#Open Kitchen Pros and Cons

[vmsplusblog]

[hsmagazine254]

The Open Plan Kitchen Debate: Pros and Cons

Weighing the Advantages and Drawbacks Deciding whether to build an open plan kitchen in your home is a major design consideration that can significantly impact the functionality and aesthetics of your living space. While open plan kitchens have gained popularity in recent years, they may not be the best choice for every homeowner. Let’s explore the pros and cons of open plan kitchens to help you…

[hollandsangel]

voice | m. sturniolo

i had this idea a million years ago, please enjoy!!

summary: chris wonders if you can tell his and matt’s voice apart

warnings: super fluffy!! a bit suggestive at the very end, i’m questioning if it’s good or not

wc: 1.6k

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

“i call shower first!” you exclaim the second the garage door is open, sprinting past matt up the stairs to his bathroom.

“there’s three showers,” chris says matter-of-factly as you blow past him on the steps, holding a hand out in confusion.

matt sighs and follows behind you, passing chris as well, “yeah, but you don’t have to share,” 

you’re already on the mainfloor, running into matt’s bedroom to grab the change of clothes you’d left earlier.

“i’m so glad i don’t have a girlfriend,” chris mutters, earning a smack upside the head from nick, “jesus, fuck, what,”

“you’re just annoying,” nick says, deciding it’s a good enough explanation and getting a laugh out of matt.

“agreed,” matt’s still chuckling when they reach the kitchen table, setting down the take out the four of you had gotten on your way back to the house. he hears the water turn on in his bathroom, accompanied by the soft sound of your voice as you sing along to your music.

“oh she’s a nicki fan,” nick says to no one in particular, referencing the tik tok sound when he notices you’re listening to a nicki minaj song. 

matt looks up from the bag of food and laughs.

chris sinks into the couch but looks over at matt, arm slung over the cushions, “i wonder if she could tell our voices apart,” he says after a second. 

“what?” matt asks, thinking the question is mildy rediculous. 

“like do you think she could recognize your voice?” chris explains, wandering into the kitchen now. opening a pepsi and leaning up against the counter. 

nick chimes in now, having been fiddling with the vlog camera and battery, “like compared to you and me?” he asks chris, glancing back at matt as if to say ‘is this guy for real?’

“yeah,” chris nods.

“yeah, obviously she’d be able to tell my voice apart from yours,” matt is looking back at the food again, tone matter-of-fact, as if what he’d said was absolute common sense. 

chris is quiet for about half a second and matt thinks that’s the end of that absurd conversation. it isn’t, of course. 

“should we test it out?” chris asks through a sip of soda.

matt officially gives up on trying to set the food up, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before turning to chris, “and how are we gonna do that?”

chris shrugs, but nick has an idea, “chris, you could like, just go ask her for something, if you left something in the bathroom—“

“absolutely not,” matt shuts it down immediately with a shake of his head, “you're not going in the bathroom when my girlfriend is showering,”

“i won’t even go all the way in!! i’ll cover my eyes,” chris promises, but matt is still skeptical. “i’ll just like poke my head in the door and ask if i left like..a belt or some shit in there,” is chris’ next offer. 

matt sighs and thinks about it, weighing the pros and cons. of course you can tell his voice apart from his brothers…right? he’s making himself nervous, pysching himself out and worrying they all sound the same to you. it upsets him for some reason, he can’t quite decide why.

“fine,” he agrees after a beat of silence, convincing himself you know whis voice well enough to separate it from chris’, and if you can’t, he thinks he might actually feel a sick twinge of unjustified jealousy.

“yes,” chris mutters under his breath, always excited to pull a prank on anyone.

“this is definitely going in the vlog,” nick says, still messing with the camera and coming to sit at the kitchen table where matt is now.

“i can’t believe i agreed to this,” matt mumbles, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath. he stands from his seat and walks over to the wall where he can see the bathroom door, feeling some what protective, like he needs to supervise chris to make sure he doesn’t wander too far into the bathroom.

“what should i say?” chris turns back arms pulled in close to his body as if he’s nervous. he’s already grinning and trying to keep from laughing.

“ooh, call her sweetheart, matt always does that,” nick suggests, wiggling his brows in matt’s direction to tease him.

“oh my god,” matt groans softly, rubbing at his eyes, “i fucking hate you guys,”

“okay, i’m going in,” matt drops his hands at that, eyes on his brother immediately. chris puts a hand over his eyes, just as he said he said he would before knocking on the door. nick has the camera out to record and is trying to stifle his laugh in the collar of his hoodie.

at the sound of the knock matt hears your voice, calling out for him, no doubt thinking it’s him at the door. he has to cover his mouth, partly out of nerves but also to keep himself from saying anything.

“yeah,” chris starts, needing to take a second before continuing because he’s already making himself laugh. “yeah, sweetheart, did i leave my belt in here?” he asks, barely stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

“uhh, i think it’s in your bedroom?” you say after a slight pause, about to poke your head out from behind the shower curtain, but chris has already mumbled a ‘thanks’ and essentially sprinted out of the bathroom, closing the door and crumbling to the floor in giggles.

“you’re not fucking real,” matt shakes his head, laughing softly himself and pushing off the wall to go back to the kitchen table. he’s a bit bummed that you didn’t realize it wasn’t his voice, but he keeps that to himself.

nick pans the camera over to matt’s face, which seems expressionless, even with both his brothers cackling outside of the frame.

you come out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, heading into matt’s bedroom to drop the clothes you’d changed out of. matt is instantly sitting back up, the legs of his chair scraping along the hardwood floors.

“ooh, someone’s pissed,” nick turns the camera to himself, eyeing the now closed door.

“that was too fucking good,” chris says after a deep breath, still recovering from laughing so hard. he pulls a chair out next to nick and the two start to explain what had happened to the camera, eyes flicking up to matt’s door every few seconds.

in the bedroom you’re putting your dirty clothes back into your bag when matt comes in, looking a little bit pouty, “hey baby,” you turn towards him, laughing at the slightly pathetic look he gives you, “what’s up?” you wonder.

“m’ tired,” he tells you, slumping up against you for a hug. you wrap your arms around him and rub his back, letting him lay his weight into you.

“we’ll eat and go to bed, yeah?” you give his back another little pat when he nods against you, “mkay, let’s go,” you kiss his cheek quickly, only to have him turn his head in search of a real kiss. you oblige of course.

nick and chris have already started eating and updating the vlog on their day when you and matt come out of the bedroom. matt joins them at the table but you head for the fridge to grab a drink. “oh, did you find your belt?” you ask matt, still digging around.

“what?— oh yeah” he mumbles, gaze turned down to his fries.

“okay good. by the way you sounded so much like chris when you came in— it freaked me the fuck out” you say with your head in the fridge, still searching for the diet coke you know you left inside the door, “did one of you drink my coke–”

“wait what?” matt’s head snaps up, food forgotten.

“hmm?” you turn around to find all three boys looking at you. nick’s mouth open in a half smile and chris clearly trying not to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. matt’s just staring at you with eyes a little bit too wide before he speaks up.

“what do you mean i sounded weird?” he asks, leaning forward. you notice nick’s shut up about whatever he was saying to the camera earlier, pointing the lens at you now.

“i dunno, when you said sweetheart it just sounded super fucking weird— why are you guys looking at me like that–” you have to ask, feeling slightly weirded out by the intensity of their gazes

“i knew it!!” matt cheers, punching the air and doing a silly little dance as nick doubles over and starts hitting the table.

chris’ jaw drops and he presses his fingers into his eyes as he laughs next to his brother, leaning on him.

matt bounds over to you with a grin, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground slightly.

“whaaaat,” you giggle, clearly confused by their reaction. 

“it was me,” chris manages to say between bouts of laughter, “we– we were trying to see if you could tell our voices apart.”

“of course i can tell your voices apart, especially your voice,” you turn towards matt, saying it like it should be obvious, like it’s silly they doubted you for even a second. 

matt’s just grinning at you, feeling a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest, “i knew you could,” 

“bullshit!” chris exclaims, both him and nick still leaning against each other as they laugh.

“he’s right, you were freaked the fuck out,” nick manages to say between giggles, “you watched chris like a fucking hawk when he opened the bathroom door,” he looks over at you, his smile contagious, “he was definitely freaked the fuck out,”

matt groans and drops his head against your shoulder. you brush your fingers through his hair and chuckle to yourself, “awe matt,” you coo, “i definitely know your voice, i’ll probably be hearing lots of it later anyways.”

tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose

[science-hoes]

Daylight: Month Two

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical medical descriptions, mentions of child loss, Robby’s arm tats

Chapters: Month One, Month Two,Month Three, Month Four

Description: Robby and the reader enjoy domestic bliss and the annoyances of pregnancy, but a patient case that hits close to home wedges between them.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—————

The thick smell of bacon lured you awake before your alarm clock ever went off. When you opened your eyes, darkness still blanketed the bedroom. No crack of light stretching between the blackout curtains just yet. Only the illumination of the alarm clock on Robby’s side of the bed gave you an indication of the time. 4:18am.

You already knew Robby was out of bed aside from the obvious aroma and sounds coming from the kitchen. He usually had you tucked into his side, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm snug around your waist. His absence left you feeling incomplete…but you had the whole bed to yourself. You sprawled your limbs out across the mattress, mirroring a starfish. Your eyes fell heavy again, content with a smile, ready to sleep for two more hours before your alarm.

But the bacon smelled so good.

Like a zombie, possessed by an unknown virus, you sat up in bed. Your legs swung off the mattress, not even taking a moment to stretch. Before you could evaluate the pros and cons of abandoning the empty bed that you rarely get to have to yourself, your feet padded across the wooden floor, shuffling until they hit the cold tile of the kitchen. Damn. The baby must really want some bacon.

In the low glow of the light above the stove, Robby was searing the final batch of bacon on a sizzling pan. Dressed in only gray sweatpants with his glasses perched on the sharp bridge of his nose. Black ink slithered around his biceps, Memento Mori and Amor Fati, his constant reminders of the fragility of life. His hands worked diligently, ridges of veins and tendons competing against each other as he flipped over the strips of bacon with a regular fork.

A splatter of burning fat made a beeline for his broad chest, landing on the bare skin.

“Ah, fuck.” He hissed, recoiling at the brand it made on his flesh.

You giggled, alerting him of your presence. “You know, you’re a hypocrite.” You teased.

Robby raised an eyebrow but smiled nonetheless at your presence. “How’s that?” He asked.

“Always grumbling about patients who put themselves in ridiculous situations that get them hurt.” You explained, then gestured towards him. “Yet here you are, cooking bacon with a fork and no shirt.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, returning his focus back to the crisping strips of meat in front of him. “Do as I say, not as I do.” He defended.

You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your hands clasping on his warm, toned abdomen. You peppered kisses on his back, catching the freckles with your lips. “Why are you up so early?” You asked.

Robby let out an exasperated sigh, already feeling the weight of his shift on his shoulders. “Quarterly chiefs meeting at six.” He answered.

Your cheek pressed against his spine as you moved your hands to his waist, massaging the skin there. “Couldn’t be a Zoom meeting?”

He chuckled insincerely. “Oh, no. Gloria likes to do her berating in person.” He said as he began to fish out the perfectly crispy strips and place them on the plate next to the stove.

“Humiliation kink?”

“I think it’s more of a voyeurism thing.”

Shared laughter filled the air, the most familiar sound of the kitchen in your home aside from the Eagles on vinyl and medical news podcasts.

Robby clicked off the stove after removing the final piece of bacon from the pan. “You know, I’m still not on board with the whole bacon thing.” He mumbled.

You shrugged, snatching a piece from the plate and taking a bite. “It’s only a problem if you undercook it. Did you?” You teased.

Just like the day you found out you were pregnant, he gave you an offended look. “Of course not. I don’t undercook my food. Ever.” He jabbed a finger softly at your shoulder.

“Besides. It’s what the baby wants. Not me. Who am I to say no?” You added.

Robby peered over his glasses to look you in the eyes. Gosh, you loved that stern, sexy professor glare he always gave you. “The baby should want eggs instead. Safer and good source of protein.” He lectured and pointed over to the plate of yellow fluff on the other counter that he made before you woke up.

Once you made eye contact with the scrambled eggs and its smell connected with your olfactory nerve, your mouth watered mid-bacon crunch, and not in the good way. Immediately, you sprinted to the bathroom, making it just in time to puke your guts out. Robby wasn’t far behind, and he pulled your hair out of your face as your body reeled from the very smell of eggs. It didn’t last for long, just a few seconds, and when the nausea subsided, you slouched back into his embrace.

“See. The baby is in charge.” You said with a small giggle, wiping the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your (Robby’s) sweatshirt that you slept in.

Robby pressed a kiss to the back of your head, cradling you in his lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was as stubborn as his mom.” He teased, throwing in his guess at the baby’s gender.

You scoffed, reaching behind you to poke his stomach, making him flinch at the ticklish sensation. “She’s as stubborn as her dad.” You corrected, slating your guess as well.

He held you in his embrace for another moment before tilting your head to look up at him. His glasses were askew now, hair still in disarray from sleep. He traced his thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear that formed while you threw up. “Are you gonna be okay to go to work by yourself?” He asked.

Your natural reaction would have been to roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s silly question. Of course you could get to work by yourself. You managed to do it every day before moving in with him several months ago. The drive was short, the parking garage was safe. Safe-ish anyway. But you could see the worry in his eyes. The same look he gave you every time that he knew he wasn’t going to be there to protect you. That look had been more frequent over the last month. But this was the first morning that he couldn’t take you to work with him.

You tilted your head into his touch, letting his hand hold your weight. “I’ll be fine. I’ll text when I leave here.” You promised.

“And when you get there.” He added.

A small laugh left your chest through your nose. “You’ll see me when I’m there.” You reminded him.

Robby pressed his bottom lip tightly against his top lip, his characteristic expression of stress. “I know. I just…if I’m with a patient. I want to know exactly when you’re safely inside.” He explained.

You wanted to joke that there was hardly a difference in crime rate between the inside and outside of the Pitt. But his eyes, fuck, those gorgeous, earthy brown eyes were a stargate to his vulnerability. Instead, you nodded. “Okay, I will.”

The laugh lines around his eyes deepened as his cheeks rose with a smile. “Thank you.” He said before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, his glasses bumping against your nasal bone as he did.

You scrunched your nose as you smiled into the kiss. “I just threw up. You still wanna kiss me?” You asked.

Robby chuckled and secured you tightly in his arms before standing up, eliciting snaps, crackles, and pops from his ancient joints. But he still moved with ease and strength as he carried you back to bed. “Unfortunately, my love, your vomit is not the worst thing to ever get in my mouth.” He replied.

You laughed as he delicately deposited your body onto the soft mattress. “Gross.” You deadpanned, snuggling back under the covers.

He sat on the edge of the bed, arranging the blankets to cocoon your frame. “When you’ve been an ER doc for twenty years, then you can come talk to me.” He warned, leaning over to give you one last kiss before rising.

You smirked as he turned to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to stop by your grave that day and tell you all about it.”

Robby stopped in his tracks, stunned, then he hunched over with an explosion of laughter. He turned and launched onto the bed, tackling you, carefully all the while, and pressed a scratchy kiss on your cheek. “Oh, I’ll be here for another twenty five years. Can’t get rid of me that easy.” Another kiss to your giggling mouth. “I’m gonna die in the Pitt anyway.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your cheeks ached from smiling and his bearded kisses. “I thought you and Jack were gonna hold hands and jump off the roof together.” You teased.

Robby nodded. “Yep, that’s the plan.” He agreed.

“Then you’ll die in front of the Pitt. Not in the Pitt.”

An eye roll. “Grammar police.”

A smirk. “Actually, it’s semantics police.”

He rolled off your body and hopped off the bed. “Okay, that’s enough of you for one morning.” He joked, but turned as he made it to the doorway. “I’ll make you a smoothie and put it in the fridge to grab before you leave. Prenatal vitamins will be on the counter with a water bottle. And I’ll handle the eggs.” He said.

You craned your neck towards the door to catch a glimpse of his silhouette framed by the distant light of the kitchen. “You’re doing so much for me. I don’t know how to ever repay you.” You mused out loud.

Although you couldn’t see it in the darkness, you knew Robby smiled. “You’re giving me a baby. I’m forever indebted to you.” He countered. “Get some rest. Enjoy having the whole bed to yourself.” You could practically hear him wink before he walked back to the kitchen.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you closed your eyes. You felt so loved, so happy, so…at peace.

…

The peace didn’t last for long. You had texted Robby the moment you walked through the doors of the Pitt, just like you promised. But you received no confirmation that he received it. He had been elbows deep in a gunshot victim from the moment he stepped out of that quarterly meeting. You could see him towering over the other providers in Trauma One, commanding the room with a respected power.

You leaned against one of the Hub desks, looking toward Dana. “They need any help in there?” You asked.

Dana shook her head, desk phone against her ear. “No, we’ll need you out here. MVC, pregnant woman coming in. They think she’s preeclampsic and in active labor.” She answered. “We’ll need Trauma Two.”

You nodded and hustled to the ambulance bay, snatching a yellow gown on your way. McKay met you outside and tied the back of your gown, then you tied hers. “Preeclampsia is some scary shit.” She murmured. “Happened to me with Harrison.”

“Is she full term?” You questioned, moving your ponytail out from the neck of the gown where it had been tucked in.

“They didn’t say. I already paged NICU.”

The sound of sirens loomed closer, and the rig turned the corner, thundering towards the bay. A swarm of more nurses and residents appeared to help unload the patient. Blood covered her hands and legs, and one arm draped over her swollen abdomen, bent out of shape.

As you moved along the gurney, heeding the less-than-stellar vitals being screamed in your ear, the woman reached out to you in the chaos.

“Please, save my baby. Please.” The woman on the gurney begged you, clutching your yellow gown with her bloodied hand, leaving its mark on the sheer material.

You didn’t know why she said it to you. Maybe because you were a woman. Maybe because you were around her age. Maybe she had a sixth sense and knew you were pregnant, too. A few months ago, you wouldn’t have given much thought to her words and proceeded with the most logical treatment. But the desperation in her voice struck a chord with you.

You followed the team into Trauma Two, and within seconds, Robby popped in from the adjacent room. McKay read out her vitals, and you placed the fetal heart monitor over her belly. Medicines were ordered to fix the blood pressure and stop the labor, but nothing seemed to work. The fetal heart rate was dropping, the woman began to have intense vaginal bleeding. Placental abruption was taking its course. Finally, a cold statement cut through the madness that sent you into a spiral:

“Start putting efforts towards the mother. She’s got a better chance.” The order came from Robby’s mouth.

You froze and stared at him. “No, she said she wants to save her baby.” You said.

Robby’s eyes met yours for just a moment, an indecipherable flicker in them, before continuing to work with his hands to stop the bleeding. “Her mental state was altered, she can’t make that decision.” He replied firmly.

In an incredibly rare stroke of defiance, you countered with: “Did you do a neuro eval?” Robby didn’t look at you and didn’t stop working. No answer. “No? That’s what I thought.”

Robby barked orders for more units of blood. The beeping of the fetal monitor began to drop lower and lower. “You need to back down. You are the resident.” He hissed.

The tension in the room was heavy, every other nurse and doctor eyeing each other as they all worked in tandem to stabilize the patient from Robby’s instruction. “She expressed her wishes to me. She told me what she wanted. She had the capacity to make the decision, and her autonomy should be-“ You continued.

But Robby cut you off with, “I don’t need a fucking lecture in bioethics. We are going to save who we can. This is not a cadaver lab. If you do not follow my explicit instructions, you will be reprimanded.”

His words had a sharpness that cut you deep. He had never used that tone with you before, especially in front of others. McKay finally stepped in between the two of you, hoping to get you a few steps away from each other. You decided to yield to his power, but there was an unmistakable sense of loss as the baby’s heartbeat dropped lower.

And lower.

And lower.

Until there was nothing.

…

After the patient stabilized and was sent upstairs for surgery, Robby took the woman’s husband to the family room and explained the situation. You shucked your PPE off and went to get a drink of water from the lounge.

Guilt hung in your chest as you remembered the woman’s plea before she lost consciousness. She was going to wake up without her baby. The nursery had likely been finished, the first round of toys and diapers stacked in a corner, blankets with a monogrammed name hanging over the crib.

Angry tears dripped down your cheeks. You heard the door of the family room close, muffled by the quiet of the doctors lounge. You watched through the small window and saw Robby rub the back of his neck anxiously. His eyes scanned the entire department, and they finally settled at the sight of you through the window. Your breath hitched, and suddenly you were a baby deer in the path of a lion.

Robby walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. You stood, shaking your head. “We’re not doing this right now.” You said.

He crossed his arms, blocking your path to the door. “Oh, yes ma’am, we are.” His voice was patronizing, and his eyes had a darkness to them that you didn’t recognize. “That little show in there? That won’t fly.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking a step closer to him. “‘That little show’ was advocating for the patient’s wishes. Same as a DNR.” You argued.

Robby huffed, almost a laugh. “A DNR is an official document made when a patient has the capacity to do so. That patient, who clearly did not have the mental capacity to make decisions, told only you. And even so, the baby was crashing too fast to even try and deliver.” He explained.

You felt more tears storm down your face. “She is going wake up without her baby.” You hissed.

He pulled his lips into a thin line. “Yes. But at least she is going to wake up.” He replied.

He just didn’t get it. If you had stayed any longer, you were going to start screaming words that you’d regret. You pushed past him and walked out of the lounge, swiping your tears away with the palm of your hand.

…

For the rest of the day, Robby tried to get you alone, but you turned your back to him and jumped into a patient case every time. It was only when the night shift began to trickle in that he was successful in cornering you.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asked, calm and collected like nothing happened.

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll follow you.” You replied, reminding him that you drove separately.

After collecting your things from the lounge, you both headed to the parking garage. Even though the walk was silent, Robby kept a protective hand on your lower back as you crossed the street and again when you climbed the concrete stairs. You followed his navy Ford F150 all the way back to your home, refusing to turn the music on. You felt like you didn’t deserve the distraction.

Once home, you began to tidy the house. Doing anything to keep your mind and hands busy. Robby recognized it immediately. Although it wasn’t a harmful anxiety escape, he didn’t want you losing your mind. Without a word, he went back out to the garage, disappearing for a few moments and returned. He sat on the couch, watching you wipe down the coffee table.

“Will you sit down with me for a second?” He asked.

You didn’t look up. “I need to clean up.” You responded in a tone that would make a robot jealous.

Robby sighed and reached his hand out to grasp your forearm. “Please, love.” He begged.

You stopped moving. Still refusing to meet his gaze, you placed the microfiber towel down and moved toward him. He guided you into his lap, pressing your back against his chest. His breathing was warm on the nape of your neck as he laid his head to rest on your shoulder.

“I was scared today.” He whispered. “That woman. She’s the same age as you. She was pregnant. All I could see was you. Even though you were standing there next to me. I couldn’t separate you from her.”

You turned your head, pushing his head off your shoulder with your nose, so that you could look him in the eyes. “Scared?” You questioned.

“I was scared I couldn’t protect you. Scared I couldn’t protect our baby.” He said, and you could hear his voice tremble as he fought back tears. “Fuck, I still am scared. Her husband, he…he cried so much. Even when I told her that she was okay, he couldn’t stop saying how he should’ve been there to keep her and the baby safe…”

Robby’s face was burning red, and a single tear fell from his eyes. You reached up to place your hands on either side of his face. “Michael…” You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Honey, you did everything right. I was wrong to challenge you like that. It got personal for me.” You confessed.

He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut as more tears fell. “You were a good patient advocate. I was being selfish. Maybe we could have saved the baby. I don’t know.”

You pressed your forehead against his, trying to ground him. “Don’t do that to yourself. You made the right judgement call, even considering the bioethics. If you’d listened to me, they would have both died.” You replied.

Robby didn’t make another attempt. He just sat in silence as his tears dried, holding you close to him. One of his large hands rubbed your belly, the baby bump still unnoticeable. “I love you.” He whispered. The words were not a punctuation to the hours-long argument. They were a sacred prayer.

You leaned into his embrace, nestling against the warmth his body radiated. “I love you more.” You replied, a small smile on your lips, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist topping your answer.

Like a moth to a flame, he matched your mild smile and answered with, “I love you most.” Then he shifted, reaching his hand into the pocket of his navy hoodie.

You shook your head, brushing your nose against his in an Inuit kiss. “Can’t prove it.” You teased.

Robby removed his hand from his pocket and raised it near your face. A sparkle caught your eye, and you leaned away to inspect it. In his hand was a ring. Simple gold band with a large, oval cut diamond. “Wanna bet?” He said, the slyest smirk on his lips.

You couldn’t find the words to speak. Butterflies filled your stomach, surely invading your baby’s personal space. His name left your lips in a whisper.

“We live together. We’re having a baby. Might as well make it legally official.” He said.

“Michael, I-” Your voice trembled. “I want to. I really do. But I don’t want you to feel compelled to do this because of the baby. If you aren’t ready for this, then you don’t have to rush it.”

Robby chuckled, shaking his head. “This has been in my toolbox in the garage for four months.”

A small, hopeful smile found its way to your lips. “Really?” You breathed.

“I was waiting for our anniversary. But today, after everything that happened…I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.” He explained.

The pure joy bubbling in your chest stunned you into silence. Robby reached to his neck, starting to rub his nape anxiously. “I know I probably should have made it a little nicer. I could’ve changed out of scrubs first, maybe shower-”

His rambling was silenced when you threw your arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. He laughed and returned the gesture, standing up straight, your feet dangling in the air as he held you in his embrace.

“It’s perfect.” You whispered. “It’s us.”

Robby pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a ‘fucking finally’ yes.” You answered.

[theorist-fox]

Whisky

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: Kyle’s the perfect partner, even when he slips up. And as you come to realize, he slips up quite often—which only makes you love him more.

18+

CW: fluff, smut, drunk sex in established relationship with enthusiastic consent, handjob, cunnilingus, Kyle is cute

Masterlist 🦊

Kyle is perfect. 

He is sharp, cunning—the answer to everything is always on the tip of his tongue. 

Problem-solving is his special skill. He thrives under pressure, not a finger of his so much as twitches even when the weight of the world crushes his shoulders: he calculates it all, pros and cons, risks and benefits, in the span of a minute. 

Self-sufficient, precise, deadly.

He charmed you with a handful of well-placed words, dazzling smile and clever eyes, gentlemanly as few. Opened the car door, insisted on paying for dinner, and kissed you on your third date. His tongue tasted of Moscato and chocolate from the dessert, yours a tick bitter—scotch and brown sugar.

He had you helplessly wrapped around his finger with shocking ease: a smooth talker at dinner, a sex God once home, incredibly selfless and devoted—made sure you came at least twice on his fingers before he even thought about fucking you and giving you more of that high.

With him it's neatly wrapped presents, roses delivered at work, dinner dates and endless, deep, passionate kisses that leave you heaving like you've run a marathon, warm and breathless.

He makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery, and also like maybe you’re aiming too high with your averageness, while he stands tall, spine straight, and a chain of golden candy draped across his chest.

However, Kyle softened up when you two finally became steady. 

It was hard not to notice how cautiously and deliberately he tiptoed around your relationship—until he slowly unfurled and fell into a comfortable pattern, one in which he didn’t have to put up an act, one in which he could turn off his head and have you guide him through the softer motions of the day. He finally relented, dropping the veneer—cracking like fine ceramic, chipping away.

It's then that you truly, really met Kyle.

And that is how you found out that he is, in fact, perfect—a stunning man, kind, brilliant and charming—but he’s so much more than that, too.

Kyle is clumsy.

You have to be careful where you place your shoes at the entrance of your flat because he trips on his own feet. More than once you’ve heard a cheery “Home, love!” followed by the flat door closing shut and a subsequent tumble. Then, a thud. An “Ow” echoing in the living room. An embarrassed chuckle.

Kyle is a menace. For his safety, that is. 

God forbid you initiate a chat while he’s in the kitchen. Once, he got so awfully invested as you spilled the office tea that he slammed his palm on the induction stove. His shocked "No fucking way" had quickly evolved into a dramatic scream.

Lovely night spent at the hospital, that one.

Kyle is forgetful.

You wish you could count on one hand how many times he has forgotten to add the colour catcher in the washing machine.

You can’t. You are currently out of plain white knickers, since they’re all blotched pink or blue. God bless him, he beats himself up every time he’s reminded. You tell him it’s okay, that it can happen, but it always ends up with him apologising so emphatically that you promise yourself you’ll never make him notice again.

All these habits make him more real to your eyes, like he’s not cast with pure gold and melted medals, like you can allow yourself some slip-ups as well. 

And while this is making your home life definitely easier to slip into (despite your lack of underwear), you can tell how hard it is for him to shed the perfectionist uniform—self-loathing each time he makes the most subtle of mistakes.

It's not easy to remind him that he’s human too, but you try until he gets it, until he understands that maybe you love this tangible version of him more than you do the untouchable, polished SAS sergeant.

That you love his vulnerabilities as much as you love his strengths. And perhaps, to your eyes, those things are the same.

That you love how he scratches the back of his head with a grimace when the bacon turns charred, when your sleeping t-shirt comes out of the washing machine two sizes too small and awfully shrunk. 

That you love how flustered he gets when he drinks, because yes.

Kyle is a lightweight. And the cutest drunk.

One Saturday you’d both planned it all: nice dinner out now that he’s home for R&R, stroll through the city, a shared cigarette under the stars, and then a proper nice fuck once home. 

Perfect.

Or it would’ve been—if your plans hadn’t been rudely cancelled by the awful weather.

Which brings you both to now, lazily slumped on the sofa, still wrapped in your fancy outfits, dress shoes and heels shed on the floor. Your backs rest on the opposite armrests, legs meeting and intertwining in the middle. The TV roars with some action movie you chose together, and while you're enraptured by the plot, Kyle has his eyes on you.

Big fingers spread over your shin, occasionally shifting back and forth as if he’s shocked by how soft your freshly waxed legs feel under his palm. 

"Yer pretty," he mumbles, cueing a cute hiccup at the end that makes your stomach flutter.

His mouth is curled in a cheeky smile, plump lips hooking upwards just on one side.

You blink and divert your attention from the film to your boyfriend, spread out on the sofa with one arm hanging out, hand curled around the rim of his tumbler. 

The lazily enamoured look in his eyes prompts you to smile back, already knowing where this is going. "Why thank you, Kyle. Not so bad yourself.”

He smirks in that familiar way he does when he thinks he's said something particularly clever and wiggles his eyebrows.

“All that for me?” He mumbles, nodding with his chin to your outfit. 

You snort, but otherwise hum a soft reply in agreement, hiding your smile behind your glass.

“Ah,” he says, slowly sipping on his whisky, looking straight into your eyes. “Lucky man I am.”

Your cheeks heat up, because even when he’s tipsy he manages to smooth talk your confidence away, turning you into a shy mess. The alcohol in your system doesn’t help.

“Don’t need to flatter me,” you mumble, trying to keep the act up. “M’already your girlfriend.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree, as if you just fed him some new, exciting piece of information.

“My girl,” he echoes, with a smirk that dimples his cheek and settles properly into your chest. “Really like the sound of that.”

A sip. His head lolls sideways, abandoned, eyes glittering with love for yours—you can tell, because yours do the same.

“My girl.” He tests it again, as if he’s never said it before.

"Already, love?" You tease him, but there's no bite behind your words. "It’s the second glass.”

His lazy smile melts into a frown, and then he points an accusing finger at you. 

"You're one to talk. Look at you.” He wiggles his fingers your way. “All wobbly."

You are, in fact, very steady. Steadier than anything.

You cock a brow, cheeks puffed in a smile. With a dramatic sigh, you reply, "Just proving my point, really."

He quirks his eyebrows and shakes his head mockingly at you, echoing your words in a high-pitched tone, before returning the glass to his lips. 

You gasp in mock offence, placing a theatrical hand on your chest.

After a very short but fiercely fought battle of stares, you soften up. Kyle takes the way your shoulders unravel as his own personal victory. He raises his glass at you.

“Cheers,” he says proudly, throwing his head back to down the rest of his whisky in a gulp. 

“Jesus—” You splutter, eyes widening at the sheer courage. And then you burst into a laugh because when his eyes return to you, he is positively wincing—alcohol burning down his throat something fierce, you reckon.

An exasperated rub of your forehead, while Kyle keeps his lips sealed shut to avoid openly coughing. His cheeks comically balloon every time.

He’s such a kid sometimes, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t adore this lighthearted side of him. 

"Lightweight," you singsong, because if he can act childish so can you. 

You bring your own glass to your mouth to hide your smile, though you drink your whisky much more responsibly than he did.

Kyle takes that one personally, it seems. His brow furrows, full lips curling in a pout. Brown eyes hooded and bloodshot. Nose scrunched in that twitch he often has when irritated.

Yep, you stand by the fact that he's a lovely-looking drunk.

Which means you must correct yourself. "Cute lightweight."

He grumbles something under his breath, looking away and crossing his arms like you’ve gone and done it forever. Pride hurt and thrashed.

But you're giggling at this point. 

Okay, maybe you’re tipsy, you’ll give him that.

"Don't pout." You say, pouting yourself. "You're making me feel bad."

He turns up his nose, and, with spite, he sets the empty tumbler on the coffee table. Glass on glass. It clinks, like he wanted to make a powerful statement with that motion alone.

"As you should."

"Kyle."

"Nuh-uh."

"Kyle, c'mon—"

"Grovel."

You burst out laughing, and from the corner of your eye, you see how it manages to make his lips quirk. You decide it's time to apologize for hurting his drunk pride.

Struggling, you place the unfinished glass of bourbon on the coffee table. 

"Kyle," you whisper his name like honey, this time.

His shoulders stiffen, and he steals a glance from you. Good, you got his attention.

On your fours, you start crawling to his side of the sofa, until your knees are digging into the cushions on each side of his hips, your hands next to his head. Back arched prettily, showing off like a peacock to soften him up a little.

Kyle seems to be trying to have the couch swallow him whole as he flushes his back to it. His eyes are wide and big like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if he’s never witnessed this beforehand.

You cock your head—cheeky, batting your lashes and all. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he replies at the speed of light.

You snort. “You sure?”

“Yeah—yeah,” he croaks. Clears his throat. “Yes.”

“Mhmh.” You smile knowingly, letting your fingers draw a line down the buttons of his shirt, rich dark navy. 

He follows the trail with his eyes, tongue briefly darting out to lick his lips. Your nails tap on the buttons, soft brushes of your pads along the cotton down to the waistband of his slacks, where you hook your finger. Tug.

Kyle’s breath stutters. His chest falls back down heavily, as if a rock’s been suddenly dropped on it.

“All this for me?” You ask back, cocking your head to the side.

He catches on. Mimics you, trying to align his eyes with yours. His face is slack, relaxed, but his eyes—oh, his eyes. When you’re this close, with the tips of your noses touching, you see there are hints of green in there. Deep forest trees, speckles of golden sunlight, mottled in earthy brown irises. Investigating ones, studying how the light of the telly catches your skin, as you do the same, following the dotted lines of his moles. 

“Yes,” he replies, voice rough.

Your heart skips a beat. 

He notices, and his hand silently travels to your wrist. He guides your hand down. The heel of your palm catches the bulge in his trousers. Heat pulses at your fingertips—you need them to do something, anything, to release it. Your thumb catches the zipper. Tentatively, you tug it down.

Kyle wastes not a moment more and lifts his head so his lips meet yours.

A deep inhale. His tongue lingers with the smoky aftertaste of whisky, the pleasant tang of alcohol, as you remember how it had burned your throat when you drank it moments before. 

Kyle thinks you taste like the first day he kissed you. Languid tongues intertwining, coated with a sweeter taste, like that of brown sugar and maraschino cherries dipped in your Old Fashioned. How you’d plucked them with your lips, tugging gently at the stem. 

He fell for you that night, he thinks. Thinks it every single day; when he trips over your shoes, burns the dinner, and botches the laundry, while you smile at him with understanding pinched eyebrows.

He busies himself, now, giving you ample space to work with both your hands at the button and zipper. He grasps at your breasts through your dress, squeezes clumsily both fabric and softer flesh underneath, while taking a handful of your ass—fat bugling between the grooves of his fingers. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. A strangled thing between a moan and a gasp.

He wants to be cocky about it, tell you that even when he’s plastered he seemingly has all the faculties to make your heart race and your cunt wet—but alas, he chokes on a groan of his own when you slide under his boxers, setting platitudes aside, and curl your fingers around his sex. 

One would think the alcohol would’ve made it a bit tougher for him to rise to the attention, but the truth clearly lies elsewhere, since he’s hard as a rock in your hand.

“Whisky did this to you?” You quip, though it doesn’t land as funnily as you’ve anticipated, since you sound as breathless as he is. 

Your words brush his lips like petals. Bourbon swims in his head, but he’s more drunk on you than he’s drunk on that. His head is clouded, but there’s still enough willpower to focus on how your mouth slots with his, how your hand starts to gingerly smooth down his shaft.

He pinches your nipple in retaliation. You hiss, shifting awkwardly on your knees like you’re looking for friction, but his legs are keeping your thighs too far apart. 

“Bit chatty tonight, are you.” 

You breathe a chuckle, nudging his nose. 

“Like to get you all fussy.”

“S’working,” he concedes. “But not because of that smart mouth of yours.” 

You stop. Pull back. 

You thought him drunk, but the sharp tongue he’s hitting you with tells you otherwise. Tipsy, perhaps. But not drunk.

You know drunk Kyle, and that one is a flustered mess. This Kyle definitely isn’t.

So, while Kyle might be tipsy, he’s not off his head yet. He manages to tighten his brows in a silent question—why did you stop. 

When you cock your head, eyes narrowed, he matches your stance.

You both smile.

“Are you telling me to shut up?”

A groan escapes him and Kyle rolls his eyes so far back you see a bit of redness at the bottom. He takes you by surprise when he lunges forward, slotting his lips with yours again. 

He’s not gentle when he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“I’m telling you to finish what you started,” he says with playful command, but you know that if it weren’t for the alcohol softening his words, you’d be replying with a swift "Yes, sir".

He takes the lead, if only briefly, and has his hips jump upwards to meet your first stroke.

A breathless curse leaves his lips when your pace starts to languidly grow. You keep it soft and slow, but still steady enough to make the words die in his throat.

He kisses you, then. Makes sure to hide the embarrassing sounds that would inevitably leave him if he’d allowed his lips to move freely.

“Yeah?” You ask in a whisper that touches his mouth first, his cottoned ears much, much later.

Kyle nods. Doesn’t break the kiss again, doesn’t dare. 

You feel good, he thinks. Too good to let go, with your lithe fingers barely reaching around, with the cold bands of your rings causing gooseflesh to rise on his thighs.

He grabs your hand, reluctantly taking it away from his cock, until he has it hovering between your faces, palm facing your lips.

“Spit,” he says.

You heed him, an eager shake in your breath as you release a glob of saliva on your own palm. Kyle turns it his way and flattens his tongue against it, licking upward, until he has your middlemost fingers in his mouth.

Your legs shake in shivers that travel to the tips of your toes, back arched like you’re trying to press your sex back against something only to find a wall of air. 

Kyle twirls his tongue around your pads only to watch you squirm, because he likes the way your lips tremble in anticipation each time.

He releases your hand, shining with yours and his spit, and presses the softest kiss on the tips of your fingers. You guide it back down, to where his cock rests, heavy and leaking, on his now wrinkled navy shirt.

When your hands curl around him again, Kyle sighs a shaky breath, like you’ve finally gone and given him what he needs. His head spins a bit faster, then, but he’s not daft enough to place the blame exclusively on the bourbon he just drank.

“Much better,” he murmurs, trying to keep his eyes open.

His breath hesitantly reaches out for yours, as they mingle in the sliver of space between your lips. 

Alcohol increases hunger, they say, and Kyle’s never felt more voracious than he does now. His movements might be a bit slower, but he still manages to tug at the straps of your dress, watching them flow down your shoulders. His finger’s already at the neckline, tugging down just enough to have your breasts spill out.

Your hand tightens a fraction around his cock when his mouth curls around your nipple. He’s zeroed in on it the moment your tits came to view, licked his lips and dived in headfirst. 

Kyle sucks on it as though he’s never tasted anything of the likes before. He grazes his teeth around it as it pebbles under his tongue, his hand kneading and grabbing at the softer flesh of your breasts.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles, almost like an afterthought, like he’s sure you’re not hearing him and he’s there alone, talking to himself.

The only way you know he’s actively there with his head, it’s when his hand grasps your own around his cock. The head shines with precum and your spit after you’ve diligently spread it all over its length.

“Bit tighter, love.” He rasps, voice so rough and jagged you feel it rumble in your chest.

You follow his lead, allowing him to guide you even though you already know how he likes it. But there’s something unbelievably hot in having Kyle take you through the motions—showing you exactly how to make his teeth grind, and his hips tilt.

“Like that,” he goes on before you can ask if this is okay. “Fuck—fuck, like tha’.”

You hold his head to your chest, as his kisses become less focused, more open and sloppy, like he wants to taste you all over. Biting down where the flesh is more tender, leaving blooming love bites on your skin.

His hands explore with similar hunger, gripping wherever they land—from the fat of your waist to that of your thighs. Your dress rides up and he takes the chance to feel your warm skin dimpling under his fingers.

Kyle gives it away easily when his hips jerk upward in a desperate attempt to fuck your fist. You recognize the stutter in his breath as well as that of his movements.

Gently, you tap his cheek and he drops his head back on the cushions, as if recognizing the muted order. 

You meet his eyes. Heavily hooded, occasionally rolling back as he fights it, deciding to focus them on your face instead.

“Gonna cum, Kyle?” You breathe into his mouth.

Kyle chokes on a groan, or a reply—you’re not sure, and judging by the fucked out look on his face, you reckon he doesn’t have a clue either.

“Yeah, baby?” You pant, like all of this is happening to you and not to him.

His jaw locks tight, junction bulging each time he grinds his teeth.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Fuck—yes.”

You drop your forehead on his, noses brushing. Your forearm aches and tightens, but you push through because there aren’t sights as good as Kyle when he’s bathing in bliss.

“Then cum, baby,” you whisper to his lips, gently pressing them to his. “Cum for me yeah?”

Beneath you, Kyle arches his back before his body grows taut. His cock twitches in your hand, spilling cum over your fingers while some spurts reach farther and stain his shirt. He bites on his own teeth, huffing from his nose to keep quiet. 

Gingerly, though a bit too cheeky, you press your lips to his and nibble at his lower lip. His mouth hangs open to reciprocate, and that causes the sounds he tried to keep in to spill out. 

A heavy groan that chokes on itself into a softer, breathy moan. Stuttered, cracked.

Fucking hell that would be enough to make you cum, if you had him stuffing you full instead of filling your hand.

But still, you bask in this like it’s happening to you. His eyes rolled back, eyelids heavy and almost closed, fingers leaving imprints on your thighs as he clutches the flesh so very tight—only thing currently tethering him to earth.

As his cock softens in your hand, you slow down your pace until you stop completely, aside from a gentle swipe on the sensitive head of his dick. It makes his muscles twitch, and you chuckle softly at that.

You give him time to recollect himself, gently using one flap of his shirt to clean your fingers—it's already stained anyway, right? No harm done.

A kiss on the corner of his mouth seems to be what brings him down.

Kyle blinks once. Twice. Until his eyes focus on you, finally. 

As he regains his bearings, he breathes a laugh, airy, like there’s no strength in him to offer more than that. A sigh that makes him deflate, and then his lips spread in a dopey smile. 

He looks high on it.

You press a kiss to his nose. “Good?”

He nods emphatically, causing you to giggle a little louder. 

He seems to like that, because his hands, still a bit trembling, shoot up and encase you, pulling you down to him. Chest to chest, your arms wrapped around his neck while his own trap you to him by the waist.

He peppers your face with kisses as you push against his chest and laugh until your cheeks burn.

“Baby—” you wheeze, cheeks smushed. “—'m gonna have bloody cum stains on my dress for fuck’s sake!”

His lips are too busy to answer you properly, so his words come out muffled and faint. Still smug as ever, though.

“Eye for an eye.”

You laugh.

“Ah, stop it!” 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles. “Wash it later.”

He nuzzles your neck. “Lemme kiss you now.”

And you let him. 

You let him kiss you until your giggles turn softer, until his lips capture yours and you forget how to breathe. Until innocent and fun turns into heated again, and he travels lower down your neck, to your breasts, sucking at the tender flesh.

Until his hands gently guide you backwards and you flop on the sofa, thighs draped over his shoulders. 

Kyle eats you out like a man starved. Dips his fingers inside your cunt and presses upward, while his mouth lavishes your clit. 

You cum hard on his tongue, holding your breath as your chest flushes with warmth that clutches your lungs. Nails scratching scalp, hips dancing to get closer to his mouth.

He doesn’t let go until you’re floppy and syrupy warm, as glassy eyed as he was moments before.

And then you’re both stumbling to the bedroom, tipsy and high on sex, lazily taking off your clothes and dropping them to the bedroom floor. You collapse in bed, naked and with your tongues still tasting of whisky. 

Kyle's arms are wrung around you, nose buried in your neck—until his breath softens, and so does yours.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s because the smell of coffee wafts just below your nose. You inhale, smiling, blinking your eyes open.

Kyle is squatting next to your side of the bed, wearing only a pair of briefs and holding a mug full of steaming coffee.

“Morning sweetheart,” he whispers, looking like he doesn’t even know what a hangover is, the bastard.

“’Ello,” you mumble, sleepy, while nuzzling your pillow.

Kyle sets the cup of coffee on the nightstand. You hear it clink. The coffee sloshes lightly. The steam billowing from it briefly brushes your skin when the cup passes near your face.

Long fingers come to caress you, knuckles to cheek.

“Breakfast’s ready,” he says tenderly. “I got the washing on while you were still asleep.”

You smile softly, whispering a "Thank you" while keeping your eyes closed. Then, almost mindlessly, you ask, “Did you chuck in the colour catcher?”

His hand stills, petrified, and then it leaves your face completely. 

Confused and still dazed, you flutter your eyes open at the lack of touch, briefly squinting as the sun peeking through the blinds stings you awake.

Kyle has guilt written all over his face.

“’M gonna fix it,” he says hurriedly, as he stumbles on his feet to get to the laundry room.

You chuckle, rubbing at your face in loving exasperation. Once you’re feeling like a fully functioning human being, you sit up, bare feet touching the cold floors. With your coffee in hand, you shuffle to the kitchen to check on the supposedly ready breakfast.

Because the house is starting to smell like burnt bacon.

[avatar-anna]

i saw this trend on tiktok where girlfriends flash their boyfriends to win an argument, and i thought that was genius, so...yeah! that's what this is. enjoyxx

"Baby, we've talked about this."

"I know, but I just think if you listened—"

"I have listened, and I just don't think now is the time to do this."

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, annoyed by both his tone and his words. "It'll never be the right time. You just don't want to commit to this relationship."

"Seriously? That's where we're going with this?" Harry asked, finally looking away from where he was chopping vegetables for dinner. "I say it's not the right time to get a dog and you think it's because I'm not committed? Really, Y/n."

He looked down pointedly at himself. Harry stood in the kitchen in an apron that said, Kiss the Cook! You got it for him as a gag gift on his birthday last year since he was always in the kitchen, but he ended up loving it. Naturally, he also demanded you kissed the cook whenever you helped him out with cooking.

You knew what he was trying to say without voicing it, that was committed to you no matter which way you tried to spin it to win the argument. And you knew that, you were just a little annoyed that you and Harry couldn't get on the same page like you normally were.

You and Harry continued to bicker back and forth about the pros and cons of getting a dog together. Harry insisted he wasn't against it, just not now, but you'd done too much research and you knew now was the time, or you would never get around to it.

"You always do this," you said.

"Do what?"

"Try and table a conversation only to never come back to it. Just have a backbone and say you don't want a dog instead of hiding and avoiding it."

Rolling his eyes Harry ran a tired hand over his face. "You know what? Fine, you're right. I don't want a dog."

"But why?"

"Y/n, we travel all the time. We can't train a puppy when we're—"

Harry paused, his eyes finally opening after removing his hand from his face, his eyes settled on you, a mix of emotions quickly running across his face.

"When we're what?" you asked innocently, trying not to smile.

Still not answering, your boyfriend opened and closed his mouth as if his brain was short-circuiting. "You—You just—That's cheating."

"What do you mean?" you said, no longer trying to hide your smirk as Harry stepped closer to you, his eyes not meeting yours at all. They were focused solely on your chest, where you'd conveniently lifted your shirt to expose your breasts.

Coming out of his stupor but still not meeting your gaze, he said, "You don't get to—to use your tits against me!"

"Why, is it working?"

Harry shook his head in utter disbelief, his eyes almost completely glazed over. Whether he liked it or not, you won this round.

"Yes—No—I mean...What were we arguing about again?"

Chuckling softly, you cupped his cheek with your hand. "We were deciding on whether or not we should get a dog."

"Oh. Right. Whatever you want, baby."

"Really?"

You thought this would soften your boyfriend, push him in the right direction, but you didn't think he'd cave so quickly. Harry was already leading you toward the stairs, clearly ready to leave the argument behind.

"Course. Come convince me some more upstairs."

*.*

"Seriously? You're still on that stupid thing?"

Harry barely glanced your way before looking back at the TV, his thumbs moving furiously over his game controller. He mumbled his greeting, too engrossed in his game to acknowledge your presence.

Your boyfriend wasn't typically the video game type, only ever using his gaming console occasionally. That was until a few weeks ago when one of his friends got him hooked on some new game and now he played it nonstop. You didn't really care if Harry played video games, but this had become a fixation. It had been ages since you and him went to bed together at the same time, or gone on a date,, or had sex.

You'd been thoroughly replaced by some game.

"H, have you even gotten up from the couch since I left?"

The response Harry gave you was abysmal, only sparking your irritation more. You'd left him in that exact position hours ago to run errands, and he was still there. You doubt he'd so much as gotten up to eat since you'd been gone.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"That sounds great, baby," Harry said, his eyes still glued to his game.

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend. "I will not be second to a video game," you muttered before inching closer to the TV. With a sigh, you reached for the bottom of your shirt and lifted it up, taking the bralette you wore with you.

Harry didn't notice at first, which was really going to piss you off, but his eyes snagged on your naked chest as he switched positions on the couch. His whole body stilled as he took you in, his rapidly moving thumbs coming to a halt on his controller.

"Are you done playing now?" you asked, your brows raising expectantly.

Not looking at his game once, Harry tossed the controller on the couch and stood up. As if in a trance, he walked toward you. As he got closer, you could hear shouts of protests from his friends coming from the headset still on his head. He took that off too, then lifted you up without warning. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist as he led you to your bedroom. And when he laid you down on the bed, you grinned, satisfied that your boyfriend was still wrapped around your finger.

[schlattschlut]

On Ted’s couch (Sorry Ted!) - Schlatt Smut

Well, Schlatt fucks you on Ted’s couch after a party. Heavily inspired by THIS (ty to my bbs on discord for this idea btw)

I really need to find my motivation to write longer things again :(

Cw: Smut, drinking, drunk sex, dub con, fingering, Schlatt is Schlatt yall

1.4k words

Parties at Ted’s were always eventful, tons of drunk people coming and going; music playing in every room as people shouted over it to hear each other. Drinks were endless and everyone always seemed to enjoy themselves.

I told myself I wouldn’t drink so much this time, knowing I had to call an uber to get home. But as soon as Schlatt showed up, all hope was lost. He offered me drink after drink, ensuring my cup was never empty. He drank as much, if not more than me; yet he could stand on his own two feet as I swayed slightly.

Schlatt stood at the kitchen counter, talking to Ted about something streaming related as I clung to his side. Ted crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the sight; “You’re getting her drunk again?”

Schlatt just laughs, looking down at me as I sip from my cup again. “She gets herself drunk, I just guide her along.” He shrugs, pressing on the bottom of the cup and forcing more liquid into my mouth.

I gasp softly as he finally pulls the cup away, setting it on the counter. I wipe my mouth before clinging to his side again. Ted chuckles, picking up his drink and wandering away as Schlatt poured more tequila into my cup.

Towards the end of the night, Schlatt and I were cuddled together on Ted’s couch; an afghan blanket over our laps as I leaned my head on his shoulder.

“I should go home.” I murmur, trying to pull my phone from my pocket.

Schlatt grabs my wrist, keeping me from moving further, “Just stay the night here, I can drive you home in the morning.”

I look up at him, pressing my shoulder to the back of the couch; my vision doubling slightly as the alcohol continued to flow through my veins. I knew that I should tell him no, to hold my ground and order the uber. But he looks so hopeful, like he needs me to stay with him.

“Okay.” I mutter softly, pulling my hand away from my pocket and resting it in my lap.

A goofy smile breaks out on Schlatts face, he leans forward and kisses my temple firmly before pulling me into his side further.

Once the party dies down fully, everyone eventually finding their way out the front door. Ted wishes Schlatt and me a goodnight; demanding we don’t fuck on his couch before heading upstairs to his room.

Schlatt flips on the tv, some show playing quietly as we both stared at it in silence. He leans against the back of the couch, running his fingers through my hair slowly as my eyes flutter shut. He pulls away slightly, my eyes opening as I turn my head to look at him.

“Let me fuck you.” He practically demands, his pupils growing in size as he speaks.

My face flushes at his words, “Ted said-“

“Fuck what Ted said.” Schlatt growls, leaning in closer until our noses touched, “I’ll fuck you quietly. He’ll never know.”

I bite my cheek, blinking a few times as I process his words. My heart rate increases, my skin tingling under his touch now as my brain racks the pros and cons. I nod quickly, “Okay.” I whisper, “Quietly.”

Schlatt nods back, pushing himself forward to connect our lips. I breathe heavily as his fingers tangle in my hair, keeping me close to him as his tongue pushes past my lips; pressing against my own.

I groan softly at the feeling and Schlatt pulls away. “Shut up.” He grunts, tugging on my hair gently, “You’re supposed to be quiet.”

He kisses me again, smiling against my lips as I try to keep my noises down. His hands find my waist, slowly pulling me closer to him until I’m practically in his lap before I feel his fingers start to tug at the hem of my shirt and he breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it off. I smile softly, kissing him again before my own hands work to pull his shirt off.

Schlatt pushes me back just enough to hastily shove his shorts down his legs; leaving him bare to me as his already hard and leaking cock springs free. I bite my lip, tugging at my own pants to get them off quickly.

As soon as we’re both naked, our bodies are pressed together again; Schlatt pulls my hips against his and grunts softly as my wetness spreads against his thigh. I wrap my fingers around his length, my thumb spreading the precum over his tip as I smile sweetly at him.

“Jesus.” He moans quietly, one of his hands trailing down my leg slowly, parting my folds as watching the way his fingers come back shiny. He smiles at the sight, pressing his fingers into me quickly; his lips moving slowly down my neck and towards my chest. His mouth connects with one of my nipples; his teeth grazing it slightly.

I whimper quietly, my head falling back a bit as he curls his fingers inside me and switches to my other nipple. My hips move against his hand and my back arches into his mouth, my body craving more of him.

Schlatts free hand leaves my hip and he grabs the back of my neck, forcing my head forward as he pulled his fingers from me gently, admiring them one more time before he shoved them into my mouth. I groan around his fingers, licking them clean before he pulls away slowly.

“Fuck, I need to be in you.” Schlatt groans, adjusting his hips until his length is pressed against my entrance; he presses it against my clit a few times, gathering my wetness with his cock. I whine as he pushes himself in slowly, feeling every inch as he pushes in to the hilt.

One of my hands falls to the couch behind me, supporting my body as his hips started to thrust deeply against mine. His movements press his tip into my G-spot every time, my head lolling back in pleasure as I bite back my moans and rock my hips with his.

Schlatts hands slip around my waist, pressing against my back to keep my body close to his. My head falls back even further, my hair cascading down my shoulder as my neck is exposed to him. Schlatt leans in, covering my shoulder in kisses before biting into my neck gently.

Our hips move in time with each other, slamming into each other repeatedly as we both try to keep our noises quiet. My breathing quickens as my release starts to approach; my body squeezing around Schlatt as he presses his thumb against my clit.

“Fuck-“ I gasp out, each of his thrusts pulling the air from my lungs. My vision was clouding, my brain short circuiting and only thinking of him. “Please-“ I cry out softly.

Schlatt smirks mischievously, his hips pushing even deeper now. I can feel him pulse inside of me as he chases his own climax. “Come on, baby. Come on my cock, let’s ruin Ted’s couch.” Schlatt groans softly, his eyes watching me closely. “Need to feel you come around me.” His lips attach to my chest again; leaving soft hickeys along my skin.

His words and his tongue push me over, my body shaking slightly as I hide my face in his neck to dampen the sound of my moans. Schlatt hums contently, slowing his hips ever so slightly as he presses me back against the couch now; chasing his own high with the feeling of my own. His hips are rocking so gently yet so aggressively, I can still feel myself coming around him as he moves.

Schlatt groans as I squeeze around him again, he pulls out quickly and coming across my stomach. The warm liquid rolling off my side and onto the couch below as he strokes his length a few more times, milking himself for every drop.

Schlatt is panting heavily, his eyes on the mess he made as he composes himself. He chuckles quietly to himself, picking up his shirt off the ground and using it to clean his release off my stomach and between my thighs. He tosses the shirt down and leans forward, kissing me gently. “Aren’t you glad you stayed?” He whispers against my lips, pressing his body weight into mine and pulling the blanket over our bodies.

I hum, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling back down to lay against my chest. “Absolutely.” I murmur happily before drifting off to sleep, Schlatt starting to snore softly on top of me.

[vmsplusblog]

Open Kitchen Pros and Cons | VMS Plus

Open Kitchen vs Closed Kitchen

When choosing the best kitchen design for you, there is always that difficult choice — whether it should be an open or closed kitchen. Some kitchens are used as social areas, besides cooking and serving meals, while others are used solely for preparing and cooking meals and washing dishes.

Before you decide, it is essential to know what these two types of kitchens are, the pros and cons of open kitchen layout and the closed-off kitchen. So, let’s start with the first question.

What is an open kitchen?

An open kitchen has no walls separating the cooking area from the dining and living areas, referred to as “the great rooms.” The open-plan kitchen makes your space appear bigger than it is and facilitates the smooth flow between the common areas.

The open-plan kitchen concept has its advantages (Pros) and disadvantages (Cons), which are listed below:

Pros of an Open Kitchen

* An open kitchen is a smart way to maximize space, as no walls and doors serve as barriers.

* It allows interaction between families and friends, which is prohibited in closed-off kitchens.

* An open kitchen layout can accommodate more people.

* This open layout allows for the installation of a kitchen island.

* You can multi-task in an open kitchen. For example, you can watch TV while cooking and supervising the kids or entertaining some guests.

* More natural light can pass through an open kitchen.

CONS

These are the disadvantages of an open kitchen:

- The open kitchen is always visible to anyone who comes to the house, and it becomes self-evident if you fail to tidy up every time.

- The sound and smell of cooking travels to other house spaces.

- Cabinet space is limited because open kitchens do not have extra walls to place kitchen cabinets.

What is a closed kitchen?

A closed kitchen is a traditional kitchen layout. It is regularly seen in homes until recently. It has separating walls and barriers that differentiate the kitchen from the dining room, living room, and other spaces in the house. If you have a closed kitchen, you must go through a door before entering the space.

PROS of a Closed Kitchen

* You can hide the mess (if you do not tidy up regularly) by just closing the kitchen door.

* You have more storage. You get more options for placing cabinets, appliances and countertops.

* You can focus better when cooking or cleaning. People are unlikely to go out of their way to distract you from what you are doing.

* Cooking noise and smell are limited so that you won’t be disturbing other people in the home.

CONS of a Closed Kitchen

- Air circulation can be challenging unless your kitchen has expansive windows.

- A Closed kitchen usually lacks natural light, so it must depend on artificial lighting.

- The feeling is cramped and closeted, as this type of kitchen layout makes the space considerably smaller and will be crammed with your appliances.

The PROS and CONS of each type of kitchen layout tell the differences between the open and closed kitchens.

Important points to consider when choosing between an open and closed kitchen.

1. A closed kitchen offers more privacy and reduced noise. If you want a more private cooking experience or cooking-related noise to be separated from other house areas, your best option would be the closed kitchen design. It is also ideal if you have small children or pets, as you can have more control over your kitchen environment.

2. An open kitchen promotes social interaction. You and your guests can communicate with each other while the food is being prepared. There are no walls that separate the kitchen from the dining, living room and other areas of the house, so your space becomes more welcoming.

Conclusion:

Choosing between an open and closed kitchen should depend on your lifestyle and personal preferences. Consider your cooking habits and entertaining needs and preferences. There is no wrong or right answer because both kitchen styles have unique benefits and drawbacks.

If, despite the above, you still need help knowing which kitchen style is good for you, don’t hesitate to contact VMS Tradelink today, and let us talk about your renovation project.

[mandarinmoons]

Nothing more than friends

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral reader Summary: Faced with his feelings for you, Spencer is caught between confessing or not saying a word, as your presence in his life is something he can't go without Words: 790 Warnings: None

Spencer’s head snapped up as he heard your laughter. His head turned to the way of the kitchen, seeing you hold your hand over your mouth as you tried to control yourself, as well as Penelope wiping a few tears from her eyes and taking a breath to calm herself.

Spencer chuckled at the sight, you were professional yes, but you were also one of the most light hearted people he had ever met. It was hard not to smile whenever he, or anyone, was in your presence and your warmth had an impact on him for the rest of the day. Whenever he was down he knew who to turn to brighten his mood.

As you calmed down from your laughing fit, your eyes met Spencer’s before his glance was back down to his paperwork, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t gawking at you to save his life. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and was hoping they hadn’t turned into a betraying shade of red, he had gotten enough teasing comments from Morgan and if he were to get one more, he was sure to bury himself six feet under due to the embarrassment.

Spencer liked you, more than a coworker and definitely more than a friend, he was aware of that. He would be the dumbest person on Earth if he were to deny it, especially to himself. This wasn’t some fleeting crush he had with Lila Archer for instance, his connection to her was cut as soon as the case regarding her ended and that was that, with you it was different. He saw you nearly every single day, he had opened up to you over the years and it made your connection to each other stronger. It was hard to cut the cord on something so strong.

And that was the problem. Relationships were something that never came easy to both of you, it was one of the things that brought you closer together. You had confided to Spencer about the times you had been mistreated and how it was hard to open up again after every disappointment, he didn’t judge you, he heard you out and comforted you. He saw himself in you, a feeling he didn’t experience very often, and to feel it with you, of all people, only made him fall harder.

“I hope this never changes, what we have.”

The memory of what you said made the smile on his lips fade. Confessing to you was something that always terrified him, but after the night when you had told him those words, opening up about his feelings seemed like a no deal now. 

The bond you two shared felt like something that only happened once in a lifetime, if that. Spencer was skeptical over the concept of reincarnation, but he would be lying if he were to say that he didn’t think about you and him meeting in a past life late at night when he wasn’t able to sleep.

He weighed the pros and cons of the situation seemingly every day. He was so consumed by it that Hotch himself had noticed the decline of the quality of Spencer’s work. He asked Spencer if he needed help, which he declined, and seeing his superior walk back to his office, he knew he was in hot water. You had consumed every part of his mind that it was just as the words Emily once said.

“Just like that, an IQ of 187 is slashed to 60.”

You made Spencer feel dumb and he couldn’t be happier. He was constantly at war with himself in his mind, some say the knowledge someone like him holds is a gift, a miracle even, but you don’t have to be a genius to know that knowing more isn’t always better. It was more of a curse than a blessing and whenever he was with you, he felt relief. With you he didn’t have to be the smartest person in the room, he didn’t have to be the guy who always had the answers, with you he could be just Spencer, the kind hearted man who would make your day with his magic tricks.

That is why he had stayed quiet for so long. What he had with you was one of the most precious things in his life, it was something far too great to risk, so he stayed silent. He sat at his desk, quietly stealing glances at you to get through the day, seeing if he could catch a glimpse of your smile so he could smile as well, but through all of that, he was dying on the inside, slowly but surely, with the words he hadn’t said.

You can find my masterlists here! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[allthingsfangirl101]

A Night On The Couch – Glen Powell

Masterlist

Y/N got home from work past 7 o'clock. She hung her keys and jacket by the door. She let her work bag fall off her shoulder and left it by the door. She headed straight to the bedroom and quickly changed into a baggy shirt and a pair of leggings. She took off her makeup and pulled her hair into a messy bun.

When she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of wine, she noticed she was home alone. She grabbed her phone but stopped. She knew there was no point in calling her husband. She knew that he wouldn't answer his phone while at work.

The pros and cons of being married to an actor.

Y/N sat on the couch with her glass of wine in her hand. Memories of the horrible day raced through her mind. All she wanted right now was to wrap herself in her husband's arms.

Instead, she spent several hours sipping wine, watching a horrible reality show, with tears streaming down her face. When the front door opened, she let out a sigh of relief.

"You're home," Y/N said shakily as she put her empty glass of wine on the coffee table and stood up.

"Not for long!" Glen called out as he jogged upstairs. Just as soon as she was filled with hope, it shattered.

"Of course," she mumbled as she went to the kitchen and poured herself another glass. She walked back out as Glen ran down the stairs he just ran up, except now he was in different clothes.

"Sorry, babe. I gotta get going. I have a meeting and then. . ."

"I'm not surprised," she said, making him stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Seriously?" She scoffed. "Glen, this is the longest conversation we've had all month."

"And?" He shrugged. "We're both busy. You're the assistant to that big magazine producer."

"Eddie Morris," she sighed. "He's the editor of Vogue magazine."

"I said that," he brushed off. "What I was saying is that we're both busy. It happens to married couples who both work. It's normal."

"No, it's not, Glen."

"Of course it is," he shrugged grabbing his jacket from the closet and slipping it on. "Honey, it's difficult for married couples to both work and still have time for each other."

"Maybe that should tell us something," Y/N mumbled. "Glen, don't you think we should talk about that? We're never around each other and we never seem to mind. I'd really hate to say this, but maybe it would be easier for us to. . ."

"Don't say it," he said harshly as he turned around.

"It's not like I want a divorce," she tried to reassure him.

"You just said. . ."

"I  was going to say that we should talk to someone."

"Therapy?" Glen scoffed.

"Look, it's no secret that our marriage has been rough. We need to make more time for each other, Glen," she reworded. "We should take a break from our jobs and go on a trip or. . ."

"I can't take time off my work," he cut her off. "We're in the middle of a big movie. Plus, we're already behind and they haven't even finished writing the last few scenes. But your job is. . ."

"Not important?" Y/N finished for him. "Gee, thanks, Glen. Such a loving and supportive husband."

"I was just going to say that your schedule is a little more flexible than mine."

"I don't set my schedule, Glen," she corrected him. "Eddie does. And he's a bigger workaholic than you! Which means I get dragged along."

Y/N's voice broke at the end of the sentence, remembering the conversation she and Eddie had a few hours ago. Her husband didn't notice her whole expression change.

"Glen, I know you have a big important 'meeting' at the nearest bar with your costars," Y/N continued, the tone of her voice different, "but I really need to talk to you."

"Can we talk later?" He sighed, not hiding his annoyance. "I don't have time, Y/N."

"Glen, please," she said, her voice breaking. "I really need some time with my husband—just him and me. No work. No phones. No distractions. I need to tell you that I was talking to Eddie today and he decided to. . ."

"I have to go, Y/N," he cut her off.

"Of course you do!" Y/N laughed harshly, her anger from the events of the day finally bursting. "Considering your work is sooo important to you. Much more important than your wife."

"Come on, Y/N," he sighed. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Y/N scoffed. "We are in the middle of a fight and you're choosing your job over me. Like you always do. You know what, Glen? Go. Go to work. And when you get home at 2 AM, you can sleep on the couch."

* * * * *

Y/N wasn't sure what time Glen got home. She went to bed after finishing the bottle of wine and didn't hear him get home. Glen got home a little after 3 am. He kicked off his shoes and instantly went upstairs to their bedroom. With his hand on the door handle, he froze. His argument with Y/N replayed in his mind.

He softly opened the door and saw her asleep in their bed. He wanted to wake her up and apologize over and over again. He wanted to take three months off so he could spend time with his wife and take her away from here and her job. . .

Her job. Something happened with her job yesterday and he left her.

He took a step into their room to talk to her but stopped. She had told him to sleep on the couch. He didn't want to. He wanted to wake her up and spend all night talking.

But he didn't. He turned around, closed the door gently, and walked back downstairs. He sat on the couch and instantly ran his fingers through his hair. He laid down, his mind racing through what could've happened to Y/N at work.

A few hours later, he woke up with his entire back aching. He froze when he heard her coming down the stairs. He sat up and watched Y/N come downstairs.

"Morning," he said to get her to acknowledge him.

"Morning," Y/N whispered as she walked into the kitchen. Glen watched as she walked over and poured herself a cup of coffee. Glen slowly stood up and tried not to stretch out his back in front of her.

She was now sitting at the table, slowly drinking her coffee. When he walked in, she froze but didn't look up at him. He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked, trying to get her to talk to him.

"Fine," she mumbled. He looked down and saw that she was still in her pajamas when she was usually in her work clothes at this time.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?" Glen asked as he numbly drank the coffee.

"I would," she sighed. "But I don't work there anymore."

"Wait, what?" He roughly put down his cup on the counter and ran over to her. He knelt next to her and gently put his hands on her knees. "What happened, sweetheart?"

"It doesn't matter," she tried to brush off. She stood up, making Glen's hands fall off her knees. "Don't you have to get to work?"

"I'm calling in sick," he said, waiting for her reaction. Y/N turned around and studied him.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah," he said, walking over to her. "Turns out my wife needs some attention and she needs her husband to cheer her up."

Y/N threw her arms around Glen's neck, practically jumping into his arms, as she pressed her lips to his. Glen instantly caught her and started kissing her back.

"I'm really sorry about your job," he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers.

"I'm honestly not," she shrugged, leaning back.

"Let's get some bagels and we can talk about everything."

"Thank you," Y/N said with tears in her eyes. Glen leaned in and kissed her.

"I'm really sorry about making you think that my job is more important than you," he said, tightening his arms around her. "It's not true. Nothing is more important than you, Y/N. I love you."

"I love you too, Glen," she whispered, her voice breaking. He leaned in and kissed his wife. He broke the kiss with a playful smirk.

"Does this mean I don't have to sleep on the couch anymore?"

[yapuniversity]

He eats you out in order to make up for his mistake - (JJK fic or anyone you like)

(The ‘He’ can be anyone you want. Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, the choice is yours<3)

This blog contains NSFW content so MDNI!!!

With that being said, i hope you enjoy (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

You and him have been living together for almost a month now. Before moving in, you guys have been dating each other for over a year. Moving in together was a big step and at first, you and him were nervous about this decision. But as the days passed by, you guys found it rather comforting and safe in each other's presence. Ofcourse, living together has its own pros and cons, but the pros outweighed the cons. The thing now is that you guys have a lot of time to spend together and well, the ‘spending time together’ meant showing one another how much you loved each other. And that meant a lot of physical activity.

Each day spent together increased the yearning for one another and now, it was hard for you guys to stay apart for a long time. Wanting each other turned into needing each other and needing each other turned into yearning for one another. But you guys couldn't help it.

It was one of those days where you had just come home from work but you still had a meeting to attend. You walk into your apartment and remove your shoes, placing them on the shoe rack.

“I'm home, honey.” you say, calling out to him. You look towards the kitchen and see him walking towards you, a proud grin on his face.

“There's my baby girl.” he says, closing the distance between the two of you and leaning in for a kiss. His hands subconsciously resting on your lower back as he pulls your body against his. He pulls back and kisses your cheek before asking, “how was your day, love?”

You sigh, giving him a tired look. “Hectic. I have another meeting to attend right now.”

“What?” he frowns, “can't they give you a break?”

“Well,” you say, while you stand on your toes to peck him on his cheek, “they don't care. But look at you, dressed in an apron?” you scan him from head to toe, a small smile playing on your lips.

His frowning expression turns soft. A shy look taking over his face. “I thought I'd make you something special. You know, for working so hard.”

You giggle at his remark and softly peck him on his lips before saying, “thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. But I'll be right back. I have a meeting to attend, remember?”

He nods understandingly and you make your way to your work desk. You close the door behind you, put your bag down, open your laptop and log into the meeting. For about twenty minutes, your focus is completely on the meeting. But then you see the door to your room is slightly being opened.

“Baby?” you call out. He enters the room, apron off - his shirtless body standing at the entrance of your door.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a hissed voice, eyes wide. You watch him as he confidently yet gently walks over to you, stopping right in front of your desk. “Love, what are you-” But before you could complete your sentence, his frame is immediately next to yours, and he quietly rests on his knees. “Baby-” you begin to say but stop your words when he slowly rests his head on your lap.

“I missed you, baby,” he says, neediness in his voice.

“I did too but this is not the right time to-”

“Shhh,” he whispers. “You don't know what I mean.”

“What has gotten into you?” you ask in a low voice. You look at your laptop screen and sigh in relief when you see that you’re on mute.

“It's just…I missed you. A lot,” he says, his head still rested on your lap.

“I did too, baby but-” but right before you could complete your sentence, you watch his hands tenderly yet forcefully pull your legs apart.

“What are you doin-” you begin to argue but he places a finger on his lips, commanding you to be quiet. He licks his lips when he sees your legs spread apart, revealing your red lace underwear. Regardless of being pissed at him for acting so carelessly during this situation, you can’t help but feel turned on by his actions.

“Let me prove to you how much I missed you,” he says and before you knew it, he buries his face in between your legs, inhaling your scent. You squirm under his sudden movement and a proud smile spreads across his lips. He gently nibs your underwear with his tongue and your hands immediately cover your mouth to muffle a moan.

“Is everything okay y/n?” a person in the meeting asks. That's when you realise that your camera was still switched on and your face drops in horror.

“Whoops,” you hear him say, his face still buried between your legs as he begins to draw small circles on your underwear. You push his face away and look at your laptop, “yes, sir. Everything is fine. I just hurt my toe.” The person on the other end does not say anything, just nods his head and concludes the meeting without any explanation.

“Fuck!” you exclaim in annoyance.

“What's the matter, baby?” he says, acting oblivious.

“What did you just do?” you ask, anger filled in your voice.

“I was just-” but before he could complete his sentence, you get up on your feet and walk away from him and head towards the door.

“You were just what? Do you not know what you have just done!” Before you left the room, you turned back to look at him - giving him a disapproving look. You watch his expression change from playful to instant regret. “Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you like that, baby,” he says as he sprints to his feet and rushes to you. Just before he could get to you, you slam the door on his face. “Don't talk to me!” you exclaim in anger. You stride towards your room but before you could enter your room, you feel a pair of hands grabbing you from the waist and pulling your body towards them.

“I made a mistake, I'm sorry. Now please, let me make it up to you.” he pleads, his cheeks flushed red as he fights back tears.

“How could you do this to me?” you say, freeing yourself from his grip and turning in his direction to look at him.

“I'm sorry. I really am, baby,” he pleads, his voice coming out dense and low. You open your mouth to say something but before you could process any words, he lifts you up and takes you to the bedroom, gently placing you down on the bed as he sits at your feet. “Baby, I'm sorry,” he says once again, his voice filled with regret. You can't help but feel bad by the way you lashed out at him.

You let out a disappointed sigh, “please don't ever do that again.”

“I promise,” he says while nodding.

You smile at him, cup his face in your hands and gently kiss him. He returns your kiss, but with more passion and eagerness. He pushes you on your back and straddles you. His kiss is deep and desperate - making it seem like this is what he's been thinking about all day. He pulls back from your lips and helps you remove your clothes, urgency in his movements. Once you've got nothing on but your red lace panties on, a grin takes over his face and he places himself between your thighs. “I've been wanting to taste you the entire day,” he says as he once again buries his face in between your legs. Your hips thrust against his face in response and he considers this as an invitation to take your panties off. You look at him with desire in your eyes and lift your hips, encouraging him to remove the last piece of your clothing. He takes your panties towards his nose and lets out a low growl when he inhales your wetness. Your thighs squeeze shut in response, unable to handle the lust that fills your body. A mischievous smile spreads across his face when he sees the way your body reacts to him and without hesitation, he spreads your legs open and lets his tongue do the magic. He licks your sensitive bud and hums in pleasure when he feels your hands running through his hair, pulling him closer to your centre.

“You drive me crazy, baby.” he says, increasing his pace on your sweet dripping cunt. You bite the back of your hand, muffling the moans that are fighting to escape your throat. “Cum for me. Show me how much you missed me,” he says, teasing you while tenderly nibbling your clit. You couldn't hold it in any longer. A loud moan of pleasure escapes your lips as you finally let yourself free. Your legs tremble around him but he's not done yet. He continues to devour your pussy and does not stop until he’s fully cleaned you with his tongue.

Once he's proud of work and sees you lying down with a flush expression on your face, he smiles at you proudly and nuzzles your neck in appreciation before saying, “That's my good girl.”

do not plagiarise, copy, translate or repost my works on any platform!!!

divider credit - @anitalenia <3

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 6 - Please Don't Die

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: they go house hunting and things go sideways.

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: a bit more angst because why not

word count: 2.8k

Part 5

—//—

The street was quieter than expected.

That was your first clue something might be off. No dragging footsteps. No guttural moans carried by the wind. Just the low rustle of breeze through trees and the faint creak of an old street sign swaying lazily above the cracked pavement.

You and Jenna slowed your bikes at the edge of the block, shoes hitting asphalt almost in sync. She scanned the rooftops while you pulled the crumpled flyer from your jacket pocket and looked up at the actual house - or what was left of it.

“This the one?” Jenna asked, coming up beside you.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, holding out the page for her to see. “It’s a match.”

Or, it had been.

The front porch had collapsed inward, boards snapped like ribs. One of the support beams was cracked in half, crushed beneath the weight of a massive tree that had fallen straight through the second floor. Glass crunched underfoot as you moved closer, boots skimming along the edge of a splintered welcome mat now buried beneath debris.

You gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Jenna frowned. “Looks like a hurricane came through here.”

She crouched near the foundation, lifting a cracked plank with her knife and peering into the ruined understructure. “This place is a coffin waiting to happen.”

You exhaled slowly. “Was really hoping this one would hold up.”

“Me too.” Her voice was neutral, but you caught the flicker of disappointment behind it. She’d been hopeful too - just quieter about it.

Still, neither of you wasted time mourning it. You were already moving - circling the house, checking sightlines, exits, rooftops, scanning for movement. It felt easy. Natural. Like you’d always done this together.

You split off briefly to check the detached garage. Jenna scouted the overgrown backyard, her boots making almost no sound in the grass. She moved with purpose - sharp eyes, quiet hands. You heard the soft click of her rifle safety disengaging for half a second, then a whisper of breath as she flicked it back on.

“No good,” you said when you met back at the front. “Too many structural weak points.”

She nodded. “And there’s a crawlspace behind the fence. Not safe.”

You both paused for a beat, standing there in the soft hum of the late morning, the wind tugging lightly at your clothes.

Then Jenna reached for the flyer in your hand.

“Cons: compromised roof, unstable foundation, one tree through the guest bedroom.” She flipped the flyer over and scribbled it down with a stub of pencil.

You snorted. “Pros?”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Nice hydrangeas out front.”

You chuckled, then nudged her shoulder. “On to the next?”

She tucked the flyer away. “Lead the way.”

-

The next house was three blocks down - a squat, single-storey thing with boarded windows and a cracked chimney. You climbed the fence while Jenna boosted herself up with the help of a low brick wall. The gate squeaked but didn’t break.

Inside, it smelled like damp wood and dust.

You moved through it fast - room by room, tight corners, open hallways - Jenna taking point while you swept behind. Neither of you had to speak. You knew the routine. Doors first, then windows. Look for water lines, cracks in the walls, attic space, floor rot, cellar access. Rinse and repeat.

“This one’s clear,” she said eventually, voice low.

“Not bad,” you replied, glancing up at a patch of black mould blooming across the kitchen ceiling. “Still smells like a swamp threw up in here.”

Jenna looked at you, nose wrinkled. “It’s the carpet.”

You kicked it gently with your boot. “What’s left of it.”

She cracked a grin. “We’ll put it down as a maybe.”

You ended up checking four more houses that afternoon.

Some were too cramped. Some had broken locks. One had a basement you both noped out of the second you heard that echo - not quite a growl, not quite a moan, but close enough.

You stopped writing cons by the third one. Started using symbols instead. “ 🐳 = flooded.” “⚠ = damaged.” “ 😵 = smells like death.”

Jenna drew that one.

By the fifth house, you weren’t even trying to be quiet anymore. Not unless you had to. It was strange - moving through the ruins of civilisation with someone again. Someone who didn’t need everything explained. Someone who moved with you.

You climbed through a broken front window while Jenna secured the back door. By the time she reappeared in the living room, you were kneeling over a gutted fireplace, scanning for loose wiring.

She leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “You always take the electrical stuff so seriously?”

You looked up at her. “I’m not giving up my coffee machine when we find a house.”

Jenna smirked. “Apocalypse priorities.”

“Say that again when I brew you a cup.”

She held your gaze a little longer than necessary - not teasing now, just curious. You caught her eyes flick to your mouth, then back up. A breath passed between you. Quiet. Steady.

You stood and dusted off your hands. “Not it,” you said, nodding toward the sagging roof.

“Definitely not it,” she agreed.

Back on the bikes, the air cooled slightly as clouds drifted across the sun. The wind picked up. You adjusted your pack, feeling the familiar weight against your spine, and glanced sideways.

“So,” you started. “What do you think? How long do these things last?”

Jenna turned toward you, a brow raised. “Zombies?”

You nodded. “Assuming no head trauma. How long before they just… fall apart?”

She thought for a moment. “Six months. Tops. The fresh ones are strong, but that’s adrenaline. After that, muscle decay’s going to hit hard. No food. No oxygen. No brain.”

You hummed. “I say three.”

“Three?” She scoffed. “You’re optimistic.”

“They’re already rotting. The moment they turn. It’s just delayed. Something in the virus slows it down.”

“And when’s the last time you saw one that far along?”

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “We haven’t. Yet.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes playfully. “You think you’re gonna win a Nobel for zombie decomposition theory?”

You grinned. “I’m just saying - if we make it to Christmas, they won’t.”

She chuckled. “Bold of you to assume we’ll be around to find out.”

You paused, looked at her sideways. “Well, I plan to be.”

That quiet settled again.

Not heavy this time. Just full.

And when she smiled at you, soft and crooked, you smiled back.

Together, you turned down the next street.

-

The sun had started to sink behind the rooftops, spilling honey-gold light across the street as you pedalled slowly ahead. The silence was changing - less of a threat, more of a hush. A settling.

Jenna pulled up beside you at the end of the cul-de-sac, scanning the last house on the map. She didn’t even get off her bike.

You did.

You stood beside the rusted gate, hands braced on the handlebars, squinting at the peeling paint and crooked shutters. “Well?”

Jenna didn’t respond right away. She was still looking around, but you could tell by her posture - half-tired, half-bored - that this one was another no.

You sighed. “Alright. No more for today.”

She gave a little nod, but said nothing.

You paused. Watched the way her jaw shifted. She was trying not to show it, but the exhaustion was there - in the tightness around her eyes, the slump in her shoulders. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of dried fruit since midday. And neither of you had slept properly in days.

You cleared your throat and adjusted the strap on your shoulder.

“My place isn’t far,” you said casually. “We could crash there tonight.”

Jenna turned her head toward you.

You shrugged. “It’s secure. Reinforced. Two-storey. I’ve got rainwater collectors and a half-decent mattress.”

She hesitated, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” You raised a brow. “You gonna sleep in a tree again?”

She shot you a look - but it was mostly smirk.

Then you tilted your head. “I’ll cook.”

That made her blink.

“I’ve got canned potatoes. Lentils. Spices. Some ham. I can do a warm meal. Might even toast the bread if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have heat?”

You tapped your temple. “Solar panel battery backups. And I rationed my last camp stove cartridge for emergencies.”

Jenna folded her arms. “And this qualifies as an emergency?”

You grinned. “You look like someone who hasn’t eaten a hot meal since the world fell apart.”

She didn’t deny it.

You leaned closer, voice dipping just a little. “Come on. Warm food. No tree roots stabbing you in the back. Real pillows. I’ll even let you have the couch.”

She stared at you a moment longer. Then: “I’m not cleaning up after.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Another beat.

Then Jenna swung her leg back over the bike and adjusted her gloves. “Alright.”

You laughed, pedalling ahead. “Try not to starve on the way.”

-

You were less than five minutes from home when it happened.

The neighbourhood was familiar - rows of overgrown lawns, shattered windows, the wind knocking an old windchime somewhere out of sight. You were already starting to relax. The streetlights were crooked, long dead, but the amber glow of the setting sun was enough to guide you. You could almost smell the spices you’d stashed in your pantry. You were already thinking about the lentils. The warm meal you’d promised her.

You were thinking about the smile she’d given you, rare and quiet, like she didn’t know she’d done it.

And then you heard it.

A shuffle. A grunt.

Too close.

Too fast.

You didn’t have time to shout.

It was on you before you could even draw your machete - tall, still heavy with muscle, a face not yet rotted, jaw twitching with feral hunger. One of the fast ones. One of the fresh ones. It lunged with no hesitation.

The impact sent you crashing backwards, your bike clattering against the pavement. Pain shot through your leg - something tore, something snapped - and then the edge of the curb slammed into your back, knocking the breath clean out of your chest.

“Y/N!”

You heard her shout before you could even register where she was. Your vision blurred as the weight pressed down on your abdomen, hot breath on your throat, teeth snapping inches from your face.

You screamed.

Your hand found your blade.

Instinct took over.

You shoved upward with all the strength left in your arms, the machete piercing through the side of its neck - not clean, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send it reeling.

Then Jenna was there. She moved like a strike of lightning - her rifle swinging down too close to your ear, the butt slamming into the zombie’s skull with a sickening crack. You heard the sound of bone giving way. The creature dropped, twitching once before going still.

Everything was silent again.

Except for your breathing - ragged. Sharp. Wet.

And the pain.

Oh God, the pain.

You curled sideways, arms wrapping tight around your midsection, but the burning in your abdomen was already spreading. You touched your side, and your hand came away soaked.

Jenna dropped beside you in an instant. “Shit. Shit- Y/N- where are you hurt? Where-”

“I don’t-” you panted. “Leg… side- fuck-”

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. Just-just breathe, alright?”

You were already trying not to pass out. The world kept tilting. Black dots danced at the edges of your eyes.

Jenna pressed a cloth - something, her sleeve maybe - to your stomach. “Stay with me. Where’s your place?”

You blinked, blinking hard, trying to focus on her voice. “Two streets down. White siding. Solar panels.”

She looked up. Calculating.

“I can get us there,” she muttered. “But you have to stay awake, alright?”

You groaned. “No promises.”

She ignored that. Her hands were already under your shoulders.

The pain was indescribable when she moved you. Your leg throbbed, your vision went white, and you screamed - not just noise, but a sound torn out of you like it didn’t belong to anything human. Jenna flinched but didn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering. “I’m sorry. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t walk, not properly, but you gave her directions between choked breaths.

“Left… behind the blue car…”

“Yeah, I see it. We’re close. You’re doing so good, Y/N. Just a little more.”

Every step was a fight not to black out. You kept blinking, forcing your mouth to stay open, kept talking just to make noise. Your ears rang. Your ankle felt like fire. You were fairly certain you’d torn something deeper than you wanted to admit.

Jenna kicked the door open when you finally reached your house.

You didn’t even register the stairs.

You didn’t remember the couch.

You remembered Jenna’s boots slamming against the tile.

The sound of your own breathing - gasping, hitched, like your lungs couldn’t decide what they wanted.

Then there was fabric. The scratch of the blanket. The cold against your back. You were lying down. Your eyes fluttered open for a second, catching the ceiling above you - cracked paint, water stain, familiar. Home.

“Stay with me,” Jenna was saying. Over and over. Her voice was everywhere. Beside your head. Near your stomach. Somewhere by your hands.

You tried to speak. Only managed a whimper.

She was kneeling next to the couch now, her backpack already tossed aside. “Where’s the kit? Y/N, talk to me- where is it?”

“Pantry,” you rasped. “Bottom shelf. Behind… the rice.”

She was up before you finished the sentence, vanishing into the back of the house with heavy, frantic footsteps. You blinked slowly, the world pulling in and out like a tide. Your fingers curled weakly against the couch cushion. It felt like something was leaking from you - not just blood, but strength. Time. Whatever thread you were holding onto was fraying fast.

Jenna returned in less than a minute, the kit slamming onto the glass coffee table hard enough to rattle it. She pulled it open with trembling hands, her gloves discarded, hair sticking to her face.

“I need to see it,” she muttered. “I need to see.”

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t have the energy.

She peeled up your shirt. Her breath caught.

“Oh my God.”

It was bad. You’d seen enough injuries in the last two months to know. The wound across your abdomen wasn’t just deep - it was jagged. Torn. The blood had already soaked through half your shirt, down the side of your hip.

Jenna’s hands hovered over it, then shook once before she snapped on latex gloves from the kit.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

You weren’t. And she knew it. But you let her say it anyway.

She cleaned the area - iodine, gauze, more gauze, more blood.

Then she picked up the needle.

You flinched.

“Y/N.” Her voice cracked. “I need to stitch this.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

You blinked, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s okay.”

She knelt beside you, knees pressing into the floor, hand on your waist.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Then the needle sank in.

You screamed.

It ripped out of you like fire - a sound so loud, so sharp, it made Jenna jerk back, her whole body tense.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- please just- don’t move-”

You couldn’t help it. Your body twitched, convulsed slightly as your hand slammed against the back of the couch, trying to brace against the pain.

She was crying now. You could hear it in her voice, even if you couldn’t see her face.

“I can’t numb it- there’s nothing to numb it, Y/N, I’m sorry- I need you to stay still-”

You whimpered, your whole body shaking. “I c-can’t- Jen- please-”

“I know, I know-” She bit down on her own sob. “But I have to-”

She pushed the needle in again.

You cried out, louder this time, a strangled sound that felt like it broke you in half.

Her voice cracked. “Please just pass out. Please, Y/N. Just-just go under, I’ll handle the rest- just let go-”

“I’m trying-” you gasped, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I can’t do this if you keep-” Her voice failed. “You’re going to tear more- God, please. I've got you, I got you, please- Y/N-”

The next stitch went in.

And something snapped - not inside your body, but in your mind.

The pain blurred. The light dimmed.

Everything tipped sideways.

You stopped fighting it.

The last thing you heard was Jenna’s broken sob as she gripped your hand tightly in one of hers, the other still working.

“Please don’t die,” she whispered.

And then-

Nothing.

--//--

Part 7

[amourquinn]

( short fic ) 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

pairing : fwb!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.3k

genre : fluff(?) angst(?) quinn and reader have too many thoughts in their heads no warnings really

summary : you and quinn navigate the blurred lines of what you have going on, each secretly wondering if there’s more between you than just physical connection

quinn sat alone in his dark apartment, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound cutting through the stillness. his phone rested in his palm, the soft glow from the screen illuminating his face as his thumb hovered over a single contact.

he didn’t know why he felt this way tonight. maybe it was the silence, or the ache that came with sitting in a space that no longer felt like home. his teammates had plans, the usual banter and beers, but he’d turned it down, muttering some halfhearted excuse. the truth was, he didn’t feel like being around anyone who’d ask too many questions.

no one except you.

are you up?

he hit send and dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside him, holding his breath like he was waiting for something that might not come.

it was late—later than a reasonable hour to be texting someone you weren’t technically dating. “friends” didn’t fit either. friends didn’t hold each other the way you did when the lights were off. friends didn’t seek comfort in the warmth of someone else’s bed after long, lonely nights.

a few minutes passed. quinn exhaled, leaning back against the couch, and just as his phone buzzed, his heart jumped.

y/n : yeah, i’m up. you okay?

he hesitated for a moment, fingers ghosting over the screen. he didn’t want to say too much. this thing between you didn’t have boundaries, but it had unspoken rules. don’t ask too much. don’t admit too much. don’t be too honest.

can i come over?

the typing bubbles appeared and disappeared once, twice. he imagined you sitting there, curled up in the oversized sweater you liked to sleep in, weighing the pros and cons of letting him in. finally, your answer came.

y/n : yeah. door’s open

⋆˙⟡

when he showed up at your door, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his hair damp from a quick shower, you couldn’t help but smile faintly. it was late—too late for casual hangouts—but you didn’t mind. you hadn’t been able to shake your own restlessness, and quinn’s presence felt like a solution to a problem neither of you had named.

“hey,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

“hey.” he shrugged out of his jacket and toed off his sneakers. there was an easy familiarity to his movements, like he’d done this a hundred times before. and he had.

the two of you ended up on your couch, the same couch that had seen more than a few nights like this one. you handed him a glass of water, taking a sip from your own as you curled your legs beneath you. the silence was comfortable, but it felt heavier tonight, like something unsaid hung between you.

“you okay?” you asked eventually, looking at him through the soft glow of the lamp on your side table.

quinn glanced at you, the muscles in his jaw working like he was debating whether to tell the truth. “yeah. just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

your heart tugged at his honesty. “me either,” you admitted, your voice quiet.

that seemed to catch his attention. he turned to face you a little more, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “why’s that?”

you shrugged, swirling the water in your glass. “i don’t know. i think i get in my own head when it’s this quiet. makes me think about… things.”

“what kinds of things?”

“things i’m not sure i want to talk about.” you shot him a small, teasing smile to lighten the weight of the conversation. “what about you?”

he didn’t smile back—not fully. “probably the same.”

and just like that, the air between you changed. it wasn’t the usual easy companionship, the stolen moments of closeness that you had both become so used to. tonight felt different, and you weren’t sure how to handle that.

“do you ever think about…” quinn trailed off, his voice low and unsure.

“think about what?”

he shifted a little, looking at his hands. “where this is going. us, i mean.”

your heart skipped a beat. “quinn…”

“i’m not saying i want to mess this up,” he cut in quickly, like he needed to get the words out before he lost his nerve. “i just—i think about it sometimes. what it would be like if we tried to be more than… this.”

you stared at him, your pulse racing in your ears. this—whatever “this” was—had worked because it was easy. there were no strings, no expectations, just you and quinn finding comfort in each other when you needed it most. but now, he was opening a door you weren’t sure you were ready to walk through.

“do you want that?” you asked softly, carefully.

quinn ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. “i don’t know. maybe. i just—” he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the honesty in his eyes made your chest ache. “i like being around you. not just like this. i like talking to you and… knowing you’re here. i don’t want to lose that.”

you swallowed, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened at his words. “i feel the same way,” you admitted.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between you. it was terrifying to admit what you were both feeling—to acknowledge that maybe this thing you had wasn’t as casual as you’d pretended it was.

quinn shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours as he leaned back into the couch. “you don’t have to answer right now. i just… i wanted you to know.”

you looked at him, at the way his brows furrowed in that familiar way they always did when he was thinking too hard about something. you’d seen him like this before—vulnerable and quiet—but tonight, it hit you differently. maybe because you felt the same way.

“okay,” you said softly, reaching out to place your hand on his arm. “thank you for telling me.”

he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his shoulders relaxed slightly. then, you shifted closer, your body leaning gently against his. “you don’t have to leave tonight if you don’t want to.”

it wasn’t an offer you usually made. you didn’t stay. it was an unspoken rule. but something in the way you said it—soft, tentative—made quinn’s heart skip a beat.

“you sure?” he asked, searching your face.

you smiled faintly. “yeah. i think i’d like it if you stayed.”

quinn let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a quiet “okay” falling from his lips. he shifted so his arm could wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close. your head rested against his chest, and for the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t feel so loud.

you stayed like that for a while—two lonely people finding solace in each other’s presence. quinn could feel himself relaxing, his eyes starting to drift shut as he breathed you in.

the admission hung in the air between the two of you, fragile but undeniable. quinn felt something shift inside him, like a door cracking open. maybe tonight wasn’t just another lonely night. maybe it was the start of something more.

you smiled—a real one this time, not the tired version you’d worn earlier—and settled back against his chest. he held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his eyes slipped closed.

there was still so much left unsaid, but for now, this was enough. almost something, but not quite.

and maybe that was okay. for tonight.

© amourquinn

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Sanji (One Piece) x Reader ...a kiss to shut them up

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss to shut Sanji up

You really could listen to Sanji talk about cooking forever. From the way he danced effortlessly around the kitchen as he described the flavour profile he intended to build, to the way his eyes sparkled as he so beautifully presented a bowl of heartfelt sustenance in front of you day in and day out, it was a joy to be a part of his whole creative endeavour. The only problem with Sanji's ability to take non-stop about ingredients, techniques and far-off cuisines, was sometimes he almost seemed to forget to cook as he spoke.

You really thought you could listen to the blonde-haired, lovesick chef talk about cooking forever. But sometimes you just really need him to focus on making you breakfast.

You had just passed a grueling night keeping watch from the crow's nest, near countless waves appearing on the horizon just tall enough to need adjustments to the vessel's steering. You had been concentrating for the full ten hour stretch before finally only one thing stood between you and your well-deserved rest; breakfast.

Sanji was alone in the ship's kitchen as you dragged yourself through the heavy doors, the hour still too early for any of the rest of the crew to have risen from their hammocks. His face lit up the moment you appeared, watching you eagerly as you retreated to the furthest corner of the room to settle in while he worked. It wasn't long until his usual parade of comments came your way, describing the dish he intended to cook in the utmost detail. However you couldn't help but notice that as he described each ingredient he intended to use, his hands would dance around in front of him, rather than doing any of the tasks required in the meal's preparation.

"Sanji, I usually love your recipe chat, but it's been a really long night. Any chance you could make me something a bit quicker than usual?"

"Right, of course, I won't be more than a moment sweetheart." He shrugged off the comment, finally taking a pot of the shelves behind him, getting your hopes up, only for him to spend the next ten minutes debating the pros and cons of each of the shiny copper pans.

"Sanji, please! Breakfast?" You tried not to be short with him, your usual affections for the chef quickly getting shrouded by the growing hunger and exhaustion taking over your frame.

"Almost there my love." He lied, immediately launching back into his excitable monologue about how each dish requires an immense amount of thought, as you deserve only the finest of meals because you are the absolute finest of company. Normally his sweet talk and compliments were music to your ears, but today all you could focus on was that the more that he moved his mouth, the less progress he made in cooking. Finally you knew you needed to resort to truly desperate measures if you wanted to get to bed before the kitchen filled with the rest of the crew, and your chance for an hour of quiet to fall asleep in, went straight out the window.

Letting out an audible sigh of exhaustion, you rose from your seat, taking slow and deliberate steps towards Sanji, who had not stopped talking, even as he eyed you intently. As you drew closer to the chef, you kept your gaze solely fixed on his ever-moving lips, so much so that by the time you stood just a step away from him he was starting to trip over his words, cheeks getting flushed at the unusual, but not unwanted, attention.

"Is, uh, there something I-" You cut off his mumbled offer by placing one hand lightly on the nape of his neck, the other combing the blonde locks out of his eyes so you were sure his vision wouldn't be obscured for this. With his lips finally still, parted slightly in disbelief, you pressed our own gently against them. It was just a light peck, lingering for a moment longer than you had planned to, enjoying the welcoming warmth that his mouth seemed to offer but stepping away from his now dazed expression.

After a moment of processing that on this random Tuesday morning, all of his dreams had suddenly come true, a huge beaming grin broke out on Sanji's face. He leant forward to chase your lips again, looking like a sad puppy when you placed a hand on his chest to stop his getting close enough to taste you again.

"You can kiss me again," his eyes lit up,"as much as you want", his jaw dropped "but only after you've given me breakfast."

He scanned your intense gaze for any sign of joking or hesitation, but in realising the gravity of the situation he nodded like an army general given new orders and immediately got back to work, only letting himself steal the occasional lovestruck glance your way as he focused on his mission. You relished sitting in that comfortable silence as he worked, enjoying every manic smile he threw your way until your morning's peace was interrupted by an intruder to the tension between the two of you.

"Good morning Sanji! What are you working on today?" Usopp was cheery and chatty as he strolled into the kitchen, sitting directly opposite Sanji for their usual morning discussions.

"Shush!" Was all the frantic chef could dignify as a response as he finally plated up the dish he'd been working on for you, tossing his apron aside the moment he was done and dashing over to your table to set the plate in front of you. He squished himself onto the bench at your side, letting his arm lean against yours as he watched you take a first bite, almost trembling with excitement at the satisfied hum you let out in response.

"Can I have that too?" Usopp asked awkwardly from his seat, wondering why he was getting the feeling he had interrupted something.

"Feed yourself, I'm going to be very busy today." Sanji spat back, eyes never leaving your lips as you tried to savour every bite. Afterall, you probably weren't going to get much rest after this anyway.

***

If you enjoyed this, check out my one piece master list for more Sanji!

[leighsartworks216]

Not my fandom, but #15 for Zayne?

Intrusion

Zayne x gn!Reader

Prompt from this list

15 - hugging each other

I didn't intend to actually write these tonight bc I have a lot of downtime in the morning and I Need Sleep, buuuuut this one hit different idk

Warnings: hurt/comfort, caretaking, pre or early relationship, depression, food, hugging, crying

Word Count: 857

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Zayne knocks on the door lightly. It's late. Far later than is normal to be visiting. He'd hate to wake up one of the neighbors and give them a bad impression of you, especially right now.

You'd been practically radio silent all day. He's so accustomed to you sending him emojis and random videos, to have absolutely nothing come in was disconcerting. On top of that, when he messaged you asking if you were okay, it took several hours before you responded.

I'm fine. Just tired, sorry.

Did you stay up late last night?

Yeah, I guess.

Are you feeling well?

Don't worry about me, Zayne. I'm perfectly fine :)

Each insistence only stirred that uncertainty in his gut. You may not want to inconvenience him, but he needs your intrusion on his life. Otherwise, it would be the same, day to day. A cold, dark existence, with a sweet treat the only thing to draw him away from the mundanity.

He knocks again, slightly louder.

The door opens a crack. Your face is obscured in shadow, hidden from the dim light of the hallway, but from what he can tell, you look rough. You don't meet his eyes. You just stare at his tie.

"H-Hey," you draw out, trying to act casual. Maybe he'd believe the act if you weren't hiding. "What brings you here, doc?"

He inhales. Why must you keep insisting on putting barriers between you? "I'm not on duty, at the moment," he reminds you curtly, but his tone softens as he continues. "I wanted to make sure you ate something today, so I got takeout from a restaurant on my list."

You stare at the plastic bag of takeout he holds. He can see the gears turning. The hesitation as you realize the amount of food he's gotten. "Zayne, I-I can't possibly eat that much."

"I ordered some for myself. I haven't had a chance to eat dinner yet." He nods his head slightly toward the door. "May I come in?"

He watches with bated breath as you debate your options. He can see the way your eyes flicker from the bag to him, like you're weighing the pros and cons. You get food, but you have to let him in. From the faint growl of your stomach, it would seem that the choice is made for you.

You slowly open the door.

The apartment is dark, which isn't surprising. Still, Zayne navigates it with no issues. He toes off his shoes and replaces them with the guest house slippers with familiarity. You trail behind as he heads for the kitchen. He adjusts the lights to be set to a dim glow, allowing for enough light that he can see what he's doing without being too harsh on your eyes. Though, now that he can see, he can see the heavy bags under your red-raw eyes.

"Did I wake you?" He keeps his voice purposefully low.

You stand by the doorway, arms crossed, as you watch him bustle about. He retrieves two plates from the cabinet and divides the containers from the bag into what's his and what's yours. As he does so, he removes the lid from one of the containers and slides it over to you. The warm aroma of soup fills the room.

You shake your head. He watches from the corner of his eye as you sidle over, slippers scraping quietly against the tile floor. When you pick up the cup of soup, it feels like a brick has been removed from the wall.

He transfers food to the plates. A healthy serving, to be sure. He tries to keep the amounts relatively similar, but it's clear he's added slightly more to your plate than his own. Once they're ready, he sets your plate in front of your seat - designated as such from the times he's come over in the past - and his plate in front of his seat. Before he sits, he reaches up into the cabinets once again to retrieve some glasses.

Arms wrap around him from behind, nearly startling him into dropping the cups. Your head rests against his back. Your hands hold onto each other, as though resting them against him would be the thing to make him pull away.

"Thank you..." you mumble, only just loud enough for him to make out.

He moves like he's trying not to startle a wild animal as he lowers two glasses to the countertop. He sets a hand on your arm, to keep you from letting go, as he turns in your embrace. His arms wrap themselves over your shoulders, around your back, hands flat against you to draw you into his chest. Your hold tightens around him. Your hands fist his work shirt. Your head is tucked securely under his chin.

He says nothing of the way you shudder as your breath catches in your lungs. Nor does he say anything as he feels a wet spot form in his collar.

Instead, he rubs your back in soothing motions. "Please tell me the next time you're hurting," he pleas in a whisper. "Don't shut me out."

---

I'm gonna put my little end note here that I had on AO3 cuz I still feel like gloating:

"I feel the need to gloat about the title because it goes both ways!!! Zayne needs your intrusion on his life because otherwise he'd be no better than Dawnbreaker, but you also need his intrusion on your life to help you through whatever's bringing you down!!! Very proud of this"

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz

[seokluvs]

keep you company ❀ h.bn // n.kd

pairing : bestfriend!brian x afab!reader x bestfriend!kamden

warnings : SMUT!! MDNI!! use of 🍃(smoking not mentioned), threesome, nipple sucking, use of pet names (baby, princess) cumming inside, unprotected sex (wrap it up jinjja), cum eating, tongue fucking, oral (m&f receiving), deep throat, squirting, doggystyle, reader is overworked — i think that’s all?? lmk if i missed anything

wc : 1,442 words

authors note : this might be THE worst thing i’ve ever written.. sorry about that im like half asleep my bad 😣😣 barely proofread tell me if my grammar sucks pls

much like everyone else in the world, work had always been apart of your life. however, sometimes you’d wonder if it was just a bit… too much.

looking over at the digital clock, you dropped your pen to bury your face in your hands. all of your pent up frustration finally being let out as you screamed into your palms

it was currently 10:47p.m., not a horrible time to be up working, so why were you so irritated? simply because, you had been writing reports for your stupid boss for the past 2 hours and you weren’t even halfway done.

looking over at the pile of untouched files, you silently cursed at your employer for not sharing the workload with your other colleagues. i mean, being work oriented had it’s pros, but seemingly, the cons always outweighed them.

i mean why should YOU have to do everything? from always writing daily reports to fixing your colleagues mistakes, the burden always found its way on your back.

god, you needed a break, an excuse to pull you out of your misery, just something to take your mind off of-

DING

pulling you out of your trance, the doorbell rang. who could possibly be at your door so late?

getting up from the dining room chair, you jogged over to the front door before checking through the peephole.

“of course” you muttered to yourself, a slight smile creeping onto your face as you recognised the two silhouettes.

opening the door, the two tall men holding grocery bags and pizza boxes were revealed. god, that really was the perfect timing ever.

“my knights in shining armour, what are you doing here so late?” you questioned, gesturing them to enter your slightly messy home.

“we figured you needed a break… and we were right.. it’s depressing in here” the older one spoke as he took his coat off and walked over to clean up your dining table.

“we also brought pizza, snacks… and weed” the taller one said as he followed suit, a mischievous smile painting his face as the last words left his mouth

kamden and brian had always been there for you. they could tell when something was up even before you let it loose, and although them showing up didn’t surprise you, it still tugged at your heartstrings.

grabbing the pizza boxes and bags from the taller one, you headed over to the kitchen to place everything as you spoke.

“you guys don’t know how much i needed this.. like actually.. i was going fucking crazy” you said, emphasising the word “crazy”

“oh we know.. you’ve been cooped up in your house all week” kamden spoke as he finished cleaning up your dining table. “but, it’s time to let loose and have a little fun”

looking up from the snacks, you saw him hold up a small baggie with weed while grinning, this was gonna be a great night.

as the minutes slowly turned into hours, the weed took over your mind and you had gotten quite a bit more loose lipped as the joint finally died out in the hazy atmosphere.

“you know what’s so annoying?” the boys looked over at you as you slurred over your words. “work. i haven’t had any time to myself, or for anyone. hell, i can’t even remember the last time i’ve been fucked, besides by those stupid reports!” the frustration was evident in your voice.

for a quick moment, the boys leaned over to exchange a glance before the younger spoke up

“you know.. if you’re that frustrated, we can help you out..” looking back and forth at them, you were slightly confused at his proposal.

“what?” you questioned, clearly missing something. are they serious? is the weed playing tricks on you? are you going insane? why are you so turned on right now?

“you heard us.. come on.. it’ll be fun.” the older one said, his fingers slowly grazing at your bare knee.

now usually, you would’ve second guessed something like this. i mean who just agrees to having sex with their best friends? that’s weird, right?

but as the emptiness in your brain took over, you found yourself sitting in between them, slowly being undressed and teased.

brian’s hands were eager to tug your shirt off while kamden positioned your face in front of his. attaching his lips to yours, the kiss felt electric — sending a jolt deep to your core.

as brian attached his pretty lips to your right nipple, sucking on the sensitive bud, you moaned at the contact, giving kamden perfect entry to stick his tongue in your mouth.

as your tongues fought for dominance, brian’s digits found their way down to your inner thighs, slowly lifting your shorts to caress small circles in a teasing manner. the overwhelming sensation of everything had you dizzy and dripping wet.

at that point, you couldn’t contain your sounds anymore. whimpering into kamden’s lips like it was a prayer, he snaked his hand up to your neck, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane.

brian removed his lips from your nipple and kneeled on the floor. breaking your kiss, you look down at him, eyes glistening up at you as he toyed with the hem of your shorts.

“can i eat you out baby?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

nodding along, you looked back at kamden who was now kneeling on the couch.

grabbing at his own hardened member through his jeans, he spoke up in a raspy tone

“want something else in your mouth, princess?”

not even giving physical confirmation, your hands immediately undid his belt, stopping in your tracks when you felt brian’s lips attach to your sensitive bud.

dropping your hands from kamden’s jeans, your fingers laced brian’s hair as he looked up at you with innocent eyes.

the feeling was heavenly and sent you into a trance of squirming and whimpering.

suddenly, you felt a hand near your face. snapping you out of your daze, kamden guided your lips to latch onto his aching cock. he was girthy and leaking in precum, it was obvious what the sounds you were making did to him.

taking his tip into your mouth, you swirled your tongue across his glans, which earned you a guttural moan from him. taking his shirt off, he gently took your hair into a ponytail and eased more of his cock into your mouth.

as you bobbed your head onto his length, brian’s tongue found your hole, fucking itself into you as his thumb rubbed quick circles on your clit.

moaning on his dick, kamden’s actions became rougher, grabbing at your head and forcing you to deepthroat his cock before mouth fucking you at a desperate pace.

removing his hardened length from your mouth, he gave it a few pumps before speaking up

“knees. now.”

as kamden spoke, brian removed his lips from your leaking cunt to reveal his glistening chin. letting out a dissatisfied groan from the loss of friction, you complied and got onto your knees, ass facing kamden.

brian undressed and sat in front of you, his long thin cock springing into the air as his angry leaking tip greeted you.

without warning, kamden gave your ass a harsh slap before roughly inserting his thick cock into your leaking hole.

gasping at the sudden friction, you gave brian the perfect opportunity to shove his length into your mouth, immediately fucking himself down your throat.

while you were gagging on his cock, you felt kamden’s hand rubbing on your clit as his balls slapped against your cunt.

in that moment, you were so overstimulated from brian throat fucking you and kamden slamming his cock into you, that you didn’t even realise you started to squirt on kamdens dick.

the stimulation of your warm liquid hitting his lower torso sent him over the moon and he was quick to cum, still thrusting deep inside of you while he shot his ropes of cum into your aching cunt.

as for brian, he was almost there. collecting yourself, you bobbed your head down onto his cock, mostly focusing on tonguing at his tip while your hands rubbed his balls.

after two more minutes of him fucking himself into your throat, his cock twitched and he came in your mouth. looking up at him, you stuck your tongue out to show him the mess he made before swallowing it and giving him a small smile.

as you all sat there for a moment, the pleasure seeped in and you let out a soft giggle.

god, you were so happy that they decided to keep you company.