lover girl - qh43 x f!reader
★ A/N - no one make direct eye contact with me. i'm not fully back but this was sitting in the drafts so i proofread it (don't trust me i skimmed through it), but i was feeling guilty for not posting. not my best work, wee bit disapointed in myself LMFAO, HOWEVER, I'M WRITING TODAY SO MAYBE ANOTHER FIC BY TONIGHT IF I DONT CRASHOUT WHILE WATCHING THE DRAFT!
☾ warnings - smooching, don't look at me when i say this.... spit kink. okay u can turn back around. bratty!reader, quinn being a corny fuck, guys i forgot how to do this
✽ word count - 1728 words
Rain tapped steadily against the windows of Quinn’s apartment, turning the entire place soft and gray. The city outside looked blurred and distant through the glass, headlights smearing into long streaks against wet pavement while the low hum of traffic drifted faintly from fifteen floors below.
Inside, everything smelled like fresh laundry, expensive cologne, and the vanilla candle you’d forced Quinn to buy because the one he picked himself “smelled like a hotel lobby.”
You were stretched across his couch in nothing but one of his hoodies and tiny sleep shorts, half paying attention to the movie playing quietly in the background while scrolling through your phone instead. Your legs rested over the arm of the couch, freshly moisturized skin catching the warm light from the kitchen.
Quinn stood at the counter making tea for you.
Not because you asked him to but because he knew your stomach hurt.
He moved around the kitchen lazily in gray sweats and a black compression shirt that clung to his shoulders and chest in a way that should’ve honestly been illegal. His damp brown hair curled slightly at the ends from his shower earlier, messy in the way yours never stayed after you spent an hour styling it.
You watched him over the top of your phone for a second.
Pretty boy.
Your pretty boy.
He glanced over his shoulder like he could feel you staring, green eyes immediately finding yours.
“What?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Mhm.”
His mouth twitched knowingly before he turned back around, pouring hot water into your favorite mug, the pink one he pretended to hate but washed more carefully than any dish in his apartment.
You let your gaze linger on him a little longer.
Quinn did everything carefully, attentively. Like you were something delicate he enjoyed holding onto. It drove you insane.
“You putting enough honey in it?” you called lazily.
“I know how you like it.”
“Last time you didn’t.”
He looked over at you immediately. “Baby, last time you stole mine and complained it wasn’t sweet enough.”
“That still counts.”
A quiet laugh left him, low and rough.
“You’re unbelievable.”
You smiled sweetly at him like you weren’t purposely being difficult.
Truthfully, you liked testing him a little. Not because you wanted to upset him, but because most people eventually got irritated with you.
Your routines, your standards, your attitude when things weren’t done right. You liked expensive skincare, your blankets warm from the dryer, and your strawberries cut up instead of eating them whole because they “tasted better.”
You liked attention, liked feeling cared for.
And every relationship before Quinn had eventually turned into someone sighing at you like you were exhausting.
Too much.
Too particular.
Too bratty.
But Quinn never made you feel like that. If anything, he liked indulging you.
He liked when you climbed into his lap while he played video games just because you wanted attention. He liked carrying your shopping bags while you complained your feet hurt. He liked hearing you ramble about celebrity drama he definitely did not care about.
More than once, you’d caught him looking at you with this soft, almost wrecked expression that made your chest ache. Like taking care of you was his favorite thing in the world.
He walked over finally, setting the mug onto the coffee table carefully before sitting beside your legs.
“Tea,” he said.
You glanced at it without reaching for it immediately.
“It’s too hot.”
Quinn stared at you for two seconds before huffing out a laugh.
“You didn’t even touch it.”
“I can tell.”
“You’re such a brat.”
There wasn’t even annoyance in his voice.
Just affection.
You stretched your legs further across his lap instead, pressing your cold feet against his stomach through his shirt.
He grabbed your ankle immediately. “Jesus, baby.”
“Warm me up.”
“You’re nuts.”
Still, he slid one hand beneath your calf, rubbing slowly up your skin to warm you anyway.
Your eyes drifted shut briefly.
That was the problem with Quinn.
He never just tolerated you; he paid attention to every little thing.
The first time you slept over, he noticed you hated when your hair got caught beneath your back while sleeping, so now he automatically lifted it for you whenever you laid down. He remembered the exact order of your skincare routine after watching you do it once. When you got overwhelmed, he rubbed circles into the center of your palm because he’d learned it calmed you down.
Sometimes you wondered if he even realized how badly it affected you.
“How’s your stomach?” he asked quietly.
“Better.”
“You lying to me?”
You cracked one eye open. “Maybe a little.”
Quinn sighed softly before shifting closer. His large hand spread across your lower stomach beneath the hoodie, warm and heavy.
“That help?”
A tiny bit of tension eased instantly.
Unfortunately, he noticed that too.
"Yeah, it does,” he murmured.
You hated how smug he got whenever he figured you out.
“You think you know everything.”
“I do know everything.”
“You’re cocky.”
“You love it.”
Your lips twitched despite yourself.
Quinn looked nearly devastating like this. Relaxed, flushed from the warmth of the apartment, green eyes sleepy and affectionate while he sat there, touching you like it was instinct.
He caught you staring again.
“What?”
“You’re annoying.”
A slow smile tugged at his lips. “You’re the one staring at me.”
“I'm trying not to.”
“How's that going?” His grin widened slightly at your silence.
“You know,” he said casually, thumb still rubbing your stomach beneath the hoodie, “most boyfriends would’ve stopped catering to you by now.”
You lifted your head. “Excuse me?”
“Look at you.” He gestured lazily toward you. “You’ve got me making tea, rubbing your stomach, warming your feet up—”
“And?”
“And nothing. Just saying that I like it.”
That warmth spread through your chest again. You masked it quickly with attitude.
“Well, obviously. Look at me.”
“You’re lucky you're pretty.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Quinn said patiently, “you’ve been bossy since you walked in here.”
“I have not.”
“You told me my parking job sucked.”
“Because it did.”
“You made me go back downstairs and fix it.”
“It was crooked.”
Quinn stared at you in disbelief before laughing quietly to himself.
Then his hand slid from your stomach up beneath the hoodie, fingers brushing slowly against your ribs.
“You gonna keep giving me attitude all night?”
“Probably.”
“Mhm.”
His eyes darkened slightly.
That look.
Your stomach tightened immediately.
You knew that look.
Quinn leaned forward, resting one forearm beside your head while the other hand gripped your jaw gently.
“You like being difficult,” he murmured.
“I like your attention.”
“You already have all my attention.”
“Still.”
His thumb pressed lightly against your bottom lip as a quiet silence stretched. Then Quinn’s expression changed completely. Still calm, still gentle, but sharper somehow.
“Open your mouth.”
Your pulse skipped.
You hesitated just long enough to be annoying before parting your lips slowly.
Quinn’s eyes stayed fixed on yours while a glob of his spit dribbled directly into your mouth.
Hot and messy, intimate in a way that immediately made your thighs press together.
“There,” he said softly, manually shutting your mouth. “Now swallow.”
You glared at him while obeying anyway; his hand tightened slightly on your jaw.
“That’s my girl.”
The praise hit embarrassingly hard, causing you to look away first, Quinn noticing instantly. A smug little smile pulled at his mouth before he leaned closer, kissing you slow enough to make your head spin.
He always kissed like he was savoring you, almost as though he enjoyed getting you worked up.
His lips moved deeply against yours while his fingers slid into your hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head exactly where he wanted it. Heat spread steadily through your body as his hand traveled down your side, slipping beneath the oversized hoodie to drag across bare skin.
You melted against him before you could stop yourself.
“There she is,” he murmured against your lips.
“Shut up.”
Quinn laughed softly before kissing you again.
His stubble scraped lightly against your jaw while he shifted closer, large hands settling on your thighs and spreading them enough for him to fit between them comfortably.
Every movement was unhurried, controlled. Like he knew he had all the time in the world, which somehow made it worse.
Your fingers slid into his damp hair instinctively, tugging lightly at the soft brown strands. Quinn groaned quietly into your mouth at the feeling, his grip tightening on your thigh.
“You’re needy tonight,” he murmured.
“You like when I’m needy.”
“I love when you’re needy.”
The honesty in his voice made heat rush straight to your face. Quinn noticed that too, obviously.
“Aw,” he teased softly. “Was that too sweet for you?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
His grin widened before he pressed another kiss beneath your jaw.
You could feel the warmth of him everywhere—his broad chest against yours, rough hands sliding slowly over your skin, the solid weight of him between your thighs while rain continued tapping softly outside.
Safe.
That was the ridiculous part. Even when he handled you like this, all dominance and control and smug amusement, you still felt completely safe with him.
Quinn pulled back just enough to look at you again.
Your lips were swollen from kissing. Your hair was messy against the couch cushions. One of his hands still rested possessively high on your thigh beneath the hoodie.
And the way he looked at you like he adored every difficult, dramatic, high-maintenance part of you.
“You know something?” he said quietly.
“What?”
“You’d be a nightmare for anyone else.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Wow.”
“But for me?” His thumb stroked slowly across your thigh. “Perfect.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
You tried covering it with sarcasm. “That was so gross.”
“And you loved it.”
Unfortunately, he was right again.
Quinn kissed your forehead before reaching for your tea, checking the temperature himself before handing it over carefully.
“There,” he said. “Princess temperature.”
You took a sip while glaring at him half-heartedly. Of course it was perfect. Quinn looked unbearably pleased with himself when he saw your expression.
“I hate you,” you muttered.
"No, you don’t.”
No.
Not when he made loving you feel this easy.
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