#quinny

It wasn’t a relationship. Quinn made that clear the first night he kissed you—leaning in like he was giving into a temptation he’d tried to resist for too long.

He said he doesn’t have time for something serious, with travelling all the time and only having time during summertime for anything. Besides, you’re only here visiting for the summer.

“This is just for fun,” he had murmured against your skin, his teeth leaving a trail of bites across your chest. His warm breath leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

And you agreed. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

Quinn was intoxicating. Unpredictable. Maddening. You told yourself it was fine—no strings, it’s just a summer fling.

But every time he smirked at you like you were a secret only he knew, you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

————————————————————————

Things changed when you met Nico Hischier–he’s softer. His eyes more kind and caring.

You were on the balcony, soaking up the sun when you hear footsteps thumping toward you. Opening one eye, you slowly blink to see Nico hovering over you,

“Good morning,” he says quietly. “Me and the boys are going out for a swim–would you like to join us?” He flashes you a smile.

You nod, lifting your arm up, asking him to pull you up off the ground–he does with an ease that had you stumbling into his bare chest.

That’s when you felt it—that shift. A tenderness you hadn’t asked for, but didn’t want to push away either. You find yourself getting lost in his caramel eyes, your noses brush softly as your lips slowly inch closer.

But when Quinn walked through the room at that exact second, you both jump back, startled, shaking each other off as if nothing would have happened if Quinn hadn’t walked in. You clear your throat, your eyes flicker up to meet Quinn’s, his expression was unreadable–flat, almost.

You jump into the cool lake, running off the dock with nothing but your bathing suit on, joining Nico and Luke who had jumped in before you.

“What are you waiting for, Hughes? Jump in already!” Nico taunts the younger boy, Jack responds by jumping into the water right on top of him, catching him off guard.

Jack resurfaces and laughs, “Cmon Quinn! Your turn!”

You notice Nico hasn’t come up from the water yet and begin to panic, “Neeks?” You yell, trying to look around for any sign of him.

You feel something pull you under the water by your ankle, catching you off guard. You scream loudly.

“Gotcha!” Nico says, laughing. He wraps his arms around your body, pulling you close, your body pressing up against his warm skin, his rough stubble scratching your neck. You wanted to smack that cute smile off his face.

Quinn watched you both from the dock, laughing, pressed up against each other–it made him fucking sick. He clenches his jaw and lets out a breath, “I’m good from up here, Jack.”

That night, you end up knocking on Quinn’s bedroom door, hoping he was awake. As if he had known you were coming, he opened the door right away, his shoulder leaning against the frame of the door–he looked so good. The only thing he has on are his sweatpants hanging loosely around his waist, you can’t help but stare at his bare chest, his silver chain gleaming in the moonlight around his neck, his hair a mess of curls.

Before you can even process, he has you pulled inside his room and pressed against his door. He’s kissing you like a starved man eating his first meal, and you kiss him back just as hungrily, your fingers pulling him closer to you.

He needs this. He needs you.

You gasp as he leaves hot kisses down your neck, toward the valley of your breasts. Quinn pulls your pyjama shorts down, revealing your lack of panties, “so naughty,” he whispers in your ear, a shiver runs down your spine. He pulls his sweats down, his cock springing free. Quinn’s hands snake around your waist, pulling you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrap around him, your back hitting against the wall behind you.

You can feel him against your core, causing you to let out a soft moan, your palms bracing yourself on his chest as he begins pushing himself roughly into you.

Quinn growls into your ear, your eyes roll back in pleasure–this angle allowing him to hit that spongey part inside you that had you clawing at his back. He felt so good. You felt so good.

“Quinn–“ you gasp out, feeling his pelvis grind into your clit with every thrust. You’re biting your lip to keep from making too much noise, not wanting to alert any of the other boys sleeping.

“Cmon, princess, you’re so close,” he moans. His thrusts becoming messy as he feels your pussy clenching around him–suffocating his cock, milking him of all he’s got. Quinn holds you against the wall as you both come down from your highs, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs as he keeps you pinned against him. His warm breath tickling your neck.

————————————————————————

Nico sat beside you during movie nights, telling you funny stories, bumping his shoulder into yours. He was sweet without trying, thoughtful, but every time he laughed, you felt a small twinge of guilt.

Quinn’s hand would still be warm on the back of your neck from hours earlier.

He would stare at you from across the room like he could still feel you against him.

He would vanish upstairs the moment Nico sat too close to you, like he couldn’t stomach watching it.

And because every time you told yourself you were going to stop, you ended up in Quinn’s arms again.

You started showing up less for Quinn, like you’re weaning yourself off a drug. He knew that too. He knew Nico was trying for you–so each time he had you under him again, he made sure you couldn’t completely forget about him.

————————————————————————

Jack and Luke requested that we watch a movie altogether with snacks. You had made yourself comfortable in the middle cushion of the couch thinking Luke was going to fight Jack for the empty seat next to you, but to your surprise, Quinn was the one that sat down on your left. Nico placed himself on your right and stretched his arm over the top of the couch just behind your head. Jack tosses you three on the couch a blanket to share, while him and Luke got comfortable at the foot of the couch in front of the tv.

“Should we watch something scary?” Jack dares, giggling at the idea.

“Dude you know I don’t like those kinds of movies,” Luke responds, the two of them narrowing their eyes at each other as if they’re going to have a stand-off over it.

“My vote goes for a scary movie too,” Nico chimes in.

“Me too.” Quinn agrees, resulting in a loud groan from Luke.

“You guys fucking suck. Fine. Put it on,” he grumbles, Jack mocks Luke by fake crying. He puts on Paranormal Activity and turns all the lights off–the only light coming from the tv.

You can feel the tension in the air–the tension between you and Quinn–completely unnoticed by the others in the room.

Under the blanket, you feel Nico’s hand on your right thigh, your shorts giving him access to the bare flesh. You shiver at the feeling of his soft, warm fingers against your skin.

Almost as if Quinn could hear your heartbeat through your chest, he places his hand on your left thigh, unknowingly mimicking Nico’s actions. Quinn’s fingers are more calloused and rough in comparison, the feeling making you throb.

You feel like your body is on fire, neither of them even aware of the other one’s actions under the covers.

You close your eyes for a moment to try and anchor yourself. You were certain everyone in the room could hear you breathing, but no one said a word as the movie continues.

You can feel Quinn’s fingers pinch at the flesh of your thighs, as Nico’s are still tracing light little circles. Quinn digs his nails lightly into your skin, making you let out a little squeal–you try to cover it up with a cough.

You reach your left hand under and place it over Quinn’s in an attempt to pry his fingers off of you as subtly as possible, but Quinn had other plans. You feel his pinky finger start to trail higher and higher, brushing lightly against where your clothed core rests.

You can feel his finger tap against your clit, making you squirm a bit. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Quinn was ruthless in the way he was touching you. Just inches away from Nico’s hand, he was rubbing your clit softly through your clothes.

Your breathing begins to pick up, you glance over at Quinn who looks amused knowing you’re about to cum just from his fingers while his brothers and Nico are in the room.

Just as you’re about to cum, you jolt off the couch to escape, their touches becoming too much for you to handle. The blanket flies off with you, hitting Jack and Luke in the process.

“Sorry! I– um,” you start, your brain is in an absolute fuzz. “The movie is too scary for me. I’m going to bed” You abruptly say, scurrying off to your room in a panic, you were certain everyone could see your flushed cheeks even in the dark.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You were tossing and turning until you decide to sit out on the balcony for a bit.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Quinn says softly, poking his head through the open door.

He didn’t touch you at first.

He just stepped close—too close—and you felt his breath on your cheek.

“So, what’s the deal with Hischier?” he asked softly, almost accusing.

“Nico’s my friend.”

“You’re lying.”

His voice dipped, dark and low. “You don’t look at him the way you look at me.”

You tried to deny it. Tried to match his stare without giving anything away.

But Quinn reached out, slid his fingers under your jaw, tilting your face just enough to make your pulse trip.

“This thing between us…” he whispered. “You really think he wouldn’t notice eventually?”

Your breath caught.

Because you did think about it.

All the time.

And yet when Quinn leaned in—slow, barely touching, like he wanted your permission—you didn’t pull away.

You never did.

He kissed you like he was claiming something he knew he shouldn’t have.

Like he hated himself for wanting you.

Like he couldn’t stop.

————————————————————————

PART TWO HERE

Masterlist

If you have a request, or if you just wanna share a horny thought, send me an ask!

————————————————————————

Vancouver wasn’t your plan, but the law school acceptance—and the scholarship—had been too good to pass up. You’d told yourself it was practical, that you’d figure out the rest once you got there. How could you say no? seriously, you wished someone had given you an answer.

Now you’re here. You’ve moved in, unpacked, and settled. Classes don’t start for another two weeks, and you desperately need to meet someone before you talk yourself into dropping out of social existence entirely.

Thing is, you’re a social person. Really. It’s just the initial hump of making a new friend that always gets you.

It could be some bullshit unresolved trauma from when you were little and had a bully. Or it could be because you’d gotten used to your friends and your life from before you moved. Change could be good, but it was never easy.

So now you were standing outside of a bar. It’s got the lights, the bumping music, and according to Reddit and Google, was popular. Exactly where twenty-somethings go to make friends on Friday nights, that was universal, and if you could make a friend you’d be set. Just someone to ease you into Vancouver.

“You can do this,” you tell yourself softly. “you can totally do this.”

Unfortunately, your pep talk has become both necessary and audible. You start pacing a little, shaking your hands out and mumbling to yourself that you could totally go in and do this. And in the process of trying to mentally hype yourself up, you failed to realize you’d drawn in an audience.

...

Across the street, three guys lean casually against the brick wall outside another bar.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Beau asks, the trace of a grin curling through his accent.

“Who?” Quinn answers, taking a slow breath of the crisp night air.

“Her,” Beau nods toward you.

Quinn follows his gaze. You’re pacing, gesturing, lips moving to words he can’t hear. Pretty, he thinks absently—though that’s not what keeps his eyes there. It’s the endearing way you seem to argue with yourself under the glow of the sign.

“She looks wound up,” Petey says, earning a few nods.

Quinn watches another minute of your antics, “she looks anxious,” he adds. You were flexing your hands and shaking your fingers, Luke did the same thing when he was younger, still does, sometimes.

“An anxious, wound-up woman standing alone in downtown Vancouver,” Petey repeats, grimacing.

“Maybe someone should check if she’s okay,” Quinn says finally.

“Someone should,” Beau agrees—eyes locked on him.

Quinn blinks. “What? Me?”

“You suggested it, Cap,” Petey teases.

Quinn groans but pushes off the wall anyway. “Fine. I’ll make sure she’s fine,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets as he crosses the street.

...

“-Can totally do this,” you repeat for the umpteenth time. though this time you falter. Your eyes catch on one of the bouncers, who looks like he can read every though you’re having, and then gives you a pitying smile. You turn around to avoid looking at him any longer, “maybe I can’t do this,” you decide.

“Can’t do what?”

The voice startles you, hard. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you forgot you were totally exposed to anyone walking by.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the voice continues, but you’re a little too embarrassed to look over so you keep your eyes on the street and shake your head.

“No, its fine. I probably should pay better attention to my surroundings,” you shake off.

You think that’s the end, but his presence lingers, you can barely make him out in your peripherals— dark hair, longer than you expected, jeans and a t-shirt that somehow work a little too well.

“So… what is it you cant do?” he repeats his question and you sigh.

“I’m attempting to socialize?” you tell him, though your voice lilts a bit on the end like a question.

“Socialize?” he repeats.

god, he probably thinks you’re insane.

“Yeah, you know, socialize. Go out, meet people, that sort of thing.”

“No, I get the theory of it,” he confirms and you swear theres a little amusement in his voice. “Usually, when socializing, there are people to… well-”

He trails as if unsure if he should continue the sentence, but you get where he went.

“Socialize with?” you offer, not in the slightest offended, he’s not wrong.

“Yeah…”

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“So?”

“Which is why you’re socializing alone.”

“It’s why I came out alone with the hopes of socializing,” you correct.

“Totally different,” he deadpans.

“Of course.”

A beat passes before he asks, “How is it different?”

You smile despite yourself, “Socializing alone sounds like you sit and talk to yourself. Going out alone with the hopes of socializing means you start alone—but make friends along the way.”

He tilts his head, conceding, “Okay, I see your point.”

“Thank you.”

“But…”

“What?”

“You were definitely standing here talking to yourself.”

Your face scrunches, “Touché. Well played.”

He laughs, quiet and genuine. You finally turn to look at him properly—and then freeze.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

No way. Your cousins aren’t going to believe this.

There’s a memory that niggles at the back of your brain, ‘Did you hear they’re giving the Norris to Hughes! He made Captain this year, and he’s getting the top defensive player award. His ice time is crazy, and I think he’s the first Canuck to ever get the award!’ it had been your cousin, catching you up on the awards announcements just a few seasons back. And now you were face to face with that particular topic of conversation.

“So what brought you over here?” you manage, praying your face doesn’t give you away as you clear your throat.

“Well,” he says, tone casual, “you were standing alone, seemed a little anxious, and you were talking to yourself. I guess I was a concerned citizen.”

You decide right then, that you wish he weren’t funny, because it’s not fair to be funny, handsome, and talented. It just wasn’t, and God was clearly playing favorites.

“So you thought, her, I wanna talk to the borderline crazy girl outside the bar?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replies easily.

“Bold move.”

He grins, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You said you just moved here?”

“Yeah.”

“Where from?”

“California.”

He nods, slow and thoughtful, like that explains something about you—the way you talk, maybe, or the sunshine still clinging to your voice.

“Work?” he asks.

“School.”

That earns you a longer look, a faint squint like he’s trying to place what kind of school you mean. You crack first, smiling. “Law school,” you clarify, watching him relax at that.

“So you’re not eighteen?” His tone teases.

You laugh. “No. I didn’t much care for eighteen when I was in it—with a global pandemic and all. Very happy to have left that behind.”

“So, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four,” you correct, mock-prim. “But you know you’re not really supposed to ask a lady her age.”

He chuckles. “I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

You shake out your hands again, realizing too late that he’s watching, his gaze dropping to the small fidget before meeting your eyes again.

“So what was your plan for solo socializing, exactly?” he asks.

You breathe out a laugh. “Go out and make friends. Pretty simple.”

“But you’re still here.”

“Well, I got out of the apartment. And I got to the bar. But this is the tricky part.”

“Going in?”

“Going in,” you confirm. “Once I’m in, it’ll be fine.”

He raises a skeptical brow. “You sure?”

“Oh, yeah. It only takes a few minutes to become best friends with other drunk women your age.”

“Really?”

“For me, yes. For you, no.”

“Because I’m a man?”

“Because you’re a man,” you say matter-of-factly, the smile creeping back onto your face.

He huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that softens his whole expression. You think it’s unfair—how gentle he seems for someone who could flatten a guy twice his size on the ice.

“So how does it work for you?” he asks, playing along.

“Well, you find a group of girls, you say hello, ask to dance, and they envelop you in. Three songs or a shot later, you’re exchanging Instagrams and phone numbers, and by the first bathroom trip it’s life stories.”

He gives a low whistle. “You seem pretty confident in that.”

“I am.”

“But you can’t go in.”

“It’s not that I can’t.”

“No?”

“No. I just… haven’t built up to that yet.”

“Nerves?”

“A little, yeah.”

“I think I’d have nerves if I was socializing alone.”

You make a face at that, nose scrunching automatically, “I really don’t like how that sounds.”

He laughs, and the sound seems to warm the night air around you.

“So… law school,” he says after a beat. “You wanna be a lawyer?”

“Yep.”

“That’s quite the career path.”

“It’s definitely a path,” you muse.

The conversation settles again, comfortable in its quiet. You cross your arms, uncross them, then glance back at the club’s glowing sign.

“You know,” he says after a moment, “most people would return the question.”

“Sorry?” you ask, turning back to him.

“Most people would ask about the other person—career, life, something.”

Something in his voice is teasing, but his eyes are curious. You hesitate, guilt tugging at your mouth, and he seems to realize what you weren’t saying.

“You didn’t ask because you know,” he says softly.

You shrug, caught.

“You didn’t say anything,” he adds.

“You didn’t either.”

“But you know who I am.”

He winces slightly at his own phrasing, like he hates how it sounds.

“I come from a really big hockey family,” you admit, hoping that makes it better.

“From California?” he asks, incredulous.

“Hey! California has three separate NHL organizations,” you defend.

He laughs, “you’re right. My mistake.”

“You’re forgiven,” you say, smirking. “The Canadian citizenship must be infecting you.”

“Hey, I’m all American. I was born in Florida.”

You stop, “seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder you skate the way you do. Florida’s got something weird in their water.”

He squints, fighting a grin, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

The smirk you give him is enough to make him laugh outright this time.

“How you feeling about your objective for tonight?” he asks, nodding toward the club.

“I’m working toward it.”

“Was there a specific goal, as far as socializing goes?”

“Make a friend,” you say simply. “Someone who’d maybe help me learn the city.”

“Solid plan. A local guide is helpful. I guess I lucked out when I moved—I had a whole team.”

“Now you’re just being mean, bragging about your super cool job and built-in friends to socialize with.”

“How dare I.”

“How dare indeed,” you echo, and the shared grin that follows feels startlingly easy.

“My cousins are going to lose it when I tell them I met the Quinn Hughes during my first month up here,” you say, shaking your head.

“What would they do if you told them he was your first friend?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I’d be called a liar.”

“I don’t know,” he says lightly. “You came out to socialize and make a friend. I think you did that.”

“Did I?”

“Oh yeah,” he muses, smirk overtaking his features, “you reeled me in with the anxiety and talking to yourself.”

You snort. “Well, I have been told my anxiety can be stress-inducing. It’s got quite the pull.”

He laughs, startled, then blushes faintly when he catches the double meaning. He’s still smiling when he asks, “What if I said I could show you around the city?”

“I’d say you’re a big-time hockey star who definitely has better things to do.”

“Maybe,” he says, tilting his head, “but maybe it’s what I want to do.”

You blink, thrown off balance again. When you look back, he’s holding out his phone.

“You want my number?” you ask, incredulous.

“I do.”

“I don’t usually give my number out to men I’ve just met.”

“Fair. Probably smart. There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“There are,” you agree.

“Yeah—like people who talk to themselves outside of clubs.”

You shake your head, laughing, “Point taken.”

Still, you take his phone, type in your number, and hand it back.

“I don’t have a Canadian number yet,” you warn.

“It’s fine. My family’s all in America—my phone plan covers it.”

You press your lips together, hiding your grin. “Well. You cleared my hurdle, Mr. Hughes.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And now…” You take a deep breath. “Now I’m going to go in, and make another friend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a nice night—”

He stops mid-sentence, blinking like he’s realized something.

“Y/N,” you supply, amused.

His smile softens, “Have a nice night, Y/N.”

You start toward the door, adrenaline buzzing in your chest, but you glance back over your shoulder, “Hey, Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for socializing,” your voice just a little softer, sweeter.

His eyes crinkle, the corners of his mouth lifting, “My pleasure.”

You’re still smiling when you hand your ID to the bouncer. You’re just about to step through the doors when his voice carries after you.

“You never said if you’re a Canucks fan?”

You laugh, bright and teasing, over your shoulder, “I’m not!”

Then you disappear into the glow of the club.

...

The next morning, your phone lights up with three messages.

One from your brother: how’s Vancouver?

One from a girl named Claire—the one who’d pulled you into her friend group halfway through the night.

And one from a number you don’t have saved:

i guess when i’m playing tour guide i’m just going to have to convince you to go ‘nucks.

...

masterlist

You loved teasing him more than anything.

Watching him take in a shaky breath as he grips your hips tightly while looking into your eyes, glazed over with pleasure. A smirk tugging at his lips, acting as though your action doesn't leave him with a desperate feeling, wanting you even more.

He sighs, his eyes shut in pleasure, he squeezes your hips as you trail your lips against his neck, kissing him softly. His fingers bound to leave bruises where they press.

"Sweetheart." He murmurs as his hands start roaming your body, caressing your skin with his rough, calloused hands.

Smirking against him, you start sucking on his skin, a moan ripping from the back of his throat.

"Don't tease me." he warns, but you don't listen to him and continue to kiss and suck on his skin.

You've seen the way he looked at you when you came out of the shower in nothing but a pair of underwear and one of his jerseys hung loosely off your frame. Your hair still damp, the ends trickling water. The gaze in his eyes clouded with lust as he licked his lips at the sight of you.

You immediately felt his cock twitch in his boxers as you straddled him and began to kiss his neck.

"Baby–." He breathes, almost whining for you to touch him, so desperately.

He is addicted to you – the way your lips feel on his skin, the way your hands fit so perfectly in his, the way you leave him absolutely breathless, like he can never get enough of you.

“Please, babe, don’t be a brat." He whimpers as you begin to fully grind down against his bulge, still kissing his neck "fuck, you feel so good."

His hands find their place on your waist again as he helps you grind against him faster, making you both moan in pleasure. A wet spot forming on the fabric already from how wet you are and he can feel it, only making his cock impossibly harder as he thinks of all the ways he could fuck you right now, wanting to just lay you down and have his way with you.

Your lips meet in a sloppy kiss and he leans in more, like a moth drawn to a flame, he wants more of you, of your touch, of the feeling you give him, of you.

He pushes you down harder against him, a moan escapes your lips, giving Quinn the perfect chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, your tongue meets his as you put your hands on his neck, deepening the kiss even more. Your hands snake their way to his hair, pulling on the roots, making him groan.

You’re driving him crazy. He’s frantic. Hips rutting up to meet yours. He’s so needy, so desperate.

You can feel his cock pulsing through his boxers and he only grips you harder, making it known to you that he is close.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that." He whimpers against your lips his teeth clashing against yours, the sound of his voice a mixture between a warning and pleading. Pleading for more.

His words only spur you on, rolling your hips faster, you grind against him, your clit throbbing at the friction, riding his thigh is one thing but actually grinding down against him feels so much better, hearing his whimper and moans, the feeling of his hands and lips on your skin feels so fucking good.

He watches you throw your head back in pleasure, granting him access to your neck as he starts sucking on your skin, marking you as he ruts against you.

He wants nothing more than to pull you around, pin you on the bed, and fuck you full of him. But he can’t — you just feel so fucking good. He can’t stop.

You bring your lips back to his, meeting him in a sloppy kiss, spit dripping down both your chins. Your teeth clashing against each other, tongues fighting for dominance.

Your fingers are tugging at his hair, Quinn and your moans getting louder and more desperate.

Quinns nails drag down your back as he holds you close, his hips stuttering as he feels his boxers fill with his release. The slick from the wet fabric mixed with your own arousal creating a sticky mess as you both ride your highs. Quinn flops back onto the bed, taking you along with him, his lips still locked onto yours like glue.

He’s kissing you much more softly, you both trying to catch your breath. Quinn pulls away enough for you to take a good look at him – his lips bright pink and swollen, his hair a tangled mess from how hard you’ve been pulling on it. He giggles at your awe, pulling you back in for another sweet kiss.

————————————————————————

Masterlist

If you have a request, or if you just wanna share a horny thought, send me an ask!

————————————————————————