hold air and sink down asks/extras || barrels of fishes extras || flicker from view extras
[gen + fics] winner's room
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will not write or reply about: mcd, underage, pregnancy (including mpreg), kid-fic, heavy/detailed descriptions of bodily fluids. if i don't reply within 3 days without forewarning, i will likely not be answering at all (excl. ask games)
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damn i wish u guys could read this fic i haven't written and this fic i haven't finished writing and this fic i'm putting off outlining and this fic i outlined but haven't started and this fic i'll never write and this other fic i haven't written and this fic that exists only in vague impressions in my head that fall apart every time i try to commit them to the page and th
Saw your anon post with this and there’s so much potential in this list omg, like I immediately pictured all of these as background for barrels of fishes
LMFAOOOOOO oh yeah qh has been through the wringer for sure in barrels some are probably applicable to him for sure 🙂↕️🙂↕️
Love me some shifter AU where when Quinn is moody or annoyed or just wants some quiet time, he shifts into his cat form. (Not big or small, just a regular awesome cat with soft brown fur and big green eyes)
Only he forgets to tell the Wild what's his shifter form, Kirill is the only one knowing because "we live in the same building :)))" and they are freaking out because WHERE IS QUINN ? We have a game in four hours ??
They only discover his shifter form when Kirill, a big pretty Siberian Lynx finally decides to wake up from his nap and shows a purring, relaxed cat hiding between his big paw and fur.
Matt, Brock and Nick lose it. Matt and Brock just want to nap with cat!Quinn too and Nick because what do you mean my adoptive little bro is an annoying cat. It explains SO much. Quinn bites him just because he can.
It soon becomes tradition to take a nap together before a game in shifter form.
oooo yes yes yes I love shifter / pack things sooo much 🙂↕️🙂↕️ this is very cute ! I'm sure you're on it but this is a cute shifter au from nikekryou!
pairing: quinn hughes/brock faber
word count: 6.8k
rating: e
summary:
“Why would you—” Quinn gestures between them.
Brock looks off to the side. “Um. So, I clearly misread, but uh. I kinda thought you might have been. Um. Looking at me in the showers the other day?”
omgomg can i request #6 for the summer prompt with 71243 or 743
YES okay i wanted to have this done so much sooner but here it is!!!!!! it's got a skew towards 1243 since they've been taking up a lot of brain space lately but brock is in there too 🙂↕️ thank you for the ask!!!!
The heat must be getting to him. It’s either that or the Stella slowly turning lukewarm in his hand, because there’s no other rational explanation for why he feels so flushed, laid out on a deck chair in the shade, trying his best to focus on—relaxing. Trying to force some semblance of mellow emptiness into his brain, trying to strong-arm his consciousness onto the other side of an afternoon nap, instead of letting it wander back down to where Brocks hauled himself up onto the dock, leaning back on his hands and dripping lake water.
The heat is definitely why Quinn's mouth feels so dry, watching him tilt his head back, eyes closed against the sun. He's been looser and more playful here, relaxed in a way Quinn hadn't realized he wasn't, back in Minnesota. It's subtle, and maybe only something Quinn's noticed because he's been—well, looking, admittedly, but that's neither here nor there. It's normal to notice those kinds of details about a guy who's been spending the past two weeks in Quinn's house, eating Quinn's food and hanging out with Quinn’s brothers and generally just kind of being in Quinn’s space. It’s no different than the kind of familiarity involved in sharing a locker room with a bunch of other men, the kind of not-looking that yields just enough information for a chirp or two, but doesn’t linger enough to be dangerous.
Except that, here, camouflaged in the mid-afternoon shadow of the house, Quinn doesn’t have to worry about keeping his gaze to the floor or above chest-level, or counting the seconds to make sure he hasn’t been watching for too long. Half-wrapped in a beach towel, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, the surfaces of his skin prickling like the threat of sunburn, he can just look as Brock finally flops fully onto his back.
The movement makes sunlight catch over the twisting flex of his arms and chest, the solid slope of his abdomen, the cut of his hips leading down past the waistband of navy-blue swim trunks, the fucking—all of him that’s just laid out, spread out over the dock without a care in the world, like it’s not making Quinn’s brain turn in tighter and more treacherous circles to stare at the way Brock’s body is literally glistening—
Quinn's just overheated. He should be drinking more water, instead of finishing off his tepid beer and trying to find a place for his eyes to rest that isn't on his teammate's stupidly perfect muscles. In fact, maybe he needs to just give it up and go inside, see if that’s what he needs to actually cool off, because it just has to be the heat messing with his head, making his chest feel heavy and tight. Maybe he’s got heatstroke. Maybe he’s having a heart attack. Maybe he’s going to—
“Enjoying the view?”
—to jump out of his skin and die of a heart attack for real, and the only witness to his last few humiliating moments alive is going to be Matt Boldy, who doesn’t even have the decency to look that sorry about it at all.
“Jesus,” Quinn manages in a rush, feeling his pulse pound in his throat, “Fucking—Christ, dude.”
Matt’s mouth twists into that funny little shape it takes when he’s amused, something that’s not quite a smile but always seems more genuine than the one he shows to cameras. He doesn’t look any less flushed than Quinn feels, but he’s also been letting himself bake in the sun far more than Quinn’s sunscreen-related neuroses will allow. Between his tanned skin and the way that sunlight and lake water have been slowly teasing highlights into his hair, Matt could probably walk his way onto a swimwear photoshoot, no questions asked.
Summer looks good on him. It looks good on both of them.
And from the way Matt’s smile tugs up even further, a hint of sharp canines when Quinn finally forces himself to make eye contact and accept the replacement beer proffered in Matt’s giant hand—he knows it, too. It turns the lingering adrenaline in Quinn's chest towards guilty nerves.
“Thanks,” Quinn mumbles, and does his best not to entirely fold himself back into his towel and disappear, the way he kind of wishes he could. Matt doesn’t comment on it, which is something of a relief, just stretches his unfairly long body out on the deck chair next to Quinn's, taking a pull from his beer and making a quiet noise of satisfaction.
Quinn keeps his eyes very firmly fixed on the bottle in his own hands, reading and rereading and rereading and rereading the surgeon general's warning to make sure his gaze stays where it's supposed to be. He shouldn’t be looking. He shouldn’t even be thinking about looking, really, but the problem is that Quinn is becoming entirely too conscious of Matt’s every minute shift and twitch, and every time his eye catches the movement he catches himself fucking looking again, his traitorous brain cataloguing details Quinn doesn’t want to notice. The light dusting of freckles over Matt’s shoulders, the veins prominent along his forearms, the almost delicate trail of pale hair leading down from his navel. Matt's too far away for it to be true, but it feels like the warmth of his skin could be somehow combining with the ambient heat of the day to make Quinn feel especially dizzied.
He manages to pry his eyes away, taking a sip of his beer and managing not to grimace about the taste. Some bougie lager Brock brought for himself, that up until now, no one else has been drinking—it sort of tastes like soapy bathwater, but Brock really seems to enjoy it, so Quinn’s allowed it to keep taking up space in the fridge. The flavor is a distraction from the flush in his system.
Down on the dock, Brock languidly rolls over onto his front, taking a moment to wave up at the two of them with a goofy little grin before he settles his head against the crook of his elbow, seemingly content to keep basking in the afternoon rays. The acknowledgment is unexpected, and Quinn’s not sure why it makes his cheeks burn even hotter.
“You’re allowed to look, you know.”
If he physically startles, again, Matt’s kind enough not to mention it, though the corner of his mouth pointedly quirks up. Stupid. Quinn should know better than to let his thoughts wander in these kinds of situations—his gaze tends to follow suit, and he’s definitely been staring. At Matt, at Brock, everywhere he shouldn’t be. He’s pretty sure that the guys on the team know he’s—different, in where his eyes can’t help but linger, in how he always brushes off their drunken wingman attempts, in how he never has anything to add to the conversation when it turns those kinds of directions, but that doesn’t mean it’s…okay. There’s a difference between suspecting and knowing, and Quinn needs to stop doing the kind of shit that clarifies where he stands on that divide.
When he doesn’t respond, Matt reaches across with one of his freakishly long legs and prods at Quinn’s thigh. It’s so juvenile, so—Luke, that Quinn’s mouth curves despite himself.
“Hey,” Matt nudges again, “I know you hear me over there.” Quinn shrugs. There’s not—he’s not sure what Matt wants him to say. I wasn’t, or No, I’m really not, or I can't help it. Any reply he could have would either be a bold-faced lie or a tacit admission, and Matt’s smart enough to sniff out both.
“Quinn.” Another poke.
“I don’t—” Quinn bites his lip, fumbling for something to say, “I mean, I’m not—” He trails off, because isn’t he, though?
“Not looking, or not interested?” Matt presses, and Quinn's gaze snaps to him. Matt's face is giving away nothing, but the lack of—judgment, disgust, does nothing to stop the anxiety that surges up behind his navel.
Apparently oblivious to Quinn's inner turmoil, Matt shrugs. “I mean, why not. Look at him.”
Quinn’s trying very hard to not, that’s the whole—that’s the whole thing, but now Matt’s looking at him, and Quinn’s looking back, and when Matt shifts to turn over towards Quinn, the muscles in his abdomen ripple, and maybe Quinn’s sunglasses aren’t as dark as he thought, because Matt makes a thoughtful sound and levers himself fully upright.
Quinn shuts his eyes, half to avoid making more eye contact with any part of Matt that isn't his face, and half to—
The shade around him seems to shift, and then the deck chair gives a little under added weight, and his eyes fly open at the feeling of a knee against his thigh, and there's—there’s Matt, right there, leaning over him with arms braced on either side of Quinn's head, so close that the jittering in Quinn's belly shifts traitorously into a different kind of nerves.
“It's okay. I've been looking, too.”
Quinn balks. “You're—?”
Matt hums and tips his head. “I'm looking. And I'm interested.” But he's not watching Brock anymore. Quinn licks his lips reflexively and Matt's gaze snaps immediately to the movement. Oh.
Quinn really must have sunstroke, or something. There's just no other explanation for it, his head spinning around Matt's words and the span of his skin, close enough to touch.
He's got Quinn trapped, pinned in place with his bright green eyes, and Quinn can't bring himself to look away, and—maybe Matt doesn't want him to. And maybe Quinn's abruptly aware of how tired he is of pretending.
“It's okay,” Matt repeats, more assertion than permission, and when he leans in, Quinn thinks, fuck it, lets it happen, lets himself have it, lets his hands find Matt's shoulders while the lingering intensity of the sun and the warmth of Matt's mouth scorch him from the inside out, and it's good.
I am pretty down atm. I thought I had finally made a friend in the hockey fandom but turns out, this person is EVERYTHING I am against and they thought I was like them. (Racist, homophobic, for you-know-who in the US etc.)
I get it we all have our opinions but as soon as I started talking about mine, they basically told me to shut up.
So back in my corner, not talking with anyone.
oh noo that's such a shame i'm so sorry :( it can really be hard in fandoms to find people you vibe with, and i think sports fans can be very particularly hard to deal with and navigate :( i really only ever interact with the sport via rpf just due to this, it's not really something i engage with offline due to that. i'm sorry feel like that though i hope you find someone who aligns much better :((
Why people suddenly stopped writing as much 4397 ? We need more stories with them for real. I love 743 a LOT Qbut Kirill and Quinn were my first Wild rpf. :(((
i'm not sure!! everyone probably has their own reasons for it. i have a few myself! i think a lot of the time a ship is an effective gateway, and then fandom creators diverge away from it as they get more familiar with the guys + fandom. but hopefully the new season offers many potential offerings and writers feel inspired for them <3
Jack reading the question wrong??? What does this mean?? I’m so intrigued
jack's sitting down taking an exam that quinn is begging him not to take LMFAOOOOOOOO and he's read the questions wrong . my god he's reading it all wrong . my god someone stop him before he puts down a stupid answer
So I was thinking about Surface Tension and sorry because this is long but hopefully it makes sense.
I also need to sit and reread it so some of this may have been addressed and I just don't remember it.
Quinn doesn't know who did that to him, but it's likely they knew who he was, right? I mean maybe they didn't and they just saw an easy target but most likely I feel like they knew, so what's stopping them from trying it again in MN?
If they knew Quinn got traded there, and they can figure out where the Wild might hang out, which I can't imagine would be hard if you had the time and dedication to figuring it out, what's stopping them? It's just a quick trip out there.
Because I feel like someone who would do something like that to someone like Quinn, would see this as a fun challenge. A return to the scene of the crime equivalent.
Especially if they know Quinn doesn't remember them.
They got away with it once. Surely they can get away with it again right?
Maybe it's the little things that would give him away.
Like the cologne.
Maybe once he starts talking to Quinn or trying to put a casual hand on him, then the fuzzy memories start trickling back in.
A lot of people sling an arm over Quinn's shoulder but this one is making his skin crawl worse than normal.
And he keeps getting super anxious and he's not sure why because he's been better. Less likely to bolt or panic when he goes out with the team, or drinks, or someone touches him.
The team, especially the ones who might have an idea now that there's something off about Quinn, keeping an eye on it because they're not the Canucks and they're paying attention and not being thrilled because the guy is doing stuff that Quinn doesn't like anyone doing. Stuff he barely tolerates them doing and they're pretty sure Quinn likes them.
The touching and the guy keeps trying to get Quinn to drink and it's just setting off little alarm bells in their heads.
*Personally I just like the idea that there's so many older (I use that term loosely because they're only old when compared to the nhl standard ages) guys on the team and they all kind of give off older brother vibes.
And they're not stupid.
A world like the world of a professional athlete, full of guys with too much confidence and money and time, all not use to being told no? They know and have seen a lot of the tricks and ways guys make sure they get what they want, whether they have to take it or not.
And that guy is sure seems like he's trying to get Quinn whether Quinn wants it or not.
And I feel like there's so many ways that could go.
Them quietly running the guy off and all Quinn gives a shit about is he's gone and actually Quinn needs to go now, like right now thanks. And a few of them managing to talk him into letting them take him home to make sure he gets there and that he's okay.
Maybe they run the guy off or snag Quinn back to them but they can't really do it in a subtle way so they start trying to explain themselves and tripping over "sorry, he just seemed like he was trying to do something ba-" or "It just seemed like he was trying t-" and Quinn just cuts in with a "he was" and is too busy trying to calm down and leave to really think about the giant puzzle piece he just gave them.
Maybe he eventually elaborates on that and maybe he doesn't.
Maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe that was enough for them to feel confident in the picture they're getting and they don't need him to say anything else.
oooo this is fun this is juicy !! ((for me he's kinda in the camp of he's really gonna try hard to never remember. but he does. so if he saw them he'd definitely know, but whether he admits it or not is another matter . it's kinda something i've talked more about in ask answers though, not necessarily in the fic itself, so i like seeing where other people go with it hehe !! especially with things like this, like putting qh back through the horrors i am always giving a thumbs-up))
i really do like the slip of the seemed like he was-- [he was] that's veryyy chewable heh >:]
this was a fun read aaa thank you for sharing hehe very fun meal <3 <3
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