more embarrassing over the years. With Quinn as back up, the level of humiliation you are being forced to endure should count as a crime.

“We didn’t interrogate him,” he defends.

The door shuts as you lean back on it. “Yeah? How am I supposed to find a date for Nasir’s wedding if you guys keep scaring them all off?”

Quinn quiets. He doesn’t look guilty enough for your liking. Unfortunately, what he does look is good, eyes half-lidded from the slight buzz and his pupils blown out until a thin ring of green surrounds them.

“I’ll be your date.”

He steps closer, barricading you in.

+ Quinn gets a shifty look in his eye when you’re digging through your closet before a game and can’t find anyyy of your jerseys. And you know they’re not in the wash. So how can 5 jerseys disappear overnight?

+ He tries to be real casual when he goes into your closet and pulls out the one he got you as soon as he was traded. You laugh but take it

+ He lovesss to play house with you 😁 there's a Quinn WIP I'll probably never finish that has this little segment that I think fits this AU lol

'“We used to play house,” Quinn supplies as if that is not a humiliating thing to say. You stare at him, flabbergasted. Your face warms and you splutter out, “Why would you say that?”'

+ SCREAMING AT THE RING. The way it fits you perfectly...he brings it out after you guys hook up and you're drunk both off the alcohol and all the orgasms so your horror is delayed. But when it hits...ooh it hits. You throw that ring back into his lap and start gathering your clothes because this has now crossed into crazy territory. Why the fuck is there a ring. When did he even have time to get that. And why is perfectly to your taste. What the FUCK

+ Rip you meet Quinn when your brother joins the USNTDP and you're chauffeuring them around to practices and dinners and all that. Quinn's a little awkward but he's sweet and your brother loves him so by default, you do too. You all end up going to UMich. You see Quinn's slow descent into what is so typical of hockey players turn into a steep dive and you pull back. He's not your friend anyway so it's not really your business but you also don't want to be around him as much. Quinn doesn't let you distance yourself too much though and slowly he earns his way back into your good graces (but only so much yk)

+ You're telling your brother about the date, relieved to not see Quinn's face lurking in the corner, when your brother scoffs and says, "Don't let Quinn hear about it." When you ask him why, he laughs and says, "Because he's obsessed with you? You'll break his heart if you tell him." Your brother is so lighthearted about it it's easy to wave away the mild discomfort the admission gives you. Besides it's Quinn. Your brother's probably still teasing him from a small crush he had on you agesss ago. You were the only girl to be around him consistently for a while so it's not like you were blind to his lingering stares but he grew out of it so whatever. (Spoiler: he did not)

+ Though, you can't shake off the doubt that's now been planted because of your brother. So you offer to set Quinn up with one of your friends. She's just his type and you know he'll have a great time with her but he declines. He keeps declining no matter how you take him to work events or introduce him to your friend group and their mutual friends. It's obvious how he clings to you. Before, you passed it off as Quinn sticking to your side because he doesn't know anyone else but then you start to show up to some of the Wild's get togethers via your brother and the pattern continues. One of his teammates makes some offhanded comment like "Oh so you're the reason I can't set Quinn up with anyone" which has you very ??? Because what do you mean by that but Quinn whisks you away before his teammate can explain. Any time Quinn is approached by a woman at these things, you slink away and try to find your brother, but Quinn always finds you. And it's always in a short time frame so you know he didn't give that woman more than 5 minutes of his attention before looking for you. And now, you're a little worried there was more truth to your brother's teasing than you gave it credit for

+ Quinn replaces your contact picture with one he's taken of you sleeping on top of him 😭 And you're none the wiser because it's not like you go through Quinn's phone ever

+ 'giving him space He Doesn't Want' is LAKSDJFA the way he will eventually make his way over to your side of the couch or put your feet on his lap and run his hands up your calves while you guys watch TV 😭

+ He has 100% gone through your things multiple times and copies your key before he gives it back 🙂‍↕️ Sometimes, you get so tipsy at those hangouts with his teammates and he's the one who takes you home no matter that your brother is right there. One time it finally hits you that Quinn never digs through your bag to get your keys out, he just magically has it in the lock before you can offer to get it out but you convince yourself you imagined that the next morning bc the alternative is too frightening to consider...

+ Quinn's social currency is at an all time high after the Olympics and he fully takes advantage of that. In social settings, he's wayyy more touchy with you and constantly implies things between the two of you that aren't necessarily untrue but misconstrued based on how he presents the information. What's worse is that everyone believes him no matter how you try to explain what really occurred