finn/quinn for the win!
Rhyming is clearly my greatest asset. I should be a songwriter XD
So this is Finn/Quinn, a little angsty but I think I am satisfied with this piece :D Written for finnquinn's Valentine Day fic exchange for wanderinghope
| be my forever girl |
[glee | r | finn/quinn, mentions of everyone else | future!fic, teenage angst, attempted rape (not detailed, but it's there)]
i do not own glee, or any of the characters from glee. i also do not own anything from UCLA. also pretty sure that UCLA's greek life isn't like this. | 3091 words
She looked at you as if you were her world.
You were seven when you first saw Quinn Fabray.
She had just moved from Austin and had that Texan twang, yes ma’am, no sir, and all the boys in your second grade class couldn’t stop staring at the pretty blonde girl with bright hazel eyes and a sweet smile.
You went back home that day and watched Mommy make your favourite cookies - chocolate chip with pecan - and told her about the new girl in class.
“Imma marry her, Mommy,” you had said eagerly. “I’m going to be the best football player ever, and she’s going to be the prettiest girl in school and we’re going to get married.”
Mommy had smiled at you and said, “I’m sure you will, Finn.”
: : :
: : :
You were seventeen when the talent scout came down to your school and watched you play.
Coach had asked you to stay back for a while after the game, and he was beaming so proudly when he all but dragged you to meet Mr. Graham, the man who would change your life.
“What do you think of a sports scholarship, young man?” Mr. Graham had asked you, kind and patient when all you could do was open and close your mouth like a goldfish for a long while.
“I’d love that, sir,” you hoped he could hear the gratitude in your voice, the happiness that lay behind the tiredness.
When you reached home you told Mom about how you were offered almost a full ride to the school you wanted, and she hugged you and cried.
Later that night, you were tempted to call Puck, but at this hour on a Friday, Puck was probably balls-deep in some rich cougar. You looked through your contacts list - Brittany would end up asking you whether she should paint her nails green, Kurt wouldn’t understand your joy, Mr Scheuster was most likely sleeping…Quinn.
Quinn would understand. She always knew your dream.
But Quinn Fabray wasn’t talking to you anymore.
: : :
: : :
You were thirteen when you asked Quinn Fabray on a date.
It had been the most awkward moment of your life - aside from that one time Puck pulled down your jeans and everyone saw your Bambi boxers - because it was in the cafeteria and Santana and Brittany were there too. They were scary; even Puck was terrified of them.
Quinn was in the middle, looking up at you with wide hazel eyes expectantly after you managed to stutter a “H-Hi, Quinn,” about a minute ago.
“Would you like to go watch a movie this weekend?” You finally blurted out, tray shaking in your hands. “I heard the new one with, uh, Brad Pitt is pretty nice.”
Quinn had blinked twice before smiling, and you felt this huge weight lift off your chest. “Sure, Finn,” she said shyly. “I’d love to go watch a movie with you.”
It was going to be amazing. You were going to pick her up from her house, buy her popcorn, and offer her your shoulder when she was scared. In your head, it was perfect.
In reality, it was perfect, in a warped way. Tickets to that Brad Pitt flick was sold out, so you watched The Omen instead. She spent half the time hiding her face with your shoulder and you wrapped an arm around her.
“You’re okay,” you said softly, rubbing her shoulder.
She looked at you as if you were her world.
: : :
: : :
You were eighteen when you pledged for Delta Sigma Phi, and they welcomed you with open arms.
For the first time in a long time - before graduation, before Kurt moved away, before Rachel, before Glee club - you felt like you belonged. No one judged you for playing football and singing. In fact, one of your brothers thought it was “fucking awesome, man, you’re a man of many talents. The girls are gonna throw themselves at you.”
The seniors dragged you to parties where everyone got drunk and couples ended up in rooms with doors locked. Your brother was right - girls did throw themselves at you. They flirted with you, eyes hopeful and bodies willing.
You rejected them as gently as possible, prying wandering hands away, and you got the reputation of being a gentleman. You also got the reputation of being potentially gay, but that’s a whole different story.
You thought college life was awesome, and then the inevitable happened.
A fraternity is holding a party, and as usual there is alcohol and skimpily dressed girls. What you don’t expect was drugs, drugs that make a blonde girl woozy and limp as some dark-haired guy dumps her on the pool table and spread her legs.
You plan to walk away, uncomfortable, when you hear, amidst all that noise and chanting - “Fuck yeah, fuck her! Take her in the ass, man!” - a hitch of breath, and a wounded whisper, “Please, don’t.”
You recognize that voice anywhere.
“Hey!” You shout, suddenly furious, shoving yourself past all the drunk and stupid people. The guy is pulling down her underwear, ignoring her soft pleading, and Mom always said that you have to be a gentleman, no matter what, so you do what you feel is right.
You shove him away from her, punch him twice in the face and throw him on the floor.
The entire house is silent, loud music aside, staring at you as if you are some freak of nature, but you don’t really care. All you want to do is to kill this son of a bitch in front of you, who doesn’t get it because he’s trying to stand up again.
“What the fuck, man?” The guy shouts, pissed. “You got a problem?”
“Yeah,” you shout back as you straighten yourself to your full height. “You don’t fucking rape a girl when she’s high, you piece of shit.”
The guy snorts. “She wants it man. Begged me and shit.”
You turn to see her curled up in a ball, shoulders shaking. Her underwear is stuck at one foot. It’s white with a pink heart at the front.
“You’re fucking sick,” you spit, before rushing to her, pulling her closer towards you and shushing her when she cries out weakly, terrified.
“It’s okay, “ you say softly, pulling her underwear back up and turning her so that she faces you. “It’s okay.”
When you push back her blonde hair your fears are confirmed. Hazel eyes that you’ve known for ten years stare back at you, unfocused.
“Please don’t,” Quinn sobs out.
Your heart breaks. “It’s okay, Quinn. You’re safe now.”
: : :
: : :
You were sixteen when you got your letterman jacket.
It was ridiculous, how you were beaming from ear to ear, but you worked so hard for this, damn it!
Puck had rolled his eyes and punched your arm. “Snap out of it, man. You’d think you just got laid.”
You gave him the middle finger and he laughed.
When you met Quinn at her locker the next day, she smiled at you, tugging the jacket. “Look who got his letterman’s,” she said, like a proud parent.
A proud girlfriend. You never felt so loved.
You celebrated with her in a hot tub, and then it happened.
You couldn’t help yourself, because she was beautiful and wet and all you wanted to do was make love to her…
She began refusing your letterman jacket three weeks later when she was cold. In quarterback-head cheerleader dating terms, something wasn’t right.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen when you carry Quinn Fabray back to your room in your fraternity house.
Paul, the brother that opens the door for you, takes one look at your face and immediately lets you in.
You’re settling her down on your bed when you hear footsteps behind you.
“Aspirin and water,” Paul says, gently placing the glass of water and a packet of white tablets on your bedside table. You murmur your thanks.
Quinn’s fast asleep, hugging your bolster that’s tucked neatly under her chin. You stare at her for a while, and only stop when Paul finally says, “What the fuck happened, man?”
When you explain to him, his eyes darken and he nods curtly before muttering something and walking out of your room.
The next day, Quinn wakes up disoriented and afraid. When she sees you, she flings her arms around you, sobbing. You pull her into your arms, motioning for your brothers to leave with jerky head movements when they hover at your doorway. Obviously, they all don’t listen to you.
“Oh God, if you weren’t there,” Quinn hiccups. “If-if you weren’t there, I would have… I would-”
“Hey,” you interrupt her gently, cupping her face with your hands. “Let’s not talk about it, hmmm?”
You wipe the tears off her pretty face with your fingers, and she looks at you with glistening eyes.
“Okay,” she finally says.
You kiss her forehead and give her time to finish crying.
When you go downstairs to get a glass of OJ for Quinn and maybe some cookies, Michael, the head of the fraternity, asks, “Who did that to her?”
You shrug. “No idea, some dark-haired dude at yesterday’s party. Wearing a…green polo tee, I think.”
Michael nods and claps your back. “Yeah, okay. Go up and take care of your girl, Hudson.”
You want to tell him that she’s no longer yours, hasn’t been in a long time. Instead you nod and go back upstairs, where Quinn waits for you anxiously, flawless hands wringing your comforter.
When you go for classes on Monday, everyone in Landfair knows about that ‘crazy guy who almost raped a girl in front of everyone’. Word has it that he is now in hospital, beaten so badly his face is barely recognizable.
Some of your brothers have bruised knuckles, but no one says anything.
: : :
: : :
You were sixteen when you found out that Quinn Fabray was pregnant.
It wasn’t your child.
You were so devastated when Rachel told you that it was Puck’s, you couldn’t look at anyone for the next two weeks. Couldn’t eat for a week, and couldn’t think of anything when you looked at your best friend - ex-best friend, best friends don’t sleep with each other’s girlfriends - but punching his face until all that remained was a bloody mess for a month.
All you wanted was to be Quinn’s lover, protector and soul mate, but she ran into Puck’s arms and you figured that maybe you and Rachel could give it a shot, even though you weren’t that into her. Maybe you’d slowly learn to love her.
You never did.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen and Quinn Fabray is in front of you reading her notes, highlighter tapping to a tune only she can hear.
You never expected to see her again after you left Lima, but it turns out that Quinn got a cheerleading scholarship that brought her here.
UCLA was always your dream school. It was also Quinn’s.
After the incident - Quinn refuses to call it an attack, because she’d be a victim, you refuse to call it an accident because that bastard didn’t accidentally remove her underwear - you both exchanged numbers and kept in touch. It turns out that Quinn takes college seriously, probably more seriously than you do. You both end up in the library more often than not. She helps you with your math, and you help her grab the books that she can’t reach.
Sometimes you ask her out for lunch, dinner, maybe a cup of coffee. Sometimes she says yes, sometimes she says no. You always feel disappointed when she rejects you, but you’re friends with her now. You’re not her boyfriend, and certainly not some whiny, pining guy from her old high school.
When you start sending her back to her dorm after her cheerleading practice, and not just when you study late, your brothers start waggling their eyebrows at you when you tell them that you can’t go for tomorrow’s crazy sorority party because you promised Quinn you’d study with her.
It doesn’t matter what they think, anyway, because when you meet her at… well, wherever you decide to meet, she’s always smiling for you.
“Finn?”
You blink and shake your head. Quinn’s looking at you amusedly.
“Er,” you fumble. “Did you ask me something? Sorry, I was zoning out.”
Her amusement turns into something else, something you can’t place. “I was asking if you want to go for dinner. It’s almost eight.”
It’s the first time she’s asked you out, study sessions aside. Of course you say yes, what else can you say?
Dinner at the nearby diner is pleasant and comfortable. Quinn talks about her roommate, her crazy RAs who insist that everyone wear striped underwear on Thursdays, her classes, the persistent boy from New York who keeps asking her out despite her insisting that she’s not interested.
You bristle at the last one. “You need me to ask him to back off?”
She pauses, her fork in mid-air. That look is on her face again. “No,” she says. “No, it’s okay. But thanks for offering, Finn.”
It’s only when you’re on the way home from her dorm that you realize what that look was.
Fondness.
: : :
: : :
You were seventeen when you kissed Quinn Fabray at a kissing booth.
Her boyfriend was standing next to her like the biggest jealous, possessive loser you ever had ever seen. And all you could think of was how this was familiar, how this was right, and how you wanted her in your arms again.
“Meet me tomorrow afternoon at the auditorium,” she had whispered in your ear, as if the last nine months didn’t happen.
And then, when you thought everything was going to be perfect again-
“Reminded me of why I loved you.”
She walked away.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen, and you have Quinn Fabray in your lap, kissing you like the world will end if you part.
Eventually, you break the kiss because you need to breathe. “Uh,” you stammer. “That was pretty awesome, but, uh, what are we doing?”
Quinn’s demeanor changes abruptly from horny to hurt. “Oh,” she says softly. “I thought… I thought we were okay.”
You don’t really know how to salvage this, because you do want this, but you both don’t really have a fantastic reputation when it comes to relationships.
Quinn interprets your hesitation wrongly. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Finn,” she starts, pushing herself off your lap. “I didn’t think- no, what was I thinking? I’m so stupid-”
Before she can get off the bed, you grab her by the waist and tug her back in your lap, pushing your hips upward. She gasps, clutching your shoulders and grinds down.
“Fuck, Quinn, we’re okay,” you grit out, trying to keep her still as she moves her hips in tiny circles. “Just, just, you got to understand, I don’t have a lot of restraint here.”
Quinn looks at you for five seconds, and then tackles your belt. She leans in, kissing your ear and you shudder when you feel her breath. “Good thing I don’t have much restraint either, Hudson.”
Everything else then falls into place. This should have been your first time, with the girl that you always loved, and not her friend who didn’t look at you twice afterwards. This should have been how it was, you pushing into her as slowly and as gently as you can, watching her face twist in pleasure and arching up to meet you.
It’s your name she gasps as she wraps her legs around you.
It’s your name she moans when she comes and your thrusts become harder.
It’s your name she breathes out when you spill in her, watching you as you fall apart.
: : :
: : :
You were seventeen when the shit hit the fan.
You made Quinn Fabray cry. You embarrassed her in front of her boyfriend. You told her that she was worthless.
She never really was, always was worth something to you, but you were hurt and angry and frustrated because she didn’t love you, even though you gave her your heart and soul.
So you ruined her birthday, like a spoilt child.
Puck had dragged you to the nearest toilet to punch you in the face.
“I don’t give a fuck about most of the things you do, Finn,” he said fiercely, “But I sure as hell care about what you say to Quinn.”
Brittany and Santana didn’t talk to you for two weeks. Mercedes, Tina and Archie gave you the cold shoulder. Mike still talked to you, but conversation was stilted and he was always uncomfortable.
Quinn avoided you for the rest of high school.
You hated yourself for the longest time.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen and you are Quinn Fabray’s boyfriend.
You meet her for lunch on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. You still study with her whenever you can. You still need help for math. You still walk her home from cheerleading practice.
Today you lie on the picnic mat Quinn spread out earlier, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky and squinting before a curtain of blonde hair blocks out the sun.
“What are you thinking about?” She asks as she lies next to you.
You look down at her, at her beautiful hazel eyes, and smile. “I’m thinking about how much I love you, Quinn Fabray.”
Quinn smiles brightly, and you love her so much that your heart aches. It sounds like the world’s cheesiest romance novel, but it’s true.
“I love you too, Finn Hudson,” she says and kisses you.
: : :
: : :
You were fifteen when you first kissed Quinn Fabray.
It was Valentine’s Day, and you figured that it would be romantic if you had your first kiss then. That it would be special, that your relationship would last forever.
Quinn had blushed, ducking her head and hiding behind her blonde hair before giggling and looking back up at you, smile so dazzling you wished you both were older so that you could propose to her right there.
“Uh, I hope that wasn’t too bad,” you fidgeted, tucking your hands in your pockets.
Quinn had put her arms around your neck and pulls you down. “It was perfect, Hudson.”
So this is Finn/Quinn, a little angsty but I think I am satisfied with this piece :D Written for finnquinn's Valentine Day fic exchange for wanderinghope
| be my forever girl |
[glee | r | finn/quinn, mentions of everyone else | future!fic, teenage angst, attempted rape (not detailed, but it's there)]
i do not own glee, or any of the characters from glee. i also do not own anything from UCLA. also pretty sure that UCLA's greek life isn't like this. | 3091 words
She looked at you as if you were her world.
You were seven when you first saw Quinn Fabray.
She had just moved from Austin and had that Texan twang, yes ma’am, no sir, and all the boys in your second grade class couldn’t stop staring at the pretty blonde girl with bright hazel eyes and a sweet smile.
You went back home that day and watched Mommy make your favourite cookies - chocolate chip with pecan - and told her about the new girl in class.
“Imma marry her, Mommy,” you had said eagerly. “I’m going to be the best football player ever, and she’s going to be the prettiest girl in school and we’re going to get married.”
Mommy had smiled at you and said, “I’m sure you will, Finn.”
: : :
: : :
You were seventeen when the talent scout came down to your school and watched you play.
Coach had asked you to stay back for a while after the game, and he was beaming so proudly when he all but dragged you to meet Mr. Graham, the man who would change your life.
“What do you think of a sports scholarship, young man?” Mr. Graham had asked you, kind and patient when all you could do was open and close your mouth like a goldfish for a long while.
“I’d love that, sir,” you hoped he could hear the gratitude in your voice, the happiness that lay behind the tiredness.
When you reached home you told Mom about how you were offered almost a full ride to the school you wanted, and she hugged you and cried.
Later that night, you were tempted to call Puck, but at this hour on a Friday, Puck was probably balls-deep in some rich cougar. You looked through your contacts list - Brittany would end up asking you whether she should paint her nails green, Kurt wouldn’t understand your joy, Mr Scheuster was most likely sleeping…Quinn.
Quinn would understand. She always knew your dream.
But Quinn Fabray wasn’t talking to you anymore.
: : :
: : :
You were thirteen when you asked Quinn Fabray on a date.
It had been the most awkward moment of your life - aside from that one time Puck pulled down your jeans and everyone saw your Bambi boxers - because it was in the cafeteria and Santana and Brittany were there too. They were scary; even Puck was terrified of them.
Quinn was in the middle, looking up at you with wide hazel eyes expectantly after you managed to stutter a “H-Hi, Quinn,” about a minute ago.
“Would you like to go watch a movie this weekend?” You finally blurted out, tray shaking in your hands. “I heard the new one with, uh, Brad Pitt is pretty nice.”
Quinn had blinked twice before smiling, and you felt this huge weight lift off your chest. “Sure, Finn,” she said shyly. “I’d love to go watch a movie with you.”
It was going to be amazing. You were going to pick her up from her house, buy her popcorn, and offer her your shoulder when she was scared. In your head, it was perfect.
In reality, it was perfect, in a warped way. Tickets to that Brad Pitt flick was sold out, so you watched The Omen instead. She spent half the time hiding her face with your shoulder and you wrapped an arm around her.
“You’re okay,” you said softly, rubbing her shoulder.
She looked at you as if you were her world.
: : :
: : :
You were eighteen when you pledged for Delta Sigma Phi, and they welcomed you with open arms.
For the first time in a long time - before graduation, before Kurt moved away, before Rachel, before Glee club - you felt like you belonged. No one judged you for playing football and singing. In fact, one of your brothers thought it was “fucking awesome, man, you’re a man of many talents. The girls are gonna throw themselves at you.”
The seniors dragged you to parties where everyone got drunk and couples ended up in rooms with doors locked. Your brother was right - girls did throw themselves at you. They flirted with you, eyes hopeful and bodies willing.
You rejected them as gently as possible, prying wandering hands away, and you got the reputation of being a gentleman. You also got the reputation of being potentially gay, but that’s a whole different story.
You thought college life was awesome, and then the inevitable happened.
A fraternity is holding a party, and as usual there is alcohol and skimpily dressed girls. What you don’t expect was drugs, drugs that make a blonde girl woozy and limp as some dark-haired guy dumps her on the pool table and spread her legs.
You plan to walk away, uncomfortable, when you hear, amidst all that noise and chanting - “Fuck yeah, fuck her! Take her in the ass, man!” - a hitch of breath, and a wounded whisper, “Please, don’t.”
You recognize that voice anywhere.
“Hey!” You shout, suddenly furious, shoving yourself past all the drunk and stupid people. The guy is pulling down her underwear, ignoring her soft pleading, and Mom always said that you have to be a gentleman, no matter what, so you do what you feel is right.
You shove him away from her, punch him twice in the face and throw him on the floor.
The entire house is silent, loud music aside, staring at you as if you are some freak of nature, but you don’t really care. All you want to do is to kill this son of a bitch in front of you, who doesn’t get it because he’s trying to stand up again.
“What the fuck, man?” The guy shouts, pissed. “You got a problem?”
“Yeah,” you shout back as you straighten yourself to your full height. “You don’t fucking rape a girl when she’s high, you piece of shit.”
The guy snorts. “She wants it man. Begged me and shit.”
You turn to see her curled up in a ball, shoulders shaking. Her underwear is stuck at one foot. It’s white with a pink heart at the front.
“You’re fucking sick,” you spit, before rushing to her, pulling her closer towards you and shushing her when she cries out weakly, terrified.
“It’s okay, “ you say softly, pulling her underwear back up and turning her so that she faces you. “It’s okay.”
When you push back her blonde hair your fears are confirmed. Hazel eyes that you’ve known for ten years stare back at you, unfocused.
“Please don’t,” Quinn sobs out.
Your heart breaks. “It’s okay, Quinn. You’re safe now.”
: : :
: : :
You were sixteen when you got your letterman jacket.
It was ridiculous, how you were beaming from ear to ear, but you worked so hard for this, damn it!
Puck had rolled his eyes and punched your arm. “Snap out of it, man. You’d think you just got laid.”
You gave him the middle finger and he laughed.
When you met Quinn at her locker the next day, she smiled at you, tugging the jacket. “Look who got his letterman’s,” she said, like a proud parent.
A proud girlfriend. You never felt so loved.
You celebrated with her in a hot tub, and then it happened.
You couldn’t help yourself, because she was beautiful and wet and all you wanted to do was make love to her…
She began refusing your letterman jacket three weeks later when she was cold. In quarterback-head cheerleader dating terms, something wasn’t right.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen when you carry Quinn Fabray back to your room in your fraternity house.
Paul, the brother that opens the door for you, takes one look at your face and immediately lets you in.
You’re settling her down on your bed when you hear footsteps behind you.
“Aspirin and water,” Paul says, gently placing the glass of water and a packet of white tablets on your bedside table. You murmur your thanks.
Quinn’s fast asleep, hugging your bolster that’s tucked neatly under her chin. You stare at her for a while, and only stop when Paul finally says, “What the fuck happened, man?”
When you explain to him, his eyes darken and he nods curtly before muttering something and walking out of your room.
The next day, Quinn wakes up disoriented and afraid. When she sees you, she flings her arms around you, sobbing. You pull her into your arms, motioning for your brothers to leave with jerky head movements when they hover at your doorway. Obviously, they all don’t listen to you.
“Oh God, if you weren’t there,” Quinn hiccups. “If-if you weren’t there, I would have… I would-”
“Hey,” you interrupt her gently, cupping her face with your hands. “Let’s not talk about it, hmmm?”
You wipe the tears off her pretty face with your fingers, and she looks at you with glistening eyes.
“Okay,” she finally says.
You kiss her forehead and give her time to finish crying.
When you go downstairs to get a glass of OJ for Quinn and maybe some cookies, Michael, the head of the fraternity, asks, “Who did that to her?”
You shrug. “No idea, some dark-haired dude at yesterday’s party. Wearing a…green polo tee, I think.”
Michael nods and claps your back. “Yeah, okay. Go up and take care of your girl, Hudson.”
You want to tell him that she’s no longer yours, hasn’t been in a long time. Instead you nod and go back upstairs, where Quinn waits for you anxiously, flawless hands wringing your comforter.
When you go for classes on Monday, everyone in Landfair knows about that ‘crazy guy who almost raped a girl in front of everyone’. Word has it that he is now in hospital, beaten so badly his face is barely recognizable.
Some of your brothers have bruised knuckles, but no one says anything.
: : :
: : :
You were sixteen when you found out that Quinn Fabray was pregnant.
It wasn’t your child.
You were so devastated when Rachel told you that it was Puck’s, you couldn’t look at anyone for the next two weeks. Couldn’t eat for a week, and couldn’t think of anything when you looked at your best friend - ex-best friend, best friends don’t sleep with each other’s girlfriends - but punching his face until all that remained was a bloody mess for a month.
All you wanted was to be Quinn’s lover, protector and soul mate, but she ran into Puck’s arms and you figured that maybe you and Rachel could give it a shot, even though you weren’t that into her. Maybe you’d slowly learn to love her.
You never did.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen and Quinn Fabray is in front of you reading her notes, highlighter tapping to a tune only she can hear.
You never expected to see her again after you left Lima, but it turns out that Quinn got a cheerleading scholarship that brought her here.
UCLA was always your dream school. It was also Quinn’s.
After the incident - Quinn refuses to call it an attack, because she’d be a victim, you refuse to call it an accident because that bastard didn’t accidentally remove her underwear - you both exchanged numbers and kept in touch. It turns out that Quinn takes college seriously, probably more seriously than you do. You both end up in the library more often than not. She helps you with your math, and you help her grab the books that she can’t reach.
Sometimes you ask her out for lunch, dinner, maybe a cup of coffee. Sometimes she says yes, sometimes she says no. You always feel disappointed when she rejects you, but you’re friends with her now. You’re not her boyfriend, and certainly not some whiny, pining guy from her old high school.
When you start sending her back to her dorm after her cheerleading practice, and not just when you study late, your brothers start waggling their eyebrows at you when you tell them that you can’t go for tomorrow’s crazy sorority party because you promised Quinn you’d study with her.
It doesn’t matter what they think, anyway, because when you meet her at… well, wherever you decide to meet, she’s always smiling for you.
“Finn?”
You blink and shake your head. Quinn’s looking at you amusedly.
“Er,” you fumble. “Did you ask me something? Sorry, I was zoning out.”
Her amusement turns into something else, something you can’t place. “I was asking if you want to go for dinner. It’s almost eight.”
It’s the first time she’s asked you out, study sessions aside. Of course you say yes, what else can you say?
Dinner at the nearby diner is pleasant and comfortable. Quinn talks about her roommate, her crazy RAs who insist that everyone wear striped underwear on Thursdays, her classes, the persistent boy from New York who keeps asking her out despite her insisting that she’s not interested.
You bristle at the last one. “You need me to ask him to back off?”
She pauses, her fork in mid-air. That look is on her face again. “No,” she says. “No, it’s okay. But thanks for offering, Finn.”
It’s only when you’re on the way home from her dorm that you realize what that look was.
Fondness.
: : :
: : :
You were seventeen when you kissed Quinn Fabray at a kissing booth.
Her boyfriend was standing next to her like the biggest jealous, possessive loser you ever had ever seen. And all you could think of was how this was familiar, how this was right, and how you wanted her in your arms again.
“Meet me tomorrow afternoon at the auditorium,” she had whispered in your ear, as if the last nine months didn’t happen.
And then, when you thought everything was going to be perfect again-
“Reminded me of why I loved you.”
She walked away.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen, and you have Quinn Fabray in your lap, kissing you like the world will end if you part.
Eventually, you break the kiss because you need to breathe. “Uh,” you stammer. “That was pretty awesome, but, uh, what are we doing?”
Quinn’s demeanor changes abruptly from horny to hurt. “Oh,” she says softly. “I thought… I thought we were okay.”
You don’t really know how to salvage this, because you do want this, but you both don’t really have a fantastic reputation when it comes to relationships.
Quinn interprets your hesitation wrongly. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Finn,” she starts, pushing herself off your lap. “I didn’t think- no, what was I thinking? I’m so stupid-”
Before she can get off the bed, you grab her by the waist and tug her back in your lap, pushing your hips upward. She gasps, clutching your shoulders and grinds down.
“Fuck, Quinn, we’re okay,” you grit out, trying to keep her still as she moves her hips in tiny circles. “Just, just, you got to understand, I don’t have a lot of restraint here.”
Quinn looks at you for five seconds, and then tackles your belt. She leans in, kissing your ear and you shudder when you feel her breath. “Good thing I don’t have much restraint either, Hudson.”
Everything else then falls into place. This should have been your first time, with the girl that you always loved, and not her friend who didn’t look at you twice afterwards. This should have been how it was, you pushing into her as slowly and as gently as you can, watching her face twist in pleasure and arching up to meet you.
It’s your name she gasps as she wraps her legs around you.
It’s your name she moans when she comes and your thrusts become harder.
It’s your name she breathes out when you spill in her, watching you as you fall apart.
: : :
: : :
You were seventeen when the shit hit the fan.
You made Quinn Fabray cry. You embarrassed her in front of her boyfriend. You told her that she was worthless.
She never really was, always was worth something to you, but you were hurt and angry and frustrated because she didn’t love you, even though you gave her your heart and soul.
So you ruined her birthday, like a spoilt child.
Puck had dragged you to the nearest toilet to punch you in the face.
“I don’t give a fuck about most of the things you do, Finn,” he said fiercely, “But I sure as hell care about what you say to Quinn.”
Brittany and Santana didn’t talk to you for two weeks. Mercedes, Tina and Archie gave you the cold shoulder. Mike still talked to you, but conversation was stilted and he was always uncomfortable.
Quinn avoided you for the rest of high school.
You hated yourself for the longest time.
: : :
: : :
You are eighteen and you are Quinn Fabray’s boyfriend.
You meet her for lunch on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. You still study with her whenever you can. You still need help for math. You still walk her home from cheerleading practice.
Today you lie on the picnic mat Quinn spread out earlier, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky and squinting before a curtain of blonde hair blocks out the sun.
“What are you thinking about?” She asks as she lies next to you.
You look down at her, at her beautiful hazel eyes, and smile. “I’m thinking about how much I love you, Quinn Fabray.”
Quinn smiles brightly, and you love her so much that your heart aches. It sounds like the world’s cheesiest romance novel, but it’s true.
“I love you too, Finn Hudson,” she says and kisses you.
: : :
: : :
You were fifteen when you first kissed Quinn Fabray.
It was Valentine’s Day, and you figured that it would be romantic if you had your first kiss then. That it would be special, that your relationship would last forever.
Quinn had blushed, ducking her head and hiding behind her blonde hair before giggling and looking back up at you, smile so dazzling you wished you both were older so that you could propose to her right there.
“Uh, I hope that wasn’t too bad,” you fidgeted, tucking your hands in your pockets.
Quinn had put her arms around your neck and pulls you down. “It was perfect, Hudson.”