#may we all fr meet someone who shows reservation in public but are lovesick and can't keep their hands off you in private

[capquinn]

https://www.tumblr.com/capquinn/752177148682436608/a-closeness-q-hughes?source=share

loved this so much. i also imagine q being anti-pda and think about coming home after being out all day together and him just pouncing on his significant other the minute the door closes a little too much hehe could you write something along those lines? 🤍

ahhh i’m so glad you enjoyed it!!!! i appreciate u!!!! also you sent this ages ago and i fell down the rabbit hole of imagining a lovesick quinny who can’t keep his hands to himself, started writing about it…kept writing about it…and it turned into a whole thing lmao so pls enjoy!!!

Redemption | Q. Hughes

pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes content: mild smut word count: 2.5k note: as always, smut isn't my sweet spot creatively but i did it and i did it blushing the whole time so let's go ↪masterlist

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There’s a quiet privacy to your relationship, something unspoken but understood. In public, Quinn is composed— affection kept to the simple brush of fingers or a quick squeeze of your hand, as if any more would give too much away. He’s never been one for grand gestures or public displays of affection, preferring the subtlety of connection. A lingering touch here, the gentle press of his hand against the small of your back there — just enough for you to feel him, but never more.

It’s something you’ve grown to cherish, those little moments of contact that belong only to the two of you when others are watching. Quinn doesn’t need to say anything. He doesn’t need to kiss you in front of anyone to show how he feels. The real affection, the kind that makes your heart race, is reserved for when you’re alone, behind closed doors, where he can let the weight of his restraint fall away.

And now, after a long day of those quiet, fleeting touches, you’re finally home. The front door closes behind you with a soft click, and suddenly, the quiet of your apartment wraps around you both like a warm embrace. The world outside fades away, the hum of city life muffled by the thick walls of the place you share. It’s only when you’re finally alone that Quinn exhales, the tension in his shoulders melting almost instantly.

You glance at him, watching as his usually composed expression shifts, softening in a way that’s reserved only for these moments — just the two of you, away from the eyes of others. His hand, which had remained firmly at his side all evening, now reaches for yours without hesitation. The contact is immediate, fingers lacing with yours, and it’s like a floodgate opens.

Without a word, Quinn tugs you gently into him, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. There’s a quiet urgency in the way he holds you, like he’s been waiting all day for this. This closeness. This space where he doesn’t have to hold back. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and you feel his breath, warm and steady against your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, the words muffled but clear enough to make your heart skip. His voice is low, almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to the casual cool he kept in public.

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles closer, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you in tighter. “You had me the whole time,” you tease lightly, though your voice softens with affection.

“Not like this,” he mumbles, lifting his head just enough to meet your eyes. There’s something raw in his gaze. Something unspoken but understood between you both. This is the part of him that no one else sees, the part that holds on just a little too tight because he can finally let go.

Quinn leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft but charged with everything he’d been holding back. His hands stay firm at your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as if grounding himself in the feel of you. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing a little heavier, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“I hate not being able to do this all the time,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper, his thumb brushing softly along your side.

You lean into him, your arms winding around his neck. “Well, you’re home now,” you say, voice quiet but steady, and it’s all the permission he needs.

In an instant, he’s pulling you to the couch, sinking into it with you on top of him, your bodies fitting together effortlessly. His lips find yours again, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. His kisses are deeper, more intense, as though he’s making up for every moment he had to restrain himself in public. His hands roam, not possessive, but searching, savouring the simple fact that he can finally touch you the way he wants to.

As you lean into his touch, his kisses grow deeper, more languid, each one a little slower than the last, as if he’s trying to memorise the feel of your lips. His hands roam from your waist to your back, fingers tracing the outline of your spine through the fabric of your shirt.

You can feel the tension he carried all day unwinding with every press of his lips, every soft sigh that escapes him. His thumb brushes your cheek as he pulls back slightly, his lips just hovering over yours. He’s breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

"Been wanting this all day," Quinn murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper. He sounds relieved, as if holding back all evening had been an unbearable task. He runs his hand through your hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers, and the gentle touch sends a shiver down your spine.

He lets out a breathy chuckle, and shifts beneath you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you down for another kiss.

The kiss deepens, and you feel his grip tighten on you, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. His hands are everywhere. Cradling your face. Running down your sides. Holding onto you like he can’t bear to let go.

You shift, your legs tangling with his as you lean into him more, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. His breath hitches slightly when your lips graze the corner of his mouth, teasing. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and glazed with a quiet need.

"Don’t be like that," he mutters, his voice gravelly, and there’s a playful glint in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat. “Tease.”

You grin, pressing another soft kiss to his lips before sitting up slightly, your hands resting on his chest. "If you say so," you bounce back, your fingers tracing idle patterns under the hem of his shirt, continuing with your antics. Moving slowly, really drawing the moment out, eyes flickering to his to gauge his reaction.

But Quinn isn't having it.

In one swift motion, he rolls you onto your back, flipping you over so he’s hovering above you, his body pressed against yours. His lips find your neck, trailing soft, heated kisses along your skin, and your breath catches in your throat. You feel the weight of him settle between your legs.

His hand slides under your shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of your abdomen, the lightness of his touch sends a shiver coursing up your spine again. He lingers there, tracing slow circles with his fingertips, moving deliberately, but with an almost teasing restraint, as though savouring the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. And perhaps, a taste of your own medicine.

He shifts slightly, his knee nudging your thighs wider as he presses his body closer to yours, and the warmth radiating from him only intensifies the electricity crackling between you both.

His hand inches higher, the rough pads of his fingers skimming along your ribs, tracing a path that makes your breath hitch again. You arch into his touch, craving more, and the sound that escapes you is soft, a quiet moan slipping past your lips.

"Thought I was the one who missed you," he murmurs against your skin, his lips grazing your ear before capturing your mouth in another slow, intoxicating kiss.

It intensifies, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

It’s just you and Quinn, tangled together on the couch, his weight pressing down on you in the most comforting way. His hands roam your body with a familiar tenderness. His lips are relentless, tracing the curve of your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, each kiss sending sparks through your body.

"Quinn," you whisper, your voice barely audible, and that’s all it takes.

He pauses for just a second, lifting his head to meet your eyes. There’s something raw there, a silent question, a quiet need for reassurance. But you don’t have to say anything. Your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, tell him everything he needs to know.

With a groan, he responds with more pressure, his hand cupping your breast, thumb brushing over the peak in a slow, deliberate motion that makes you gasp. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you arch into him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation and giving in to the feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by him.

His lips return to yours, kissing you deeper now, more insistent, as though he can’t get enough. His free hand slides down, resting at the curve of your hip, fingers squeezing just enough to make you squirm beneath him. His touch is everywhere. Intoxicating and deliberate.

Each press of his lips, each glide of his hands eliciting another soft sigh as your body responds instinctively to him.

"Quinn," you breathe, your voice barely audible, and his name falls from your lips like a plea, a sound that only fuels the fire in his eyes.

His gaze locks with yours, and the intensity in his expression makes your pulse quicken. He’s always been restrained in public, composed and careful, but here, in the privacy of your home, there’s no holding back. His control, that steely composure, has cracked, and the raw desire in his eyes makes your stomach flip.

"I love it when you say my name like that," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, sending another shiver of anticipation through you.

Without breaking eye contact, his hand moves to the hem of your shirt, and in one fluid motion, he lifts it over your head, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. The cool air hits your skin, and for a brief moment, the contrast between the air and the warmth of Quinn’s body heightens every sensation.

He takes a moment, his eyes roaming over you, admiring the way your chest rises and falls, the way your body responds to his touch. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath hitch, and when he leans down, his mouth pressing a slow, lingering kiss just above your breast, a soft moan slips past your lips.

His lips move lower, tracing the curve of your chest, before his tongue flicks against your nipple, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His hand squeezes your waist as his mouth teases your sensitive skin, and you can’t help but arch into him again, hips rolling into him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Please," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but the desperation in your tone is clear.

Quinn doesn’t need any more encouragement. He pulls back just long enough to yank off his own shirt, his body pressed flush against yours as he returns to kissing his way down your chest, his hands everywhere — exploring, caressing, teasing. His lips find your other breast, and the warm flick of his tongue sends another surge of pleasure through you. Your back arches off the couch as his mouth lavishes attention on your sensitive skin, drawing out gasps and sighs that fill the quiet room.

Every touch, every kiss, is deliberate, and laced with an urgency that you feel building in the way his hands grip you tighter, the way his breath stops with each moan you let out.

His knee presses more firmly between your thighs, adding pressure where you need it most, and you can’t help the way your hips rock against him, searching for more friction.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, and his lips brush your throat before pressing a lingering kiss there. "So pretty, baby," his voice drops, soft and reverent. His hands move over your body slowly, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory, the words still hanging between you as his eyes sweep over you with unmistakable adoration.

You’re barely able to form coherent words, your body reacting instinctively to every movement he makes. His hands glide down your sides, fingertips teasing the waistband of your pants.

Without a word, Quinn pauses, his eyes meeting yours. There's a silent exchange between you that speaks volumes — there’s no need for words. You can feel the care in his touch, in the way he lingers, waiting for a signal. And with a slight shift of your body, you lean into him, a silent invitation.

Quinn’s hands move with purpose now, slowly tugging down your pants and discarding them onto the floor. He pauses, taking in the sight of you laid bare before him, and the intensity in his eyes makes you feel like the only person in the world. His hands return to your waist, sliding down your hips, and the heat of his touch is almost too much to bear.

His fingers trace the inside of your thighs, the sensation making you shiver, antsy with anticipation. You let out a quiet moan as his hand moves higher, brushing against your most sensitive spot, and the friction sends a wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your breath catches, and you can’t help but buck your hips into his touch, silently begging for more.

"You drive me crazy," he murmurs, as his fingers continue their slow, teasing exploration, every stroke sending you spiraling higher. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply, passionately, as his hand works to unravel you piece by piece.

You feel the tension building in your core, every nerve alight as Quinn’s touch pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers move with practiced precision, his lips never leaving yours, and soon, the heat pooling in your stomach becomes unbearable.

"Baby," you gasp, your body trembling beneath him as the intensity of his touch overwhelms you.

And then, with one final stroke, you fall over the edge, your body shuddering as a wave of pleasure crashes through you. You moan his name softly, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you ride out the wave, your body quivering beneath his.

Quinn holds you through it, his touch gentle, soothing, as he presses soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. His forehead rests against yours as you catch your breath, his breathing just as ragged as yours.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, the quiet of the room filled only by the sound of your breathing, the warmth of his body still pressed against yours. You’re both tangled together, his hands resting on your waist, fingers gently stroking your skin as you slowly come down from the high.

The world beyond ceases to exist, and all that matters is the feeling of his body on yours, his hands on your skin, and the overwhelming feeling of being wanted.

With an exhale, you fall into the moment, knowing that this is where the real affection lies — the kind that’s not for show, not for anyone else, but just for you.