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captainlexaproluvr · 4 months ago

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it’s ok i posted your most hype comments the other day 😈😈😈

Sweet Surrender | Quinn Hughes

warnings: male sub + reader as soft dom, mommy kink, handjob, thigh riding, allusions to various kinks (breeding, spit, daddy), mention of oral (m receiving) but none actually included, quinn being obsessed with reader's boobs (obvs), praise, established relationship, pet names, fluff, domesticity, a lot of dialogue (sorry not sorry!), stressed out quinn, talk of a quinnterview that does not exist, inaccurate depictions of quinn's hair‼️, andddd i think that is all.

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: quinn lets slip an unspoken desire and his girlfriend is determined to bring his fantasy to life. [part of Sweet Submission series]

wc: 11,530

included request: Omg please please quinn hughes x thigh riding 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

authors's note: so the only writing i have posted from september to december has been for sub quinn..... but he is just that guy to me!! i can't help it!! he speaks to me, as y'all can see by the long ass word count. but anyway, in addition to my usual beta reader (andy, duh), @tkwrites was also kind enough to give this a read for me. so special thanks to those guys <3 sub!quinn origin story lfg

It’s been just under a month since Quinn’s captaincy was announced, and it’s crazy how much of a difference you’ve seen in him already. He’s thrown himself completely into the new role, practically working himself into the ground because he doesn’t want to “flop” his first season as captain. He’s determined to have an amazing season– in his mind, it’s not an option for that not to happen.

When he first found out he was getting the C, he went into “full health freak mode,” as his had brothers put it, and he has since adopted the term himself. He’s been eating healthier, working out and training constantly, reading more, and avoiding alcohol. Not to mention just generally being grumpy as he obsessively prepares for the season, although that part hasn’t seemed to apply when he’s with you, much to his brothers’ envy.

He came home tonight, drained after a long day that included morning skate, a bunch of media, and then taking some of the new guys to dinner. You had been on FaceTime with your mom when he sludged into the apartment. Having already eaten, Quinn only stopped over to greet you with a peck to your cheek and exchange pleasantries with your mom before heading to your room to lie down for the night. “Sorry for interrupting, ladies,” had been his parting words.

You join him in bed not too long afterwards and he’s still awake, restless, lying on his side facing the wall. He’s changed out of his clothes and is now left in only his boxers. Already in your pjs, you scoot into the space beside him. His shoulders are slouched forward, exposing more of his back to you and making him look even broader than usual. The room is filled with a comfortable silence as you bring your hand up, fingers dancing along his skin with a featherlight touch.

The movement of your fingers is purposeful, and he knows this immediately, seen by his posture straightening up ever so slightly. You have a habit of tracing words, or sometimes drawings, on his back for him to decipher. It’s something your mom used to do with you as a kid, but you’ve now turned the little game into a way of getting Quinn’s mind off things and lightening the mood before bed when he’s had a bit of a tough day. Like a mini reset.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his head, his eyes no doubt squeezed shut as he tries to conjure up an image of the letters in his mind. He’s gotten quite good at your little game, partially thanks to his competitive nature, you think. You pull your hand back to signal that you’re finished and he’s silent for a moment.

“Sauna?” he guesses after a beat, his tone unsure.

“Mhm. My mom thinks you’d like an in-home sauna,” you explain. “Says saunas are very relaxing and that you deserve some relaxation.”

His shoulders shake with a laugh as you push yourself up and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turns to offer up his lips instead.

“Hi,” he greets you in a whisper after you peck his lips.

“Hi.” A soft smile graces your features.

He returns your smile and rolls over to face you, crowding into your space until your noses are mere inches apart and his hand slips below your shirt to find the curve of your waist.

“An in-home sauna, huh?”

“That’s what she said,” you confirm. “Personally, I think she’s just saying that because she would like an in-home sauna. Not that you don’t deserve to relax.”

A soft hum escapes him. “Projecting her extravagant desires onto me?”

You breathe out a laugh through your nose.

“So you’re saying we should buy your mom a sauna for Christmas this year. Noted.”

You laugh again, giving a playful roll of your eyes at his joke. You gently brush the hair from his forehead as you take in the quiet moment that follows. His eyes soften as they meet yours, and for a second, everything feels right. You both just gaze at each other, taking in the peacefulness of the moment and enjoying each other’s company after a day apart, soaking up the quiet comfort of finally being together.

You’d known from the moment he walked into the apartment that he was feeling down. He was sweet, as always, while chatting with your mom, and did his best to come across as sincere, but you know him too well to miss the way the light in his eyes had wavered as he spoke to her. Your mom may have been mostly fooled, but you knew better. Even now, the familiar slump of his shoulders and the faint dark circles under his eyes betray his efforts to appear upbeat.

You’re the one to eventually break the silence.

“You’re tired,” you remark matter of factly.

“Yeah. ’M sorry,” he mumbles.

You hum, tilting your head slightly. “And why is that?”

“I didn’t see you all day and now I’m too tired to not be.. lame.”

“Oh, so you think cuddling with me is lame?” you tease.

That brings a faint smile to his face. “No, of course not. In fact,” he shuffles even closer to you to prove his point, adding, “Cuddling with you has been the highlight of my day.”

You hum again. “Well, why don’t you tell me about the rest of this very lame day of yours then?”

You shift your hand and begin to lightly scratch at his scalp and his eyes flutter closed, his features softening into a blissful expression.

“Mm, I’d much rather hear about yours. Wanna hear about whatever had you and your mom giggling so much on the phone.”

“Maybe we were giggling about your little, ‘Sorry for interrupting, ladies,’” you tease, imitating his voice. “Such a goof. You sounded like a dad.”

“Stop talking about making me a dad before I actually put a baby in you,” he mutters.

A loud laugh escapes you at his comment. “Not what I meant at all–”

“Well, then I’m choosing to take your words out of context,” he interrupts, eyes still closed but a tiny smirk now tugging at his lips.

“Yeah? Well, given that I don’t think either of us want to be parents at 23–”

“We’d be 24 when the baby was born, actually.”

“–and you look like you’re already half asleep, I’m choosing not to take your threats too seriously.”

“Hey, I’m very serious. Don’t make me prove it,” he mumbles.

“Yeah. Okay, baby boy,” you mock.

Under different circumstances, he would actually be springing into action. Quinn definitely has a bit of a breeding kink, which tracks given his… domestically impatient tendencies. But you and he both know there’s no real heat behind his words right now. If anything, he’s making an attempt to lighten the mood and distract from his evident stress— one which you see right through.

The two of you chat for a bit, him asking how your mom is doing and about your day, and you letting him share as much of his day as he’s willing. You trace gentle touches along his face, following his features as he speaks. He doesn’t linger on the topic of hockey for long, which is unsurprising— he’ll almost certainly have more to say tomorrow.

Although he mostly avoids the topic, he does eventually bring up wanting to have the team over to the apartment at the end of training camp— the whole group. He says he’s been thinking about how he wants to start the year off right, but he’s quick to stress how it isn’t a big deal if the idea doesn’t come to fruition.

You can see his stress beginning to creep in as he rushes his words out. “I know we just moved into the apartment, and you’ve been working so hard trying to get everything settled,” he states, glossing over the fact that he has been helping a lot, “And you’ve done such an amazing job. I know that, and I appreciate it. So I get it if the last thing you want to do is host a bunch of hockey players,” he babbles. “We don’t have to do it if you aren’t up to it. It can wa–”

“Quinn,” you say softly, effectively silencing him. He looks adorable, lips parted and eyes slightly widened as he awaits your next words. You pause for a moment, smiling at him fondly, appreciating the way he said we. Now that you live together, it’s pretty much always going to be we. You deserve a moment to feel all giddy and warm inside over that fact. “Of course the guys can come here. I think that’s a great idea.”

You admire how badly he wants to be a good captain. He wants all the guys, even the ones who don’t end up making the roster, to feel like part of the team. He wants to make them feel welcome by opening his home to them. It’s important to him. You also love how much thought he gives to you, always factoring in how you feel and putting that first, so ready to give you grace if you weren’t on board with the idea, despite the fact that you would have never turned it down. You’d never deny him this, never give up the opportunity to see him embrace his new leadership role, the one you have no doubt he’s going to thrive in. His consideration for you is anything but rare, but the subtle hint of panic beneath it right now is something you only really see when his stress is running high.

He gives you a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says softly. “Maybe we can pick a date tomorrow.”

You nod. “You’re gonna make a great captain, Q.”

His features soften even more, and the enamoured look he gives you makes your chest ache.

You briefly fall back into silence. The tension mostly seems to have eased, but his fingers have begun to absentmindedly toy with the fabric of your sleep shorts bunched at your waist– a nervous habit of his.

“What are you at today?” you ask, voice low, careful, as if the words are fragile.

The question is part of a little system the two of you have created, a simple way for you to check in when Quinn isn’t up for talking about how he’s feeling just yet. It’s not that he doesn’t want to let you in on what’s going on inside his head– he does. But sometimes, especially when he’s as worn out as he is tonight, dwelling on it only makes him more anxious. So, by supplying a simple rating of his stress instead, he can let you know how he’s doing without having to delve into dissecting his emotions right then. It’s quick and painless.

Your question doesn’t surprise Quinn, being one you ask him regularly, and you watch as he considers it.

“Maybe a 7,” he offers.

“That’s a jump,” you frown, unable to mask the concern etched into your features. In all the time you’ve used this system, Quinn has never supplied a number that high.

“Maybe more like a 5,” he backpedals seeing your alarm.

“No, don’t do that,” you push back gently. “Don’t downplay how you feel, Q. I’m just worried, is all. Highest you’ve been before is a 5.”

“Yeah, I know,” he acknowledges with a shrug. “I’m fine, babe, just nerves about the season starting up, that’s all,” he dismisses.

There’s only two games left in the preseason and as the regular season inches closer, Quinn only seems to grow more anxious. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of the entire team on his shoulders before the season has even begun, and it’s unnerving for you to watch.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” you ask, wanting to honour the purpose of the whole rating system and not dwell on the matter tonight, but still needing some reassurance.

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding. “Just need to sleep it off. Promise I’ll be back in my usual 3-5 range tomorrow,” he quips, but his smile still doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You consider his words for a moment. Truthfully, you do believe that he’ll have settled after getting some sleep, but that does little to quiet the nagging feeling that he’s going to reach this point again, quickly, and eventually maybe even surpass it. You worry about this becoming a cycle, and the toll that’ll take on him over the course of the season. The season that hasn’t even started yet. But you know he’ll be more willing to talk about it tomorrow, and perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to broach the subject anyway, given you’re both tired and haven’t seen each other all day.

You finally sigh, admitting defeat. “You said you did media today?” you ask, shifting the conversation.

“Yeah,” he nods, a knowing smile creeping onto his lips.

You tend to watch most of Quinn’s interviews. You enjoy listening to him speak, even in clips where other people might say he sounds bored. But they can also come in handy on nights like tonight, to hold you over until Quinn feels like talking more. Sure, watching an interview of your boyfriend when he’s lying right next to you is perhaps a bit… strange. You realize that. But Quinn’s ready to knock out, you hadn’t had a chance to watch it earlier, and you’ll take any bits of insight into his day and how he’s feeling about the season that you can get.

You return his smile, leaning forward to peck his lips before delivering a light tap to his side.

“Okay. Go back to how you were, bub,” you instruct.

He presses another kiss to your lips, then one to your forehead, before rolling over again and resuming his previous position.

“Headphones, too,” he requests, though it’s more of a reminder.

“I know the drill,” you reply, drawing out the words.

You begin to scratch his back, your nails dragging aimlessly across his skin, and he lets out a soft, contented hum. When he shifts slightly, relaxing further into the mattress, you grab your AirPods from the nightstand, plopping one in your ear and pulling up Quinn’s media from earlier today. You manage to do so one-handed, without needing to interrupt the gentle scratches that have Quinn practically purring beside you.

You’d told him to return to this position, partially for the purpose of giving him back scratches, but also with the ulterior motive of wanting to watch his media and knowing from past experience that he doesn’t like to watch himself. This is a fairly regular occurrence– he knows you always want to watch, but he never wants to see or hear himself as you do so.

You stay like that for a minute, your fingers moving in soft, steady lines up and down his back, listening intently as Quinn’s voice rings through the tiny speaker in your ear. For the most part, it’s a pretty typical interview– they ask some average run of the mill questions, and he answers each one politely, albeit with little enthusiasm.

Media isn’t Quinn’s favourite thing. Sometimes he gets lucky and the rare interview or promo gig ends up being enjoyable, but ultimately, it’s not what he likes about being a hockey player. He knows it’s part of the job, but it’s definitely more something he endures rather than enjoys. So when his face suddenly breaks out in a grin– wide, yet somehow still shy, as though he couldn’t contain it–you feel your heart flutter in your chest unexpectedly. Your hands spring into action as if it were a reflex: you click to rewind the interview ten seconds back, while your other hand abandons its movements along Quinn’s back in favor of assuming screenshot position, wanting to capture the sweet image of your boyfriend to your camera roll.

You don’t get the screenshot though. You’re distracted by the version of Quinn beside you, who, at the absence of your back scratches, immediately lets slip an indignant, “Mommy.”

The room falls silent, as if on cue. You remove your AirPod, placing it and your phone back on the nightstand.

That’s new.

He had been jostling around petulantly at first, like he always does if your back scratches cease, but this time his movements come to a sudden halt.

Neither of you can see the other's expression, but both your eyes go wide at his slip-up. Your expression is more one of intrigue, while his is undoubtedly one of panic. You may not be able to see his face, but the way his entire body goes stiff while a deep red blush creeps up his neck gives away how he’s feeling.

You aren’t really sure how to respond, but after a few moments of silence, you decide you’d better say something, settling on a simple, “Yeah?”

You don’t mean it in a teasing way. More of a Yeah, baby? What do you need?– just to test the waters, wanting to see how this plays out. But either the word doesn’t land the way you’d intended, or your intention just carries less weight than you’d hoped, because Quinn remains silent and still beside you.

You press a gentle kiss to his back before pulling him over to face you. He could stay put if he really wanted to, but he comes willingly. You only have about two seconds to admire the blush that has bloomed on his cheeks before he breaks, unable to bear it any longer. A cross between a groan and a whine leaves him as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin.

“Quinn,” you giggle, bringing a hand up to cradle his neck. Your thumb begins tracing soft circles against his skin. “Why are you embarrassed?”

Your question goes unanswered, which only reinforces your sneaking suspicion that there was more to his use of the word than just an innocent slip-up. You know your boyfriend well. You’d usually expect Quinn to recover and laugh off something like this quite easily, so you’re fairly certain he’s reacting this way because he accidentally revealed some sort of unexpressed desire.

“I’m actually surprised this is only coming up now,” you remark, testing your theory. When he still doesn’t respond beyond stifling a groan into your neck, you ponder. “Why is it only coming up now? Did you think that I’d judge you?” you ask.

That wasn’t it, and it’s important to him that you know that.

Quinn’s always had some interest in being more submissive, though he’s never really explored it before, beyond the indulgent fantasies that occasionally play on his mind. But, the recent stress of his captaincy has made his longing for it so much stronger. Taking on the extra responsibility and authority in his job has only added to his desire to surrender when he’s with you.

Being the captain, at least to him, isn’t just about wearing the C on his chest. It means constantly leading by example, rallying the team, and shouldering more pressure than he’s ever experienced in any of his past leadership roles. He takes pride in that– he loves his team and he wants to do anything and everything he can to support them and help them succeed. He’s always felt that way to an extent, but being captain had taken it to a whole new level. It isn’t just about his performance on the ice anymore. Now it’s about making sure the entire team succeeds, and that comes with a weight– a perpetual mental load of constantly looking out for the guys, motivating them, and being the one that everyone else can look to and rely on, all while elevating his own game and striving to be the best he can be in every conceivable way.

Naturally, all that pressure he’s put on himself has started to fuel a desire to be on the receiving end of that type of care and devotion. He wants to escape all the giving, leading, and looking out for everyone else, just for a little while. He desperately wants to let someone else take the reins. Well, not just someone– you. He doesn’t want to have to hold everything together all the time, he just wants to trust you to give him what he needs.

And he does trust you. But saying all of that out loud? The thought makes him feel exposed in a way that sends ripples of doubt through him.

The silence lingers on and you suspect it’s because he’s trying to find the words to explain what’s going through his head, rather than a refusal to respond to your question. Quinn is never one to speak carelessly, always very thoughtful and deliberate with his words. It’s one of the things you love most about him. So you wait, giving him time as the seconds tick by, but he continues to remain silent and you can sense that he’s having some sort of internal battle.

“Quinn,” you murmur. “When have I ever judged you, sweetheart?”

He exhales against your neck, his breath warm and uneven. “I know.” His words are barely audible, muffled against your skin. “It’s not that I thought you’d judge me.” He pairs the reassurance with a gentle squeeze to your side for good measure, but doesn’t say anything further, seemingly hoping to avoid the conversation altogether, at least for tonight.

You can feel the tension in the way his body presses into yours, as if he’s holding something back. The silence that follows feels heavy, unspoken words hanging in the air. You find yourself absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, unknowingly soothing him. When you notice the way his body relaxes into you, how his breathing begins to even out, there’s no way you’re stopping.

“Your hair is getting long,” you note offhandedly.

He hums in acknowledgement. “I need a haircut.”

“Quinn,” you chide, prompting him to chuckle knowingly into your neck.

His laugh fills you with warmth and you smile to yourself softly, wishing you could bottle up the sound as his discomfort is momentarily forgotten. He shifts to rest his cheek on your shoulder, finally revealing his face, which is now far less red, just a light coat of pink still gracing his cheeks.

“Just messing with you,” he says. “For now, at least. I’ll have to cut it eventually.”

You make a discontented sound at his assertion.

“I look like a caveman!” He laughs, a full-on laugh this time, and you can’t help but join in.

Quinn is relieved that the topic of his little slip-up seems to have been abandoned, but his relief is short-lived. You let a comfortable silence fall over you for a couple minutes after the laughter subsides, but then you circle back.

“You’d want me to tell you if there was something I wanted to try, wouldn’t you?” you wonder aloud, voice soft as if treading carefully.

“Of course,” he exclaims, frowning as if he’s offended by the mere idea of you keeping something like that from him.

“Okay, well, that goes both ways. I’ve never seen you this stressed. If there’s something more I can be doing to put you at ease, I want to do it, Q.”

“You already do put me at ease,” he argues with a groan. “This puts me at ease,” he adds as he shuffles down the bed a little to slip under your shirt, hiding with his head resting on your bare chest.

The under the shirt thing isn’t out of the ordinary for Quinn, nor is the routine flick to your nipple you feel a moment later. There is no real intention behind his actions as he begins toying with the sensitive bud. It’s just a mindless habit he has whenever your tits are on display for him. He fidgets, for lack of a better word, but he also just really loves your boobs.

You pull your shirt collar up to peek at him. “Hi,” you whisper. “Can I say something?”

“I guess,” he mumbles, eyes remaining trained on his fingers as they toy with your nipple that has hardened under his touch.

“I don’t think you’d be this embarrassed if there wasn’t a part of you that actually wanted it,” you point out.

You weren’t even entirely sure what it entailed. You figured a Mommy kink was part of it, but you weren’t sure what else it was that he was longing for exactly.

“You’re never dropping it, are you?” he sighs.

“You know I’m not going to force you into doing anything, but I do at least want to talk about it if you’ll do that.”

He bites his lip, peering up at you, and you interpret the look in his eyes: Fine, ask what you want to ask. The silent communication brings a fond smile to your lips, but you quirk a brow at him, wanting actual permission before proceeding with your interrogation.

He huffs in defeat. “Go ahead.”

You pause for a moment, deciding what you want to ask first.

“Do you like the idea of me being the one in control sometimes?” you ask.

He gives a little nod of his head, so you probe further.

“And calling me Mommy?”

Quinn’s face scrunches up and he averts your gaze, opting to instead watch as he continues to thumb over your breast.

You tilt your head to the side as you observe him. “You don’t have to shy away from the question. You can call me Mommy, Quinn,” you encourage.

He takes his lip between his teeth again, and you’re fairly certain you hear a strangled sound in the back of his throat. You can read your boyfriend easily, so you could already tell that he’d been trying desperately to keep the blood from rushing to his dick. Unfortunately for him, he’s having little success, as you can feel him against your leg.

“I can quite literally feel how much you want it, Quinn.” You shift your leg slightly so that it nudges his semi and he doesn’t quite manage to stifle his groan. “Come on, baby. Please let me take care of you,” you whisper, fingers threading through his hair once again. “Let me be what you need.”

Quinn removes himself from his little sanctuary under your shirt and looks up at you with wide, wary eyes. His gaze is filled with lust, but it also carries a certain vulnerability that you don’t usually see from him in a sexual context like this.

“Yeah?” he asks sheepishly. “You want that?”

The vulnerability in his tone and in the way he’s looking at you makes your heart swell inside your chest.

“I do,” you assure him with a nod. “I’ve just... never really done it before, so I don't know if I'll be any good at it. But I want to try. Can you just sorta walk me through it? Tell me what it is that you want?”

You’re very in-tune with what you like when it comes to your partner being in control, but you’re fairly certain that Quinn’s version of that looks very different.

He gives you a small nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

You flash him a wide smile. “Already being so good for me,” you croon, the praise falling from your lips naturally.

He exhales a short, shaky breath as your words hit him. “That,” he murmurs quickly, cheeks flushing as he identifies your praise as the first thing he likes.

Your words already have Quinn getting worked up. You were doubting yourself before, but you’re already so good at this. It shouldn’t surprise him–he knew you were good at reading him–but he’s still in awe at how flawlessly you settle into the new dynamic. You’re not just indulging him, you’re really leaning into it, giving him exactly what he’s looking for before he even has to ask for it.

“Praise in general, but especially stuff about being good for you,” he finally finishes his thought.

“Okay, that’s easy. What else?” you ask.

“Well, I guess the general vibe I usually imagine is just.. you being sorta soft with me.”

Right, that seems in line with what you’d expect from a Mommy kink. You try your best to appear unaffected by Quinn’s mention of imagining you playing out his sexual fantasies, but that is definitely an image you’re going to conjure up in your mind when he leaves for his first roadie of the season and you have to resort to using your vibrator in his absence.

“But you’re still in control,” he adds.

“Okay. I think I’m following, but can you give me just a bit more? Just so that I’m sure.”

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment and you have to suppress the urge to nudge it free with your thumb.

“It’s mostly just about not having to think too much. Letting you take charge and just following your lead. But…” he hesitates.

“But?”

His face scrunches up and you find yourself wanting to smother it with kisses.

“You’re taking charge, but it’s still… about me?” His voice drops to a whisper at the last part.

You bite back a laugh because now you know exactly why he was hesitant to say it at first. Quinn is the most selfless guy you know. Him outright asking to be the center of attention, especially when it comes to sex, is very much out of character.

“Right,” you send him a warm smile. “I’m making you feel good.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah. But that’s not to say that I don’t want you to feel good too– I do. Just… it’s a different dynamic than if I were to…” He loses his words again.

“It’s not me using you to get myself off,” you offer, filling in the blanks. “I’m kinda domming you, but not really in that way. Right?”

“Yeah, exactly.” The apprehension in his expression fades as your words sink in. You understood perfectly, and articulated it way easier than he could have. He thinks back to your words from before, and something clicks. “You’re taking care of me,” he admits, his features softening, almost as if he’s letting go of some sort of weight he didn’t realize he was carrying.

You hum, a faint smile on your face. “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“I love you,” he breathes. The words escape him like some sort of revelation, as if he couldn’t hold them back. It’s as though the moment demanded it– as if those three words were the only ones that could do justice to the depth of what he’s feeling right now.

His chest tightens as he watches your expression shift, watches you look at him as if he’s the only thing in the world that matters.

“My sweet boy.” Your voice is warm, thick with affection, like honey melting into a cozy cup of tea on a cold day. “I love you, Quinn.”

You admire him for a few moments, appreciating the fact that he’s finally able to hold your gaze.

“Can I use the M word or will it send you into hiding again?” you muse and his face flushes in record time.

“No, you can,” he murmurs.

You’re about to indulge him when a better idea comes to you. “Why don’t you try first?”

He coughs, presumably to cover up whatever strangled sound left his throat at your suggestion.

“I like that, too,” he says. “You telling me what to do, I mean. Not too, like, mean, but just sorta taking charge I guess, like I said before.”

He articulates his thoughts as eloquently as he can, but you make mental note of the fact that he sidestepped having to actually use the title. He likes you telling him what to do, but he doesn’t necessarily follow through with your instructions. You’ll have to clarify that.

“Okay, this is good,” you tell him. “Keep going, I can work with this.”

He thinks for a moment and you admire his concentrated expression. Suspecting that it may be helpful if you guide his thoughts in a general direction, you add, “Is there anything specific that you want physically?”

He considers this for a second. “There isn’t just one thing, really. I have lots of ideas, I guess, but it’s not like I want it to be the exact same every time.” He’s silent for a beat before adding, “I think I like the idea of you choosing.” He opens his mouth as if to add something more, but then seems to think better of it.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Your boobs,” he admits.

You hum as if his comment makes perfect sense. “Yeah, you love my boobs.”

“They’re nice boobs,” he mumbles defensively.

“Good thing they’re all yours.”

The corners of his lips pull upwards.

“What about my boobs, baby? How do you want ‘em?”

“I just think they should be included,” he says.

“Right, we wouldn’t want them to feel left out.”

He gives a playful roll of his eyes as a full-on smile threatens to form on his face. He’s grateful that you’re being so easy about this, keeping it light and making jokes to put him at ease. Then again, he shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Okay, so you like the idea of me calling the shots, but did you want to give me some ideas to work with, or did you want me to improvise?” you ask. “How much artistic freedom are you giving me here?”

“You’re an artist now?” he teases.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the sight of him starting to loosen up.

“Are you saying otherwise?” you challenge lightheartedly.

“Oh, no, never,” he smirks. “Sure. I can give you ideas, I guess. You’re really good at reading me though, so I think I trust you to take it from there.”

His words fill you with pride, and you wonder if he can see it on your face.

“Well,” he continues, “any position where I can get my mouth on your tits is a no-brainer.”

“Naturally,” you agree.

“If we fuck, I think I’d usually want you to be on top.”

Okay, that makes sense.

“You don’t want to fuck everytime?” you ask.

He blushes, just as you realize how silly the question is. It’s not like you don’t do other things when he doms you. But the question still proves fruitful when he finally supplies you with a response.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes maybe.. just your hands?” There’s a slight questioning tone to his voice.

“Not my mouth?” you ask.

He makes a contemplative sound as he considers your question.

“Is it because you wouldn’t get my tits?” you offer.

“Kinda,” he admits. “But I also just want you close,” he adds, absentmindedly gliding his fingertips over your bare thigh. “But that doesn’t rule it out entirely.” He turns his head towards you, letting his gaze fall to your lips. “I love your mouth.”

You bite back a moan at his compliment, the idea of getting your mouth on him sending a surge of desire through you. You never tire of Quinn’s ability to so casually go from saying something sweet and vulnerable, to following it up with something so dirty.

“Okay,” your voice is a little unsteady as you interrupt your own thoughts, pulling Quinn’s eyes up to meet yours in the process. “Fucking is optional. Got it,” you quip.

“I can still get you off, though–” he’s quick to rush out.

“Mm mm,” you chastise gently, causing his brows to raise. You chuckle softly at how quick he is to go against his previous request that this be about him. You hum, leaning forward to peck his lips. “My sweet boy. You were clear about what you wanted, Quinn. I want you to get what you want. Just let me take care of you and don’t worry about anyone else for once, okay? Let this be about you.”

“I want you to come this time, though.”

You level him with an unconvinced look, but he continues.

“I mean it. I want to.. thank you?” He visibly cringes at his word choice. “But I also just–cause it’s the first time–”

He huffs in frustration, struggling to communicate his thoughts, so you give him a moment to piece together what he’s trying to say.

“It would just feel like we’re really experiencing it together, you know? I don’t know, maybe that sounds silly.”

“No, that makes sense,” you relent. “You’re very sweet, Q. You definitely don’t need to thank me, but if you’re really intent on me coming, then I’ve got my own ideas for making that happen. If you want to try that?”

“Yes,” he blurts out, agreeing in an instant without even knowing what it is he’s agreeing to.

His eagerness earns another small chuckle from you. “Okay. But if it doesn’t feel right in the moment, just tell me, okay? Because this is still about you, no matter how much you try to shy away from that fact.”

“Promise,” he agrees.

He’s perked up now, the anticipation of what your dirty mind has thought up getting to him. You shake your head, a faint smile on your lips because the entire exchange is just so Quinn.

“I do have one last question,” you announce.

“Mhm,” he urges you to continue, noticeably more relaxed now compared to when the conversation first began.

“So, you said you liked it when I told you what to do. Right?”

He nods in confirmation.

“But earlier, you didn’t actually follow through with it. Is there a reason for that? Or, like, I don’t know, a particular way you want me to respond when that happens?”

“It’s a good question,” he remarks after a beat. “I guess that’s where it’s the most different from when I dom you. Like, when I tell you to call me Daddy or say you belong to me or whatever– that’s not really what I want when you’re in charge. I guess it’s more about you calling the shots by telling me what to do physically. But even then, it’s still in a sorta.. gentle way. Just sorta guiding me,” he explains. “To be honest, the, uh, Mommy thing isn’t really something I’ve thought about before,” he confesses a moment later.

You’re slightly surprised by this. “But you’re thinking about it now?” you prod, prompting him to nod. “And it’s something that you want?”

“I think so, yeah.” His ears are flaming red as he speaks. “It just might be more of a… learning as we go thing?”

“I’m down for that,” you agree.

“As for the… disobedience,” he lingers on the word for a moment. “You don’t necessarily have to punish me. I don’t know, maybe, like, a gentle scolding? Or just reminding me to be good.”

“Alright. Seems straight forward enough.”

“Maybe I’d be into punishment, too, at some point, but I don’t think I want to try that right now.”

“Got it. Baby steps,” you agree. “Okay, you ready?”

He nods, his expression reverting to the shy one he wore before.

You quickly rid yourself of your shirt and sleep shorts, but opt to leave your panties on. You guide him to where you want him on the bed– him slumped against the headboard, while you’re tucked into his side, body angled towards him. You duck your head down, tilting his up towards you with a gentle hand on his jaw, and connect your lips in a sensual kiss. The slow, steady movements of your mouth against his ease his nerves as he lets himself get lost in feeling, melting beneath you. It’s not long before your hand abandons his jaw, slowly dragging down his bare chest. You rest your hand on his abdomen, fingers splayed across his skin, and you feel his muscles tighten under your touch as you break the kiss to trail kisses along his jaw. Your mouth continues its journey, eventually reaching his ear. You gently tug on his earlobe with your teeth, just as your hand dips lower to palm him over his boxers and a delicate moan escapes him.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath.

“My beautiful boy.” Your breath tickles his ear as you finally get your hand on his cock that’s straining against the thin fabric. “You’re gonna make the prettiest sounds for me, aren’t you?”

You feel his dick twitch against your palm as a whine threatens to escape his throat.

You begin to leave open-mouthed kisses along his neck, careful not to leave any marks. That was something Quinn usually preferred to avoid during the season, despite how much he loves the feeling of your mouth sucking little bruises into his skin. Unfortunately, the guys had caught a glimpse of your little love marks one too many times and, of course, chirped him endlessly for it, and he’s been inclined to avoid a repeat of that ever since. So, as much as you’re supposed to be taking the lead here, you respect the limit.

You shift to your knees and settle back on your heels, propped up just enough so that your chest rests at his eye level. Quinn is immediately aware of this as his eyes lock on your tits. You lean in, prompting him to capture a nipple in his mouth, while his fingers come up to toy with the other, delivering his signature flick. He moans against you as he sucks for a moment, savouring the chance to finally be reunited with your boobs. After his initial excitement wears off, he flattens his tongue, lathing over the hardened peak. He continues to mouth over your chest reverently, and you have no doubt that your panties are now sporting an impressive wet patch.

“That’s it, baby,” you purr, the feeling of his mouth on you rendering you to a blissful state.

If you’re having any misgivings about the new dynamic, it doesn’t show. Your movements are confident and sure, as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. You slowly trace two fingers along his length before smoothing your hand over his hip, sliding it down until you reach the inside of his thigh. You let your fingers pet over the hairs there, a part of Quinn you’ve always been oddly fond of.

Quinn is already reeling, your every touch igniting flames across his skin. It’s pathetic, really. He feels like a teenage boy losing his virginity, at risk of shooting off when you’ve barely even touched him. But in his defence, this is a first time of sorts.

Your hand finds his clothed cock once more and you lightly circle his tip with your index finger. His hips jolt, bringing a smirk to your lips, and you finally slip your hand below the fabric and encircle his length. You begin to stroke him, movements still slow, and you feel his whole body react to your touch. His mouth is still latched onto you when you tilt your head to drop a kiss to his hair, and the tenderness of the act makes him keen. He pulls back, his lips swollen and red.

“C-can,” he cuts himself off, unable to bear the humiliation of his next words.

“Hm? What is it, honey?”

He blanches at your use of the pet name. Honey. It’s not one you use often, but the tenderness of it, so soft and loving, has him feeling like his heart– or his dick– might explode.

“I–” He’s been reduced to a blubbering mess, barely able to control his words, which ultimately results in him blurting out, “I don’t want to come.”

He winces in embarrassment, but you just hum in satisfaction, understanding perfectly. You’d originally figured that being teased wasn’t part of what he had in mind, so you hadn’t wasted any time getting to the good stuff. But evidently, you underestimated how excited Quinn would get from this type of attention. This is when it sinks in just how much he’s been craving this, and you’re grateful that he’s finally letting you satisfy that longing.

“I’m flattered, baby.” You drag your thumb over his bottom lip that’s wet with his own spit. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

You peck his lips, having to strain your neck to do so, but it’s worth it when you see him try to chase your lips as you pull away. The sight brings a smile to your face, while his grows hot.

“It’s okay, baby. You can be a little needy. I’m here to take care of you after all, aren’t I?”

At that, his lips search for yours once more, and you indulge him, slipping your tongue into his mouth. You shift gears, as promised, and bring your hand up to his chest. You give an experimental flick to his nipple, mostly on a whim, not really knowing how he’d react, but you’re rewarded with a quiet, high-pitched noise erupting from Quinn’s throat. His hand that had been gripping your waist returns to your chest to return the favour and you smile against his lips.

“Aren’t you generous?” you tease with a playful grin. “Did that feel good?” you ask, genuinely curious whether he liked it or if his reaction was more one of surprise.

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding slightly dumbfounded.

His hand fondling your breast once more only makes his itch to get his mouth on you return, and he wastes no time doing so. You rake your nails along his scalp as he does, while your other hand continues to roam his body. You carry on like that for a minute or so, murmuring out words of praise, until you decide that enough time has passed.

Truthfully, you’d run out of other ways to occupy the time while in this position that didn’t involve your hand on his cock. Your current position, with him latched onto your chest like this, really doesn’t give you many options to work with, and as happy as you’d be to just stay like this, letting him ravage your tits and simply talking him through it, that isn’t the end goal for tonight.

You gently pull him back with a hand on his cheek, and he comes reluctantly. His eyes are quick to find yours and the lust you’re met with in his expression is no surprise to you.

“Wanna take these off for me?” you ask, lightly snapping the waistband of his boxers against his skin.

He obliges, making quick work shuffling out of them before looking to you once more, unsure of his next move.

“Thanks, hon.”

The words have barely left your lips when your hand circles his member, thumb brushing over the bead of precum that has formed at his tip. He falters momentarily, not expecting you to spring into action so quickly, but you guide him back toward your chest with a gentle hand behind his head.

His mouth’s movements become more urgent as you begin to pump him. He cycles through different motions. His tongue alternates between swirling around your nipples and frantically flicking over them, with sporadic breaks to nip at the sensitive buds or just suck down in content. The way he’s ravishing you has fire pooling in your abdomen, but you manage to keep up the deft movements of your hand wrapped around him, drawing the sweetest sounds of pleasure from him in the process. The string of whines and moans passing his lips ripple through you, unravelling you further with each passing second. So, you carry on like this for only a little while longer until you decide to switch gears. If Quinn was already concerned about staving off his orgasm before, you figure you’d better get to work on your own.

He’s caught off guard when you suddenly shift beside him. He pulls back, features twisting in confusion as you swing a leg over to straddle one of his thighs. You send him a cheeky, tight-lipped smile as you rock your hips against him once, teasing, knowing he can feel the damp patch on your panties as they drag across his skin.

Quinn’s eyes widen as his brain finally catches up. A choked sound resembling an, “Oh,” escapes him, but you’re not entirely sure that it was a word at all. He has never been so grateful that you’re wearing panties, because he knows that if there was nothing separating your soaked cunt from his bare skin right now, he’d come on the spot.

You continue to move your hand over his shaft, now in time with the rolling of your hips. There’s a casualness to the way you’re carrying yourself. The usual signs that you’re chasing your high– brows knitted together, lip caught between your teeth–are absent as Quinn observes you. You appear to be completely absorbed in his pleasure, and he foolishly wonders if you’re neglecting your own, too preoccupied with pushing him over the edge. But when the first moan falls from your lips, it’s like his brain short circuits.

He thinks you might be a genius. He’d figured you were probably going to touch yourself, but this is so much better. It’s like you’re deriving pleasure from fulfilling his fantasy, getting off solely on the act of taking care of him. Well– that, and a little help from his muscle flexing beneath you. But there was something so undeniably hot about watching you like this, watching you take what you need from him as you somehow manage to satisfy his every desire, without him having to do so much as think. The sight is intoxicating, and he finds himself unable to look away.

You had only done this once before– just a couple months ago, after hours spent on the boat in Michigan, admiring Quinn’s muscular thighs as they held him steady on the wakeboard, his swim trunks riding up despite his continuous efforts to pull them down. After having a front row seat to that, inspiration struck, and you ended the night by coming undone on his thigh. He had been just as entranced by the sight then as he is now.

“Feels good, Quinn,” you praise, still rutting against his muscle.

The praise sends a shiver up his spine and his muscle twitches beneath you, eliciting a soft moan that has him repeating the action. He rests a hand on your hip– not guiding your movements, but just overcome with the sudden need to touch you somehow. He stays like that, pupils blown as he drinks you in.

“Told you I had my ways,” you breathe. “Don’t need more than this. Gonna come just from your strong thigh and your pretty little noises.” You run your thumb over his slit, just to get a rise from him, and his fingers dig into your skin.

“Shitshitshit,” he whines, hips squirming beneath you of their own accord.

“That’s right, you don’t have to lift a finger, baby,” you continue, voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. “Just keep letting me take care of you. You’re being so good, Quinn.”

He’s looking up at you with parted lips and you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to spit in his mouth. You consider it for a moment and wonder if he’d like it. You like it, but your version of being submissive has been a lot different from his so far. You hold yourself back, deciding that the first time testing out his fantasy probably isn’t the ideal time to go rogue, but you file the idea away for future use.

Instead, you let your gaze wash over his every minute movement, your expression thoughtful as you study him. You’re determined to fulfill his fantasy as best you can, without having to take him out of it by asking if you’re doing a good job. You know if you do something he doesn’t like, he’ll tell you, and you’re fairly confident that if there’s something more he wants, then he’ll clue you in on that as well. But you’re an overachiever, and Quinn is a quick study– at least, he is for you.

For instance, the fact that he’s still separated from your chest, opting to let his eyes rake over you instead, tells you that he’s enjoying the method you’ve chosen to get yourself off. Much like how the slight twitch of his fingers on your waist when your fingers dip to lightly tease his balls silently compels you to continue.

You’re still observing him when your thoughts are interrupted by Quinn’s voice.

“You–” he cuts himself off with a strangled moan when your eyes snap to his.

“Hm?” you encourage.

He swallows harshly, composing himself. “You just– you look so pretty like this,” he manages to rasp out.

The corners of your mouth curl up at the compliment. “Thanks, honey. So do you. Look so pretty all fucked out for me. So perfect, Quinn.”

He gulps, a whine dying in his throat as panic washes over his expression. You take that as your cue to speed up your grinding, working yourself towards your climax with more intent now in an effort to catch up to him.

“How does it feel, baby?” you ask, voice slightly breathless in your haste.

Like I’m about to burst is the immediate response that runs through his mind.

“Perfect–fuck,” he inhales a ragged breath. “It’s perfect, you’re perfect. Feels so good.”

“Good,” you reply. “And to think you were really gonna deprive me of taking care of you,” you goad, sending him a little pout. “Don’t you think you deserve to be taken care of, Quinn?”

An ambivalent whine sounds from him. He knows you want him to say yes, but he can’t quite bring himself to agree with the sentiment out loud, so he falters. “I don’t know,” he says, voice unsteady.

“I thought you’d say that,” you remark. “But it’s okay. I know that you do.” You lean into him until he can feel your breath hot on his face and you whisper, “’M always gonna take care of you, Quinn.”

He keens as his hips jump beneath you, jostling you slightly.

“Almost there, baby.” Your words are sincere– you’re right on the precipice, orgasm just within reach. “You always make me feel so good, Quinn. Just watching you like this, feeling your thigh flexing against my cunt so perfectly. God, you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

“Mommy,” he whines, high-pitched and urgent. His eyes squeeze shut as he wills himself to hold on, desperate to come with you.

His use of the title takes you by surprise. He wasn’t entirely sure himself if he was going to end up using it tonight, but his brain didn’t hesitate to spit the word out when you rendered him to a state he’s never experienced before. He’s feeling so many things at once– a level of desperation and pleasure he hadn’t thought was possible, but mostly just so much love and adoration for you that his brain can barely comprehend it.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper.

You lean forward and find Quinn needs no more invitation than that. He smothers himself with your boobs, effectively muffling the symphony of sounds escaping him as his cock throbs in your grasp. Getting his mouth back on you was more so intended as a way to ground him, but the harsh suction you’re met with the moment he captures one of your hardened peaks in his mouth ends up being your undoing, as shockwaves of pleasure shoot through you.

“Shit, Quinn,” you moan, back arching as Quinn continues to suck as though his mouth has been fused to your skin.

You feel your walls pulsing around nothing, and you know he’s barely holding on himself as his whole body begins to tremble.

“Quinn,” you call out to him, but he doesn’t pull back. “Quinn, baby, can you look at me?”

You panic briefly when his face remains buried in your chest. You consider giving up– after all, all you wanted was to watch him when he finally lets go. But you wrack your brain trying to remember what he had said earlier about him not obeying your commands.

“Quinn, you’ve been so good for me, don’t stop now. Come on, show me that pretty face I love so much.”

That does the trick and before you know it, his eyes are peering up at you, wide and glazed over. He looks like a wreck beneath you. His forehead is glistening with sweat and a couple stray strands of hair are sticking to the skin there. His lips are parted as he gasps for air, chest heaving, and the look in his eyes is enough to steal the air from your lungs, too. They bore into you with such intensity, as though he’s searching for answers, but the question is just how to please you. There’s a rawness in his gaze that feels like a silent promise. A promise that he’d do anything for you in this moment.

“I know you’re close, baby. Always love how responsive you are to me,” you praise, earning a whimper from him as his fingers bruise your hip. “Want you to come for me, sweetheart. Go ahead and come for Mommy.”

It doesn’t take more than that, and Quinn’s eyes roll back into his head as he comes, warm white ropes dripping onto your fingers as you coax every last drop out of him. You’re still grinding against his thigh when you moan his name, coating your panties with your release.

His body goes limp and you collapse on top of him. He rests his forehead on your shoulder for a moment before placing a kiss to your collarbone and leaning his head back against the headboard.

“Holy shit,” he says, still catching his breath as you roll off of him. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, letting his hands fall from your waist.

You slot your body next to his and place your hand on his stomach, his cock twitching as you do so. “Was that alright?” you ask. “Close to what you had in mind? I’m open to feedback.”

“Are you kidding?” He breathes out a laugh. “I need a second.”

His chest heaves as he comes down from his high. “That was–you were–fuck.” He shakes his head in disbelief, trying to string together a coherent thought. “You’re a dream,” is what he finally settles on. “Thank you, baby.”

You beam with pride at his words. “You don’t have to thank me, Quinn. I’m always gonna take care of you.” You lay a kiss on his temple. “Besides, that was so hot.”

“Really?” The word tumbles out, his surprise evident in his tone.

You nod. “Quinn, the fact that I can get you like that? Hot. The fact that you want me in control? That you trust me to take care of you and make you feel good when you’re feeling vulnerable? So hot. I wish you would have told me you wanted that sooner. We could have been doing this for months, baby.”

“God, I love you,” he practically moans the words.

You chuckle, tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. “And I love you.” You lean over, hovering over him with a hand on the mattress to steady yourself as you peck his lips. “Be right back,” you promise, making your way to the bathroom and returning moments later with a damp cloth.

He’s quiet as he watches you clean him up and slip into a pair of his boxers before rejoining him on the bed. You rest a hand on his chest and admire his side profile as he stares at the ceiling. You love the shadow of stubble along his jaw and the definition of his cheekbones, but the curve of his nose is what always gets you. You bring your hand up, delicately tracing over it with the tip of your finger and a smile forms on his face. He waits for your hand to return to his chest before he turns to look at you.

“You smiled,” you say.

“Hm?” He assumes you aren’t talking about just now, but he isn’t sure what else you could be referring to.

“In your interview today,” you elaborate. “They made some comment about you being the youngest active captain in the league, and you smiled.”

“Oh,” he replies.

“More accurately, your entire face lit up.”

He hums as his cheeks begin to pink. “I’m sure you loved that.”

You let out an amused breath through your nose. “Well, yes, of course I did. You have the nicest smile when it’s genuine.” You trace your fingers over his mouth with affection. “But it also just made me think. I know, it’s gonna be stressful a lot of the time, that’s unavoidable. But you need to make sure you let yourself enjoy it, too.”

He stares at you for a moment, his features softening as he takes in your words. “I love how much you worry about me,” he murmurs. “Well, I don’t want you to have to worry about me, but it’s nice to feel so cared for,” he amends. “I don’t know how many times I can say I love you in one night before it starts to lose its meaning.”

“Cute of you to think I ever get tired of hearing that,” you reply. “C’mere.”

You beckon him over until he’s on his side and you wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his face in your neck. He shifts to press a kiss to your shoulder, a silent thank you for always knowing what he needs. You eventually end up lying on your back, his head resting on your chest, and now it’s your turn to stare at the ceiling as you stroke his hair soothingly. You remain in a comfortable silence for a while before you take the opportunity to finally ask a question that’s been on your mind since your earlier conversation.

“So, you don’t want to fuck everytime. But I wonder if… sometimes you don’t really want me to do anything at all?”

You can tell by the way his posture straightens up that you’ve got his attention.

“Like, how do you mean?” he asks.

“This is just an idea– you’d know better if it’s something that you want. But I know how much you love cuddling up under my shirt and getting at my tits, so I just wonder if sometimes that’s all you need from me.”

He parts his lips to speak, probably to remind you that this is already something he does, but you aren’t finished yet.

“To either just have that closeness, or to maybe…” you bite your lip just thinking about it. “Just sorta rutting against me to get yourself off. Maybe with some words of praise from me, but nothing else.”

Quinn is at a loss for words. He’s so aroused by the thought that he could almost go again. But your comment also makes him feel seen in a way he’s never experienced in any of his past relationships. He’d never have suggested it, but yeah, he can definitely see himself being into that when he’s in the right mood. He’s more shocked that you would be into it.

“Yeah,” is the simple response he offers you, but his voice is thick with emotion.

“Okay,” you say, matching the simplicity of his response.

“I don’t know how, but sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“Hm. I don’t think that’s true, but I’m flattered nonetheless.”

“You going to sleep?” he asks.

“Not sure. Don’t think I’m sleepy enough yet, might watch TV for a bit first. You sleep though, you need some rest. I’ll use my headphones so I don’t keep you up.”

You reach for your AirPods, resting where you left them earlier, but you catch Quinn opening his mouth as if he’s about to speak, before promptly closing it again.

“What?” you question curiously.

He shifts onto his stomach, chin resting in the space between your boobs so he can look up at you. His expression is soft, almost childlike, when he speaks.

“Can you put on It’s Always Sunny?”

A light laugh escapes you. “Sure. Not feeling so sleepy anymore?” You move to return your AirPods to the nightstand.

“‘M still sleeping,” he corrects in a mumble.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to put on something else then? You’re not gonna crack up like usual and end up waking yourself up?’

He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, no, it would definitely keep me up. Headphones are probably a good idea, if you don’t mind.”

He requests a show but doesn’t even want to watch it? Sure, it’s your favorite, and you’d have probably chosen to put it on anyway, but none of what he’s saying is making sense to you. You shoot him a look telling him as much.

Quinn sucks the inside of his cheek for a moment and you notice faint pink creeping onto his cheeks.

“You always laugh a lot when you watch it,” he mumbles with a shrug. “Still have a lot on my mind. Thought it’d be nice to just listen to you laugh.” It’s silent for a beat before he groans. “God, that sounds so creepy.”

“What, that you want to use my laugh as some sort of white noise?” you tease, tone laced with equal parts humor and affection.

He hides his face in the crook of your neck, stifling another groan into your skin. After a moment, you speak softly. “Quinn, I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He shifts so his cheek is resting on your shoulder, his breath fanning your jaw. “That I want to sit in silence and watch you laugh?”

“You said listen,” you correct. Narrowing your eyes at him, you add, “You were going to sleep.”

“Right. Listen,” he amends, but Quinn’s always had a terrible poker face.

“Wait. Is this, like, something you do? Something you’ve been doing? Watching me watch TV?”

“Well, only, like, a couple times,” he splutters. “I’ve just been in my head a lot lately, and you’ve been watching this show a lot, and I can’t help it. I just find myself watching you instead of the TV,” he confesses in a rush. “Makes me feel better. Lighter.” His voice has grown even softer at the admission.

You can’t see your expression, but if you had to guess, it probably bears a striking resemblance to Puss in Boots. Your eyes are wide, brimming with affection, and your lips are no doubt formed in the world’s biggest pout as you stare at your boyfriend. Your sweet, precious, wholesome, perfect boyfriend, who you’re now picturing watching you intently, smiling fondly as your face lights up over and over again, your laughter filling the room as you’re absorbed in your show, completely oblivious to his gaze on you.

You’re sure you’ve never felt more loved than you do in this moment.

“Well I guess I’ll have to pick a good episode for you then,” you say with a playful smile, already reaching for the remote.

He rolls his eyes but he can barely contain his smile.

You purposefully scroll back to the earlier seasons to pick one of your favourites. You end up going with the one where Charlie makes the gang perform the musical he wrote in an absurd attempt to woo the waitress. It’s an easy choice– you’d never be able to get through it with a straight face.

You bid each other goodnight just as the show’s theme song begins to fill your ears. You feel Quinn adjusting himself beside you, making himself comfortable. He nuzzles his head into the space just below your shoulder and drapes an arm across your waist. You thrash around a bit to kick your feet out of the comforter preemptively, knowing Quinn is a human furnace and not wanting to disturb his slumber later.

You’re only a couple minutes into the episode when your cheeks pink as you feel his gaze on you, and your lips quirk up. “I do believe you said you were listening and sleeping,” you chastise, not pulling your eyes away from the TV.

“Am sleeping,” he denies, snuggling further into you, finally closing his eyes with a faint smirk on his face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A matching smirk forms on your lips as you shake your head, running a hand through his hair before resting it at the base of his neck. You can tell he’s settled after a few minutes of silence, so you whisper, “Goodnight, Quinn.”

A groggy, slurred, “I love you,” are the last words to leave his mouth before his breathing evens out and he’s passed out in your arms.

#sub!quinn is my brainchild it’s true #cappy loves andy tell a friend 🫶🏻#cappy + andy mootypoos #icymi <3

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