#quinny

Quinn notices it before you realize you’re doing it.

Again.

You’re sitting beside him on the couch, tucked against his side while some movie plays in the background, neither of you really paying attention to it. Your cheek rests against his shoulder, one of his hands lazily rubbing up and down your thigh beneath the blanket.

Your mouth is wrapped around the drawstring of his hoodie, chewing and sucking mindlessly, something that was soothing to you.

Quinn slightly adjusts in his seat and glances down at you after a minute, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Baby.”

“Hm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blink up at him, confused for half a second, before realizing. Slowly, you let the string fall from between your lips.

“Oh… m’sorry”

His eyes darken a little, and his other hand reaches down, fingers brushing through your hair before settling against the side of your neck. The touch is light, absentminded almost, but it makes warmth bloom instantly beneath your skin.

“It’s okay," he murmurs, your faces so close together, noses lightly grazing one another. 

You can feel his steady breaths fan across your face, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Everything about him feels loud, your body vibrating with need. 

His hand slides from your neck up, settling against your jaw, his thumb gliding across your cheek before toying with your bottom lip, eyes flicking down.

“You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, almost like it annoys him.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Yeah.” His voice lowers. “But right now it’s distracting.”

Before you can bite back at him, his thumb pulls your lip down as he uses his pointer to tap your cheek, causing your mouth to fall open up for him. Quinn’s thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. Almost on instinct, you hum and suck, causing him to freeze for a second.

Not because he wants to stop you but because the feeling catches him off guard.

A quiet breath leaves him as his eyes lock on yours, pupils blown wide, his thumb still resting heavy against your tongue while you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lashes fluttering.

“Jesus,” he mutters softly.

The sound vibrates straight through you.

His head tips back briefly against the couch cushion like he’s trying to collect himself, but it doesn’t last long. Not when you’re still looking at him like that, lips wrapped gently around his thumb, your hand curling tighter into the front of his hoodie.

His gaze drops to your mouth again, then back to your eyes. The tension in the room turns thick so quickly it almost makes your head spin.

“You’re trouble,” he says quietly, his voice rougher now.

You hum softly around his thumb at that, your tongue feeling out his digit. Quinn exhales sharply through his nose, eyes shutting for the briefest second.

“Baby,” he murmurs, almost warningly, but he doesn’t pull away.

The movie continues, forgotten in the background, while his thumb slowly slides from your mouth, dragging lightly against your bottom lip before his hand cups your jaw again.

Your cheeks feel warm under his palm, and that alone was wrecking Quinn.

Hair messy from where you’d been rubbing his scalp earlier, lips parted slightly, cheeks warm, and eyes fixed entirely on you, unsure of what to do first.

His lips hovered over yours before he decided that he had waited long enough. 

A needy groan bubbled from his throat when your lips touched, his arm tightening around your waist beneath your hoodie, fingertips pressing into bare skin. You can feel how carefully restrained he’s trying to stay, even as his breathing gets uneven against your mouth.

You shift closer into his lap without much thinking, Quinn groaning quietly against your lips.

“That’s my girl,” he coos while a smirk begins to stretch across his face.

The words go straight through you, warmth blooming beneath your skin as your fingers slide back into his hair, tugging just enough to pull a deeper sound from him. Quinn responds instantly, kissing you deeper, slower, despite the growing need behind it. Lips warm against yours, your breaths uneven, his forehead brushes yours briefly before his mouth drifts along your jaw instead.

Every touch feels intentional, like he’s savoring you. His mouth brushes beneath your ear again, and you inhale sharply, fingers gripping his shoulders. Quinn smiles faintly against your skin at the sound.

“So pretty when you get like this,” he murmurs softly before pressing a kiss to your earlobe, sending a shot of chills down your spine, your body like a hot wire. 

His hand slides from your jaw down the side of your neck, fingertips dragging lightly over your skin before settling at your waist again beneath the hoodie. Warm palm against bare skin, possessive enough to make your stomach tighten.

You can feel how carefully he’s holding himself together, the restraint in the way he touches you. The way he pauses for half a second every time you react to him, like he’s trying not to completely lose his mind over it.

Your fingers stay tangled in his hair while Quinn kisses along your throat, unhurried and deliberate. Every brush of his mouth makes your breathing shakier, your body leaning further into him without even realizing it.

“Quinn…” You whisper softly.

“Hm?” His voice vibrates against your skin, you shiver instantly in response.

That gets a quiet laugh out of him, low and rough near your ear, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again.

And the look on his face nearly ruins you.

Heavy green eyes fixed on your swollen lips. Flushed cheeks. Hair falling messily over his forehead from where your hands keep pulling at it. His brows are slightly furrowed, like he’s trying so hard to stay patient with you.

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, slower this time, his eyes following the movement.

“You get so worked up,” he murmurs softly, almost distracted by it. “Need something in your mouth, huh, baby?” 

The question has your voice stuck in your throat, so you nod quickly. 

Quinn’s breath catches the second you move from his lap, realizing what you’re doing.

Your eyes stay locked on his as you slowly sink to your knees, lowering yourself between his thighs, your hands brushing over his quads for balance. The look on his face changes instantly. His jaw tightening, lashes lowering slightly, one hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion like he suddenly needs something to ground himself.

“Baby,” he says softly, warmth floods your entire body at the sound of it.

You glance up at him through your lashes, fingers hooking loosely around the strings of his sweats, pulling them undone torturously slow.

“You’re teasing,” he murmurs.

Your hands smooth slowly up and down his thighs, feeling the tension beneath them, and Quinn’s head tips back briefly against the couch cushion before his eyes find yours again immediately, like he can’t stop looking at you.

One of his hands slides into your hair, gentle and warm, fingertips grazing your scalp in a way that makes your stomach tighten. Not pushing or forcing. Just touching you, like he’s already overwhelmed by how good you look kneeling in front of him.

“So pretty like this,” he says quietly.

The praise goes straight through you.

You lean closer slowly, bringing your hands up, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweats while Quinn watches every movement with parted lips and uneven breathing. His thumb strokes softly through your hair again when you look up at him, eyes dark and completely fixed on you as you tug them down his thighs, he lifts his hips to help.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You glance up to meet his glazed-over eyes, while his growing erection presses against the fabric of his boxers. Your hand automatically palming over him, light and teasing, before reaching to grab at the elastic, dragging it down his hips and off. 

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath, fingers tightening briefly in your hair before softening again just as quickly. Quinn looks completely unraveled already, flushed cheeks, messy hair, chest rising unevenly beneath the hoodie.

His thumb strokes gently along your hair again while his other hand drops from the couch cushion to your cheek, fingertips brushing softly over your jaw.

“So good,” he murmurs quietly. “So pretty kneeling for me.”

Your hand carefully wrapping around the base of his cock, flushed and heavy sitting in your palm before tracing a vein from the bottom to the tip with the flat of your tongue, causing him to shiver, a small, whiny moan wobbling out of his mouth. His head tilted back, fighting to still watch you carefully.

Your lips suction around him before you take him as deep as possible in your mouth, the salty tang of his precum overwhelming your senses. His tip touching the back of your throat causes you to gag around him as you bob your head.

“Shhh,” Quinn coos while he rubs your cheek to soothe you. “You’re taking me so well.”

You hollow your cheeks before slowly pulling back, flickering your gaze up at him through your lashes. His eyes are still locked onto you, jaw slack while low noises continuously stream out. 

The hand in your hair pulls back just enough to comb through once again, grabbing a fistful of hair at the scalp. “This okay?” he asks quickly, earning a half-nod from you, a moan vibrating in your throat as he silently begins guiding you through it. 

His hips slightly lifting with impatience as he gently forces your mouth to take him deeper, needing to feel you swallow around him desperately, your eyes pooling up with salty tears as you gag. 

You bring your hand to his thigh, giving him three light taps. He pulls you off him quickly as you cough, inhaling as much air as you can get. Your hands immediately wrap back around his cock, pumping him steadily in your mouth's place.

“Such a good girl, m’so close,” he mutters, leaning over close to press a kiss on your head and cheek. “Gonna let me cum down that pretty throat?”

Filthy words caused your stomach to flip as you grew hot in the face, flushed with embarrassment and the softness of his praise. 

You nod eagerly, taking his tip back into your mouth while sucking harshly, one hand back on his thigh for support. Quinn’s hand in your hair, pushing you to take the rest of his length, the warm tears flowing over and down your cheeks.

“I’m gonna cum, holy fuck," he sighs, thighs tensing up under your touch. 

You look up to watch as he throws his head back against the cushion of the couch, hips snapping up uncontrollably to meet the back of your throat.

A sharp, wobbled groan breaks from his chest as you feel his hot release shoot into your mouth, swallowing around him before gently pulling back, making sure not to spill a drop, watching as he winces in overstimulation.

You rest your cheek on his thigh, trying to catch your breath as his eyes blink open, his chest heaving from his orgasm.

When he looks back down at you, his pupils are blown out, searching for a hint of hurt or discomfort in your eyes. You feel his hand release your hair from its grip, cupping your face in his palms. Thumbs rubbing against your cheeks, wiping any tears from your eyes, then smoothing your hair out carefully. 

“C’mere, baby,” he coos, pulling you up from your knees and back on the couch. His arms wrap around you as he tucks you into his chest, rubbing your back, arms, anywhere he could reach. It was a grounding habit of his that you’ve grown to love.

“You okay?” he asks quietly after a minute. His breathing is still labored, but the softness in his voice makes something warm bloom in your chest.

You tilt your head enough to look up at him. His hair’s a mess, cheeks still slightly flushed, lips pink and swollen. He looks blissed out and completely gone for you.

“Mhm,” you murmur. “You?”

A sleepy smile pulls at his mouth.

“M’great.”

You laugh quietly at that, and Quinn immediately tightens his arm around you. Your fingers drift absentmindedly under his hoodie, across the skin of his stomach, and Quinn shivers slightly before catching your hand gently and bringing it up to his lips instead.

He kisses your knuckles once.

Then again.

“You were really good for me tonight,” he murmurs softly.

Heat creeps into your cheeks immediately. “Quinn.”

“What?” His eyes open slightly to look down at you, amused now. 

You hide your face against his chest with a groan, and Quinn laughs quietly, the sound vibrating beneath your cheek. His hand slides into your hair again automatically, scratching lightly at your scalp in the way he knows makes you melt.

“You’re cute when you get shy after,” he says.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No. I don't," you murmur back. Especially not when he’s looking at you like this, soft and completely relaxed now that you’re tucked safely against him.

Quinn presses another kiss to the top of your head before reaching blindly toward the coffee table beside the couch. A second later, he holds your water bottle out toward you without even looking.

“Drink,” he says gently.

You smile a little. “Bossy.”

“Mhm.” He waits until you take it before settling back against the cushions again. “And you like that too.”

“Oh my god,” you huff before taking a sip. Quinn places your bottle somewhere before he pulls you right back into his chest while his fingertips continue their lazy path along your back.

“You tired?” he murmurs.

“A little.”

“Good.” His lips brush your forehead softly. “Take a nap with me.”

Your eyes drift shut almost instantly at the feeling of his hand in your hair again.

And just before you fully fall asleep, you hear him mumble quietly against the top of your head, “My girl.”

thank u for reading!! feel free to chat in my inbox!! i am always down to be a freak or talk whenever! ✭

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.

...

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