Summary: Quinn is convinced that he lost Alayna for good. A small, forgotten object sparks a desperate attempt at reconciliation.
Read Part one here, Part two
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister
Word Count: 1.1K
The next few days were a blur of sleepless nights for Quinn, the ghost of Alayna’s tear-filled eyes haunting the edges of his vision. Grand gestures felt wrong, a gaudy distraction from the quiet intimacy they’d always shared. Flowers blooming in a dramatic display, apologies echoing through a crowded space – that wasn’t their language. Their connection thrived in the unspoken understanding, the shared glances, the comfortable silences punctuated by inside jokes. He had to find his way back to that space.
Quinn started with a ritual he’d neglected for far too long: cleaning the apartment. He tackled the mess with a methodical determination. The rhythmic scrubbing and wiping was a strange form of penance. Dishes piled in the sink now surrendered to soapy water, countertops gleamed, and the persistent grit on the rug vanished under the vacuum. Each act felt like a small step towards his lost order, a fractional loosening of the knot in his chest.
Quinn drifted into the kitchen, his gaze snagging on the spine of a familiar book tucked amongst his own sparse collection. Alayna’s recipe book. He pulled it down from the shelf. The cover was faded, softened by years of loving use. She’d left it behind. A wave of unexpected tenderness washed over him, another poignant reminder of their shared life. He flipped through the pages, finding loose notebook paper tucked inside. Quinn’s fingers traced the smudged ink beside “Alayna’s Famous (and Easy!) Sundried Tomato Pasta.” Her handwriting. Their favorite comfort. A sudden impulse seized him, sharp and clear. Keys in hand, he was out the door and into the fading light.
The digital clock on his dashboard glared 4:57 PM. Just enough time to spare. Quinn’s palms were slick against the leather steering wheel, a nervous energy coiling in his stomach. He didn’t allow himself to imagine all the different ways this could play out. He watched the steady stream of people exiting the sleek office building across the street. His gaze darted from one face to another, a frantic search, anticipation building in his chest. And then he saw her. Alayna. The familiar slope of her shoulders, the way she slung her tote bag across her body, the subtle swing of her dark hair.
He was out of the car before he consciously registered the movement. The relief and anxiety of seeing her was so potent that it stole his breath and threatened to buckle his knees. Quinn clutched the worn recipe book in his hand like a lifeline. “Hey,” he managed, his voice betraying a tremor he hadn’t intended.
Alayna stopped on the sidewalk, her expression a careful mask of surprise. Her eyes flickered from the book in his hand to his face, then down to the delicate silver watch on her wrist. A familiar crease formed between her brows, a silent question. “Quinn? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at practice?” Her tone held no accusation, just a weary curiosity, a hint of the resignation he’d heard in her voice the night she left. He knew exactly what she was thinking: The team. Always the team. He shrugged, attempting a nonchalance that felt foreign. “Missed it.” The words hung in the air, a blatant disregard for the very thing that had become the wedge between them. But it was the unvarnished truth. He had skipped practice. He had chosen this moment, this sliver of possibility, over the never-ending needs of his team.
Her gaze sharpened, a flicker of disbelief replacing the weariness. It was obvious to her, as it should have been, that this wasn’t a casual encounter. He closed the small distance between them, the recipe book held out like a fragile offering. “Alayna, I… I’m sorry. For everything.” He met her eyes, willing her to see the raw honesty in their depths. “For being so consumed, for making you feel invisible. You were right.” The admission felt like a physical weight lifted from his shoulders. “Hockey became everything, and I let everything else that mattered - you - fade into the background. That was selfish and unfair, and I am truly sorry.”
He paused, giving her the space to absorb his words, the silence of the bustling city momentarily receding. “I brought your recipe book back.” He held it out a little further. “You can take it, and I’ll… I’ll leave. I won’t keep bothering you if that’s what you want.” The thought was a raw ache in his chest.
Then, he offered the fragile tendril of hope he desperately clung to. “Or… or you can come back to the apartment with me. I’ll make your favorite pasta.” Quinn slid the folded piece of paper out from his pants pocket. “It’s not a grand gesture, I know.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his car. “But it’s a start. A start to me actually showing you, day by day, that you are my priority. That I know how incredibly lucky I am to have you. You’re the reason I can show up every day, not just as a hockey player, but as the person I want to be, the leader I need to be. It’s because you believe in me, even when I don’t deserve it.”
He held her gaze, his own stripped bare of the usual guardedness, revealing a vulnerability that felt both terrifying and necessary. The roar of the city traffic faded to a dull hum, the setting sun casting long shadows around them. The only sound that truly mattered was the unspoken answer he searched for in her eyes. He waited, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Alayna reached into her purse, her movements slow and deliberate. She withdrew her keys, the metallic jingle sharp in the tense silence. Then, her shoulders set with a resolute air, Alayna began walking straight past Quinn. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving him unsteady. He heard the rhythmic click of her heels on the pavement as she wandered further into the parking lot. Each step was a small and decisive retreat. The fragile thread of optimism that carried him this far now snapped.
“I’ll follow you there,” she called over her shoulder, her voice surprisingly even. Quinn spun around, confusion warring with the lingering ache of rejection. He watched, his breath caught in his throat, as she approached a familiar sedan. She started to slide into the driver’s seat. “What?” he rasped, the single word laced with disbelief.
Alayna leaned across the passenger seat, looking at him through the open window. A hint of a familiar spark, a playful glint he hadn’t seen in what felt like an eternity, flickered in her eyes. “I’m gonna get towed if I leave it here overnight. You know that.” A small, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of her lips.
Summary: Quinn faces the aftermath of his decision. As the weight of Alayna's goodbye settles in, he's left grappling with the chilling realization that the life he took for granted might be irrevocably gone.
Read Part one here, Part three coming soon :)
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister
Word Count: 1.7K
Quinn knew, intellectually, what Alayna's words meant. A stark line, drawn in the sand with the unwavering certainty he'd seen in her eyes.
Just don't expect me to be here when you get back.
Despite the starkness of her words, he still clung to a foolish sliver of hope. Maybe she’d just needed space, a night to cool off. A temporary retreat before she inevitably gravitated back to their shared orbit. He pictured it vividly: she would be curled on the sofa, the soft rise and fall of her chest, a forgotten book resting on her hand. She'd pretend to be asleep when he came in. He almost smiled at the thought.
Each step into Quinn’s apartment felt like hauling lead weights.
The space felt vast and empty. The busy flicker of city lights outside mocked his solitude through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His gaze swept the bedroom, searching for any lingering trace. Quinn’s eyes snagged on the splash of color against the muted gray of the comforter. His hoodie. The ridiculously oversized one from his rookie season, the one Alayna claimed was softer than any clothing she owned and habitually pilfered. It lay there, abandoned, almost accusingly.
Quinn crossed the room and snatched it up, balling the sleeve in his fist. The urge to bury his face in its softness gave way to a knot of resentment and rising panic constricting his chest. He flung it onto the floor, the aggressive motion a pathetic stand-in for the argument he hadn't fought, the apologies that remained unsaid.
It was just a piece of clothing, yet its deliberate abandonment spoke volumes. She hadn't simply forgotten it. She had left it behind.
He needed a shower. Needed to wash off the sweat, the grime, the feeling of failure that clung to him like a second skin. Maybe the hot water would clear his head, maybe it would wash away the guilt.
Reaching blindly for the shampoo, his hand sought the familiar curve of Alayna's coconut-scented bottle on the corner shelf. Over the months, her toiletries had migrated, staking a quiet claim in his otherwise spartan bathroom. They were a subtle testament to the frequency of her stays. He’d even admit to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that he started to prefer the subtle tropical scent to his own generic brand.
Now, his fingers brushed only cool, slick tile. He blinked, just to be sure. Still bare. It wasn't just a missing bottle; it was the first tangible tear in the fabric of their shared life. The comfortable normalcy he'd taken for granted was unraveling. A cold wave of panic washed over him, prompting Quinn to yank back the shower curtain, his gaze sweeping the rest of the small space as if searching for further evidence.
The extra toothbrush, usually nestled in the holder next to his. Gone. The small, hand-painted dish on the bathroom counter, where she’d toss her delicate silver earrings at the end of the day, a tiny splash of her personality in his otherwise utilitarian space. Missing.
This wasn't a night apart. This was an exodus. It was a systematic, quiet erasure of her presence. The message was loud and clear. She wasn't angry. She was leaving.
He forced his head under scalding water, letting it beat down on him, but it did nothing to soothe the dread that was settling in his bones. He'd been so focused on the team, on the game, on the pressure, that he hadn't seen her withdrawal.
With a sickening certainty, he knew this wasn't just a fight. This was a goodbye. And he had no idea how to stop it.
________________________________________
The next day bled into existence. Quinn couldn’t remember falling asleep after so much tossing and turning. The weight on his chest was unforgiving. Game day. Typically, a steady hum of anticipation would build in his core, a calm reservoir of energy waiting to be unleashed on the ice. Today, a jittery unease vibrated under his skin.
The desperate urge to hear Alayna’s voice had him reaching for his phone before his feet hit the floor. He’d told himself the impulse to call her was purely logistical – did she plan on using her ticket tonight? It was a courtesy to the organization to ensure tickets didn’t go unused. But the lie crumbled the moment the line went dead. The unanswered ringing amplified the hollow ache in his apartment.
Beneath his flimsy excuse churned a deeper need, a longing for reassurance, for the familiar warmth of her "good luck, Captain" text. Pride, that stubborn, idiotic beast, prevented him from attempting a second call. He told himself she needed space, he needed to focus. But the truth was, the thought of her actively ignoring him stung more than he cared to admit.
The familiar thrum of the arena usually grounded him, a steady energy that refined his focus. Tonight, each step Quinn took toward the locker room felt strangely off-kilter, as if he were an intruder in a space that had always been his own. Quinn went through his pre-game routine with meticulous precision; each action was a practiced ritual he hoped would give him the illusion of control. He tightened the laces of his skates, but the familiar pressure around his ankles failed to provide its usual sense of stability.
On the ice, Quinn had been a shadow of himself. His skates felt heavy and unresponsive. Passes that usually zipped with precision fluttered and died. Shots that were normally lethal lacked power. He could feel the weight of his teammates' expectations, a silent burden in their subtle glances toward their captain. The steady presence they relied on in moments of crisis looked utterly lost in his own body.
An opposing forward skated by, chirping out a low jab that Quinn ordinarily would pay no attention to. This time, his knuckles whitened on his stick. The smirk on the other guy's face was the only thing he could see. A raw heat flared in Quinn, a feeling he hadn't felt on the ice in years. The shove wasn't a strategic play; it was just… a shove. A release of the tension coiled tight over the past two days. He sent the man falling backwards.
The thud of the other player hitting the boards echoed like a door slamming shut. Quinn stared straight through him because, truly, it wasn’t personal. The crowd's jeers were a dull roar he barely registered. Somewhere, a whistle blew, bringing Quinn back to the moment.
He watched the next play unfold from the box, but his mind kept taunting him with other images. The game felt distant and muted. This feeling he had been fighting off all day was fear, lingering fear that he had started down a path he could never return from.
The post-game interview was a blur of questions. The air was thick with reporters' ravenous need for a story, and Quinn was clearly it. When someone dared to dissect his faltering leadership, to allude to rumors that his team was losing focus, something primal inside Quinn snapped. The carefully constructed wall he presented to the world, the stoic captain's mask he wore with practiced ease, crumbled.
"What the hell do you want me to say?" he bit out. The raw edge in his voice was an unfamiliar sound that startled even him. "We played like absolute garbage! Okay? There’s your soundbite.”
A stunned hush fell over the room, the only sound the frantic tap-tap-tapping of thumbs recording his outburst. One that would later be published as an “uncharacteristic display of frustration.”
Quinn registered the shocked faces, the widened, almost gleeful eyes, and a searing wave of shame washed over him, hot and immediate. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the measured, controlled leader his team respected. And it certainly wasn’t the man Alayna had loved.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled, turning his back on the stunned reporters and shoving his way out of the crowded room. He needed to escape the suffocating scrutiny, to gulp down air that wasn’t thick with judgment.
The relative quiet of the locker room offered little solace. He sank onto the worn bench in front of his equipment, pressing his forehead against his hands. The weight of the crushing defeat and the bitter taste of his own self-disgust pressed down on him.
I know you’re in two relationships, Quinn. One with me, and one with hockey. And hockey always comes first.
The accusation was a relentless, damning loop in his mind. He finally lifted his head, his gaze snagging on the stark silver letters hammered into the locker room wall: "NO EXCUSES."
It felt less like a team motto and more like a personal indictment. Cold. Hard. Unavoidable. Because wasn't that exactly what he'd been doing? Making excuses. Hiding behind the demanding schedule, the pressure of the game, to avoid the messy, vulnerable work of truly connecting with people he loved. He'd weaponized his career, the very thing he held sacred, as a shield against the terrifying intimacy he'd always equated with weakness. But Alayna... she was different.
For the first time, love wasn't the liability he'd always feared. It wasn’t holding him back. Instead, her support was an anchor. Her belief wasn't just a sweet affirmation on good days, but a quiet, steady force in seasons of doubt. When he came home after a win, she was there to say, "I'm proud of you." When they fell short, it was all the same.
"I'm proud of you."
Knowing Alayna would be there at the end of the day, win or lose, had kept him sane. They shared an unspoken understanding that steadied him, especially when the pressure threatened to overwhelm him.
He'd mistaken her presence for a constant, a given. Now, a terrifying reality settled in: Without his support system, he couldn't summon that crucial inner calm, that unwavering intensity on the ice. Quinn realized he'd pushed away the one person who truly pushed him to be a better version of himself.
Summary: Quinn makes a devastating choice, leaving us wondering if his relationship with Alayna Barzal can survive the weight of his career. Angst angst angst!
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister
Word Count: 1.3K
Alayna watched Quinn pace his downtown apartment, his jaw tight. The lines around his eyes were etched deeper than she’d ever seen them, resembling the worry lines of a man far beyond his age. He’d been like this for weeks, ever since the team’s losing streak had spiraled out of control. It had started subtly, a furrow in his brow here, a clipped tone there. Now, it was a constant, radiating tension in every corner of their space.
Quinn stopped abruptly, pivoting to face the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city of Vancouver. His reflection stared back at him, a ghost of the man she loved. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “The media is relentless,” he muttered, his voice rough. “They’re hounding me about leadership, about the team’s morale…”
Alayna bit back a sigh that threatened to erupt. It was always the team, the game, the pressure. She understood. She really did. She’d spent enough nights in the stands, felt the electric buzz of the arena, the collective roar of the crowd. She knew the weight of expectation that rested on his shoulders. But the man she loved, the one who used to fill their apartment with laughter and easy smiles, had been replaced by this tense, preoccupied stranger. He was here, physically present, but emotionally miles away, locked in a battle she couldn't help him fight.
She’d tried. God, how she’d tried. Offered a listening ear, a comforting presence, a home-cooked meal – something, anything – to break through the wall he’d erected around himself. She’d even tried gently suggesting he talk to someone, a therapist, maybe even a sports psychologist. His reaction? A dismissive wave of his hand and a tight-lipped, “I’ve got this.”
But he didn’t have this. She could see it in the shadows under his eyes, the way he flinched at the ring of his phone, the almost haunted look he wore when he thought she wasn’t watching.
The easy intimacy they once shared had become a casualty of the season. Where there used to be lingering touches, playful nudges, and spontaneous kisses, now there was only a tense distance. He’d come home late, exhausted, and collapse onto the couch. She’d try to offer comfort, a gentle hand on his arm, a soft kiss on his cheek, but he’d lean away, almost imperceptibly, as if her touch was an unwelcome intrusion. It had been weeks since they’d had a proper date night, weeks since they’d shared a laugh that wasn’t strained, weeks since… intimacy. The thought brought a pang of loneliness. She missed the man who used to look at her like she was the only woman in the room, the man who couldn’t wait to get her alone.
Quinn started pacing again, a caged tiger in their living room. He stopped in front of her, but his gaze remained fixed on some distant point over her head. It was like looking at a photograph of him, a two-dimensional image lacking the warmth and depth Alayna craved.
She wasn’t asking for grand gestures, just a flicker of recognition, a shared moment of connection. She just wanted him back. The real Quinn. A tear pricked the corner of her eye, but she blinked it back. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not again. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.
”I've got a team meeting in an hour," he said, his voice clipped, already halfway out of the room.
"Of course you do," Alayna said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She immediately regretted the edge in her voice, but the frustration that had been simmering for weeks finally boiled over.
Quinn paused, his back to her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she said, her voice rising slightly, "that you always have a team meeting, or an extra practice, or a phone call, or something. It means that hockey is the entire world, and the rest of us just orbit around it."
He turned, his brow furrowed. "Don't be ridiculous, Alayna. You know how important this is. We're in a slump. My career is on the line."
"Your career?" she echoed, incredulous. "What about us? What about me?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "Don't do this, Alayna. Not now. I'm under enough pressure as it is.”
“What about me, Quinn? What about the pressure of feeling like I'm constantly on the sidelines, watching you slip away? Watching the person I love leave me behind?" Alayna’s voice trembled, a raw edge of pain cutting through the air.
He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in days. The words hit him like a physical blow. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the unshed tears threatening to spill over. A wave of guilt washed over him, so potent it almost buckled his knees. He knew she was right. He’d been so consumed by the team’s struggles, by the crushing weight of the captaincy, that he’d inadvertently pushed her away.
"Look," he said, his voice low and strained, the words catching in his throat, "I… I don't have time for this right now. We can talk about this later." He hated the way it sounded, even to his own ears. Pathetic. A hollow promise. But the team… it was all-consuming. It was a fire that threatened to burn him alive, and he was desperately trying to keep it contained.
"Later?" she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "There's always a 'later' with you, Quinn. But 'later' never comes. Because there's always another game, another practice, another crisis to deal with." She took a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. "I know you’re in two relationships, Quinn. One with me, and one with hockey. And hockey always comes first.” The words hung in the air, a stark, undeniable truth.
His head snapped up. "That's not true," he protested, the denial instinctive, a knee-jerk reaction. But even as he said it, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered the truth. He had been shutting her out, telling himself it was for the best, that he was doing it to protect them. But it wasn’t. He saw the truth in Alayna’s eyes, a reflection of his own failings. "I’m sorry," he said, the words feeling inadequate, a band-aid on a gaping wound.
Quinn turned away again, his hand instinctively reaching for his jacket on the coat rack. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was making the wrong choice. But the weight of expectation, the pressure from upper management, the fear of failure… it was a crushing weight on his shoulders that threatened to pull him under. He couldn’t think straight. He needed to escape, to focus, to lose himself in the familiar rhythm of the game.
"I have to go," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He couldn’t bear to look at her.
"Go," she said. Alayna's voice was barely a whisper, resigned to her fate. "Go play your game. Just don't expect me to be here when you get back."
Quinn hesitated momentarily, his hand frozen on the zipper of his jacket. He wanted to say something, anything, to make it better, to explain. But the words wouldn’t come. He knew he was trapped, caught between two worlds, and he’d made his choice. Quinn just nodded and walked out of the apartment. He was drowning, and he was determined to do it alone. The click of the closing door echoed through the empty apartment as a punctuation mark on their argument. Alayna felt a tear roll down her cheek, but she didn't bother to wipe it away. She was tired of crying. Tired of hoping. Tired of being invisible.
Summary: Mat and his friends gather for an annual poker game. A shocking revelation about his sister throws him off balance.
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister featuring Mat Barzal himself :)
Word Count: 800
The dim overhead lighting cast long, skeletal shadows across the faces of the men gathered around the poker table. Empty beer bottles and half-eaten plates of chips littered the coffee table, testament to the relaxed atmosphere of their annual holiday game. Liam, Mat's childhood friend and host, dealt the cards with a practiced flourish, a grin spreading across his face.
"So, Mark," Liam drawled, his voice low and gravelly, "spill the beans. Anything juicy happening in the big leagues lately?" Liam, a former hockey player whose career had fizzled after college, was notorious for his relentless pursuit of insider information. He slapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. "Mat here is giving me nothing. He's been cooped up in the gym ever since he got back to Vancouver.”
Mark, a burly man with a thick neck and a penchant for strong opinions, was the newest addition to their inner circle. Despite having faced him on the ice, Mat still felt a degree of unfamiliar tension with him. Mark took a long sip from his beer. "Not much. Just the usual trade rumors, injuries, the standard fare."
Liam leaned forward conspiratorially. "Oh, there's more than that. Heard you ran into our boy Quinn the other night."
Mat raised an eyebrow. "Quinn?"
"The Captain himself," Liam confirmed, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I heard he's found himself a new muse, but he's being oddly secretive about it, even with his teammates. My bet is a reporter. That's why he's so tight-lipped."
Mat always respected Quinn, both on and off the ice. He was a quiet leader with a steely resolve and skating that was nothing short of poetry in motion. But he didn't care much for the details of any player's romantic life.
Mark, shuffling his cards absentmindedly, mumbled, "Nah, doesn't seem like the type. I saw him out at Blue Water Cafe the other night with the girl. My sister recognized her..."
Another one of Mat's old friends, Ben, kicked Mark under the table.
"What the hell was that for?"
Ben, reaching out for his cards and pulling them to his chest, muttered, "Just get back to the game."
Mark's eyes snapped to Mat's face. "Oh shit. I forgot."
Ben glared at him. "Just stop talking. Please."
Mat, noticing the tense conversation, finally looked up from his cards. "Okay, now I'm interested."
The room fell silent. Mat's eyes darted around the table to each of the men, searching for a clue.
"What do you know that I don't?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Liam held his hands up in defense. "I have no idea. I swear."
“Ben? C'mon. Spit it out." Mat's eyes pleaded with his childhood teammate, burning into him. Ben sighed under the weight of his stare.
"It's Alayna." He said under his breath, averting his gaze.
"Excuse me?" Mat shook his head in disbelief at the name that came out of his mouth.
Liam, eyes wide with surprise, stammered, "The girl is Alayna? As in, Mat's sister?"
Mat's face paled. Alayna? Dating Quinn? The Captain of the Vancouver Canucks?
A wave of icy dread washed over him. All those "I'm never dating a hockey player" speeches echoed in his mind, a bitter irony. And her last relationship… that had been a disaster. It took her months to recover. He had just started to see that spark in her again. Now this? Mat imagined Alayna, her laughter, her gentle spirit, potentially entangled with the unforgiving, predatory world of professional hockey. Surely no captain would have the energy and emotional bandwidth to put his sister’s needs above their own. Victory often came at a personal cost.
He could feel Liam's gaze on him, a mixture of amusement and sympathy in its depths. He managed a weak smile, his voice trembling slightly. "Right. Alayna. Of course."
Mat pushed his chair back from the table, his mind reeling. This couldn't be happening.
His eyes flew around the table once again. "You guys already knew? Alayna has my friends covering for her? Like some kind of secret operation?" Mat said, incredulous.
Ben leaned his head back on the chair in defeat and wiped a hand across his face. "If it makes you feel any better, apparently they're inseparable. Head over heels, the whole nine yards."
Mat groaned. He wanted to sink into the floor and vanish. “My sister, though? Out of anyone in Vancouver?”
The rest of the group fiddled with their cards absently. The silence grew suffocating. Mat sighed, the weight of the news settling heavy on his chest. "He better not be fucking around."
"I wouldn't get your hopes up. Those Canucks are notoriously..." Ben swatted Mark on the head. "Not. helping."
Mat took a long pull from his drink, wishing he had something stronger to singe his throat, something to dull the shock. He had a feeling this was going to be a very rocky holiday season.
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister, aka the Quinn x Alayna Barzal AU
Summary: Quinn learns that love, like laundry, sometimes requires a little help from a partner.
Word Count: 1.2K
The first rays of Sunday morning peaked through the blinds, and Quinn's phone chimed with his alarm. He stirred, blinking against the faint light, and then his gaze fell on Alayna, still deeply asleep beside him. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, a halo of deep brown against the white sheets. A slow smile spread across his face. He cherished these mornings, the quiet intimacy, the feel of her soft breath against his skin.
Quinn gently disentangled himself from her embrace, careful not to disturb her. A low groan rumbled in her chest as she shifted, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice rough with sleep.
He needed to get to the rink for a Sunday morning skate, but their relationship had evolved to a comfortable ease. Alayna was always welcome here, in his space, and the thought of her leaving never even crossed his mind. He left the extra key on the bedside table.
Quinn swung his legs over the side of the bed, his gaze sweeping across the room. He winced. Extra hockey gear had started following him home and the evidence lay strewn across the floor – socks, pads, two old gloves. Dirty laundry overflowed from the hamper, threatening to engulf his reading chair.
He quickly dressed and wandered out into the kitchen, bracing himself for the worst. And the worst was indeed there. Dishes piled high in the sink, remnants of meals past clinging to plates and utensils. Crumbs littered the counter, and a half-eaten apple lay abandoned on the dining table.
Oh god, Quinn groaned inwardly. What a mess. Lately, consumed by the grueling schedule and the relentless pressure to perform, he'd completely neglected his apartment. It was embarrassing.
Alayna, with her perfectly folded laundry and immaculate kitchen, would surely think he was a slob. The thought made him cringe.
He rushed out the door, a whirlwind of promises swirling in his head.
It’s okay. It’s fixable. I’ll spend the afternoon cleaning. I’ll even cook her something that will make her forget all about this disaster.
He would make it right as soon as he got back.
—
Later, Quinn returned to the apartment, his body aching but his spirits lifted by a good training session. He unlocked the door, expecting to be greeted by the familiar chaos. Instead, he was met with an unsettling silence.
The apartment was spotless.
The laundry was neatly folded and put away, the colors perfectly sorted. The dishes were nowhere to be seen, the countertops gleaming. Even Quinn's bookshelf, previously a chaotic jumble, was carefully organized in the corner. At this rate, he half expected his collection to be in alphabetical order. The entire apartment was a stark contrast to the earlier carnage.
A wave of guilt washed over him. The familiar ache of inadequacy settled deep in his chest.
He remembered Alayna’s words from their early conversations, the pain still evident in her voice.
“He expected me to always cook and clean.”
“He got angry if I didn’t put his laundry away. I felt like a maid.”
“He yelled at me once for not scrubbing his sink well enough.”
The memory sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't want to be that guy. He didn't want to be the one who expected her to pick up after him, to cater to his every whim. He wanted to be a partner, an equal, not a burden.
He pictured Alayna, her hands probably cracked and dry from scrubbing, her hours spent cleaning that he should have done. A pang of resentment towards himself, more than anything else, pierced through him. He wasn't just a mess, he was inconsiderate. He was reminding her, no matter how unintentionally, of a past she was trying to escape.
Quinn found a note on the kitchen counter, her handwriting flowing across the page:
"Hope you had a good skate. Picking up lunch. I'll be back later."
—
Alayna arrived shortly after, carrying two overflowing paper bags. "I got you the spicy Italian sub," she announced, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And don’t tell your trainer, but I snuck in a side of those rosemary herb chips you love. You know they rarely have that flavor, so I had to take advantage.”
Quinn had been on a health kick this season, his diet a carefully curated list of protein packed meals and questionable green juices. But thankfully, Alayna knew when it was time for a pick me up. She found him on the couch, staring intently at the television, though he wasn't really watching.
“How was your morning?"
He looked up, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Good. Practice was good. But..." He hesitated, then blurted out, "I feel terrible about today. You shouldn't have cleaned up. This is my apartment. I'm a mess. I know I'm a mess."
Alayna frowned. "What are you talking about? I didn't mind."
"But you shouldn't have to," he insisted, his voice laced with guilt. "I'm a grown man. I should be able to take care of myself. I don't want you to think..." He trailed off, the fear that was gripping him suddenly overwhelming. He wasn't good at expressing his emotions, at showing her how much she meant to him. He wanted to tell her, to thank her, to show his appreciation. But the words seemed to catch in his throat, leaving him feeling ashamed, like a child who had disappointed his parents.
Alayna crossed the room and sat beside him, gently taking his hand in hers. "Quinn, I don't mind doing things for people I love. It makes me happy to take care of you. You have been pushing yourself so hard lately.” She paused, her gaze searching his. "Besides," she added softly, "you do so much for me. You always make sure I'm safe, you listen to me when I need to vent, you brought me flowers TWICE last week."
"Yes, well, the first ones started wilting too fast - that’s not the point. I still feel.." He faltered again, then blurted out, "I feel like I'm becoming that guy. You know, the one you were talking about. The one who expects you to do everything."
Alayna smiled, a warm, understanding smile that reached her eyes. "You're not that guy, Quinn. You're nothing like that." She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Look, I get it. You're independent, you're used to taking care of yourself. But relationships aren't about keeping score. They're about supporting each other… Exhibit A ," she added with a dramatic hand gesture towards the kitchen counter, "someone has to keep you from eating nothing but steamed vegetables and grilled chicken."
Quinn chuckled, the tension finally beginning to ease. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. "You're the best," he murmured.
Alayna smiled against his chest. "I know."
They sat folded into each other for a while, only until the scent of Italian deli spices pulled them from their seats.
okay, yes, I know that comma isn't supposed to be there but I want the reader to take a breath! I want a pause! Stop trying to correct me, I'm trying to control the flow of reading
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister, aka the Quinn x Alayna Barzal AU
Summary: Alayna charms Quinn's brothers and solidifies her place in the Hughes household.
Warnings: none. pure fluff.
Word Count: 600
Alayna glanced around the game room, her eyes taking in the faded trophies and framed hockey jerseys. The Michigan house made her feel like she was stepping into a time capsule of Quinn's youth. She took a moment to simply observe, staring through the window into his past. Quinn, on the other hand, hoped she wouldn't feel overwhelmed by the testosterone-fueled atmosphere. He realized how important it was that she felt comfortable in this place that was so deeply a part of him.
Alayna leaned intently over the pool table with strands of dark hair escaping her messy bun. Her brow furrowed as she carefully lined up the cue ball, chalk dust clinging to her fingertips. Jack, ever the showman, was already taunting her.
"Alright, Alayna," Jack declared, leaning against the pool table with a mischievous glint, "Time to face the fury of the reigning pool champion."
Alayna scoffed playfully, "Oh please, Jack. Maybe you should try practicing your shot instead of your vocabulary."
Luke, grinning, leaned closer to Alayna. "Don't mind him. He's just trying to intimidate you with his big-boy words."
Alayna nudged Luke. "I'll go easy on him. Wouldn't want to traumatize the poor guy."
Luke, sensing a potential ally, grinned. "See, Quinn? Even your girlfriend is on my side."
The banter continued, lighthearted and playful, and Quinn watched them, a warm smile spreading across his face. Quinn had been nervous, of course. Would Alayna find their roughhousing too much? Would Jack and Luke dismiss her as a summer fling? As much as he loved his brothers, he knew their tendency to underestimate people. It wasn't personal, but they knew Quinn wanted to settle down and they weren't prepared to let him settle for less.
"Hey!" Jack protested, "I have a vocabulary! It's just… colorful."
Luke couldn't resist. "Stop trying to overcompensate for the fact that you never went to college, Jack."
Jack bristled. "Hey, people pay to watch me play hockey, not listen to me recite Shakespeare."
Alayna snorted, "Last time I checked, I'm the only person in this room who graduated, so neither of you should talk."
Watching Alayna, Quinn felt a strange sense of… relief. He exhaled the tension that had been gripping him. She wasn't intimidated by his family, their boisterous personalities, or their shared language of hockey slang and inside jokes. Her playful teasing and genuine interest in their lives quickly won them over.
A satisfying thunk echoed through the room as Alayna took her shot. The clink of the eight ball dropping into the pocket elicited cheers from Luke and a groan from Jack. Alayna turned, a triumphant smile gracing her lips. "Told you," she said, her eyes sparkling.
Quinn felt a surge of pride, not just in her skill, but in the woman she was. He loved how seamlessly she fit into their lives, making their home feel… warmer, richer. He’d been drawn to her from the moment he met her, but watching her interact with his family truly captured his heart. The world seemed to slow down. The laughter and the banter faded into the background as he gazed at Alayna. Quinn's heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He was in love with her.
The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, leaving him breathless. Quinn felt a wave of dizziness, the world tilting slightly on its axis. He knew with a certainty that both terrified and exhilarated him. Alayna wasn't just a guest in his life. This was it.
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x OC Barzal!Sister, aka the Quinn x Alayna Barzal AU
Summary: Inspired by true events - Quinn's busted lip has his girlfriend going full nurse mode
Warnings: mention of blood and injury?
Word Count: 600, just a little blurb :)
The scent of antiseptic, sharp and medicinal, battled with the lingering aroma of Quinn's last meal – a questionable takeout order he'd insisted on despite Alayna's protests. "You really think that meatball sub is a good idea after getting hit in the face?" she'd asked, her brow furrowed in concern. Quinn, ever the stubborn one, had just grinned and insisted on his comfort food.
Alayna, a whirlwind of anxious energy, flitted around him like a nervous hummingbird. She checked the ice pack on his face, the edges now slightly damp, and adjusted the throw blanket draped over him. The steaming mug of chamomile tea she'd brought him sat untouched on the coffee table, a testament to the chaos that erupted in their otherwise tranquil living room.
Quinn, sprawled on the couch, watched her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Alayna," he groaned, his voice a low rumble, "I'm fine. Really. It's just a lip." He winced as he spoke, the stitches pulling slightly.
"Liar," she chided, gently pushing the ice pack back into place. "Seeing you get hit like that… it was terrifying. You were bleeding everywhere, Quinn. I thought… I don't even want to think about it."
She averted her gaze. The image of him face down, the red stain spreading across the ice, the crowd hushed, the concern in his teammates' eyes… it was still lingering.
Quinn reached out and took her hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his voice softening. "I'm okay. The doctor said it was a clean split. A few stitches and I'm good as new."
"But what if..." she began, her voice trembling slightly.
He pulled her down beside him on the couch, his arm wrapping around her waist. "What if what, Alayna?" he asked, his voice firm but laced with a tender concern. "I'm not made of glass. I'm a hockey player. This is part of the job." He tried to inject humor into his voice, but his words lacked their usual confidence. He knew the violence of the sport spooked her, and the thought of causing her such distress weighed heavily on him.
"But I hate seeing you hurt," she confessed, leaning her head on Quinn's shoulder.
He held her close, his heart aching at her vulnerability. "Nothing's going to happen now that I'm wearing this stupid fishbowl," he promised, a touch of humor returning. "I was back on the ice in no time. Scoring goals, might I add." A small smile touched her lips.
Alayna fetched him fresh water, making sure he had just the right amount of ice, and checked the time. "Remember, Doc said to remove the icepack after twenty minutes," she declared, placing the cup next to him.
Quinn, feeling thoroughly inspected and tended to, couldn't help but grin. "You know," he said, "I think I might be getting spoiled."
Alayna raised an eyebrow, "Spoiled? I'm just making sure my favorite hockey player recovers quickly."
He closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet hum of sports commentary in the background, and the comforting weight of her gaze upon him. This, he realized, was a good kind of hurt.
He sighed. "It's actually… nice. Having someone take care of me for a change."
She smiled, a genuine sense of satisfaction lighting up her face. "Good. Because I intend to."
He reached for his phone in between the couch cushions. "Look at this," he said, bringing it closer to his face and angling the camera towards himself. "I look like a chipmunk." Quinn winced again. "How am I supposed to kiss you with this thing?"
Alayna giggled, taking the phone from him. "Don't worry, I'll find a way."
She gently placed the phone back on the table and leaned in, her lips trailing a path down his cheek, his jaw, his neck. "I'll be your nurse," she whispered against his skin, her voice a soft caress. "For as long as you need."
Summary: Introducing my first original character NHL AU! I won't necessarily post all of my Quinn x Alayna content in order, but I thought we would start out with how our leading characters meet. Before you read, please read my blog introduction and disclaimers here. Enjoy!
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~1600
--
Alayna stood by the garden arch, her fingers lightly brushing the soft petals of the flowers adorning it. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a gentle hum that seemed to resonate with her own heartbeat. She glanced around, taking in the joyful faces of the guests, the elegant decorations, and the overall ambiance of love and celebration. It felt surreal.
Alayna adjusted her dress for what felt like the hundredth time, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. She grew up in Coquitlam, Canada with her older brother Mat, who now played professional hockey in New York. After he left, she jetted off to college in a distant city. Those years had been a tumultuous time for her, but one bright spot had been meeting Bella. They had run into each other in a bathroom at a house party, and from that unexpected encounter, a deep friendship blossomed. Bella had been her rock during some of her darkest times, and Alayna was beyond thrilled to see her marrying Brock, a man who clearly adored her. Being a bridesmaid for Bella was a privilege she treasured.
As the bridal party assembled, Alayna found herself paired with Quinn. He wasn’t the biggest guy in the room, but still a commanding presence among the groomsmen. She instantly recognized him from living in Vancouver and being a lifelong hockey fan—Quinn Hughes, the famous captain of the Canucks. She was also pretty sure her brother Mat had met him a handful of times. Alayna had only heard good things about him: a steady captain, not the loudest voice in the room, but a dependable guy.
Alayna’s mind raced. He probably gets approached by people all the time who assume they already know him. She decided to just introduce herself as if she didn’t recognize him. With a warm smile, she made the first move.
“Hi, I’m Alayna, Bella’s good friend from college. We met my freshman year and ended up becoming best friends. It’s nice to meet you.” Quinn’s breath stalled as she approached, but he managed to return her smile. “Nice to meet you, Alayna. I’m Quinn.”
For a moment, he seemed to lose his composure, his usually confident demeanor replaced by a hint of shyness. Quinn was struck by her cheeriness, her beauty—a mix of dark brown hair and light eyes that seemed to sparkle with enthusiasm. She was tall in her heels, but he still had the edge, which made him feel a bit more at ease.
She quickly linked her arm with his, before she could give herself time to overthink. “So, Quinn, are you a teammate of Brock’s?”
Quinn chuckled softly, appreciating her casual approach. “Yeah, I am. We’ve been playing together for a while now.”
Alayna nodded, her heart fluttering slightly. She didn’t want to come across as a fangirl, even though she had been to his games and knew exactly who he was. “That’s great. I’ve heard hockey players have a tight-knit community. Must be nice to have that support.”
Heard from who exactly? Her brother, also a professional NHL player. She left out that minor detail.
Quinn glanced at her, struck by her genuine interest and warmth. “It really is. It’s like having a second family.”
As the music played, Quinn and Alayna stepped forward, their arms linked. The garden was a sea of smiling faces, but Quinn’s focus drifted to the woman beside him. He felt an inexplicable urge to keep talking to her, to learn more about the person who had so effortlessly captured his attention.
Alayna felt it too. She was acutely aware of the warmth of Quinn’s arm against hers, the twitch of his hand as he stepped, and his deep exhales. She stole a glance at him, catching his eye, and they shared a brief, knowing smile.
---
The reception hall was a vision of elegance, with lights and beautifully arranged flowers adorning every table. Glasses clinked and wait staff swept through the room gracefully to fill plates and champagne flutes. Alayna and Quinn found themselves seated next to each other at a round table reserved for the bridal party. They were the only two members without a plus one. Their chairs angled slightly towards one another, creating an intimate bubble amidst the celebration.
Quinn's eyes settled on Alayna, a smile tugging at his lips. “So, you’re from Vancouver too? That’s a pleasant surprise.”
Alayna nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yeah, born and raised not far from there. It’s such a beautiful area. What about you? Where are you from originally?”
“Michigan,” Quinn replied, his voice warm. “But Vancouver has definitely grown on me. The mountains, the ocean... it’s hard not to love the place.”
Alayna’s smile widened. “I couldn’t agree more. I left home for college and went inland, but the coast always calls me back. Do you have any favorite spots in the city?”
Quinn took a long, pensive sip from his glass. “Believe it or not, I don't get out much." Quinn rushed to clarify, to keep from sounding too lame. "I’m a big fan of Granville Island though. The market, the views... it’s a great place to unwind. What about you?”
“Stanley Park,” Alayna said without hesitation. “I love going for long walks there, especially in the fall when the leaves change color. It’s like stepping into a painting.”
Quinn nodded appreciatively. “Stanley Park is amazing. I’ve spent a few afternoons there, just enjoying the scenery.”
“So, what do you do?” Quinn asked, curious to learn more about her.
“I’m a web designer,” Alayna replied, her voice perking up with enthusiasm. “I actually wanted to be an author when I was a kid. I thought I’d write books, but now I write a lot of computer code instead.”
Quinn chuckled, intrigued by the twist. “That’s cool. So, you’re still a writer in a sense, just in a different medium.”
Alayna grinned. “Exactly. But I still love books.”
“So do I,” Quinn said, his eyes lighting up. “I read a lot of memoirs. I love learning about people’s lives. It helps me be a better leader.”
“At work?” She questioned.
“Sure, if you want to call it that.”
Alayna’s smile softened, her gaze thoughtful. “I’m more into fiction and murder mysteries. Something is thrilling about trying to solve the puzzle before the protagonist does.”
Quinn found himself leaning closer, his curiosity piqued. “So, any favorite authors?”
“Agatha Christie, hands down,” Alayna replied with a grin. “Her mysteries are timeless.”
Alayna found it especially attractive that Quinn, despite his gruff exterior, had a surprising soft spot for books. He found her witty, intelligent, and captivatingly real. Their conversation flowed easily, a comfortable rhythm developing between them. They talked about their passions, their dreams, and their favorite late-night snacks.
As the night wore on, the music softened, and guests began to slip out into the night. Alayna and Quinn were lost in conversation, their eyes meeting and holding, a silent understanding passing between them. They found themselves stalling, neither wanting the evening to end. He walked her to the door, the moonlight casting a gentle glow on their faces, adding a touch of magic to the moment.
“I had a great time tonight,” Quinn admitted, his voice sincere. “I’m glad we got to talk.”
“Me too,” Alayna replied, her eyes sparkling. “It was nice meeting you, Quinn.”
They shared a lingering look, both wishing they had more time together. But the night had to end, and they parted ways, each left with a sense of what could be. As Quinn watched her walk away, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for not asking for her number, social media handle, or even her last name.
---
The summer break had flown by, and now Quinn stood in the locker room, lacing up his skates. The memory of Alayna lingered in his mind, a constant, pleasant distraction. He regretted not asking for her number that night. Now, he found himself needing to find a way to see her again.
Taking a deep breath, Quinn approached Brock, who was stretching, his attention focused on his core. "Hey, Brock," he began, his voice casual, though his heart hammered against his ribs. "Can I ask you something?"
Brock looked up, a curious glint in his eyes. "Sure, what's up?"
Quinn hesitated, a nervous laugh escaping him. "Do you, uh, have Alayna's number? I didn't get a chance to ask her at the wedding."
Brock's jaw dropped. He stared at Quinn, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement. "You... you were spending a lot of time with Alayna, huh?"
Quinn nodded, feeling a blush creep up his neck. "Yeah, at the reception. We actually hit it off pretty well."
Brock let out a low whistle, his eyes twinkling. "This is priceless. You have a thing for Barzal's little sister."
The words hung heavy in the air. Quinn's heart plummeted. "Barzal's… sister?"
Brock chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Yeah, Alayna... Alayna Barzal ... from Vancouver. The one and only." Brock proceeded slowly, watching as Quinn fit the puzzle pieces together. "You didn't know?"
Quinn shook his head, feeling a mix of disbelief and a sudden surge of adrenaline. "No idea. I mean, I knew her brother, of course, but…"
Brock grinned, a mischievous look returning to his eyes. "Well, let's just say your chances of getting a date just got a whole lot more interesting, or a whole lot more complicated."
Quinn felt a rush of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the realization that he had unknowingly spent the evening with Mat Barzal's sister was both exhilarating and terrifying. On the other hand, he couldn't deny the thrill of the unexpected.
Brock, ever the instigator, pulled out his phone. "Here you go. But tread carefully, my friend, or else Mat will have your head."
Quinn took the number, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. As he stored it in his phone, he couldn't help but smile. This was definitely going to be interesting.
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