#michael langdon x female!reader

[worldswithoutendings]

Eye for an eye [Michael Langdon] pt.4

Pairing: Michael langdon x female!reader

warnings: mentions of death

words: 1540

summary: your first date with michael and your first workday at Kineros (filler chapter)

AN: I'm still trying to figure out what format works best for me so bear with me, any feedback is highly appreciated <3

When the clock hit 7 you got ready for the dinner you had with Michael, all he said before he left after abusing your closet was to wear the dress and let your hair loose. But nothing more. So you added some black heels and a silver necklace. You did your makeup a tiny bit heavier than usual and for once you didn’t put on perfume in the hope that he would linger more around you like his coat did. Because damn he smells good it should be illegal.

I’m here.

you curse as you run down the stairs, almost breaking your ankle as you grab the door handle to reveal Michael. Clad in an all-black outfit, smelling absolutely divine and his short curls framing his face “Hi” you breathe out and Michael smiles at you ���Look at you, you look stunning” he smiles as he holds out his arm “Shall we?” you say nothing, just taking his arm as you follow him to his car, which, of course, is also expensive “you’re picking me up in a Bugatti?!” you gasp out “what, it’s a nice car” “it is! But, so expensive” you breathe out and Michael laughs as he opens the door for you “my lady” “oh, thank you sir” you act with him as you sit down on the seat. Feeling the expensive seat as Michael sits in the driver seat.

Satan watches the two of them spend the day together from his throne “Good, everything is all going to plan” he says as he stretches his fingers out over the armchairs “Now we need to get rid of that Rosalie figure, I hope Michael hurries up with that girl”

Arm in arm you walk with Michael to the restaurant he picked out. And of course, it’s a Michelin-starred restaurant making you huff “What is it?” “I just feel out of place, I’m so used to visiting a McDonald's or a Five Guys as a date. Never set foot in a Michelin-starred restaurant” you mumble and Michael smiles “Good, I can show you how a real man is supposed to treat you” He walks inside with you and a guy comes scurrying towards you both “Mr. Langdon. Such an honor to have you here again. Shall we go to your booth?” the guy stumbles over his words and Michael gives a short nod

“do you come here often?” your mouth speaks before you can think “Yeah, not a lot. just for business” “Did you come here with Rosalie?” you ask self-conscious and Michael smirks “She is on your mind a lot isn’t she? The answer is no” he says as the guy mentions to the booth in the far back of the restaurant where the mood is actually kind of romantic “that’s a shame, it’s beautiful here” you say as you sit down in the booth, realizing both your knees are touching you scrape you throat “well, I only want to bring important people here. So, mostly Ms. Mead. But not since a few months ago” his voice dies down a bit and you can’t help but feel sorry for him even though you don’t know who Ms. Mead is and what happened a few months ago.

The food that was served was divine, just like the wine that was served. You talked about anything and nothing that your minds could think of, Michael even told you what happened to Ms. Mead. How she was set on fire and now, at Kineros they’re trying to make a robot version of her. Michael held her dear and close to his heart like he expected his grandmother to do ‘what happened to your grandmother?” you say as you put a piece of gnocchi in your mouth “She killed herself when she realized that I was aging to quick and murdering people instead of animals” his voice became flat and his knuckles were starting to turn white with how hard he was holding his utensils.

You couldn’t help yourself but touch his hand “I’m so sorry Michael” you whispered but you tried to sound neutral, knowing how much you hated it when your parents died and how everybody started to talk to you like a baby “You, you lost both your parents right?’ Michael asks questionably and you nod as you take a sip of your wine “my dad passed away of a cardiac arrest, my mother died shortly after due to a drug overdose, I was.. 16? Yeah, so, after the deal” your voice becomes quieter and quieter

“do you think that, you know, satan may be behind it? Seeing if I would get deranged?” “I don’t know, y/n, you have to ask him that” “I did actually, multiple times, but he waved it away, saying I was delusional” You play with a single piece of gnocchi and feel a hand on your kneecap. You sigh softly “he probably didn’t mean it like that, he also left me in the dark for years I didn’t know what I was supposed to do until I got to Kineros”

After dinner, Michael took you for a walk through the park. Deciding to sit on a bench with the hot coffee you bought from the stand even though Michael wanted to go to a coffee shop you shook your head “No this is actually good coffee!” you exclaimed so Michael wanted to believe you. And indeed, it was damn good coffee “So, tomorrow you can just come to Kineros, I’ll show you around and get you settled, you don’t have to worry about anything, well, maybe, your clothing but just, wear a button-up shirt or something. We’ll go shopping for it” Michael says before he takes a sip “damn, this is good coffee”

Nervously you arrived at Kineros the following morning. Especially because you just left your old job and your wrist still hurts. The clicking of your heels on the marble floor echoes off the walls as you see two guys with bowl cuts they must go to the same hairdresser because it looks awful. Michael is in a conversation with them but you see that all of a sudden he has trouble with his laughter

“Are you making fun of us?!” the brown-haired one exclaims and Michael immediately stops “No, no! I wouldn’t dare. You do look ridiculous” Michael exclaims and now you really have to hold in your laughter, they both turn around to look at you “Ah our new secretary! Miss y/n. right? We’d appreciate it if you respected our wishes,” the blonde one says immediately “actually, she only respects my wishes” Michael chimes in, yeah you wish.

You learned that their names are Jeff and Mutt, but you would mostly be working for Michael. Ruling over his agenda and keeping him up to date with meetings and calls. Further, you are the one responding to email, which mostly consists of rich dudes who are aching for their new sex doll.

A girl with a familiar face walks, well, storms in. looking like a drug dealer with her hair all matted, and clothes she had probably worn the last 2 weeks and never heard of the word shower or bath. She composes herself the moment she is at your desk and scrapes her throat “Yes?” you reply while you're typing an email to a client “I’m here to see my boyfriend, Michael” Oh shit it’s Rosalie “Are you scheduled?” “no?! I don’t need to schedule anything” she bursts out and you bite your lower lip “One second please,” you say as you reach for the phone. The foul stench of Rosalie makes its way to your nostrils Michael you’re kidding me. You only type in the number 1. Knowing it will connect to his office he immediately picks up “yes?” “Michael, you’re… girlfriend is here” he hangs up with a loud groan. Not much later his door opens and you hear him curse under his breath “Rosalie, what are you doing here. You can’t just barge in at my work” he says as he leans against the doorpost.

Rosalie immediately runs to him which means you can catch a breath we need to buy air fresheners and perfume and incense to get rid of this smell did she fall in a well or something?! You open up a website for fragrances to check out what can be delivered today as you try to hear the conversation as Michael doesn’t want her in his office “I have a meeting in 5 minutes” No you don’t “so you really need to leave” yes you absolutely do “but Michael! You promised!” she screams out “we were supposed to go on a date this week and you declined me! Twice! I can’t do this anymore!” Michael sighs deeply “Just, go. Rosalie. I’ll call you after the meeting okay” “Can I get a kiss?” “did you brush your teeth?” he blurts out and she gasps “Yes?!” she sounds incredibly shocked and you hear him audibly gulp. You reach for your bag as Michael cautiously gives her the tiniest peck on earth and she walks away confidently “Here” you wave around a travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste you always keep in your bag.

[criminalamnesia]

idk just thinking about starting a thing with Jack after the two of you have been dancing around it for a while— stolen glances, lingering touches, slipping snacks into pockets and working so seamlessly together.

it’s not something you two have labeled yet, but everyone in the ED knows because god you two are so obvious and insufferably in love with one another.

but you want to take things slow, and Jack obliges because you’re more vulnerable in this position than he is (you’re his resident and he’s an attending) (and it’s actually killing him to take things slow but he does it for you).

you’re off on the day of pitt fest and so is jack but you know he just had a hellish night shift so you tell him to rest up and that you’ll see him tomorrow night when you both work again.

your friend surprises you with a plus-one ticket to pitt fest— and you hesitate but ultimately end up going, knowing that the exhaustion you’ll feel tomorrow will be worth it, even if you’re gonna need an extra energy drink or three to get through your shift.

you don’t tell jack. why would you? it’s last minute and you’re giddy and he’s off— probably sleeping, you assume— and you don’t want to bother him because this is new and you’re not his girlfriend.

then the worst happens. someone opens fire. you lose your friend in the ensuing chaos and you’re terrified, but you snap into resident mode and start trying to help. holding pressure on a wound here, checking a pulse on a body there, dodging and weaving through the masses as you try to save anyone you can.

everyone gets called into the ED. so when jack strides into the department, mind already racing in preparation of the madness to come, his eyebrows lift when he doesn’t spot you among the team briefing.

he asks dana if she’s heard from you, and the charge nurse shakes her head. “I’ll keep tryin’,” she tells him. he accepts that and moves forward.

he doesn’t have any reason to worry. you said you would see him tomorrow. he figured you were probably in bed already and your phone was on silent. no big deal. as much as he would love your expertise (and general calming, reassuring presence) in this scenario, he can push through. he did before you.

dana stays true to her word and calls you ten times in the span of two minutes, but it goes unbeknownst to you, as your phone is currently face down in a puddle of someone else’s blood. you were too busy worrying about others to even notice it had fallen out of your pocket.

when the variety of vehicles start rolling up to the ED, everyone is too busy saving lives to worry about who didn’t show up to help. no one cares about your absence.

and then ellis opens up a truck’s tailgate, and she pulls out a body— and when she gets it on the gurney, she looks at the face to quickly assess for head injuries and her heart nearly stops in her chest.

it’s you.

blood smattered on your face, a large gash running from your forehead to your cheek. your eyelids flutter, your breathing is shallow and coming in quick pants.

“shen!” ellis screams, and the attending rushes over, eyebrows furrowed before his gaze lands on you.

“shit,” he breathes, looking to ellis before back down at you.

along with an obviously broken leg and numerous cuts and already-blooming bruises, you’ve been shot. blood flows from a wound in your gut, and your hands twitch as they move towards it, trying to keep pressure on it.

“red, she’s a red—” ellis is saying, slapping a bracelet on you and commandeering your gurney. she rushes towards the doors, eyes wild as she enters the ER and looks for someone— anyone— that can help.

“robby!” she yells across the madness when she spots the attending. he’s finishing up with a patient and getting ready to move to another, but his head jerks up at the sound of his name.

“need you over here!” ellis calls, and robby’s brows furrow as he looks over his shoulder to say something to jack— fuck, jack— before he’s weaving towards her.

“what is it?” robby asks, eyes instantly going to the card tied around your wrist.

“it’s fucking y/n.”

and robby’s eyes dart up so fast he almost gets whiplash. he instantly recognizes you and he curses under his breath, anxiety clawing up from his gut and encircling his heart. beginning to squeeze as your eyes crack open and your chest heaves.

“don’t…” you gasp out, one of your hands blindly reaching for the attending. “let…him see.” each word comes painful and slow, and you don’t even notice that other faces have gathered around you as you speak.

your friends— your family— all gasp and cry and furiously begin to come to your aid but you don’t even realize it. because your eyes are locked on robby’s.

“you….need….him.”

and you don’t even have to say who you’re talking about, because everyone in the fucking PTMC knows that you and jack abbot are a thing. and robby exhales shakily, tears filling his eyes, but he has a job to do. and so he gets to work.

and he knows for a fact that he will lose someone tonight, regardless of you living or dying.

either way, he doesn’t know if jack will forgive him for this. for purposefully hiding your arrival and trying to save your life without him.

as much as it pains him at the thought, he knows that he has to do what’s best for the department. for the other hundred people that are coming through the doors tonight.

so he nods to himself. tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

and then he loses your pulse.

[asxgard]

MASTERLIST

[ REQUESTS CLOSED ] list & rules

— Most my work is 18+. Anything marked with an astrik* contains explicit content. Minors DNI, you will be blocked.

— All work is my own. Please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.

Under the cut you’ll find all my works. Hope this helps you navigate!

The Pitt

Dr. Michael Robinavitch masterlist

Dr. Jack Abbot masterlist

Dr. Frank Langdon masterlist

Dr. John Shen masterlist (coming soon)

(Dr.) Dennis Whitaker masterlist (coming soon)

updated 04/25/2025

My AO3

[leo-in-the-pitt]

Fix This

—— —— —— —— ——

Fix This

This is Chapter 7 of the Beginning to End series !

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader

Summary: Your marriage to Jack has been anything but stable, especially with you find out your unexpectedly pregnant with your second baby before your son even turns 1. What lengths are you two willing to go through before its too late?

Warnings:

Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, some fluff but also porn with plot, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), praise kink, pregnancy, lots and lots of sexual tension

WC: 15.6k (not sure how I managed this again)

The kitchen is quieter now, but it’s not the peaceful kind. It’s the kind of quiet that feels like a held breath, like the air itself is waiting for something to break.

You’re sitting at the kitchen island, a mug of tea gone cold in your hands. The two pregnancy tests are still there, tucked into a drawer now. Jack’s across from you, elbows on the counter, staring at the same spot on the floor. Neither of you has spoken in ten minutes. Not since you agreed to “one day at a time.” Not since the word baby started echoing in the space between you.

Finally, Jack clears his throat, voice rough from disuse. “Have you…thought about what you want to do?”

You look up, startled, though you shouldn’t be. His eyes are on you now—cautious, like he’s afraid of what you’ll say. You know what he’s asking, even if he won’t say it outright. It’s about whether you can even handle this—another child, another life, when you’re barely holding onto each other.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t had time to think. I just…I just saw the lines, and everything stopped. Came straight to you.”

He nods, like he’s trying to process it too. “Yeah.”

You shift in your seat, fingers tightening around the mug. “What about you? What do you want?”

Jack’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you brace for him to shut down again—to hide behind that wall he’s so good at building. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward, hands clasping together like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I want us,” he says, deliberate. “I want this kid. I want our son. I want the messy, broken, fucked-up version of us that’s still here, still fighting. But, I don’t know if that’s what you want anymore.”

Your chest aches, sharp and familiar. “Jack…”

“No, let me finish.” His voice is firm, but not angry. “I’ve been a coward. I’ve been running from this—from you—because I’m terrified of losing you again. And I know I’ve made it worse. I know I’ve pushed you away. But this?” He gestures vaguely toward the drawer, toward the idea of the new life you didn’t plan for. “This feels like a chance to do it right. To not fuck it up this time.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling into the cracks of your heart. “You can’t just say that and expect it to fix everything,” you say, voice trembling. “Another baby doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t erase the fights, or the silence, or the way you looked at that woman like she was a lifeline I couldn’t be.”

His face falls, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I know. I’m not saying it does. I’m saying I want to try—for real this time. Not just sex. Not just pretending. I want to sit in the mess with you and figure it out.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But the memory of his hesitation in the parking lot, the way he smiled at her, still burns. And now this—a baby you didn’t expect, a future you’re not sure you’re ready for. You press a hand to your stomach, instinctive, and the gesture feels like a betrayal of your own fear.

“I’m scared, Jack,” you whisper. “I’m scared of what this means. For us. For him.” You glance towards your son, playing with Cheerios in his high chair. “I almost didn’t make it last time. What if—”

“Don’t.” His voice is sharp. He reaches across the island, his hand hovering near yours, waiting for permission. “Don’t go there. You’re here. And I’m not letting you go through this alone again.”

You let his hand close over yours, but it feels fragile, like a promise that could break under the slightest pressure. “I don’t know if I can trust you to stay,” you admit, voice cracking. “Not after everything.”

Jack’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and steady. “Then let me prove it. One day at a time. Counseling, like we talked about. Whatever it takes.”

You pull your hand back, not out of anger, but because you need to feel your own weight for a moment. “I need you to mean it this time, Jack. No running. No hiding. No shutting me out when it gets hard.”

He nods, eyes steady on yours. “I know. And I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying.”

Your son starts to fuss, soft whimper breaks the moment. You both turn instinctively, hearts lurching in unison. Jack stands first. “I’ll put him down for a nap.”

You nod, watching him go, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. You stay seated, staring at the cold tea, the empty kitchen. You think about the last time you were pregnant—the joy, the fear, the way it all shattered in a blur of blood and panic. You think about Jack, holding your hand through it, and then pulling away when the grief became too much.

You don’t know if you can do this again. But you know you want to try—for your son, for the new life growing inside you, and maybe, just maybe, for the version of you and Jack that still lingers in the quiet moments.

—————————————————————

Later That Night

The hospital is a hum of controlled chaos, even at 5 p.m. You and Jack are on the same shift again, moving through the ER like two planets in separate orbits. Working days to have a somewhat normal schedule with the baby. 

You’re stitching up a laceration in Trauma 2 when Dana slips in, her eyes scanning you.

“You okay?” she asks, voice low enough not to carry.

You don’t look up from your sutures. “Fine.”

She leans against the counter, arms crossed. “You don’t look fine. You look like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders.”

You tie off the stitch, snipping the thread with more force than necessary. “Just tired. Long shift.”

Dana doesn’t buy it. She never does. “Heard you and Jack were screaming at each other in the parking lot a while back. Now you’re both walking around like you’re allergic to each other. What’s going on?”

You pause, needle still in hand, and glance at her. For a moment, you consider telling her—about the pregnancy, about the fight, about the fragility of the relationship. “It’s complicated,” you say instead.

Dana raises a brow. “Yeah, no shit. You two are a walking soap opera. But you’re not talking to him, are you?”

You shake your head, focusing back on the patient. “We’re trying. Sort of.”

She sighs, stepping closer. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I know what’s going on with you two. But I know you. And I know you’re stronger than whatever this is. If you need to talk—really talk—I’m here.”

You nod, throat tight. “Thanks, Dana.”

She squeezes your shoulder and slips out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Across the ER, Jack’s in Trauma 1, intubating a patient with a collapsed lung. His hands are steady, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s thinking about the pregnancy test. About the way your hand felt under his in the kitchen. About the way you looked at him like you were waiting for him to break your heart again.

When the patient’s stable and handed off to the ICU team, Jack steps out into the hallway, scrubbing a hand over his face. He spots you through the glass of Trauma 2, finishing your sutures.

He wants to go to you. Wants to say something—anything—that might bridge the gap. But Robby gets him first, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, man,” Robby says, voice cautious. “You look like hell.”

Jack forces a half-smile. “Feel like it too.”

Robby glances toward you, then back at Jack. “You two gonna make it?”

Jack’s throat tightens. He doesn’t answer right away. “I want to,” he says finally. “But I don’t know if she does.”

Robby’s quiet for a moment, then nods. “Then show her. Not with words. Not with whatever you two do when you’re not talking. Show her with the hard stuff. The real stuff.”

Jack looks at him, something like resolve settling in his chest. “Yeah. I’m trying.”

Robby claps him on the back again. “Good. Because you two are too stubborn to give up.”

Jack watches you through the glass a moment longer, then turns back to the chaos of the ER. He’s not sure if he believes Robby. Not sure if he believes in himself. But for the first time in weeks, he wants to try—really try.

—————————————————————

The Next Morning

You’re in the car, driving to your first OB appointment. You were able to pull some favors to get the appointment immediately. Jack’s in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The radio’s off, and the silence is heavy, but not as suffocating as it’s been. You’re both trying, in your own clumsy way.

“You nervous?” he asks, voice low.

You grip the steering wheel tighter. “Yeah. You?”

He nods, glancing at you. “Terrified.”

You almost smile. It’s the first honest thing you’ve both said today. “Me too.”

The waiting room is too bright with pastel posters about prenatal care plastered on the walls. You sit side by side, knees not quite touching. Jack’s thumb taps a rhythm on his thigh, and you’re hyper-aware of every movement, every breath.

When the nurse calls your name, you both stand, moving in sync like you used to. The ultrasound room is dim, the tech’s voice calm. Jack’s hand hovers near yours, and this time, you don’t pull away. You let his fingers lace with yours, his grip tight.

The tech slides the wand over your stomach, and the screen flickers to life. A tiny, pulsing shape appears—a heartbeat, fast and steady. You both stare, breathless.

“There’s your baby,” the tech says, smiling. “About eight weeks. Everything looks good. Doctor will be in soon. Hang tight.”

Jack’s grip tightens, his eyes locked on the screen. You glance at him, and for the first time in weeks, you see him—not the guarded, angry Jack, but the one who cried when your son was born. His eyes are wet, and he doesn’t try to hide it.

You squeeze his hand back, just a little. It’s not a fix. It’s not a promise. But it’s a start.

———————————————————————

That Night

You’re in the nursery, rocking baby Jack to sleep. His tiny fist curls against your chest, his breathing slow and even. Jack leans against the doorframe, watching you both, his face soft in the dim light.

“You’re good at this,” he says quietly.

You look up, surprised. “So are you.”

He steps into the room, crouching beside the rocker. “I booked us a counseling session. Next week on our day off.”

You blink, heart stuttering. “You did?”

He nods, eyes on the baby. “I meant what I said. I want to do the work. For him. For this one.” His hand hovers near your stomach, not touching, but close. “For us.”

You swallow hard, nodding. “Okay.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time in months. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice steady. “Not this time.”

You don’t say anything, but you reach out, resting your hand on his.

It’s not fixed. It’s not perfect. But it’s enough for tonight.

—————————————————————

First Session 

The therapist’s office is suffocating. The beige couch feels too small, forcing you and Jack closer than you’ve been in weeks. You sit with arms crossed tight, knees angled away. Jack’s beside you, hands balled into fists on his thighs, jaw so tight you can practically hear his teeth grinding. The clock ticks, each second amplifying the silence.

Dr. Ellis, the therapist, sits across from you, her calm demeanor infuriatingly neutral. Her notepad rests on her knee. “Let’s start with why you’re here,” she says, voice steady, as if she can’t feel the storm brewing.

You laugh, sharp and bitter, cutting through the quiet. “Why we’re here? Because we’re a fucking mess. Because I can’t look at him without wanting to scream or cry or both.”

Jack’s head snaps toward you, eyes blazing. “Nice, real classy way to kick this off. You’ve been shutting me out for months, acting like I’m the problem.”

“You are the problem!” you snap, leaning forward, voice rising. “You checked out, Jack! You left me drowning in this—alone—while you smiled at some woman in a parking lot like she was the fucking sun!”

His face reddens, and he matches your intensity. “Don’t you dare bring that up again. I wasn’t flirting—I was just being polite. But you? Your’e acting like I had sex with her or something. You’ve been pushing me away ever since Jack was born, you said that I should’ve let you die!”

The words hit like a punch, and you flinch, but you don’t back down. “I already said I didn’t mean it that way! I was bleeding out, terrified I’d never meet our son, and you act like I should just snap out of it. Like I’m supposed to be fine while you hide behind your fucking walls!”

Dr. Ellis raises a hand, her voice cutting through like a scalpel. “Enough! You’re both hurting, and you’re both entitled to that pain. But yelling won’t fix it. Let’s try this: what’s the one moment that feels like the breaking point for each of you?”

The room falls silent. You stare down at the carpet. “The day I gave birth,” you say finally, voice cracking. “I was lying there, feeling my life slip away, knowing our son was out there without me. I was so scared I’d never hold him. And Jack…” You glance at him, throat tight. “He was there, but he wasn’t. Not really. He’s been gone ever since.”

Jack’s fists unclench, his hands trembling now. He stares at his lap, voice barely audible. “I watched you fade away on that table. I watched them take our son away and kick me out of the room to save you. I thought the next time I would see you, you’d be dead. I was useless—standing there, a fucking doctor, and I couldn’t do anything. You think I’m over it? I see it every time I close my eyes. Your blood all over the floor.”

The air shifts, heavy with shared grief. Dr. Ellis nods. “That’s a lot of trauma to carry, for both of you. Have you been able to talk about this fear together, outside of fighting and screaming?”

You shake your head, wiping at your eyes. “Every time I try, he shuts down. Or we fight. Or we…” You hesitate, glancing at Jack. “Distract ourselves”

Jack shifts, uncomfortable. “She means sex,” he mutters, like it’s a confession. “It’s the only time I feel like I’m not failing her.”

Dr. Ellis tilts her head, her gaze piercing. “Sex can feel like connection, but it can also be a way to dodge the harder work. I’m going to suggest something: for now, let’s take sex off the table. It’s a crutch, and you both need to rebuild trust without it. Instead, when you fight, write a letter to each other. Put down what you’re feeling—anger, fear, needs. Don’t share it right away. Write it, sit with it, then read them together when you’ve both calmed down.”

He blinks hard, the idea jarring. “No sex? At all?”

She nods. “For now, no. You need to learn to connect through words, not bodies. Trust starts there. The letters will help you say what’s too hard in the moment.”

“So nothing? Like no touching at all?”

“Jack.”

He put his hands up. “Sorry, just making sure of the rules.”

You rubs the back of your neck, clearly uneasy, letting out a sigh. “Letters. Okay. I can try that.”

He nods, hesitant, your mind racing. “Yeah. Me too.”

Dr. Ellis smiles softly. “Keep talking, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Your homework is to write those letters after your next fight. And no sex—focus on being present with each other.”

As you leave, Jack’s hand lingers in yours, warm but uncertain. You step into the daylight, the weight of the session settling into your bones, but there’s a flicker of something new—hope, maybe, or just the possibility of it.

————————————————————— 

ER Shift

The ER is a relentless storm—gurneys crashing through doors, monitors shrieking, voices shouting over the chaos. You’re at the back nurses’ station, a dimly lit corner where the fluorescent lights flicker just enough to make your headache worse. Your scrubs are wrinkled, a coffee stain blooming on your sleeve from a fumbled handoff during a code. Working a split shift today. 

Jack’s at home with baby Jack, a rare day off for him, and the absence feels like a missing limb. You’re charting, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the counseling session, the pregnancy, the fear that’s been your constant companion.

Langdon and Dana approach, both in fresh scrubs, coffees clutched like lifelines. Langdon leans against the counter, his usual smirk faltering when he sees your face. Dana’s eyes narrow, scanning you like she’s triaging a patient. 

“Jesus, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Langdon says, blunt as always. “You and Jack okay, or are we still in soap opera territory?”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping. “We’re… trying. We started couples therapy yesterday.”

Dana’s eyes widen, and she sets her coffee down with a thud. “Therapy? Holy shit, that’s huge. You two don’t do anything halfway, do you? How was it?”

You rub your temples, the session replaying in your head. “It was a fucking mess at first. We were screaming at each other—about everything really. But we talked. Really talked. About how scared we were. And still are”

Langdon whistles, low and long. “That’s some heavy shit. You two actually got anywhere?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice tight. “The therapist told us no sex for now—says it’s a crutch. We’re supposed to write letters when we fight instead. Like we’re in a damn Jane Austen novel.”

Dana laughs, then catches herself, her expression softening. “Letters? That’s old-school. But it might work. You guys need to stop dodging the hard stuff.”

You nod, then hesitate, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’m pregnant.” Your voice is barely audible over the hum of the ER, but it lands like a bomb.

Langdon chokes on his coffee, coughing hard. “Wait, what? You’re pregnant? Already? With a seven-month-old at home?”

Dana’s jaw drops, her eyes wide with shock. “Holy shit. Two kids under two? While you’re both pulling ER shifts? Are you insane?”

You manage a weak laugh. “Wasn’t exactly planned. Just found out about 2 weeks ago. Still in the first trimester only 11 weeks, just felt like I needed to tell someone.” You took a deep breath. “I’m terrified, guys. What if it happens again? And Jack and I, we’re barely hanging on. I don’t know if we’re strong enough for this.”

Dana’s shock softens into concern, and she steps closer, her hand finding yours. “Oh, honey. That’s a lot. Have you told Jack how scared you are?”

You nod, eyes stinging. “A little, in counseling I guess. But it’s hard. We’re trying, but we’ve been so broken. I keep wondering if we’ll make it through this—another baby, another chance to lose everything. I mean if we don’t work out, then what? We’re gonna have 2 kids together.”

Langdon sets his coffee down, his usual sarcasm gone. “Listen, you two are tougher than anyone I know. You’ve been through hell—literally—and you’re still standing. And Jack? He’s a mess, but he’s your mess. I saw him after that parking lot thing. He wasn’t flirting; he was gutted because you thought he was. He’s in this, even if he’s shit at showing it.”

Dana squeezes your hand tighter. “You’re not alone in this. Two kids under two is nuts, especially with your jobs, but you’re not doing it solo. You’ve got Jack, and you’ve got us. And counseling’s a start, right?”

You swallow hard, their words a lifeline in the chaos. “Yeah. It’s a start. I just…I want to believe we can do this. For our son. For this new baby.”

Langdon grins, trying to lighten the mood. “You will. And if Jack screws up, I’ll drag him back to that therapist myself.”

Dana nods, her voice firm. “You’re stronger than you think. Both of you. And we’re here, okay? For the late-night diaper runs, the coffee, whatever you need.”

You laugh, a real one. For a moment, the weight lifts, and you feel like you might survive this shift, this pregnancy, this marriage. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.”

As they head back to their patients, your heart a little lighter, but the fear still lingers, a shadow you can’t outrun.

———————————————————— 

 Late Night - The Nursery

The nursery is a cocoon of moonlight and soft shadows, the white noise machine humming a gentle lullaby. JJ is asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling, one hand curled against his cheek like he’s dreaming of something profound. You and Jack are on the floor, trying to figure out a floorpan for a second crib. The air smells of a strange mix of new beginnings and old routines.

“We don’t have room for two cribs in here. This room’s too damn small.” Jack snaps.

You’re sitting cross-legged, your own frustration bubbling. “It’ll fit, Jack. We’ll make it work. Stop whining about it.”

He shoots you a glare, his eyes dark under the dim light. “Whining? I’m trying to figure out how we’re supposed to raise two kids in a shoebox while we’re both killing ourselves in the ER.”

You scoff. “Oh, now you’re worried about logistics? Where was this energy when you left dishes in the sink for a week? Or when you forgot to pick up diapers?”

Jacks hands flexing like he’s fighting the urge to throw something. “Don’t fucking start. I’m here, aren’t I? Trying to figure out how to put another kid in here.”

Your blood boils as you stand. “You’re acting like I planned this? You think I wanted to be pregnant again with a baby already right here, terrified I’ll bleed out like last time, while you’re barely present unless we’re fighting or fucking?”

His eyes flash, and he steps closer, voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You’re really gonna throw that in my face? After the therapist told us to cool it? You’re standing there, looking at me like you want to tear my clothes off, and I’m the one who’s not present?”

Your face burns, and you hate how right he is—how your body betrays you, heat pooling low in your stomach at his proximity. You step closer, the air between you crackling. “Don’t flatter yourself, Jack. I’m trying to keep this together, but you’re making it impossible.”

His gaze darkens, and he closes the distance, his breath warm against your face. “You want impossible? Try standing here, wanting you so bad it hurts, knowing I can’t touch you because some fucking therapist says it’s a bad idea.” His hand hovers near your waist, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt, sending a shiver through you.

You swallow hard, your own hands itching to reach for him. You can smell his cologne, faint under the sweat of the day, and it pulls you back to nights when you’d fall into each other without a second thought. Your fingers brush his chest, lingering on the fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. “Jack…” you murmur, voice shaky, caught between want and restraint.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours, soft at first, then hungry, desperate. Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his silver hair as you kiss him back, hard and reckless, the tension pouring out. 

His hands roam your sides, slipping under your shirt, his touch igniting every nerve. You press yourself closer, hips brushing his, feeling the hard line of his body against yours.

But then that voice echoes in your head—no sex, no crutch. You pull back, breathless, hands still tangled in his shirt. “Jack, stop,” you gasp, your voice trembling with effort. “The therapist. She said no sex. We can’t keep doing this.”

He freezes, panting, his hands still on your waist, eyes dark with need. “Fuck,” he mutters, stepping back, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…fuck I want you so bad right now.”

You nod, your own breath ragged, trying to steady yourself. “I want you too. But we have to do this right. She said write letters when we fight. Not this. It’s only been a week without sex Jack.”

Jack exhales hard, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Letters. Okay.” He looks at you, his expression softening, raw with something like love. “I’m trying, babygirl. I swear.”

You meet his gaze, your heart aching with the weight of it all. “I know. Me too. For them.” You glance at the crib, then at your sleeping son.

Jack follows your gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “For us.”

You sit down in the rocking chair in the corner. His hand brushes yours, not lingering this time, but enough to feel like a promise. The nursery is still messy, imperfect, but progress.

“Write the letter,” you say softly, your eyes on the crib. “When you’re mad. When you’re scared. We’ll read them together.”

He nods, his fingers squeezing yours briefly. “I will. I promise.”

The moonlight shifts, and for the first time in weeks, the silence between you feels less like a battlefield and more like a bridge.

—————————————————————

Afternoon - The ER Shift

The ER is a warzone—monitors screeching, gurneys rattling, voices shouting over the chaos. 

You’re 14 weeks pregnant, a faint swell under your scrubs, and the fatigue is a constant shadow, tugging at your limbs. 

Jack’s across the trauma bay, his face a mask of focus as you both work on a difficult patient: a 32-year-old woman with severe abdominal pain, erratic vitals, and a combative streak that’s fraying everyone’s nerves. She’s thrashing, yelling, refusing the IV line you’re trying to place.

“Hold still,” you say, voice firm but strained, dodging her flailing arm. “We’re trying to help you.”

Jack’s at the head of the bed, prepping for a central line, his eyes flicking between the patient and the monitor. “We need imaging,” he snaps, voice clipped. “CT, now. Could be a bleed or perforation.”

You shake your head, securing the IV with a quick twist. “No way she’s stable enough for transport. Her pressure’s tanking—80 over 40. We need to stabilize her first, fluids and pressors.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, his hands pausing mid-motion. “You’re wasting time. If it’s a bleed, we’re screwed without a scan. Push for CT.”

You glare at him, the patient’s moans fading into the background as your anger flares. “And if she codes in the scanner? What then, Jack? We’re not gambling with her life because you’re impatient.”

“Impatient?” His voice rises, sharp enough to draw eyes from the nurses. “I’m trying to save her, unlike you, who’s playing it safe because you’re scared!”

The word hits like a slap, and you step closer, voice low and venomous. “Scared? I’m the one keeping her alive while you’re chasing a hunch. Back off and let me do my job.”

Jack leans in, eyes blazing. “Your job? You’re second-guessing me in front of the team. We’re supposed to be working together, not—”

“Enough!” Robby’s voice booms from the doorway, cutting through the chaos. He’s in scrubs, face stern, arms crossed like a disappointed coach. “Both of you, out. Now.”

You and Jack freeze, the patient’s monitor beeping a frantic counterpoint. Dana takes over the IV, giving you a pointed look as you reluctantly step back. Jack tosses his gloves in the bin, storming out, and you follow, your heart pounding with rage and humiliation.

“Both of you, follow me. Now”

Robby’s office is cluttered with charts, a half-dead plant, and a photo of him and Collins with their two kids. You and Jack sit in mismatched chairs, the air thick with tension. Robby leans against his desk, arms still crossed, his gaze shifting between you.

“Someone want to explain to me what the hell that was?” he asks, voice low but cutting. “You two are brawling in the middle of a trauma bay, undermining each other in front of the team. That’s not how we do things.”

Jack slumps in his chair, rubbing his jaw. “It got heated. We just disagreed on the plan.”

“Disagreed?” Robby snorts. “You were at each other’s throats. That patient’s fighting for her life, and you’re turning it into a pissing contest. What’s going on with you two?”

You glance at Jack, your anger simmering but overshadowed by exhaustion. “We’re trying to figure it out,” you say quietly. “We’ve been in couples therapy for the past month. And um- I- I’m pregnant. Again. About fourteen weeks.”

Robby’s eyes widen, his stern facade cracking. “You’re pregnant? Already? With your boy barely seven months old?” He exhales, shaking his head. “Jesus. No wonder you’re both wound tight. Therapy’s a good step, but you can’t bring that shit into the bay.”

Jack nods, his voice rough. “We know. It won’t happen again.”

Robby studies you both, his expression softening. “You two are some of the best docs I’ve got, but you’re human. You’re carrying a lot—new baby on the way, therapy, the ER. Cut yourselves some slack, but not in my trauma bay. Clear?”

You nod, throat tight. “Clear.”

Jack stands, his shoulders tense. “I’m gonna go check on the patient.” He glances at you, something unreadable in his eyes.

“I’ll be right out.”

You stay seated, your hands twisting in your lap. “Robby…can I ask you something?”

He leans back, nodding. “Shoot.”

“How do you and Collins do it? Two young kids, both of you working, this insane job…how do you make it work?”

Robby sighs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not easy. Our kids are a little over two years apart, which helps—gives the older one some independence before the next hits. Me and Collins, we’re obsessive about our schedules. We carve out time—date nights, family mornings, whatever we can steal. Sometimes it’s just a coffee run without the kids, but it keeps us sane. We trade shifts, lean on family and friends, make it a team effort.”

You nod, absorbing his words, but the doubt lingers. “Jack and I…our kids’ll be under two years apart. I’m scared we won’t make it. Everyone keeps saying we will, but I don’t know if I believe it.”

Robby leans forward, his voice steady. “You will. You and Jack are stubborn as hell—that’s why you’re still fighting for each other. It’s messy, but you’re doing the work. Therapy, talking to me like this? That’s how you build it. One step at a time. If it was really over, you guys would be divorced by now. But you’re both still fighting.”

You manage a small smile, his words a fragile anchor. “That’s what everybody says.”

He chuckles. “Because it’s true. Now go fix things with your man before he sulks all the way home.”

You stand, thanking him, and head out, the ER’s noise swallowing you again. But when you reach the locker room, Jack’s already gone, his bag missing. Your stomach twists—you check your phone, no message. He’s at the car, you realize, and the thought sparks a fresh wave of anger.

The hospital parking lot air is heavy with late afternoon heat. Jack’s leaning against your car, arms crossed, his face a storm cloud. You march over, your scrubs sticking to your skin.

“Thought you were going to check on the patient?” you snap, stopping a few feet away. “And you just leave? What the hell, Jack?”

He straightens, eyes flashing. “They took her up to CT. Our shifts been over for a while now anyway. I needed air. You were cozying up with Robby, so I figured you didn’t need me.”

“Cozying up?” Your voice rises, incredulous. “I was asking him how to survive this—two kids, this job, us. You’re unbelievable.”

Jack steps closer, voice low and sharp. “And you’re acting like I’m the only one screwing up. You tore into me in front of the team, undermined me like I’m some intern. How am I supposed to work with you?”

“Was that supposed to be you working with me?” you fire back, hands shaking. “You didn’t listen, just like you don’t listen at home. I’m pregnant, terrified, and you’re too busy playing hero to notice!”

He flinches, but his anger holds. “I’m trying, damn it! I’m in therapy, I’m here, but you keep pushing me away. What more do you want from me?”

You stare at him, chest heaving, the fight draining into something heavier—fear, exhaustion, love. “I want you to stop running,” you say, voice cracking. “And I want us to do what the therapist said. We’ve been avoiding it. Let’s just write the fucking letters.”

Jack’s eyes search yours, the anger fading into something raw. “You want to write the letters? Now?”

You nod, resolute. “Yeah, now. We go home, we write them, we read them. We’ve been tiptoeing around it for a month now.”

He exhales, nodding slowly. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it.”

You climb into the car, the silence heavy but purposeful, a fragile truce settling between you.

———————————————————————

Back at Home 

The living room is a soft glow of lamplight, cluttered with baby toys, a half-folded blanket, and the faint hum of the baby monitor. Baby Jack is asleep in his crib, moved to the corner of the room for tonight, his tiny snores a steady rhythm. 

You and Jack sit across from each other at the coffee table, notebooks open, pens in hand. The weight of the day—the ER fight, Robby’s office, the car—hangs between you, but the therapist’s advice anchors you to this moment.

You write first, your hand trembling as the words spill out. The pen scratches against the paper, each sentence a raw confession: your fear of another hemorrhage, your anger at Jack’s distance, your love for him that keeps you fighting. Across the table his pen moving slower, deliberate, like he’s carving out something painful.

The silence is heavy, broken only by the occasional creak of the house or baby Jack’s soft sighs. You finish first, setting your pen down, your heart pounding. Jack takes longer, his hand pausing, then starting again, until he finally closes his notebook.

“Who goes first?” he asks, voice low, almost hesitant.

“You,” you say, your throat tight. “Read yours.”

He nods, opening his notebook, his voice rough as he begins. “I’m scared every day that I’ll lose you. Not just to another hemorrhage, but to this—this distance between us. I know I fucked up over and over again, pushing you away, hiding behind work, that stupid moment in the parking lot. I’m trying to be better, but I feel like you’re waiting for me to fail. And today, in the ER, I wasn’t trying to steamroll you. I was trying to protect you, because I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt again. I love you, an- and I’m terrified I’m not enough.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he looks down, eyes glistening. 

You swallow hard, your own letter trembling in your hands. “My turn,” you whisper, and begin reading. “I’m so angry at you sometimes, Jack—for shutting down, for making me feel alone when I needed you most. The hemorrhage broke me, and I’m terrified it’ll happen again with this baby. I’m scared we won’t make it, that we’ll keep fighting until there’s nothing left. But I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and that’s why I’m still here, trying. Today, I wasn’t trying to undermine you. I was trying to keep control, because I’m afraid I’m losing you.”

Your voice cracks, and you set the letter down, tears spilling over. Jack’s across from you, his own eyes wet, and for a moment, you just sit there, the words settling like a bridge over the chasm between you.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice raw. “For making you feel alone. I’m trying, babygirl. I- I promise.”

You nod, wiping your eyes. “I’m sorry too. For pushing you away. I want us to work, Jack. I need us to work.”

He stands, moving around the table, and you rise to meet him. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and you sink into him, your face pressed against his chest. His hands rest on your back, one slipping to the small swell of your stomach, a gentle anchor. You hold him tighter, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, the weight of the day melting into something softer.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. “No sex,” you murmur, a faint smile tugging at your lips, echoing the therapist’s rule.

He chuckles, low and rough, his thumb brushing your cheek. “No sex. Just this.”

You move to the couch, curling up together, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you. The crib is close, baby Jack’s soft breathing a lullaby. The letters lie on the table, a testament to your effort, your pain, your love. As the lamplight fades, you drift off in each other’s arms, the world quiet for the first time in weeks.

—————————————————————

Another Day, Another Shift 

The ER is a relentless morning storm—monitors shrieking, gurneys clattering, voices slicing through the chaos like scalpels. You’re at a charting station, a tablet balanced on your knee, your scrubs clinging to the subtle curve of your 16-week pregnancy. 

The fatigue is a dull ache in your bones, but your eyes are locked on Jack across the trauma bay. He’s with a patient, a middle-aged man with a suspected MI, his hands steady as he adjusts an IV line, his brow furrowed in that way that makes your chest tighten. 

Two months without touching him—really touching him—has turned every glance into a spark, every brush of his arm into a fire you’ve had to smother. It’s almost happened, too many times: a late-night kitchen encounter, a stolen moment in the hospital stairwell, lips inches apart before one of you pulls back, muttering that fucking rule.

Langdon sidles up, his lanky frame leaning against the counter, coffee cup steaming in his hand. His smirk is softer than usual, his eyes flicking between you and Jack. “You’re staring at him like he’s the last piece of cake in the break room,” he says, voice low enough not to carry. “How’re you two holding up?”

You tear your gaze from Jack, cheeks warming, and set the tablet down. “We’re good. Two months of therapy’s actually helping. We’ve only written three letters so far—haven’t needed more. We’re talking things out before they get too bad.”

Langdon raises a brow, impressed. “Three letters? That’s restraint. Thought you two’d be penning novels with how you used scream at each other. Therapy’s turning you into grown-ups, huh?”

You snort, a small laugh breaking through the tension. “Don’t jinx it. It’s hard, but we’re trying. Really trying.”

His grin widens, but there’s a glint of mischief. “And the no-sex thing? How’s that treating you? Gotta be rough, eyeballing him like that. You’re practically drooling right now.”

You groan, leaning back in your chair, the truth spilling out before you can stop it. “It’s the worst thing ever. Like, torture. We’ve come close—too close, multiple times—but we always stop. But God, I miss him.”

Langdon chuckles, shaking his head. “You two are a mess, but a hopeful mess. Sure you two will be in an on call room together in no time. Keep it up, doc. You’re tougher than this.”

Across the bay, Jack glances over, his eyes catching yours for a split second. It’s enough to make your pulse spike, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that’s been simmering for weeks. He turns back to his patient, but you see the way his jaw tightens, like he’s fighting the same battle you are.

“Thanks, Langdon,” you say, picking up the tablet, trying to focus. “Now get back to work before I tell Robby you’re slacking.”

He winks, sauntering off, and you steal one more glance at Jack, your heart a tangle of want and resolve.

———————————————————— 

The On-Call Room

The on-call room is a dim with a flickering fluorescent light. You and Jack slip inside after the shift, the excuse being a quick debrief about a patient who coded. The door clicks shut, and the world narrows to the space between you, heavy with two months of restraint.

Jack leans against the wall, scrubs rumpled, his hair a mess from running his hands through it. “That code was brutal,” he says, voice low, but his eyes are on you, dark and searching. “You were solid out there.”

You nod, standing too close, your fingers brushing the edge of a chart you don’t need. “You too. Kept your cool when it counted.”

The silence stretches, taut and electric. You step closer, drawn by the heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne. His hand grazes your arm, a feather-light touch that sends a shiver through you. “We’re doing good, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Therapy, talking…but this part’s killing me.”

You swallow, your own hand drifting to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart through his scrubs. “Me too,” you whisper, leaning in, your lips inches from his. “Fuck I want you so bad, Jack.”

His breath hitches, and he cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek, his touch igniting every nerve. Your lips nearly meet, a ghost of a kiss, but the memory of Dr. Ellis’s voice—*no sex, no crutch*—slams into you. You pull back, panting, hands still tangled in his scrubs. “We can’t,” you gasp, voice trembling. “We have to do this right.”

Jack exhales hard, stepping back, his hands flexing like he’s fighting to keep them off you. “Fuck. You’re right. I hate this, but you’re right.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes locked on yours.

You nod, heart pounding, the tension unresolved but redirected. “Remember we have an ultrasound tomorrow.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I always remember babygirl.”

You leave the room separately, the air still charged, your body aching with what you didn’t do.

——————————————————

Morning - The Ultrasound

The OB clinic is a sterile contrast to the ER, with soft lighting and pastel posters about prenatal care. You’re on the exam table, gown crinkling, your 16-week bump more pronounced now. Jack’s beside you, his hand hovering near yours, both of you tense as the ultrasound tech preps the wand. The memory of your hemorrhage looms, a shadow over the screen’s flicker, but you’re trying to focus on the present—the baby, the heartbeat, the life you’re building.

The tech smiles, sliding the wand over your stomach, and the screen comes alive with a tiny, wriggling shape. “There’s your baby,” she says, her voice warm. “Heartbeat’s strong—150 beats per minute. Everything looks great.”

You exhale, tears pricking your eyes, and Jack’s hand finally closes over yours, his grip tight. The heartbeat fills the room, a rapid thrum that drowns out the fear for a moment. You glance at him, and his eyes are wet, fixed on the screen, a mix of awe and terror you know too well.

“Looks like a fighter,” he says, voice rough, squeezing your hand.

“Like us,” you whisper, a small smile breaking through.

—————————————————— 

At Home 

The living room is a soft glow of lamplight. Baby Jack’s crib is in the corner, his tiny snores a steady lullaby. The second crib’s pieces are stacked against the wall, a work in progress for the new baby. You and Jack are on the couch, curled into each other, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you.

He trace your hand with his, feeling the calluses from work, the familiar lines of your fingers. “The ultrasound today,” he says softly, breaking the quiet. “It felt…real. Like we might actually do this.”

You nod, your cheek brushing his shirt, the cotton soft and faintly scented with laundry detergent and him. “Yeah. That heartbeat—God, it got me. Think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he says, his fingers pausing, then resuming their slow dance. “A girl would be nice, though. Little spitfire like her mom.”

You smile, tilting your head to look at him, his face softened by the lamplight, eyes warm but shadowed with the day’s weight. “I always wanted a boy then a girl,” you say, your voice light but laced with hope. “Baby Jack’s got the boy part covered.”

Jack chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. “Oh, we’re stopping at two?”

Your eyes widen, and you swat his arm playfully, the motion shifting you closer. “Oh my God, Jack. What, you want more?”

He grins, a flash of teeth that makes your heart skip, his hand sliding to your wrist, holding it gently. “I’m just kidding. Two’s good with me. I’m just thinking about how we make them.”

You raise a brow, sensing the shift in his tone, the playful edge sharpening into something heavier. “Yeah? That’s all that’s on your mind?”

“Recently?” His voice drops, low and husky, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist, sending a spark up your arm. “It’s the only thing on my mind. All day, every day.”

You laugh, but it’s breathy, the air between you thickening. “You really are just like a horny teenager. You know that?”

He leans closer, his lips curling into a smirk, his breath warm against your cheek. “I got no shame about it. Don’t act like you’re not thinking about it too.” 

His voice lowers, a seductive murmur that curls around you like smoke. “Remembering all the times we had sex right here on this couch. All the times you were on top of me, right here, with me inside you.”

Your breath hitches, heat pooling low in your stomach, your body betraying you with a flush that creeps up your neck. “What are you doing, Jack?” you ask, voice shaky, trying to hold the line.

His eyes darken, locked on yours, and he shifts closer, his hand sliding from your wrist to your thigh, fingers tracing slow circles through your leggings. “Trying to convince you that sometimes rules are made to be broken,” he says, his voice a low growl, each word deliberate.

You swallow hard, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart, the heat of him seeping through his shirt. “You’re gonna get us in trouble, Jack,” you say, but your voice wavers, your resolve fraying under his touch.

His lips brush your jaw, a feather-light kiss that sends a shiver down your spine, and he trails them lower, to the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and teasing. “What, with the therapist?” he murmurs against your skin, his hand sliding higher, fingers grazing the curve of your hip. “I don’t give a fuck.” 

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leans close to your ear. “Just this one time. It can be our little secret.”

“Jack,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His kisses deepen, slow and deliberate, along your neck, each one igniting a spark that threatens to consume you. Your body arches toward him, instinctive, the memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything flooding back.

“Come on, babygirl,” he says, his voice rough with need, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, warm and possessive. “Just have sex with me. I’ll do that thing you like.”

You moan softly, the sound escaping before you can stop it, your head tilting back as his lips find the pulse point below your ear. “Fuck, Jack,” you whisper, your hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his hair. “I like all the things you do to me.”

His groan is low, primal, and he shifts, pulling you closer, your legs straddling his lap, the couch creaking under your weight. His hands roam your back, fingers digging in, and you feel him hard against you, the evidence of his want sending a jolt through you. 

Your lips are inches apart, breaths mingling, and you’re drowning in him—the heat, the scent, the weight of two months without this. His mouth hovers over yours, and you lean in, desperate, ready to break every rule.

But the rule—no sex, no crutch, build trust with words. You freeze, heart pounding, and wrench back, your hands braced against his chest, panting like you’ve run a marathon. 

“Jack, stop,” you gasp, voice trembling with effort, your body screaming in protest. “We can’t. The therapist—we’re supposed to be doing this right. No sex. Not tonight.”

Jack’s hands still on your hips, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with need but flickering with something else—guilt, maybe, or respect. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his head back against the couch, his hands sliding to your thighs, gripping them tightly before letting go. “You’re right. I’m sorry, babygirl. I got carried away.” He meets your eyes, raw and vulnerable, his voice hoarse. “I want you so bad, but I want us to work more. I’m trying.”

You nod, sliding off his lap, settling beside him, your body still thrumming with unspent energy, your heart a chaotic mix of love and frustration. “I’m sorry too,” you say, voice soft, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I want you, Jack. But we’re doing good—therapy, the letters, talking. I don’t want to mess it up.”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles, a small, grounding gesture. “Yeah. We’re doing good.” He glances at the crib, where baby Jack’s snores hum softly, then back at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “This kid’s got no idea what his parents are going through.”

You laugh, the sound shaky but real, easing the tension. “He’s lucky. All he worries about is his next bottle.”

Jack pulls you closer, his arm around your shoulders, and you curl into him, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your ear. You talk quietly, the words soft, about the ultrasound, about baby names.

The second crib unbuilt in the corner, a reminder of what’s coming, but for now, it’s just you two, holding each other, the letters on the table a testament to your fight.

“We’ll just keep doing the work.”

He nods, kissing your forehead, his lips gentle, chaste. “Yeah. We’ll do it right. For him. For the new one. For us.”

—————————————————————

One Morning

The bathroom is a steamy sanctuary, the shower’s hot water cascading over your 20-week pregnant body, easing the ache in your lower back and the tension of another week in the ER. The glass door is fogged, the tiles warm under your feet, a rare moment of peace on a Saturday morning—your first shared weekend off in weeks. 

Baby Jack is still asleep in his crib, and Jack was sprawled across your bed when you slipped out, his soft snores a quiet promise of a slow day. Three months of couples therapy have smoothed some edges—fewer fights, three letters written, more talking—but three months without sex.

The door creaks open, and you freeze, the shower curtain rustling as you peer through the steam. Jack’s silhouette fills the doorway, his hair mussed, wearing only gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, the faint outline of his arousal unmistakable. “What the hell are you doing in here?” you snap, clutching the curtain, your voice sharp but laced with a traitorous heat.

He leans against the sink, arms crossed, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Forgot I’ve got an oil change appointment this morning,” he says, his voice low, rough with sleep. “But I’ll miss it if you let me get in there with you. Your call, babygirl.”

Your pulse spikes, the water pounding against your skin amplifying the flush creeping up your chest. You grip the curtain tighter, the urge to pull him in, consequences be damned. “Jack, go to the appointment,” you say, voice firm, but your eyes betray you, lingering on the hard lines of his chest, the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

He steps closer, his grin turning wicked, his bare feet silent on the tiles. “You sure? ‘Cause all I can think about is your naked body, just inches away, all wet and warm.” His voice drops, a seductive murmur that curls around you like the steam. He reaches out, fingers brushing the edge of the curtain, and you playfully tug it open an inch, revealing a sliver of your shoulder, water beading on your skin.

His eyes darken, a low groan escaping him, but you laugh, breaking the spell, and yank the curtain closed. “Go get your oil changed, you perv,” you tease, your voice lighter now, though your body hums with want.

He chuckles, the sound warm and reluctant. “Fine, but you’re making this real hard, you know that?” He lingers a moment, then slips out, the door clicking shut, leaving you alone with the pounding water and the ache he’s stirred.

You step out of the shower, skin still warm, wrapping yourself in a soft towel that barely covers your growing bump. The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the bathroom counter. You pad to the nursery, where baby Jack is stirring, his tiny fists waving, his dark eyes blinking up at you. “Morning, little man,” you murmur, scooping him up, his warmth a grounding comfort. You settle into the rocking chair, giving him a bottle, his small hands clutching the plastic as he drinks greedily, his gurgles softening the edge of your thoughts.

Jack’s teasing in the bathroom lingers, a persistent heat under your skin. You try to focus on the routine—changing baby Jack’s diaper, slipping him into a fresh onesie with a cartoon dinosaur—but your mind keeps drifting to Jack’s voice, his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. After putting Jack down for a nap in his crib, his snores a soft rhythm through the monitor, you tackle the laundry, sorting tiny socks and burp cloths, folding Jack’s shirts, the domesticity a stark contrast to the fire he’s ignited.

The baby monitor in hand, you carry it to the bedroom, setting it on the dresser, its green light flickering in the dim morning glow. The bed is unmade, sheets tangled from Jack’s restless sleep, and you climb in, crawling under the blanket, the fabric cool against your skin. You’re in a loose tank top and cotton pajama pants, the waistband stretched over your bump, and as you lie back, the quiet wraps around you, broken only by baby Jack’s distant snores.

Your thoughts drift to Jack—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d press you into this bed three months ago, bodies moving in desperate sync. The no-sex rule has been torture, near-breaches piling up: the kitchen, the stairwell, the on-call room last month. Your body aches for him, a need that’s grown sharper with every teasing glance, every brush of his fingers. Your hands wander, tentative at first, grazing your breasts through the tank top, the sensation sharp against your sensitive skin. A soft sigh escapes you, and one hand slips lower, under the quilt, past the waistband of your pants, finding the heat between your thighs.

You start rubbing, slow circles that draw a quiet moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you picture Jack—his weight over you, his voice in your ear, calling you “babygirl”. Your fingers move faster, dipping inside, the slick warmth pulling you deeper into the fantasy, your hips shifting against the mattress. “Jack,” you whisper, voice breathy, the name spilling out as you chase the edge, lost in the rhythm of your own touch.

A floorboard creaks, and your eyes snap open. Jack’s in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a smirk curling his lips, his sweatpants doing little to hide his arousal. Your heart lurches, and you yank the quilt over yourself, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Holy shit, Jack, what are you doing back already?” you stammer, voice high, scrambling to sit up.

He steps into the room, his smirk widening, eyes dark with amusement and want. “I was the first one there,” he says, voice low, casual, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Glad I made the appointment that early. Didn’t wanna miss “this”.

You groan, pulling the quilt higher, mortified. “Jack, please get out,” you say, voice shaky, your body still thrumming with unspent desire.

He laughs, a rich, warm sound, and shakes his head. “Why, so you can finish this without me? Fuck no.” He crosses the room, dropping onto the small armchair across from the bed, his legs spread, his gaze locked on you. “Finish what you started, babygirl. I’ll wait.”

Your eyes widen, a mix of shock and heat flooding you. “Jack,” you say, voice a warning, but it’s weak, your resolve crumbling under his stare.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his voice a low, coaxing drawl. “Come on, babygirl, let me see how good you are for me. Don’t stop now.”

You hesitate, heart pounding, the quilt still clutched tight. But his eyes—dark, hungry, full of love—pull you in, and you slide your hand back under the blanket, past your waistband, fingers finding the slick heat again. You start rubbing, slow at first, your breath hitching as you hold his gaze, the intimacy of the moment searing.

“That’s it,” Jack murmurs, his voice thick with praise, his hands gripping the armrests like he’s holding himself back. “So good for me. Now put your fingers inside, babygirl.”

You moan softly, obeying, your fingers slipping inside, the sensation sharper with his voice guiding you. Your hips shift, the quilt slipping slightly, and you lose yourself in the rhythm, your eyes locked on his, his praise washing over you— “so fucking beautiful, doing so good, babygirl”. 

The tension builds, coiling tight, and you gasp his name, your body trembling as you reach the edge, his gaze never leaving yours.

When you finish, a shuddering release that leaves you breathless, Jack’s voice is a low growl. “God, I fucking love you.” He stands, his eyes still burning, and turns toward the door.

You sit up, the quilt pooling around your waist, voice sharp with confusion. “Jack, where the hell are you going?”

He doesn’t answer, just slips out, his footsteps echoing down the hall. You stare at the empty doorway, heart racing, a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up.

You swing your legs off the bed, head to the bathroom to clean up, splashing cold water on your face, your reflection flushed and wide-eyed. The baby monitor hums softly, baby Jack still asleep, and you pull on a fresh pair of leggings and a loose sweater, the fabric soft against your sensitive skin.

————————————————— 

Downstairs

The kitchen is bright with midday light, the windows open to a crisp fall breeze, the scent of coffee lingering from Jack’s earlier pot. He’s at the counter, slicing an apple with a paring knife, his back to you, his sweatpants and T-shirt casual but taut against his frame. The radio hums a soft classic rock tune, and a pile of mail sits unopened on the table, a normalcy that feels surreal after the bedroom.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, voice sharp but laced with humor. “Jack, what the fuck was that?”

He turns, knife pausing, a grin spreading across his face, all innocence and mischief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, popping an apple slice into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes twinkling.

You step closer, pointing at him, incredulous. “You’re actually unbearable, you know that? You’re gonna do all of “that”, always try to get me to have sex with you, but this time you just walk out?”

He laughs, setting the knife down, leaning against the counter with a shrug. “You’re always saying we can’t,” he says, his voice teasing but edged with something deeper. “Therapist’s rules, right? I’m just following your lead, babygirl.”

You narrow your eyes, stepping closer, the tension from the bedroom simmering between you. “And what if this was the time I give in?” you ask, voice low, challenging, your heart pounding at your own boldness.

His grin falters, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of hope and restraint crossing his face. “Was it?” he asks, voice softer now, stepping toward you, close enough to feel the heat of him.

You hold his gaze, a laugh bubbling up, breaking the spell. “You wish,” you say, turning away, walking to the living room, your hips swaying just enough to tease him back. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You sink onto the couch, grabbing a throw blanket, your voice carrying over your shoulder. “To relax while you make me lunch.”

Jack follows, leaning against the living room doorway, his laugh rich and warm. “Lunch, huh? You drive a hard bargain.” He heads back to the kitchen, the clatter of pans starting up, and you curl into the couch, the baby monitor’s soft hum a reminder of your life, your love, your fight.

The morning’s heat lingers, a promise and a challenge. For now, you close your eyes, the sound of Jack humming in the kitchen a quiet anchor, and let yourself rest, one hand on your bump, the other clutching the blanket, your heart full of him.

—————————————————————

Back to Therapy 

The therapist’s office is a familiar cocoon, its beige walls softened by the faint glow of a floor lamp. The clock ticks steadily, a metronome to your nerves, as you and Jack sit on the plush beige couch, close enough that your knees brush but not quite touching. You’re 21 weeks pregnant, the weight of it a constant reminder of what’s coming. Three months of couples therapy have carved a fragile path forward—fewer fights, better communication, only three letters written—but the no-sex rule has been a relentless test, especially after Saturday morning, when Jack caught you in the bedroom, hand in your pants, moaning his name. You’re braced for him to bring it up, your stomach knotted with anticipation, the memory of his smirk and praise still burning under your skin.

Dr. Ellis sits across from you, her notepad balanced on her knee, her gray hair pulled into a neat bun, her expression calm but probing. She adjusts her glasses, her voice warm but direct. “Let’s start with how things have been going since our last session. You’ve been working hard—how’s the communication holding up?”

You glance at Jack, his posture relaxed but his fingers drumming lightly on his thigh, a telltale sign of restless energy. You take a breath, diving in. “It’s been… really good, actually,” you say, voice steady despite your nerves. “We’ve only needed three letters so far, like we mentioned last time. We’re talking through things before they get bad—no more big fights, not at home, not at work. We’ve been able to catch ourselves, talk about what’s bothering us, even the mistakes we’ve made in the past.”

Jack nods, his hand stilling, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, it’s different now. Like, we’ll start to get heated, but one of us will back off, and we actually talk. I messed up last week—forgot to tell her about a late shift—and instead of blowing up, we just… dealt with it. Felt weirdly adult.”

Dr. Ellis’s eyes crinkle with approval, her pen scratching a note. “That’s significant progress. Three letters in three months shows you’re leaning on communication, not just the writing exercise. And addressing past mistakes—trust issues, the hemorrhage, the parking lot incident—takes real vulnerability. What’s been the hardest part of keeping that open line?”

You hesitate, your mind flicking to Saturday, but you stick to the broader picture. “For me, it’s trusting that he’s really here, emotionally,” you say, glancing at Jack, your voice softening. “After the hemorrhage, I felt so alone, and I’m still scared sometimes. But he’s been showing up—listening, talking. It’s helping.”

Jack shifts, his hand brushing yours briefly, a quiet anchor. “Hardest part for me is not shutting down when she’s upset,” he says, voice low but honest. “I used to just… hide, you know? Work, whatever. Now I’m trying to stay in it, even when it’s messy. Like, I know I fucked up before, and I’m owning it.”

Dr. Ellis nods, her gaze warm but piercing. “That’s the work—staying present, owning the past without letting it define you. You’re both doing it, and that’s why you’re here, not screaming at each other. Now, let’s check in on the no-sex rule. How’s that been going?”

Jack bursts out laughing, a rich, infectious sound that fills the room, his head tilting back against the couch. You shoot him a glare, your cheeks flushing, certain he’s about to spill about Saturday. Dr. Ellis raises a brow, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, didn’t think you two would last long,” she says, her tone teasing but curious. “Let me guess—you broke it almost as soon as I mentioned it?”

You and Jack lock eyes, a silent conversation passing between you—his amusement, your embarrassment, the shared weight of that morning. You brace yourself, but Jack leans forward, his grin mischievous, his voice dripping with playful accusation. “Well, “I” didn’t break any rules,” he says, pointing at you, “but her, on the other hand? You gotta ask her yourself.”

Your jaw drops, and you swat his arm, mortified but fighting a laugh. “I didn’t break any rules!” you protest, voice rising, your face burning. “We haven’t had sex in over three months, Dr. Ellis. Not once.”

Jack leans back, arms crossed, his smirk unrelenting. “Well, you still kinda broke the rules,” he says, his tone teasing but pointed, his eyes glinting with the memory of you under the quilt, moaning his name.

Dr. Ellis tilts her head, her expression neutral but intrigued, sensing the undercurrent. “Last time I checked, it takes two people to have sex,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “So if you didn’t break the rule, Jack, neither did she.”

Jack’s grin widens, and he leans forward, undeterred. “Well, she sure as hell found a way around it,” he says, his voice low, almost conspiratorial, his eyes flicking to you, daring you to respond.

Your cheeks flame, and you cover your face with your hands, a mix of embarrassment and exasperation bubbling up. “Jack, oh my God,” you mutter, peeking through your fingers at Dr. Ellis, who’s now openly amused.

Dr. Ellis sets her notepad down, her smile softening the tension. “Sounds like you found a loophole,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact but warm, looking at you. “Self-pleasure wasn’t off the table—I never said you couldn’t take care of yourselves separately. The rule was about not using sex as a substitute for communication. Finding that loophole shows creativity, and it’s perfectly within bounds.”

Jack’s eyes widen, a mock-offended laugh bursting out. “A loophole? Wish I would’ve known that sooner,” he says, throwing his hands up, his voice laced with humor. “I’ve been over here playing saint, thinking I had to be a monk, while she’s getting creative.”

You roll your eyes, dropping your hands, but a laugh escapes, easing the knot in your chest. Dr. Ellis chuckles, shaking her head. “You’ve both shown remarkable restraint,” she says, her voice warm with pride. “Most couples leave my office and jump right back into physical intimacy, but you’ve rebuilt your relationship from the ground up with words—talking, letters, owning your mistakes. That’s rare, and it’s something to celebrate.”

Jack leans back, his grin softening into something more genuine, but he can’t resist a jab. “So, we can have sex now, is what you’re saying?” he asks, his voice playful but hopeful, his eyes flicking to you.

You groan, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Jack, really? She says we’re doing great, and that’s all you can think about?”

Dr. Ellis raises a hand, her smile steady but thoughtful. “Let’s address that,” she says, her tone shifting to guidance. “The no-sex rule was about building trust and communication without relying on physicality. You’ve done that—your communication is strong, you’re resolving conflicts, you’re vulnerable with each other. If you both feel stable enough in your relationship, you can resume sex. It’s about what feels right for you, together, without it becoming a crutch again. You’ll need to keep talking, especially with the pregnancy and baby Jack adding pressure.”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up, a spark of excitement in his eyes, but he keeps his tone light. “Well, now I feel like I need to ask more questions about these rules,” he says, teasing, his hand squeezing yours. “Apparently, I could’ve been doing a whole lot more than I was, loopholes and all.”

You laugh, shaking your head, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “You’re impossible,” you say, but your voice is soft, your heart racing with the possibility Dr. Ellis has just opened, a door you’ve both been circling for months.

Dr. Ellis leans forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re at a strong point,” she says. “You’ve built trust, communication, and resilience. I think we can scale back to one session a week, maybe even virtual if it’s easier with the baby and pregnancy. You’re managing a lot—ER shifts, a almost 9 month old, a high-risk pregnancy. Virtual could give you flexibility without losing this progress.”

You nod, relief washing over you, the idea of fewer in-person sessions a small but welcome reprieve. “Yeah, that would be really helpful,” you say, glancing at Jack, who nods, his thumb brushing your knuckles in quiet agreement.

Dr. Ellis sets her notepad aside, her expression warm. “You’re doing the work, both of you. Keep talking, keep writing if you need to, and keep showing up for each other. If you decide to resume physical intimacy, communicate about it—check in, make sure it’s strengthening, not sidestepping, your connection. Let’s schedule one session for next week, and we’ll discuss virtual options.”

You and Jack stand, his hand lingering in yours as you gather your things—a water bottle, your bag, the ultrasound images from last month tucked inside, their edges worn from being handled. The session’s lightness lingers, a contrast to the raw intensity of earlier months, but Saturday’s memory hums between you, now framed by Dr. Ellis’s words—loophole, stability, possibility. 

As you step into the hallway, the late afternoon light slanting through the windows, Jack squeezes your hand, his voice low, teasing but soft. “You owe me a letter about that loophole, you know. And maybe a talk about what ���stable enough’ looks like.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder, your heart lighter than it’s been in weeks. “Keep dreaming, perv,” you say, but your smile betrays you, a spark of anticipation for the conversations, the moments, the messy, hopeful love you’re rebuilding, one word, one touch, one loophole at a time.

—————————————————————

The Parking Lot 

The therapy office door clicks shut behind you. You’re 21 weeks pregnant, your bump a soft curve under the loose gray fabric, a quiet weight that anchors you as you walk beside Jack toward the elevator. The session’s words—*loophole, stable enough, resume sex*—pulse between you, unspoken but electric, like a current running through the air. Jack’s hand brushes yours, his fingers calloused from ER shifts, and you feel the heat of him, three months of restraint fraying with every step. You’re still reeling from his teasing in the session, the way he called out your Saturday morning “loophole” with that damn smirk, but Dr. Ellis’s permission to move forward, if you’re ready, has shifted something, a door creaking open after being locked tight.

The elevator dings, its doors sliding open, and you step inside, the small space a sudden intimacy after the office’s calm. Jack follows, close enough that his arm grazes yours, and as the doors close, his hand finds your lower back, fingers splaying just above your hips, warm and possessive through your sweater. You glance up, catching him biting his lip, his dark eyes raking over you, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. His gaze is a spark, igniting the ache you’ve been carrying since Saturday, since the on-call room, since the kitchen sink three months ago when you last had sex.

“Jack,” you murmur, voice a warning, but it’s weak, your body leaning into his touch despite yourself.

He steps closer, his breath warm against your temple, his voice low, rough. “What? Just making sure you don’t trip, babygirl.” His fingers press slightly, guiding you as the elevator hums downward, and you feel the heat of his palm, the promise in his tightening grip.

The doors open with a soft chime, and you step into the parking lot, the late afternoon air crisp, carrying the bite of fall and the faint tang of exhaust. The lot is half-empty, concrete stained with oil, the hospital’s brick facade looming behind you. Jack’s hand stays on your lower back, steering you toward your car—a beat-up SUV parked under a flickering streetlamp. His stride is easy, but his energy is coiled, like he’s holding himself back by a thread. You feel it too, the weight of Dr. Ellis’s words, the possibility of crossing a line you’ve been skirting for months.

He reaches the passenger side, pulling the door open with a creak, his free hand still grazing your back. You turn to get in, but before you can, he steps forward, turning you gently but firmly, your back pressing against the car’s cold metal frame. His hands find your hips, fingers digging in through your jeans, and he stands inches away, his body a wall of heat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The streetlamp casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the hunger in his eyes, the faint stubble you want to feel against your skin.

“So,” he says, voice low, a gravelly drawl that sends a shiver down your spine, “do you think we’re ‘stable enough’ yet?”

You don’t answer, your breath catching, your eyes locked on his, the world narrowing to the space between you—the inches of air, the months of want, the trust you’ve been rebuilding. His grip tightens, one hand sliding to your lower back, pulling you closer, your bump brushing his stomach, a soft barrier and a reminder of what’s at stake.

He leans in, his lips hovering near yours, his voice softer now, raw with need but laced with something deeper. “I’m not a mindreader, babygirl. You gotta talk to me. I need to know you trust me, that you feel safe with me again.”

Your heart stutters, his words cutting through the haze of desire, grounding you in the work you’ve done—letters, talks, therapy. You reach up, your hands finding his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart through his jacket. “There’s no place I feel safer than here in your arms, Jack,” you say, voice quiet but steady, the truth of it settling between you like a vow.

His eyes soften, a flicker of relief, and then he’s kissing you, his lips crashing into yours, urgent and hungry, three months of pent-up desire pouring out. His tongue slips into your mouth, warm and insistent, tasting of coffee and him, and you meet him with equal need, your hands fisting his jacket, pulling him closer. Heavy breaths mingle, your gasps swallowed by his mouth, his teeth grazing your lower lip, a low groan rumbling in his chest. The kiss is messy, desperate, tongues tangling, heat building as you press yourself against him, the car’s metal cold at your back, his body searing at your front.

He pulls back, panting, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot against your lips. “So, you heard what she said, right?” he murmurs, voice rough, and before you can answer, he kisses you again, slower this time, deep and deliberate, his tongue tracing yours, drawing a moan from your throat. He breaks away, eyes dark, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We can have sex again.”

You laugh, breathless, your hands still on his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breaths. “You have to be honest with me first,” you say, voice teasing but pointed, your eyes narrowing playfully.

He tilts his head, brow furrowing, but his smirk holds. “Honest about what?”

You lean closer, your lips brushing his jaw, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve been walking around horny every second of every day since the last time we had sex, and now you wanna sit in there and act like you haven’t been doing anything behind closed doors?”

He laughs, a rich, warm sound that vibrates against you, his hands tightening on your hips. “No idea what you’re talking about, babygirl,” he says, his voice a mock-innocent drawl, and he kisses you again, quick and teasing, his lips lingering just long enough to stoke the fire.

You pull back, smirking, your hand sliding from his chest to his belt, fingers tugging lightly at the leather, the metal buckle cool against your skin. His body twitches, a sharp intake of breath, his eyes darkening as he watches you. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, strained, a warning and a plea.

You tilt your head, mimicking his innocence, your voice a playful echo. “No idea what you’re talking about,” you say, your hand creeping lower, grazing the bulge growing through his jeans, the denim taut under your fingers. He lets out a moan, low and guttural, his hips shifting toward your touch, his hands gripping your hips tighter, like he’s fighting to hold himself back.

“Holy fuck, babygirl,” he groans, his voice breaking, his forehead dropping to yours. “I need you so fucking bad, you have no idea. I could take you right here in this parking lot.”

You laugh, a soft, teasing sound, your hand stilling, fingers brushing the edge of his jeans before pulling back, leaving him trembling. “You wish,” you say, voice light but laced with challenge, stepping out of his grip and sliding into the car, your heart racing, your body thrumming with the game you’ve just played.

He stands there a moment, hands braced on the open door, chest heaving, eyes locked on you, a mix of frustration and amusement in his gaze. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” he says, but his voice is warm. He shuts the door, circling to the driver’s side, and as he slides in, the tension lingers, your trust, your love.

—————————————————————

The car's engine hums to life as Jack slides into the driver’s seat, his face flushed and his movements a little too deliberate. You catch the way he shifts in his seat, tugging at the front of his jeans to ease the obvious strain against his zipper. A smirk tugs at your lips, and you can’t help yourself.

“Trouble there, big guy?” you tease, leaning back in the passenger seat with a playful glint in your eye. “Looks like you’re about to bust a seam.”

Jack shoots you a look, half-embarrassed, half-cocky, his lips twitching into a grin. “Keep laughin’, babygirl. You’re the one who got me in this state and you’re the one that’s gonna have to pay for it.” He adjusts himself one more time, muttering under his breath, then grips the steering wheel. “Alright, you need to tell me what we’re doin’ here. Because either we go to Robby and Collins’ to pick up our son, or you let me take you home and remind you just how much you’ve missed me.”

His voice is low, gravelly, and the heat in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine. You bite your lip, pretending to mull it over, but you already know the answer. “Take me home,” you say, your voice soft but decisive.

Jack’s eyes darken, but before he can say anything, you pull out your phone and dial Collins. As it rings, you steal a glance at Jack, who’s watching you like a hawk, one hand still gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Collins picks up, her voice warm and cheerful. “Hey! Everything okay?”

“Hey, yeah, everything’s great,” you say, trying to sound casual despite the way Jack’s staring at you. “I was just wondering if you and Robby would be okay watching Jack Jr. for the night? We, uh, might need a little extra time.”

In the background, you hear Robby’s voice, loud and playful, mixed with the giggles of kids. “Tell ‘em to take their time!” he hollers, clearly wrestling with the kids or tickling them into a frenzy. “Y’all can repay us with breakfast in the mornin’. Pancakes. Bacon. The works!”

Collins laughs. “You heard him. We’ve got JJ covered. You two have fun.”

“Thanks, Collins,” you say, grinning. “We owe you big time.”

As soon as you hang up, Jack’s hand lands on your thigh, firm and warm, his fingers squeezing just enough to make your breath catch. He glances over at you, his eyes smoldering. “Don’t think we’ll be gettin’ much sleep before that breakfast,” he says, his voice a low promise that sends heat pooling in your core.

You lean closer, resting your hand over his, guiding it a little higher up your thigh. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” you murmur, and the way his grip tightens tells you he’s already planning exactly how he’s going to make good on that promise.

—————————————————————

The car’s engine cuts off with a soft click, and before you can even reach for the handle, Jack’s already out, jogging around to your side. He yanks the door open, his eyes raking over you, dark and hungry, taking in every curve accentuated by the tight hoodie and sweatpants. “Let’s go, babygirl,” he says, voice rough with want. “I’ve been waitin’ too long for this.”

You grab his outstretched hand, feeling the calluses against your palm as you climb out of the car, your heart pounding. “You’re not the only one that’s been waiting,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing as you step closer, your body brushing against his. “Take me to bed.”

Jack’s grip tightens, and he leads you toward the house, his pace deliberate but laced with urgency. The front door barely clicks shut behind you before he’s on you, spinning you around and pressing you against the wall. His lips crash into yours, hot and demanding, mouths moving in perfect sync. His tongue sweeps against yours, teasing, exploring, a hungry edge to every movement as you melt into him, your hands in his jacket.

You tear into each other, frantic and desperate. Jack’s hands find the hem of your hoodie, yanking it up and over your head in one swift motion, taking your t-shirt with it. The cool air hits your skin, leaving you in just your bra, your 21-week baby bump softly rounded and exposed. His eyes flick down, a flicker of awe mixing with the heat in his gaze before he’s back on you, kissing you deeper.

Your fingers work fast, shoving his jacket off his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Jack pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest, and you fumble with his belt, the metal clinking as you tug it free. Shoes go flying—yours skitter across the hardwood, his land somewhere near the couch—as you both stumble further into the house, a tangle of limbs and heat. Jack’s hands slide down your sides, hooking into your sweatpants and dragging them down your hips, leaving you in just your underwear.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, both of you standing there, stripped down to your underwear, chests heaving. His eyes are locked on you, dark and intense, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a touch. “Are you gonna take me to bed, Jack?” you ask, your voice a sultry challenge as you tilt your head, lips parted.

He smirks, biting his lip as he steps closer, crowding your space. His hands settle on your hips, fingers brushing the edge of your panties, sending a shiver through you. “Oh, babygirl,” he says, voice low and dripping with promise, “you have no idea what I’m about to do to you.”

—————————————————————

Jack’s hand stays firm in yours as he leads you up the stairs, his grip tight with anticipation. He pushes you through the bedroom door first, and you stumble slightly, landing on the soft mattress with a soft thud. You scoot back, propping yourself on your elbows, your eyes locked on his, daring him to come closer. He doesn’t hesitate, crawling onto the bed with a predatory glint in his eyes, using his knees to spread your legs wide. 

“Fuck, babygirl,” he growls, positioning himself over you, his broad frame casting a shadow. “You’re mine tonight.”

He starts at your neck, lips hot and relentless, kissing and sucking hard enough to leave dark hickies blooming across your skin, marking you like you’re teenagers sneaking around. You moan loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet house, and he chuckles against your throat. “That’s it, let the neighbors hear you, baby. Let ‘em know how much you want this.” 

His hands slide under your back, deftly unhooking your bra and tossing it aside, exposing your breasts. His mouth descends, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, while his hand massages the other, kneading with just the right pressure. His free hand braces himself above you, muscles flexing as he holds steady.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust as he trails wet kisses down your pregnant belly, his lips soft against the curve of your 21-week bump. He kisses down one thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin, then back up the other, teasingly slow. When he reaches the apex, he pauses, eyes darkening as he stares at your panties. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re dripping through these already. Just for me, huh?” His voice is a low rumble, and he presses a kiss right over the soaked fabric, making you gasp.

He crawls back up, capturing your lips again, his tongue plunging into your mouth, hot and desperate. You moan into the kiss, loud and unrestrained, your hands clawing at his back. His fingers trace your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, before slipping under the band of your panties. He groans against your lips as his fingers find your slick heat, rubbing small, torturous circles over your clit. “So fucking wet for me,” he says, pulling back to watch your face. “You want Daddy’s fingers, don’t you, good girl?”

“Yes, Daddy, please,” you whimper, hips bucking against his hand. He smirks, pushing one finger inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. Your head falls back, a loud moan tearing from your throat as he works you, the neighbors probably cursing your names by now. “More, please, Daddy,” you beg, voice shaking.

“Greedy little thing,” he teases, adding two more fingers, stretching you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. “Look at you, takin’ my fingers so well. Cum on ‘em, baby. Come on, I know my good girl can do it.” 

His voice is a filthy promise, and you’re screaming now, body trembling as the pleasure builds to a breaking point. Your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, and you cry out his name, loud enough to wake the whole damn block.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Fuck, you taste so good.” He slides down, yanking your soaked panties off and tossing them onto the chair across the room—the same chair where he once watched you touch yourself, smirking at the memory. 

“Lemme clean up the mess I made,” he says, voice dripping with hunger. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dives into your pussy, swirling around your clit with devastating precision. He knows exactly what you like, alternating between soft flicks and hard sucks, and you’re moaning so loudly it’s a wonder the windows aren’t rattling. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard as your second orgasm builds fast. 

“Cum for daddy again, babygirl,” he growls against you. You shatter, screaming his name as your legs shake uncontrollably, your release flooding his mouth. 

He laps it up, groaning like he’s savoring every drop. When he pulls back, his lips glisten, and he grins. “You need a minute, baby?” he asks, voice teasing but gentle, his hands still stroking your trembling thighs.

“Fuck no,” you pant, pushing him onto his back with a sudden burst of energy. He laughs, low and rough, as you crawl between his legs, kissing his neck, sucking hard to leave hickies of your own. 

“My turn, Daddy,” you whisper, trailing kisses down his chest, his abs, your hands rubbing him through his briefs. He’s rock-hard, straining against the fabric, and he lifts his hips, letting you tug the briefs down. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, already dripping precum onto his stomach.

You spit on him, wrapping your hand around his length, stroking up and down with a firm grip. “Fuck, babygirl, just like that,” he groans, head falling back as you work him. 

You lean down, taking him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip before you slide down, taking him deep. His hands gather your hair, guiding you gently but firmly as you bob, sucking him hard, moaning around his cock. 

“Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ good at this,” he pants, hips twitching. “My good girl, takin’ Daddy’s cock like that.” You hum, the vibration making him curse, and soon he’s tensing, groaning your name as he cums hard in your mouth. You pull back, opening your mouth to show him before swallowing every drop.

“Good girl,” he says, voice hoarse, eyes blazing with pride. You grin, wiping your lips. “What, you need a minute, Daddy?” you tease, mimicking his earlier question.

He laughs, dark and hungry. “I’ve had months to wait for this, babygirl. I ain’t waitin’ no more.” In one swift move, he flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. “You won’t be walkin’ by the time I’m done with you,” he growls, positioning himself at your entrance. He teases you, sliding just the tip in, making you whine and arch against him. “You want it, don’t you? Beg for Daddy’s cock, good girl.”

“Please, Daddy, fuck me,” you moan, voice desperate. “I need you inside me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, and with one hard thrust, he fills you completely, stretching you until you’re gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust, then starts thrusting, deep and relentless, hitting that perfect spot every time. “Fuck, you feel so good, babygirl,” he groans, his pace brutal and perfect. “So tight, so fuckin’ wet for me. Scream for Daddy, let ‘em all hear you.”

You do, screaming his name as the pleasure builds, your body shaking beneath him. The headboard slams against the wall, the bed creaking, and you’re both lost in it, moaning and cursing, bodies slick with sweat. 

“Cum with me, baby,” he pants, his thrusts growing erratic. “Let daddy feel you cum.” You both hit your peak together, your orgasm ripping through you as he spills inside, both of you trembling, gasping, bodies shaking from the sweet release.

He collapses beside you, both of you panting, tangled in each other’s arms. “Fuck, that was worth the wait,” he says, voice rough but warm, pulling you close. You laugh, still catching your breath. “Yeah, but you’re gettin’ a vasectomy, Jack. No more surprises.”

He chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Deal, babygirl.”

You fall asleep wrapped in each other, bodies pressed close, completely spent. The next morning, you wake in a panic—no alarm, just sunlight streaming through the curtains. You glance at the clock: 9:47 a.m. “Shit, Jack, wake up!” you say, shaking him. “It’s almost ten!”

He jolts upright, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, shit, breakfast!” You both scramble out of bed, rushing to freshen up and throw on clothes. 

As you head downstairs, ready to bolt out the door to pick up breakfast and head to Robby and Collins’, Jack stops, staring at your neck. “Fuck, baby, you’ve got hickies everywhere.”

You laugh, pointing at his own neck, marked up just as bad. “Look who’s talking, daddy. You’re not exactly spotless.”

He grins, shaking his head. “Well, guess this better be some damn good breakfast so they don’t make fun of us as much.” You both laugh, heading out the door, still buzzing from the night before, ready to face the day—and the teasing—with a smile.

—————————————————————

Never actually thought I’d write 7 chapter to this but here we are anyway. Let me know if you guys would want more or have any ideas for a different type of story! I got some more sitting in my notes that I’ll be posting sometime soon too! Enjoy !

[storiesaplenty]

The Pitt Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: swearing. Smut below the cut. Oral (m receiving) cum swallowing. Anal. Use of butt plug.

WC: 1011

Divider by @strangergraphics

©️ storiesaplenty 2025: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work. All readers are female, unless stated otherwise.

This part is Dr Robby, Dr Abbott, & Dr Langdon.

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

My ponytail was wrapped tight in Dr Robby's fist as he held my head in place as he raised his hips back and forth. His other hand was closed in a fist, that was stuffed in his mouth to keep his moans down.

My hands were gripping his thighs as I let him use my mouth and throat for his pleasure, knowing how stressed he is.

The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat a bit too rough, and I gagged, making him throw his head back as he pulled himself completely out of my mouth.

I was gasping for air, knowing I wouldn't have much of a break before he thrust back into my mouth.

He placed both of his hands on the side of my head, forcing it back a bit further, as he looked down at me, and I must have been a sight. The little bit of eye makeup I wear, streaking down my face, the corners of my mouth coated in spit and precrum.

"Being so good for me, aren't you? Always know exactly what I need, don't you?" He thrust back into my mouth, with a loud groan.

His pace was brutal and not forgiving at all as he was so close to finishing.

With a grunt of my name, he stilled as the first rope of cum hit the back of my throat. His hips stuttered as he coated my throat.

I made sure to swallow it all, not wanting to miss a single drop of it.

I continued to suck, even after he was long done. Him trying to catch his breath.

Dr Robby helped me to my feet, kissing me, the two of us moaning at the taste of him on my lips.

"I promise to make it up to you at home." He mumbled against my lips.

"It's okay. I know how stressed you are but I will remind you later that you owe me."

Dr. Jack Abbott

I know Jack asked me a question, but I was too far gone to have heard him properly. Not with the way how his cock is just stretching me so perfectly.

I felt his hand on my throat, squeezing it just right as he pulled my body back, so my back is flushed against his chest.

He placed his mouth against my ear, nipping it before repeating himself.

"I said, what gives you the right to question me like that?" My whole body shivered at his tone. My pussy tightening around his cock.

Making him groan as he sped up his pace, if that was even possible.

"I'm sorry Jack. I didn't mean," I couldn't finish what I was saying, as he angled his hips just so, now prodding that spot inside of me that always makes me scream.

I had to cover my mouth, but Jack didn't like that. He moved my hand from my mouth.

"Gonna act like a brat on the floor. Let everyone here how I take care of your brattiness." I shook my head no, trying to stifle my moans as people were walking right outside this closet.

"Go on. Let them hear you. Let them hear you getting fucked by Dr Abbott."

The hand on my throat got a bit tighter and before I knew it, my whole body was shaking as came, my pussy clenching around his cock, forcing Jack to groan against my head.

He held himself back, fucking me through my orgasm until he couldn't hold back anymore.

He grunted my name as he stilled, his cock twitching in my pussy as he filled me.

My mouth hanging open as he came, triggering another small orgasm from me.

Jack pulled out of me, the two of us moaning at the loss of him inside of me.

"You good now Jack?" I asked him as I fixed myself up.

"Yeah, for now."

I rolled my eyes at my husband.

Dr. Frank Langdon

"Come on Frank, we don't have much time. Where?" I mumbled against his lips, as his hands squeezed my ass through my scrubs.

"You got the plug in?" He asked me as he pulled away, to look into my eyes. I nodded my head yes, as he text me this morning to put it in.

"Turn around." I knew what he wanted.

I pulled down my scrubs and my panties. I felt his hand rub against the heart shaped plug that I have in my hole.

I whined as he pulled the plug out, and placed it on the box next to him.

"Good thing you used plenty of lube." Frank said as he placed his cock at the entrance and slowly slid in.

I groaned as he slid inch by inch inside of me, this not being the first time we have done this.

"Gonna make it up tonight. Just let me fuck you." His hands tightened on my hips, so tight I will feel them for the rest of my shift.

"Use me Frank." I barely got out before he pulled back, leaving just the tip inside and slamming back into my ass.

He fucked me as hard and fast as he could. His pace never wavering as he fucked me like his life depends on it.

"Gonna be a good girl and let me cum in your ass huh? Work the rest of this horrible shift, knowing my cum is in your ass."

"Yes Frank, yes." I always felt dirty when we did this, but I also fucking love.

"Oh shit." He said a few moments later, just as I felt his cock twitch as he came.

"Yessss." He groaned, as he finished coming.

Frank pulled out of my well used hole, and spread my ass cheeks to watch his cum slowly leak out of my hole, before putting the plug back in, and pulling up my bottoms.

"I'll except you naked when I get home Dr Langdon." I teased.

"Will be. Don't you worry about that."

Part 2 with Dennis Whitaker, Mateo Diaz & Donnie Donahue coming soon

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Office Secrets

Luke Cooper x f!reader

TW: smut, p in v, unprotected, fingering… lmk if there’s anything else lol

Word count: 1526

Friendly note, I wrote this all in one day so it’s probably not the best but I’ve been so obsessed w Evan lately I just needed to write lol Enjoy!!!

~~~

“So, who wants to bet the two newbies are doing it?” Meredith says as she puts coins into one of the vending machines.

“They so are,” Kevin says. “Have you seen the way they look at each other it’s like- Pam and Jim.”

“Hey!”

Angela shakes her head. “You people are disgusting… but I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ve seen them flirting on multiple occasions.”

“This is all circumstantial, it doesn’t mean they’re sleeping together,” Oscar argues.

“I would bet they are,” Phillas says with a laugh. “I mean I remember how fun it was being all secret with Bob, it’s so thrilling.”

Pam glances at you in the annex, Luke’s leaning back on your desk, smiling as you two talk. She looks back to the group and shrugs. “It’s possible they are.”

~~~

“Hey y/n, do you think you could make some copies for me?” Pam asks as you’re walking by.

“Yeah of course, double or single sided?” You reply with a smile.

“Double please.” She hands you the original.

You walk to the copier, but as you’re about to open it, Luke slips in front of you.

“Luke I was about to make copies,” you say, annoyed.

“So do I, you aren’t the only person in the office who needs to get stuff done,” he laughs.

“Since when have you ever had things to get done? You’re the laziest person here.”

“That’s hostile,” he replies, turning around to give you a smirk. “I might have to report you to HR.”

“Just please hurry up,” you mumble.

“Anything for you babe.” He winks.

You turn to the camera and stare, almost at your limit with this boy.

~~~

“I just don’t understand men sometimes it’s like, he’s so different when we’re alone yet in public he wants to be the biggest ass ever,” you rant to the camera, you’re in the hallway near the elevator where no one will hear you. “Sometimes I just want to knee him in the balls and get on with my day.”

“If he’s so annoying why do you sleep with him?”

You frown. “He’s really good at that stuff, most assholes are honestly.”

~~~

You’re at the vending machine getting a snack when you feel arms snake around your waist. You quickly turn around and push him away.

“Luke stop it we can’t be doing this here,” you whisper.

He looks out the windows then back at you. “Nobody’s around, come on just one kiss. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last night baby.”

You and Luke were hired about three weeks ago now, both just interns to help out with the little things around the office. At first you thought Luke was an idiot slack off, but after a week of him constantly flirting with you, you decided he wasn’t that bad of a guy and of course he’s gorgeous. And, after one night where he gave you a ride home this simple work crush turned into casual sex.

You made Luke promise to keep it a secret, you didn’t want anyone at the office to think your personal life would interfere with you doing your job. So, far you don’t think anyone has figured it out, and your glad.

“Don’t talk like that here,” you say, giving him a slight glare. “We made a deal.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious Luke, imagine if Michael found out. He’d make it a whole thing.”

“It probably already is a thing, Jim and Pams was.”

You scoff at him. “Okay, that doesn’t mean this has to be.”

“Whatever,” he says as he begins to walk away. “See you later.”

You give an annoyed look to the camera and shake your head before returning to your previous activity.

~~~

“Listen, y/n is a good girl I guess, I just wish she’d stop acting like the office finding out about our thing is the worst possibility imaginable,” Luke tells the crew outside the break room.

“What do you think would happen if they found out?”

“I don’t know, they’d give us weird looks. It doesn’t really matter it’s not like me and her are gonna be working here forever. At least I know I’m not, not sure what her life plans are.”

~~~

You stare at the clock and sigh, still a whole nother hour left at the office. This whole day has been terrible, mostly due to Luke. You don’t understand why he’s acting so annoying today. Usually he’s decent toward you, probably because of what he wants from you the second work ends. You turn back to your desk and start to organize papers, deciding Luke isn’t important.

A few have passed when Luke appears beside you. He leans back on your desk, one of his hands gripping the edge. You try to ignore him, keeping your attention on the stack of paper you’ve been messing with. Luke doesn’t let you ignore him forever though.

“Can you come with me somewhere where we can speak privately… away from the cameras.”

You look up at him. Is this it? Is he really going to break it off at work? You can’t believe it. You want to give him a piece of your mind, so you slightly nod and get up, following him out of the annex and down the hall to one of the stock rooms. You’re ready to start giving it to him but before you can he smashes his lips on yours.

At first, you’re caught off guard, he’s never kissed you at work before. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back however. He backs you up till the back of your legs hit a spare desk. You let him guide you onto it, your kiss turning into something more.

He bites down on your lip, his hands roaming up and down the sides of your body. You have to admit, you’d been craving this too. Even though you saw each other last night. Luke was the best you’d ever had, how were you supposed to not want him again? Even though he’s been annoying you all day you can’t help but melt into the palm of his hand, he’s just so damn attractive.

“Luke, we can’t do this at work,” you whisper, the sensible part of you taking over.

“Nobody will know, come on baby, I’ve been thinking of you all day. I need you,” he replies.

Your stomach fills with butterflies at his words. He knows exactly how to persuade you. You fall back on the desk as he kisses down your neck, Your legs wrap around his waist, he makes you feel so good. He brings his lips back up to yours as one of his hands starts to slip up your skirt and under your panties.

He starts to rub small circles on your clit; you to moan into his mouth. He smirks against your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, you love the feeling of his body against yours. It’s the best you’ve ever felt.

“You’re already so wet baby,” he mumbles on your lips.

“Luke,” you moan.

“Do you want it baby?”

You nod, moving one of your hands down to rub the bulge in his pants. He grins at you and removes his fingers, beginning to undo his belt and fly. In seconds you feel his tip brushing against your entrance. He leans back over you as he begins to slowly thrust inside of you. You bite down on your lip and close your eyes, the familiar feeling of him filling you taking over.

You throw your head back as he starts fucking you. The sound of the desk hitting the wall doesn’t even register in your head. You’re too engulfed in how good Luke’s dick feels inside you, hitting that special spot that makes your legs shake. His head rests in the crook of your neck, he’s moaning and whispering all the dirty things he wants to do to you. It’s all too good to be true.

Eventually though, you feel that tightening in your stomach, your orgasm approching. Luke must realize this because he doesn’t stop his violent thrusts for even a second. You hold on to him tightly, biting down on his clothed shoulder as you finally cum. He finishes with you, pushing himself so far inside you he’s hitting your cervix.

He lays on you for a few seconds before pulling himself up enough to look down at you. His chest is still heaving as he speaks in a soft voice, “I really like you y/n.”

“I really like you too Luke,” you say with a weak smile.

Both of you get yourselves decent fast, you’ve been away for at least fifteen minutes by now. You give Luke one last kiss before exiting the small room alone, he promised to wait a minute or too before following.

As you sit at your desk and resume your previous activities, Luke walks by you, sending a quick wink before disappearing into the main office. You give a small stare into one of the cameras, your face turning bright red. This was only the beginning.

[multific]

The Quiet Beneath the Ash

Michael Langdon x Reader

Summary: In the middle of a ruined world, you stumble upon a secluded cabin hidden deep in the woods.

The snow was falling when you first saw the cabin.

You had been walking for hours, maybe days, time had become unreliable since the world ended.

The cabin stood like a fortress in the clearing.

Smoke came from the chimney. Light glowed through shuttered windows. You approached with numb feet, heart filled with hope.

You knocked. Once. Twice.

When the door opened, he stood there barefoot in the snow.

Tall. Bare-chested.

Eyes like ice and fire all at once.

Golden hair curling over his shoulders. A face sculpted from something not quite human. And grief behind his gaze.

He stared at you.

You spoke first. "I’m lost."

He said nothing. Only stepped aside.

Inside, the room smelled of cedar and old smoke. He watched you from a distance as you removed your soaked coat, your boots, your gloves.

"You live here?" you asked.

He nodded. "Yes."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

That night, he gave you a blanket and the floor by the fire. He didn’t ask your name. He didn’t give his.

He only said, "Don’t go into the woods at night. They listen."

You did not ask what that meant.

Not yet.

Days passed.

You cooked meals with the remaining tins in his pantry. You mended a ripped shirt you found hanging by the door.

You spoke softly. He listened. Sometimes he vanished for hours into the trees, returning with wild berries or mushrooms or fish.

He barely ate.

He barely slept.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked one evening, staring into the fire.

"No."

"You should be."

"I’m tired of being afraid."

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

That night, he slept beside the fire place, just close enough to share the warmth.

His name came later. In the dark.

"Michael."

You whispered it back. "Michael."

He flinched as if hearing it aloud hurt him.

You didn’t ask.

But the silence changed after that.

Became friendly.

Sometimes you found him watching you as you chopped vegetables or swept the dust from the corners of the room. Not like a man watching a woman. More like a man watching a star, he thought he’d never see again.

"What happened to the world?" you asked, days later.

Michael didn’t answer right away. He traced a pattern in the ash on the table. His voice was quiet when it came.

"I destroyed it."

You stared.

He met your gaze.

"Not alone. But I wanted it. And it happened."

Your throat tightened. "Why?"

"Because I was born to do it."

Silence.

Then, gently, you reached out and placed your hand over his.

He flinched. But didn’t pull away.

"I don’t think you’d still be here, mourning it, if that’s all you were."

His eyes glowed in the firelight.

"People don’t usually talk to me like this."

"People are gone."

He laughed, bitter and low. "I guess they are."

Spring came slowly.

Michael fixed the roof.

You planted herbs near the window. You found a stray cat and named her Mercy.

Michael pretended not to care, but you often caught him petting her when he thought you weren’t looking.

He began to eat more.

He began to smile.

One night, he cooked for you.

Real food. Berries and fish. He even poured water into a cracked cup and said, "For wine, pretend."

You laughed.

He looked stunned. Like he'd heard something holy.

You stood beside him at the hearth, your hands brushing.

He turned to you.

"Do you still think you’re evil?" you asked.

He paused.

"I think I was made for it."

"And now?"

His breath caught. "Now... I think I want something else."

You touched his cheek. Warm. Human. His eyes fluttered shut.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rough or desperate. It was beautiful.

A man not begging to be loved, but fearing he could be.

He was wrong. You already did.

Time passed, slow and golden. You bathed together in the river.

You read old books by candlelight. You rebuilt what had been lost, not civilisation, but something better.

Quiet. Tender. Real.

Michael told you, one day, that his magic had begun to fade. He sounded relieved.

"I think I used it all to destroy everything," he said. "Maybe this peace… maybe it’s the price."

"Then it’s worth it," you whispered.

He kissed you again. "You are worth it."

Years later, the woods still whispered, but they no longer frightened you.

Not when Michael stood beside you, barefoot in the grass, one hand resting gently on your growing belly.

"A child in a dead world," he murmured, forehead against yours.

"Not dead," you said. "Reborn."

You could feel his tears on your skin.

Not pain. Not grief.

Gratitude.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[saintlucretia]

i can literally go feral over a villain and still his death scene in the end feels satisfying.

he is so awful and gruesome that i would kill him myself but he is kinda smash u know😉

HELP

[orienteddreamerrr]

Michael Langdon Valentine’s Day Drabble:

Michael Langdon X Fem Reader

Michael knew what day it was. Valentine’s Day. A day to celebrate love and friendship. Part of him was dreading. But another part of him was wanting to celebrate it with you. Appearing on your doorstep, he gives your door a good knock. As you open it, concern morphed on his face, noticing your eyes were red from crying. “What’s the matter, love?”, You shake your head. “Valentine’s Day…my family is too busy to celebrate it today…”, Michael hums at your words, looking to the floor for a moment before looking back at you. “I’m not busy…”, You can’t help but feel your heart flutter at his words. “Really?”, Michael smirks. “Why wouldn’t I be…?”, He waved a hand, using his powers to make a rose appear behind your ear as you smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day my love…”, You can’t help but go up to him, quickly wrapping your arms around him as he wraps his arms around your waist in return. As you pull away, he cups your cheeks, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let me treat you to a candlelight dinner…”, You chuckle at this. “When?”, Michael chuckles along with you. “7 sharp…your best dress…”, You nod at his words. “7 sharp it is…”, He leans down, kissing you on the lips this time as you kiss back, feeling his hands cradle your head as he pulls away, taking the rose behind your ear as he hands it you. “I’ll see you tonight then…”, He whispers his last words before disappearing in front of you, not feeling that pang of sadness anymore. Once 7 O’clock came around, you go downstairs to find Michael was here and in his best suit, standing by the dining room entryway as he takes a look at what you’re wearing. He smirks in approval, gesturing to what was behind him. The dining room table decorated with candles and roses. Your favorite meal was already prepped. “Wow Michael...everything looks so pretty…”, Michael bows his head. “Just trying to show appreciation for the one I love…”, He states, going up to rest a hand upon your cheek as you lean into his touch. “I love you Michael…so much…”, Michael kisses your cheek, whispering, “I love you…for an eternity…”, His words would stick with you for the rest of your life.

Who would be interested???

@enchantedruin

@lisboncy

@april-bandu-embata

@starlightlangdon

@langdxn

[violentdelightsproductions]

Vol. 4 - The Witching Hour

Welcome gals and ghouls to our annual Halloween event, the fourth one. Time sure flies! We are well into October and it's time to get the spooky party started and you are all invited. We've been looking forward to it since last Halloween~

In the upcoming weeks leading up to Halloween, we are gonna be posting our gifsets, edits, all of which are horror-themed and inspired by various horror films and scary stories. Also, from this upcoming Thursday until Halloween, we will be posting a video every Thursday on our channel TheViolentDelightsProductions . As some of you know our original channel got taken down by youtube recently and we are working on rebuilding it. So we are very excited to be posting more stuff and we hope that you will check them out and like what you see. And in the meantime, we will be posting edits and gifsets for various fandoms and pairings over here on our blog @violentdelightsproductions

Finally, consider this update a blanket content warning. Most of the upcoming works include graphic themes such as horror, blood, violence, murder or attempted murder, flashing lights, death, bodily harm, self harm, guns, knives, strong language, suggestive or mild sexual content ( but not sexual violence) etc.

Hope all of you gals and ghouls have an amazing spooky season and hope to see all of you around as we celebrate the best time of the year. 

Stay tuned. More spooks to come soon~~

 -A

[michaelangdonsslut]

𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 // 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

hey pookies! here's the first chapter of tales of the shadows ౨ৎ

please read the introduction post before reading this chapter!

hope u enjoy <3

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.5k

no warnings!

---

- 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐸 .

Riley Bennett felt the wind brushing her face faintly as she opened the window to her dad's car. It was a cloudy Wednesday morning when they finally decided to move all the way across the country.

Riley was a 17 year old troubled teenage girl who often struggled with fitting into her new surroundings.

They were a typical wealthy family from LA and had everything, so why did they decide to move to a small town in Massachusetts? This is what Riley has been wondering all the time ever since her dad talked about moving to Chesterfield. "I don't even know why we have to move here It's so cloudy and looks boring. I already miss LA and my friends.", Riley said nonchalantly looking at the window trying to look for anything interesting about this town. "Come on Riley don't be so grumpy, it can't be that bad!" her dad tried to reassure her but it didn't really work. She was going to miss LA and there was nothing they could say about it. 

About 20 minutes later, they finally arrived in front of the house. It was a beautiful Victorian house, a mix of light pink and dark blue, and Riley couldn't help but admire the huge house in front of her. It looked so old and vintage, that house actually reminded her of Coraline, she loved this movie as a child. “ So what do we think ?” Mr Bennett looking smiled at Riley knowing how much she loved old fashioned houses. " This house is beautiful Peter, and look Riley there's a swing!",  said Mrs. Bennett eagerly.  "I'm not a little girl anymore mom I don't really care about that" , Riley said rolling her eyes as the family parked in the driveway.  “And besides, this house looks kinda haunted.”  Mrs. Bennett scoffed taking her sunglasses off. After some time, they finally get out of the car and start grabbing their stuff from the car boot when a lady approaches them.  "Hello, I'm Dina the real estate agent! I'm here to show you around the house"  A huge smile was plastered on her face as if she was happy someone was finally interested in this house. 

" Oh hello! I'm Peter Bennett and this is my wife Marie " they both shake Dina's hand, her smile never leaving her face. " It's really nice to meet you. Oh and I suppose this is your beautiful little sweetheart ", she says as she walks over to Riley; " Uh yeah. I'm Riley. " Dina shakes Riley's hand and Riley can't help but find her a bit...  eccentric .

“ All right, I’ll show you the inside of the house right now !” Mrs. Bennett smiled eagerly looking at her husband with stars in her eyes. 

The family stepped into the foyer, greeted by the grandeur of a bygone era. High ceilings adorned with intricate molding loomed overhead, while a majestic staircase beckoned from the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting a warm, ethereal glow. Dina, with a practiced smile, gestured towards the sprawling rooms adorned with ornate details - antique chandeliers, mahogany wainscoting, and a fireplace steeped in history. A sense of both elegance and mystery enveloped them as they took in the timeless beauty of their potential new home.

"This house is goddamn beautiful. We're taking it!" , said Ms. Bennett eagerly with a huge smile of anticipation.

"Yes, this house sure is beautiful although I must mention, it comes with a bit of a past."  Dina seemed unsure and anxious, but she kept going; " full  disclosure requires that I tell you about what happened to the previews owners.

“Jesus, don’t tell me they died in this house did they?”  Mrs. Bennett turned around to look over at Dina with a concerned look plastered on her face. "Yes actually, both of them died here. Murder-suicide. I sold them the house too. They were the sweetest couple. You never really know what happens behind those walls I guess.

"That explains why this house is half the price of every other house in neighborhood I guess."  Mr Bennett sighted, crossing his arms.

“Where did it happen?”  Riley asked curiously.

 “In the attic.”

Riley pauses for a second, a smirk forming on her face as she decides to speak up; “ We’re taking it.”

ii

After the initial excitement of choosing their new home, the Bennett family embarked on the task of settling into their Victorian mansion. As they unloaded boxes and furniture from the moving truck, Riley couldn't contain her curiosity about the attic. She'd always been drawn to mysteries and the thought of living in a house with a dark past only fueled her intrigue.

Once they finished moving the essentials into the house, Riley dashed up the grand staircase, eager to explore every nook and cranny. She pushed open the attic door, the creaking hinges echoing in the vast space. The attic was dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the sunlight that filtered through the small windows. Old trunks and forgotten relics littered the space, each one holding a piece of history.

Riley's eyes widened with excitement as she imagined all the stories hidden within these walls. She spent hours rummaging through the forgotten treasures, uncovering vintage clothing, dusty books, and antique toys. Despite the tragic events that occurred here, Riley felt a strange sense of belonging, as if the house welcomed her with open arms.

As the days passed, the Bennett family settled into their new life in Chesterfield. Riley's room became her sanctuary, a reflection of her eclectic personality. She adorned the walls with vintage posters and fairy lights, transforming the space into a cozy retreat. She spent hours scouring antique shops and thrift stores, searching for unique pieces to add to her collection.

One afternoon, while exploring the local flea market, Riley stumbled upon a mysterious key hidden amongst a pile of trinkets. Intrigued, she purchased it for a few dollars, wondering what secrets it might unlock. When she returned home, Riley headed straight for the attic, her heart pounding with excitement.

She searched every nook and cranny until she found a small locked chest hidden beneath a pile of old newspapers. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the rusty lock, the mechanism clicking open with a satisfying sound. Inside, she discovered a collection of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

As Riley read through the letters, she uncovered the tragic love story of the previous owners. Their words painted a picture of a forbidden romance torn apart by societal expectations and family obligations. Riley felt a pang of sadness for the couple, their lives cut short by tragedy.

And as she looked out the attic window, watching the sun set over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley saw a shadow lurking behind the trees, It was like someone was staring at her. She rubbed her eyes thinking she probably hallucinated, and just like that, the shadow was gone.

iii

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley found herself drawn to the attic once again. She climbed the stairs with a sense of anticipation, eager to lose herself in the stories of the past. But as she reached the top, she was met with an unexpected sight—a boy standing in the dimly lit space, his silhouette illuminated by the fading light.

"Who are you?" Riley asked, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

The boy turned to face her, his features obscured by the shadows. "I'm Andy," he said, his voice soft and haunting. "I live next door."

Riley took a step closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Andy's appearance was striking, with tousled hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sadness. He reminded her of a character from one of her favorite movies, mysterious and enigmatic.

"What are you doing up here?" Riley asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Andy shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just exploring," he said. "I like to come up here and think."

Riley nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had always been drawn to people who were different, who didn't fit into the mold of society. And there was something about Andy that intrigued her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you new here?" Andy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Riley nodded. "Yeah, my family just moved in a few weeks ago. What about you?"

Andy smiled wistfully. "I've lived here my whole life," he said. "But I've never really felt like I belong."

Riley understood the feeling all too well. She had spent her entire life searching for a place where she truly felt at home, a place where she could be herself without judgment.

"Well, you're not alone," Riley said, her voice soft but determined. "We can be outsiders together."

Andy's eyes sparkled with gratitude, and for the first time in a long time, Riley felt a sense of connection—a bond forged in the darkness of the attic.

"You should probably leave now tho, before my parents see you here and call the cops thinking you're here to rob us or something", she giggled slightly, looking at the boy right in front of her who's been smiling at her. It was like he was admiring her, feeling safe by her presence.

He got up and left the attic without saying a word to her, leaving the house so quietly It was like he was never there.

-------

a/n : idrk what to think of this but i truly hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, lmk if you wanna be in the taglist !!

[worldswithoutendings]

Eye for an eye [Michael Langdon] Pt. 5

Pairing: Michael Langdon x female! reader

warning: finally kissing, bad omens concert (if that's not your vibe, you can pick whatever band you want)

words: 2858

summary: working at Kineros is so much fun, second date with Michael. actual flirting?

AN: I'm so so sorry it took so long, I'm in the midst of my finals and it's killing me. so I wrote an extra-long chapter. enjoy <3

“This is a joke, right? That’s not the Rosalie from Cooperative?” you can’t help but ask him after he has brushed his teeth for what feels like 10 minutes “No, not a joke, do you still smell her?” he asks as he wipes his mouth with a napkin and you come closer to his and cautiously smell “no, but I did order room perfume because it, unfortunately, stays in the hall” you lean against the doorpost of the bathroom and Michael sighs “I had to drag her to a hairdresser, makeup artist, stylist, cosmetologist, whatever you name it to make her look so.. decent at cooperative, I was so ashamed that night” he makes a sour face as if it was the worst night of his life “but I have to keep her around unfortunately. For a ritual. But she kept on believing we were getting married so I stuck with that to her. She won’t live long anyway” “How long till the ritual?” “It’s this Friday actually” Michael seemed relieved “I have to offer her to my father. It’s the last, final ritual to be.. free. My mouth hurts” “Yeah well, you did brush your teeth for 10 minutes so, no wonder your mouth hurts” you laugh and he glares playfully at you “thank god I don’t have to worry about you” “For what?” “I think I can kiss you easily for 10 minutes, I’d rather kiss you than that foul thing” “Okay, that foul thing has a name Michael, and you’re done with her on Friday. Just don’t.. think too much of it okay? Be happy you don’t have to fuck her in a ritual” “No thank hell, I have to offer a virgin so I had promised to marry her on Friday and then we could.. fu- I can’t say that when I think of her it makes my stomach churn” he becomes paler and you can’t help it but put a hand on his cheek “you’ll be fine, Michael” you smile at him and he takes a look at you “you do know you’re in the men’s bathroom, right?” he winks and you audibly gasp “oh no! what will become of me?!” you act out musically making Michael laugh as he pushes you closer against him “thank hell for you” he whispers against your lips making you turn to stone. Is he? Will he? No, right? Softly your lips brush against each other “Already so much softer” “Please don’t compare her to me” you blurt out and he shakes his head “She comes nowhere near you, on any level”

The week flew by like It was nothing. You enjoyed working at Kineros because it was easy. Rosalie also never came back again after she came on your first day. Michael had told you that he’d rather speak with her on the phone than in person, which is understandable. You also can’t help but glance over to his office once in a while, because his office is on your left, and most of the time he had his door open unless there was a business meeting. Most of the time he would lean against his desk, his sleeve rolled up as he was busy reading emails you had forwarded him. You couldn’t help but stare at the icy gaze he held on his computer, how sharp his jawline was, and how often he would bite the inside of his lip. Once you even almost fell back because you were leaning so much. Earning a concerned look from Michael when he heard you gasp “I’m fine!’ you say and he shakes his head with a smile.

Friday came along and Michael had to leave Kineros early for the ritual, thank hell you didn’t have to come with him because it would be too gore-y “We can meet up tonight? After the ritual, I can tell you in every colorful detail what happened” he says as he leans against your desk right next to you “we can meet up tonight, yes” you say as you push your chair from the desk to look at him, you were wearing a mini a-line black skirt with a black button up and black boots to mimic Michaels style. Michaels's eyes go from your boots to where your skirt begins and he scrapes his throat, loosening his tie “Are you wearing this tonight?” “not sure yet, why?” “Just, keep it on” he nods and stands up “I’ll see you tonight!” “good luck!” you wave at him as you continue with the emails “So, devil's little helper hm?” Mutt says behind you “So?” “That’s how you got the job, didn’t you? You must’ve sucked him off real good with that look on his face” You frown at his remark “What’s that supposed to mean?” “that.. girl, is not allowed one foot in this building. But with you, he flirts so easily like you fuck him every night. you probably do don’t you? Why don’t you try us for once?” Mutt says as he points at himself and Jeff “No thanks, I’m already concerned for the girls who are willing to get paid to get fucked by you two. When I look at you it feels like I’m looking at my grandmothers' wallpaper” you say as you finish the last two emails of the day. Mutt huffs and curses at you as you close your laptop.

Cleaning your desk to leave you see that Michael still had his light on in his office. You walk over to turn it off only to see that his laptop is also still on, this man. Walking towards his desk to shut his laptop off you can’t help but see that he has an entire schedule for you

Friday: meet y/n after work

Sunday: visit y/n

Wednesday: take y/n out to dinner after work

“silly man” you smirk to yourself as you close his laptop as well, better to take it home with me and give it to him tonight. He may need it. Turning off the light in his office as you make your way home.

Anxiety was creeping its way into your body about the ritual that was happening right now. Mostly hoped it wouldn’t hurt Michael too much, as you know that rituals for him could be painful from time to time, especially if his father wasn’t appreciative of the gift. Nervously you walked around your house, having done everything you could do already, put some clothes in the washing machine, fill the dishwasher, clean the kitchen

“What are you nervous about?” you hear Michael echo through your living room as he transmutes and you gasp happily “It worked!?” “yes” he smiles and you fling your arms around him, mostly because you’re happy that now Michael doesn’t have to think about Rosalie anymore. But also it meant you were a step closer to each other, if you have to believe Satan. Michael puts his arms around you as he inhales your scent “Oh I brought your laptop with me in case you needed it throughout the weekend” “You’re an angel” he mumbles against your hair. Only realizing now that you hugged Michael you try to let go of him only to feel his arms around your waist tighten “Just, just one minute longer please” he sounds desperate in your ear. After exactly one minute he loosens his arms around you “What sort of ritual was it exactly?” you can’t help but ask, “It’s ehm, the final offering, from me to him, I’m free from him, I can make my own decisions now” but the deal? “the deal still stands. Because that is between you and him” ´But you, you can decline, now, right?” you ask hesitantly and Michael nods shortly. You bite your lip as you try to withhold yourself from lashing out “doesn’t mean I will though” his voice becomes softer “we just, have to go through a lot more, and longer, offerings and rituals” “so I have to see it like you’re finally an adult? Because you’re free” “Yeah you can see it sorta like that” Michael says as he nods “I can live with that” You smile and Michael finally smiles back at you.

Uncertain of the way you felt, he understands that it’s a lot, especially since you’ve been begging for love since you were 15 years of age, and truthfully. Michael was scared, beyond scared. For the first time he also feels like someone has an actual interest in him, at least, you tried to get to know him, and didn’t directly fall on your knees because he is the antichrist. He had to fight for this and so would you. There are moments where Michael feels he could marry you directly, right then and there, but there are moments where he wishes he could walk away like the rituals and the deal never happened. But Michael also knows that his father has a very short temper and wanted him to already be married long before his last ritual, Michael was more surprised that because of you he took his time. He had tried once already, when you were 17, to meet you, but you were under such a big amount of stress because your mother had just passed away he couldn’t bring it to just. Jump in front of you and explain that he would be the love of your life. He sat there during the funeral, watching your form from the far back of the hall, seeing how everyone took pity on you, losing both your parents in such a short time. He wanted to be nothing but a support system, but you, you closed yourself off to the world.

“what are you thinking about?” Michaels's thoughts get broken by your soft voice “Nothing, just. The future. Ehm, yes, we should celebrate!” he holds tight onto your hands and you start to laugh at his excitement. You love how you sometimes can still see the kid deep within him, trying to break free, which also makes you sad when you realize that he never experienced a childhood, or puberty like you did “We can go to a concert? See which one isn’t sold out yet?” you blurt out and Michael furrows his brows “what’s that?” “Come,” you say as you grab your coat.

Looking at the agenda of the concert hall you bite your lip to guess what Michael would like when it comes to music “Definitely not Coldplay, at least, not right now, maybe Slipknot? Is that too.. metal for the devil?” you think out loud “what is this Bad Omens band” Michael points at the bands that will be playing tonight “oh they’re great! But they’re sold out so-“ “-so? We can just go inside” he shrugs “Michael we can’t there are no tickets an-“Of course he transmutes you mid-sentence “-ymore, Michael this is illegal” You hiss at him as you slap his shoulder, acting hurt he rolls his eyes “when will it start” you walk into the crowded hall, happy that he transmuted you to a deserted hall ‘in 10 minutes or so? See how busy it is” you giggle as you look back at Michael, who looks a bit frightened not knowing what to expect.

The closer you get to the band coming on stage the more crowded the room gets. You feel Michael’s body heat come closer to you and you feel more eyes falling on the both of you, hushed voices carry through the room like everybody knows who Michael is. But they’re probably all eye fucking him “As long as it stays at eye fucking I’m fine with it” you whisper to yourself while Michael wraps a protective arm over your middle “Is someone jealous?” he whispers in your ear and you can’t help but side-eye him making him laugh in your ear. The room becomes dark as the intro for the band starts to play.

Thankfully Michael enjoyed the concert just like you did. Holding each other's hand as you walked out of the concert hall “That was a really good band” he sighs and you nod “Yeah they’re really good!” you start to slowly shake because of how thin your coat is and the temperature change from a really hot concert hall to the cold evening wind. Michael sees a bench “Come” he says as he almost drags you to it. He sits down and as you want to sit down next to him he tusks “You’re getting cold come on” he lets go of your hand only to grab you by your middle to place you on his lap. You can’t help but blush by the sudden bold move from Michael and you get jealous when you feel his warm body heat consume you.

Fixing your hair as you try to avoid melting against him while he looks at you with endearing eyes “I liked that song they played, the one with the long title, what was it again?” you feel his hands almost burn on your middle as he tries to make small talk with you “oh, ehm, love is the death of peace and mind? I like that one as well” you blush, playing with his sleeve of his button up “where is the girl with the bold temper? Did she go on vacation?” Michael laughs as he notices how shy you have become all of a sudden “No! Nope, she is still here” you point at your brain “I just, never, experienced this, this whole thing, situation” you exclaim with your hands and Michael nods while he comes closer. You can’t help but stare at the freshly painted black nails you had done yesterday until you feel his soft lips on your forehead “Nope, no fever” he says playfully for someone who is the devil he has soft lips “Are you sure?” you ask him and he kisses you again “no” you shake your head while you sigh.

Michael, being the gentleman that he is, transmuted you back home, in front of your door with his laptop case in his hand “I enjoyed tonight, a lot” he winks and you nod “Yeah me too, we should do this more often” “oh we definitely will” he says as he closes the gap between you two and you smile your best smile at him making him melt “so I will see you Sunday?’ you ask him to break the comfortable silence “yes, you will see me Sunday” he says sultry as he comes closer to your lips. This time you’re the one to make the move to kiss him for the first time. His lips are incredibly soft against yours, knowing it’s just one, official kiss you lean back only to see Michael stand still in the same stance “Are you okay?” you whisper laughingly “Are you mocking me? Come here” he groans as he kisses you again, longer and deeper this time. You hold him by the collar of his coat as he pushes you against your door.

Michael had transmuted after saying goodbye and ending the kiss you both had for the first time. You open the door with shaking hands “Oh my god oh my god. I need to call Julie” you say after you close the door. While you take your shoes off you put her on speaker

“yes?” she groans “Oh did I wake you, sleeping beauty?” “no, you didn’t, I’m sick” “Ah do you have a bug?” “probably food poisoning, that idiot called my fiancé, cooked yesterday, why are you calling so late?” Julie says groggily and you let out a sigh “I thought you wouldn’t let him cook again, the last time he also gave you food poisoning remember?” “yeah well he said he practiced” She cuts you off and you smirk “Why I’m calling you is” you sing as you throw yourself on the couch “Oh no please don’t tell me you’re pregnant from that bot” you laugh out loud by her statement “we kissed.” “you kissed? I didn’t know robots had fe-“ “-Julie he is not a robot, okay, we went to the Bad Omens concert and afterwards he brought me home and ehm, we, we kissed” “That’s so cute! Wait, a bad omens concert?! Does he enjoy rock?” “yeah he does actually” “I would see him for some classical music type of shit” Julie sighs and you smile “No, he’s actually really growing on me Julie” “Yeah I can hear that you’re smiling through the phone it’s creepy” “hmm well I’m sorry you have food poisoning but if you keep this up I will not take care of you” you hear Julie trash through the phone about how badly she wants your vegetable porridge tomorrow and you always take care of her when she’s sick “I’m just joking Julie, I’ll see you tomorrow. Take some Tylenol and you’ll be off to Wonderland in no time okay? Sleep tight” “Hmm whatever,” Julie says playfully as she hangs up

Right when you want to go to bed you hear your phone buzz

- Sleep tight

You too Michael

[criminalamnesia]

Hey man, idk if your goal was to make people cry with that Jack Abbot fic but if it was mission accomplished! *finger guns out of the room while sobbing*

10/10 fic would definitely recommend to anyone needing a satisfying story that ends with you crying

I honestly didn’t expect it to get so much love!!! im just obsessed with the Pitt rn and god that man… I need him….

anyways here’s part 2 to this!!

part 3 here!

jack doesn’t know what’s going on.

ellis came into the er with a gurney, screaming for robby, and then (if even possible) things in the ED got worse.

people scrambling, muffled sobs from nurses and doctors alike as they pass by whoever robby is currently working on. jack’s brows are furrowed, his eyes squinting to try and get a look across the room, but no dice. he starts to think maybe it’s jake— and fuck if it is.

“dr. abbot,” samira breathes beside him from where she’s hunched over their patient. another red, blood covering their torso— a gunshot wound through the upper chest. collapsed lung, struggling to breathe, struggling to live.

(like someone else across the room. but he doesn’t know that.)

“you’re good, mohan. keep going,” he says, voice even as he glances down at the resident’s work. she doesn’t need him here, really. she was one of the best residents on the floor— next to you, of course.

speaking of you— where were you? even if you’d been sleeping during dana’s slew of calls, he’d figure you’d have cracked an eye open by now. you always complained you tossed and turned at night (he had offered to remedy that in various ways.)

“done,” mohan exhales with a grin as jack’s fingers find the patients carotid, pressing for a pulse. it’s stronger than it was before mohan went to work.

“sound work,” he says, nodding down at her. her grin widens as she straightens up.

“great teacher.”

jack chuckles as he waves dr. walsh over. samira starts to walk away, but before he can even register what he’s doing, he’s got a light grip on her forearm. she glances over at him, obviously confused, head cocked to the side as chaos continues around them.

“check on robby, yeah? make sure that’s not jake he’s got.”

samira nods and leaves his grasp, weaving through gurneys and wheelchairs to reach the other attending.

“got one for me?” walsh has finally made her way over, her eyes assessing the stabilizing patient before her.

“yeah, this one’s good for upstairs,” he responds, eyes glancing once again to robby before santos starts yelling for an attending.

“better go see what she wants before she kills someone,” walsh says, smug grin adorning her lips as she grabs the gurney’s handles. “garcia says that one’s trouble.”

“yeah, yeah. don’t you have someone to cut into?”

“oh my god!”

even with all the clamor in the room, samira’s gasp cuts over the noise loud and clear. abbot’s head shoots up, watching as the resident’s hands fly over her mouth. dana hurries over, a hand landing on the young woman’s shoulder as she pulls her to the side.

“dr. abbot, we need you over at the yellows—” santos is saying as she catches her breath in front of him, her eyes flitting from the scene across the room and back to the attending beside her.

“abbot!” shen calls as he pushes a gurney through the bay doors “got another red!”

“are they dying, santos?” he asks, already starting towards shen.

“well, not actively—”

“get someone else.”

he hears her faint huff behind him, but it’s forgotten as soon as he gets his eyes on his next patient.

across the room, robby is sweating.

it’s awful, profuse, and he feels like he can’t catch his breath. there’s a ringing in his ears.

he’s never experienced drowning, but he imagines it feels a lot like this.

“c’mon,” he mutters, his eyes watching your face, searching for a sign that you were coming back.

your eyes were closed. your skin was pale from blood loss.

your heart had stopped beating.

“robby,” dana says, her voice as soft as it can be as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“no,” he says, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. he’s tired. his body aches from the past twelve hours, but he can’t stop. this is you. he cannot stop.

somewhere in his brain, he realizes that this is not working. he’s been doing cpr since he lost your pulse, and it is not working. the tube shoved down your throat is helping you breathe. blood is still trickling from your gunshot wound.

your heart is still not beating.

this is not working.

samira is crying quietly behind him. princess has tears on her cheeks from where she stands beside your head, squeezing the bag attached to your intubation tube.

he can’t stop. one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four. up, down. up, down.

he presses down so hard he cracks your ribs. he cannot breathe. he can’t think. he can’t, he can’t—

“way past trauma protocol over there, brother.”

everything comes crashing down around him at the sound of jack’s voice carrying across the room.

he wants to laugh, because doesn’t jack know who he’s working on?

would he still be saying that if he was looking down at your pale face, your bloodstained skin?

robby ignores him. shakes his head as if shaking off the words. he can’t be done with this, he can’t give up on you. he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“we use blood on the ones that are gonna make it.”

jack again. robby wants to scream and laugh and cry. he’s turning hysterical, he knows it. this fucking day.

adamson. jake. abbot. you.

he can’t catch a goddamn break and it’s all weighing on him, and he’s about to lose his best friend and his best student and—

a hand on his shoulder. a firm hold, squeezing his skin so hard it almost hurts.

“robby,” it’s dana again. “you gotta let her go.”

he can hear the crack in the steely charge nurse’s tone, and that’s what really breaks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, and tears are clouding his vision. “fuck.”

dana’s hands land on top of his still moving ones. the ones that are physically beating the heart that lies dormant in your chest. she digs her nails into his skin, and that breaks him from his trance, and he finally stops.

someone sobs nearby. he doesn’t look up to see who.

he announces time of death. marks it on the card tied to your wrist.

princess removes the bag from your tube. dana pulls a blanket over your body, tucking it over your head as carefully as she can.

without a word, she and robby wheel you toward the makeshift morgue. you do not deserve to join the other bodies in there. you do not deserve to die.

dana leaves the room before him, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, he sinks to the ground.

“shit,” he cries, shaking hands reaching up to cover his eyes before scrubbing over his face. his trauma gown is covered in blood— some of it yours— and he tears at the thing as he sobs.

“fuck, fuck,” he can’t breathe. adamson, you. langdon and his drugs. jack and his trust. everything, all of it, is overwhelming. a wave too big to jump over or swim under. a current so strong it’s pulling him out to sea before he even knows he’s in the water.

“dr. robby?”

he can’t. his eyes are clenched shut, his hands grasping the chain around his neck. he mutters a prayer his grandmother taught him when he was a kid.

“dr. robby,” the voice calls again, and robby recoils as a hand grazes his shoulder, his eyes shooting open as he pushes the offender away.

whitaker looks distraught, a frown forming on his lips as he stands over the older man.

“we need you out there,” the intern says, his words firm. “you gotta get up.”

and robby wants to smack the kid, but as he finally starts to take deep breaths again. whitaker holds out a hand. robby (after a moment of contemplation) takes it.

and then he promptly shoves whitaker away as soon as he’s on his feet.

the intern nods, and without another word, leaves the room.

robby takes a breath, then another. he reaches for the door handle, but stops just short of turning it. he turns, his eyes landing on your gurney and the sheet hiding your body.

“im sorry,” he says. it is such a guttural and profound feeling, this sadness that overtakes him as he says those words.

but the ED needs him.

so he steps back into the chaos.

[inlovewithfictionalmen7]

Rules:

I´ll write basically about anything except r@pe and SA

bare with me please im new to all of this and if you guys want to send me requests they'd be greatly appreciated and welcome

fluff: smut: angst:

Roman Reigns

Jey Uso

Jimmy Uso 

Naomi

Rhea Ripley:

me or her: Rhea and Liv both like you but hate each other, when things get intense, they start fighting over who can make you scream louder

Dean Ambrose

Damian Priest

Billy Hargrove

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Draco Malfoy 

Tom Riddle

Theodore Nott

severus snap

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Bucky Barnes 

Loki Laufeyson 

Peter Parker 

Tony Stark 

Deadpool

wolverine/hugh jackman

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Bo Sinclair/Sinclair brothers

Michael Myers

Jason Voorhees

Stu Macher

Billy Loomis

Thomas Brown Hewitt

brahms heelshire

Lucifer

Mammon 

Leviathan 

Satan 

Beelzebub 

Belphegor 

Lord Diavolo

Barbatos.

Michael Langdon

Kyle Spencer

Tate Langdon

March

Countess

Misty Day

Xavier Plympton

Kit Walker

Kai Anderson

Madison Montgomery

Zach Mitchell

Lee Bodecker

Nate Jacobs

Rafe cameron:

Im Sorry Mommy- when y/n overhears something the boys say,she´s not happy and punishes Rafe

Nikki Sixx:

Misunderstanding- one night doesnt go well after Nikki comes home three and a half hours late.

[kisses4themissus]

Little Lady | M.R x Reader

a/n: teehee tell me yall's thoughts on this one!! also mid way through the chapter i was so upset because it dawned on me i unknowingly set the fic in the winter.. pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom! Reader wc: 2.8k Warning; semi-proof read, mention of car crash

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The phone on your desk rang once more, making you groan before picking it up.

“ICU.” You responded monotone. 

“Robby’s asking again if there’s a bed up there, he’s claiming you're hoarding beds up there.” Dana sighed, watching as Robby leaned forward, attempting to hear you.

You groaned, looking around the unit; all of the rooms were full. “Yeah I'm shoving them up my ass, no we don't have any available.” You responded sarcastically; you ignored the flutter in your stomach as you could hear robby’s laughter in the back.

“Knew it, thanks again.” Dana quickly hung up the phone. 

You playfully rolled your eyes before going back to your medical journal. There was now an obvious shift between yourself and robby; no longer was there petty bed hoarding or unstable patients sent up out of spite. It was eerily calm with you both.

 - - - - - - - -

“Dude in 568 is clear for progressive care.” A respiratory nurse told you as she tossed her gloves into the trash outside the door and then went over to the open sink and scrubbed her hands.

You chuckled and nodded before picking up the phone, paging robby.

“Dr. robby.” He greeted, the sounds of the trauma room in the background. 

“Lucky day, we have one available, needs to be cleaned so it’ll be a bit.” You sighed, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you updated patient files.

“I knew it, you were hoarding.” He joked, not noticing the looks of shock on the residents and nurses faces.

“He is on the phone with the ICU right?” Langdon muttered to princess who nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, alright go take care of your trauma paitent.” You hung up.

You sighed as you leaned back into your chair, luckily most of the ICU patients were settled for the time being. 

Thankfully with it being calm you pulled out your phone and smiled at the photos your mom had sent. Lovebug had a wide smile as she had on her ballet tutu, standing outside of an audition room. Then another with your father, standing by his truck both grinning.

You turned off your phone, trying to motivate yourself to not grow bored.

 - - - - - - - -

Robby sighed as he drank out of his thermos, glancing up at the board.

Dana sighed as she had the desk phone tucked between her shoulder and chin. “Two car crash victims incoming.” 

Robby nodded and placed down the cup and turned as the EMTs walked in and explained the driver had gotten a heart attack mid drive.

“Take him to trauma two.” Robby pointed to the room, before turning to the other EMT. “Where’s the other victim?” He asked, only to get his answer very quickly of a little girl on a gurney. 

“Actually, dr. Robby meet the driver’s hero; his granddaughter Lacey, she managed to escape her carseat after the crash and got his phone to call 9-1-1.” The female EMT smiled at the little girl with comfort.

Robby had a quick flash of shock on his face before warmly smiling at the little girl. “Vital’s are normal, so we’re guessing she might have minor whiplash.” The EMT filled Robby in.

“Hi Lacey, I'm dr. Robby, are you hurting anywhere?” Robby asked softly as the five year old nodded and pointed to chest.

“My seatbelt pulled me back, and my head hurts.” She explained, her tiny hands clutching the stuffed rabbit on the bed. “Ok, i’m gonna have one of my best doctors look over you ok, i’m gonna go help your grandpa then i’ll be back.” Lacey nodded at robby and sighed as Dana helped move Lacey to a hospital bed.

“Do you want some water?” Dana asked, Lacey lifted her head and nodded.

“Please, and with ice.” Lacey rubbed the rabbit’s stuffed ear as she asked.

Dana smiled and nodded at her request, feeling her heart melt a bit from the child’s manners. Getting a tiny cup of water and ice chips, she flagged down mohan. “Got a case for you; six year old, she’s with the trauma two patient.” Dana debriefed Mohan who nodded, taking the water and ice.

“Robby said after he helps her grandpa, he’d come back to see her.” 

Samira nodded and walked into the small room with a soft smile as Lacey sat on the bed playing with her rabbit. “Hi there, i’m doctor mohan can you tell me your name?”

The little girl smiled and said her full name. “Very pretty name, i brought you some water and ice chips for now, is it ok if i check to make sure nothing serious happened to you?” Samira asked, setting down the water and ice on the small tray in the room before grabbing a pair of gloves.

Lacey took a sip of water and nodded.

Mohan quickly did her assessment before going to order a CT scan.

Once again entering the room, Mohan sat down beside the little girl and began to keep her company like Dana had hoped.

“So how old are you lacey?” Mohan asked, taking note of the pale pink tutu and tights.

“I just turned five a few months ago.” She smiled before picking up the rabbit and raising it to her ear before giggling and turning to mohan. 

“She likes your hair!” Lacey giggled, making samira’s heart melt.

“Well tell her, I just love her ribbons.” Mohan played along. “What’s your friend’s name here?” She asked, Lacey proudly propped up the rabbit on her lap.

“Her name is June, like my birthday! My pop-pop gave her to me for my first ballet recital.” Lacey explained.

Mohan chuckled, noticing donnie outside with an IV, slightly cringing before standing up to help put it in.

Both donnie and mohan were shocked to see how well lacey has taken the IV, just closing her eyes and turned her head as the needle poked her skin.

“You're so brave!” Mohan encouraged as donnie flushed the IV before stopping for it to be clear for the CT dye.

 - - - - - - - -

Robby sighed as he exited the trauma room, rubbing sanitizer on his hands as he walked towards the room where Lacey was placed. He stopped in the doorway with a smile as he watched mohan had her phone propped up playing some kids show while her and Lacey colored a cartoon bear.

“Dr. Mohan, how is my tiny friend doing?” Robby asked, smiling as Lacey quickly flipped over her coloring page and would contrine to draw something on the blank backing.

“Good, CT came back clear, she had a headache so i gave her some kids tylenol and i’ve been keeping her busy just in case she has a concussion from the carseat.” Mohan quickly debriefed, turning off the cartoons on her phone.

Robby nodded and motioned for the door. 

Samira nodded and got up and walked outside with robby. “She can be discharged, we were able to get a hold of his daughter in-law, said she’d tell his children and pick up lacey.” Robby gave Samira a run down, she nodded and quickly walked to the nearest desk to start the discharge paperwork.

Robby walked back into the room, smiling as Lacey looked up and smiled before going back to coloring.

Lacey quietly placed down her crayon and bit her lip as she looked up at robby. “Is pop-pop gonna be ok?” She asked, clasping her hands together in her lap, robby’s felt tugging at his heart.

With a heavy sigh, Robby sat down beside the bed and looked at Lacey and nodded. “He might just be a bit weak for a bit, but he’ll get stronger, he was proud to hear about how brave you were during the crash.” Robby added, remembering the old man's grin at the news his granddaughter swooped in like a hero.

“Will he be better by christmas?” She asked, making Robby nod.

“Oh good!” She grinned down at her hands. “Your grandpa said you’re a ballerina?” Robby’s question put a spark in that little face.

She perked up and nodded, moving the warm blanket on her lap back, to show her pale pink tights and tutu. “I’m gonna be in the nutcracker!” She told Robby confidently. “Oh yeah, what are you gonna do for the show?” He asked, leaning in, placing his elbows on his knees.

“I’m a rat and a petal!” She said excitedly, making Robby laugh at her first role. 

“A rat?” He asked, a slight teasing tone stuck in the back of his throat.

“Mmhm, and we get to run on stage and play for a bit.” She explained, making Robby chuckle. “Are you excited to perform?”

Lacey shrugged, “I’ve been a rat before, my grammy said that– that she hopes I'll be a good petal.” 

Robby nodded, Lacey tapped her shoes together, “My mommy was Clara when she was little.” Lacey added, making Robby raise a brow. “Who’s clara?” His question made the little girl look at him with wide eyes.

Lacey had explained the nutcracker the best she could as a five year old. Telling Robby how her grandmother owned the ballet studio, and how her grandmother would tell stories to all dancers of her daughter; the prima ballerina.

“I think that when I like ballet.” Lacey concluded.

“Sounds like you’re from a talented family.” Robby complimented, as he went to talk some more a knock on the door made the pair look over to see samira with a middle aged woman beside her.

“Oh buggie, you doing ok?” She rushed over to the five year old who nodded, and smiled. 

Robby took the discharge paperwork from samira and handed it to the woman, noticing the woman’s appearance; a ballet studio jacket wrapped around the lady’s waist.

“Vital’s are holding well, she just had a minor headache from the crash but some kids tylenol should fix it, other than that, miss lacey is here is set to go!” Robby smiled down at the little girl who nodded at his words.

“What do you say honey?” The older woman tilted her head towards both samira and robby’s direction. Lacey smiled. “Thank you for taking care of me.” She bowed her head before reaching for the woman to pick her up.

“Um, i called his kids, they should be down here sometime soon.” The woman informed Robby who nodded and smiled at the news.

Robby nodded at the news before smiling to lacey. “You have a good nutcracker show, and be good for your mom!” Robby pointed at the little girl, not seeing her look of confusion as he pointed to her aunt when talking about her mom.

Exiting the room, robby walked back to the staff room for more coffee.

 - - - - - - - -

Dana’s eyes widened as the staff elevators opened to show an un-ideal pair, the neurological attending and the top cardiology resident.

Both walking up to the central desk, they both sighed at Dana's look. “What a hellish duo, what poor soul needs both of you..?”

The cardiologist laughed; dr. Joseph laughed, “Your car trauma patient is our dad.” 

Dana chuckled before pointing the two in the direction of the room.

“Where’s primadonna?” The neurological attending, dr. Thomas asked. “Running late, like usual..” Both joked before entering the trauma room.

With a heft sigh, robby walked to central and raised an eyebrow as you ran out of the staff elevators, panting as you slid up to central.

“You alright?” Robby asked, noticing the frantic look.

“Yeah, yeah just peachy!” you muttered before making your way to the trauma room, robby following behind you.

As you opened the doors, the two gazes of your brothers landed on you. “There she is..finally.” Thomas playfully scoffed, making you walk over and smack the back of his arm, before smiling down at your father.

"Woah, did they find something I didn’t see?” Robby asked, as he entered the room to see you three surrounding the bed. “Dr. Robby, this is our father.” Joseph smiled at the man’s shocked expression.

“You three?” He motioned for all three of you.

Your father chuckled at robby’s face, “My swimmers make doctors.” He joked, earning groans from all of you three.

“Gross.” Thomas squinted in disgust.

“That’s nasty dad...�� You gagged.

“La la la, I don't hear anything!” Joseph covered his ears, shaking his head like a child.

Robby laughed, and patted the older man’s leg. “You make the hospital’s best doctors.” He complimented, you smirked at robby. “Careful robinavitch, sounds like a compliment.” You teased before rubbing your father’s head in comfort. “It might be one..dr. glinda” He teased, neither of you seeing the looks exchanged by your family members

“The question now is, what floor is taking him up?” Robby asked, crossing his arms 

“Neurology can take him.” Thomas sighed, making you laugh. “And say what to Gloria, he’s there cause he has a headache?” Your words make Thomas roll his eyes before pushing you lightly.

“I can check if we have a bed available.” Joseph suggested, already reaching for his pager.

“The ICU has an open bed now.” You raised an eyebrow at Robby who made a face of uncertainty. “I think cardiology might be the safest option at least for now.” Robby nodded, waiting as your brother began talking to a nurse.

As you stood next to the trauma bed you froze, Lacey was in the car with him.

“Where’s the other passenger that was with him?” You asked, your panic rising.

Thomas looked up equally as nervous. “She was just released, no abnormalities.” Robby filled you both in, watching as relief washed over you both.

“Marissa took her to the studio with mom, and we have a fresh clean room with dad’s name on it.” Joseph nodded, you bit your lip at the news.

“She’s a brave girl, EMT’s said she escaped her carseat and managed to find your dad’s phone and called for an ambulance.” Robby’s words make you perk up, a small smile on your face.

“Oh babybug..” You muttered, quickly searching for your phone before leaving the room and towards the ambulance bay.

“Is she alright?” Robby asked, a bit worried, both of your brothers nodded. “Yeah, she just needs a minute, perfect time to switch him to our floor.” Joseph shrugged, making Robby chuckle before nodding.

 - - - - - - - -

As you walked outside of the ambulance bay, you stopped and sat down by the bushes, scrolling through your contact’s till you spotted your sister in law.

As the phone rang your foot began to tap the cement. 

A tiny tap made you glance up and sigh in relief. Lovebug smiled at you, two pieces of paper in her hand, the other had her rabbit.

“Are you ok babybug?” You asked, running your hand over her little head. She nodded, making her tiny pigtails flop. “I wanted to give these to my friends.” she explained, handing you the papers. 

Marissa, your sister in law just chuckled. “She refused to leave the parking lot without giving them to someone to give them out.” She explained, earning a chuckle.

You checked over your daughter once more before letting her go. “How did auditions go?” You asked, making lacey giggle loudly. “I’m gonna be a rat and a petal!” She cheered, making you gasp before hugging her tightly. “Oh my goodness, I'm so happy for you!” You laughed.

You sighed, knowing it’d only be a few hours before you’d see lacey again at home. “Ok, i’ll let you and aunt marissa go back to the studio but i’ll pick you up in..about four more hours ok?” You told the little girl who nodded.

She took the paper and showed you each drawing of their names on the back.

“This is for the dr. mohan and this is for dr. robby!” She told you with a serious expression.

You nodded and giggled before waving them off to the parking lot.

Once you saw them very distant, you turned to the hospital and sighed, walking back in.

Robby stood at central, softly smiling at you. “You doing ok?” he asked, lightly bumping you. With a nod you sighed and leaned on the desk. “This is for you.” You handed him the paper, he looked at you confused. “Now if you excuse me, I'm gonna go find samira.” You smiled at him before walking away.

Both princess and Perlah sat at central, grinning at each other. “Do you think it's a love note?” Perlah asked in Tagalog

“Has to be..” Princess responded, both watching as Robby's face gained a soft smile.

He leaned against central, opening the folded paper, it had been a semi colored page, flipping it around robby grinned at the drawing.

It was a stick figure of Lacey in a bed with a stick figure of Robby beside her. The squiggly words written on top. 

“Thank you dr. robinavitch! - Lacey”

Robby chuckled, the little girl sure knew how to melt hearts, it was easy to tell both you and her were related..even though robby thinks she's your niece…

next pt!!!

robby taglist: @nerdgirljen @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @snowflames-world @evans-dejong @whimiscalfungiforager @kmc1989 @foolishseven @coffinheartz @itschelseacisneros @rhysology

[m-robinavitch]

strangers.

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Female!Reader/Slight Original Female Character (No names or y/n used but called Angel as a nickname) Summary: As you stare down the barrel of residency, stress, and anxiety, you decide that one last carefree night is what you needed. And a stranger in a bar is exactly what the doctor ordered. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), hook up culture, Soft!Dom Robby, overstimulation Crossposted to AO3

“You’re too pent up angel, we need to get you laid and fast- because I’m not going into our intern year with you practically foaming at the mouth.” Elbow digging into his ribs, you scoff. You’re fine. So it’s been 2 years since you’ve had sex? You can use your fingers, it’s worked since you were 15- it’ll work another few years. But lately it hasn’t been enough and the daunting stress of your impending residency years have you wanting to chew concrete. 

“Frankie I’m fine-” you grumble, nursing your beer because if you drink any faster you’ll just get another. And another. And another and that’s not good because tomorrow is your first day and-

“What about him?” He cut you off- nodding not so secretly to the man on your left a few stools away. Um- no. He looked like Langdon- freshman year, frat boy status with his cap backwards that’s no doubt hiding a receding hairline. And the frat boy look would’ve worked if he didn’t look well past the appropriate age. 

“Okay- picky, picky, um- him?” Nodding to the younger bartender, slicked back hair and probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. No. That was a child. You’re never letting Langdon set you up again- what’s he blind? You consider scheduling an eye exam for him when-

“Oh sure- definitely him.” Frank points his beer towards the other side of the bar with a smirk and sarcasm laced laugh. But- well? He did look handsome, tapping away at his phone with a beer in his hand. Dark hair- heavy, full looking beard, soft sad eyes you can see from here but you couldn’t tell the color yet- brown maybe. Broad shoulders, hoodie pushed up right under his elbows to show his strong forearms. Oh. Oh he might work actually. And Langdon can feel you perk up a bit- okay clearly you liked them older then. Well- if that’s what you wanted- fuck it he guesses. if you like it- he loves it. 

“Him? I was joking- I mean, maybe the old man can lay it down who knows?” You roll your eyes but- you were honestly intrigued. He was handsome enough that you didn’t think he would be alone or- well single. And you’re studying his face and the way the beer or his phone look so small in his hands and his eyes meet you- quickly snapping up from his phone and locking onto yours. Fuck. Quickly you look away, moving your head even to make it all the more obvious. But he didn’t look away. He clocked you the moment you sauntered in the bar with the guy next to you. The way your dress swished around your thighs. The way you threw your head back laughing at something your boyfriend, must be your boyfriend because there’s no way you were single. He watched you take a sip of your beer, looking down at the bar still and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his again. Fuck he was still looking at you- dark eyes not leaving yours and it was slightly unsettling but so fucking thrilling. Okay- maybe this could work out in your favor. 

“Oh- okay he likes what he sees then?” Frank mumbles around the rim of the bottle, nudging you with his knee a bit. I mean- you have to be confident. Right? Hell yeah he likes what he sees. He should right? You’re hot, smart, a fucking doctor in your prime. He should want you. No reason that he shouldn’t want you. Other than him being taken. Or gay. Or just uninterested in you as a whole but you’ll keep the confidence for now. “Go-“ Frank nudged you again. If he’s good for anything it’s going to be getting his best friend laid tonight. It’ll help his stress more than yours. You don’t go. Not yet. Fucking butterflies in your gut aren’t drowning with the alcohol. Dammit you don’t remember how to flirt. But you and him are playing eye tag across the bar now. Eyes meeting in a game of chicken- who will break contact first. It’s you. Always you. And maybe you’re not interested in him, he thinks. Maybe you’re being polite. But you’re just working up some more nerve because- ok fuck it. Fine. You’ll bite. 

“Don’t wait up Frankie” patting his shoulder you hop off the stool in the most graceful way you can manage.

“Have fun,” he finishes the rest of your beer while throwing you some unsolicited remarks, “remember we have to be at the hospital at 8, call me if you need me, use protecti-“ but your annoyed look ceased his rambling. The man across the bar watched you, watched you fucking float over to him in your short dress like a damn sign from god telling him to enjoy himself for once. Nervously chewing at your lip and pulling at your fingers, looking anywhere but at him while you walk over. You could still turn back to Frank, or pass the gorgeous man sitting alone at the bar to act like you were going to the restroom but- no. No, you are getting laid tonight. One last hurrah of your ”carefree“ twenties because the remaining few years will be dedicated to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. You needed to relax. You fucking deserved this. And this is all before you talk to him- he hasn’t even told you his name yet and you’re nervous. At least let him agree to sex first. 

“This seat taken?” God that sounded awful, so fucking cliche and awkward and you should just apologize and turn around but-

“Waiting for you actually” he smiles, grabbing the stool and pulling it out a bit for you. Okay. So far so good then? You settle into the seat and start to awkwardly scoot yourself closer to the counter but- his hand grabs one of the stool legs and pulls you closer to the counter, closer to him- your knees brushing against each other just barely to where you can register the rough fabric of his jeans on your bare knee. Oh. Oh he was strong and the way his arm flexed and- okay. Focus. 

“Do you always drink with that look on your face?” You tilt your head, meaning it more playfully than it came out but- he did have this, sad look about him. Exhausted look behind his eyes and- you could relate really. These last almost two years have been hell. 

“And what look would that be sweetheart?” Okay, he’s taken the bait then. Good. Flirt. Flirt fucking hard. 

“Like you’re just daring someone to interrupt you.” You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears, maintaining eye contact but break it- just for a second to trail your eyes down to his lips that were framed with a thick dark beard, dusted in spots with grey.

“Maybe I am?” He sees your eyes, sees the way they watch him. How they darken when you speak and- maybe he can play along. It’s harmless. That’s what bars are for right?

“Might be off putting to some,” you shrug, reaching over to take a small handful of the shitty bar mixed nuts, just needing to occupy your hands, “but I do like a challenge.”

“Is that right? Someone as innocent looking as you?” Goading you, seeing if you’re all talk or- or if you’d actually want to come home with him. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t know how to pick girls up at the bar. 

“You’d be surprised what some strangers are like after a few drinks. Let me buy you another and we can reevaluate?” Waving the bartender over you ask for another round of beers- not waiting for his answer because you play to win, and dammit this prize looked handsome. Older, definitely taller than you, broad shoulders and you squeeze your thighs together tight because you can just imagine his beard-

“I’ll take that challenge then” winking, he takes a long sip of his replenished beer after clinking it with yours. Maybe this was a success? Is it working? 

“Good- I’m a girl that likes to win.” He tries to not stare, not look at the innocent way your lips wrap themselves around the rim of the bottle- swallowing the bitter taste and licking your fucking lips after you do. Fuck- was that on purpose?

“Then I guess we’re no longer strangers,” he turns, extending his hand out to yours, “Michael.” Oh. His hands were big, warm, calloused- heavy. 

“Angel.” Your smile was sweet, fuck. You looked up at him beneath batting eyelashes and your hands were so soft, smaller in his. He has to force himself to take his hand from yours because he’d fucking hold it all night if you’d let him.

“Your boyfriend going to be okay with you chatting me up?” He nods over to Langdon who was awkwardly drumming his hands on the bar top- a poor attempt at making himself look busy while he stares you both down from the corner of his eye, just in case you need him to rescue you.

“Who? Him? Oh- definitely not my boyfriend. Roommate.” You didn’t have time to regale Michael with the saga of Frank and Angel, it was almost a decade long and many didn’t understand the bond you two shared. So- roommate was what Langdon has been demoted to tonight. He relaxes a bit, thanking god because he’s been in weird situations where couple ask if he’d join them and he’s too fucking old and tired for this poly shit- barely has time for monogamous relationships. You both fall into an easy conversation. He finds out you’re new in town, just moved a week ago for a new job. And you don’t exactly talk about residency right away. Some men find it intimidating if you mention being a doctor right away so- you just pretend you’re someone else tonight. Someone confident and who is used to picking up strangers in a bar. He’s charming. Charming and funny and he loves the way you’re laughing at his little sarcastic jokes and you’re witty and so fucking pretty. He thinks he can do this. He can be the guy that takes home the girl from the bar- at least once right? Jack is always telling him to have fun, to not be so uptight, to fucking go to therapy but until he does go- this will definitely suffice because you’re so close now, leg almost fucking thrown over his under the counter and he can smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume and like a fucking siren-

“Wanna get out of here?” Low- so low he almost didn’t fucking hear it but- the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes and wet your lips with a dart of your tongue and- fuck yes he wants to get out of here. He smiles, nods and pushes back from the counter to step off the stool and holds out his hand for you to hold as you hop off your own stool. And you don’t pull your hand away- he doesn’t pull his hand away as he waves bye to the older bartender. He’s been coming here for years- bar that’s close to home that he can walk to, bartender who gives him free drinks because of the work he does. And you both just- walk. Walk down the street hand in hand like you’re not practically bouncing and itching to kiss him. The breeze is nice and the conversation is still so easy- he looks at you when you talk, asks questions and adds constructive comments while ducking his head to miss a few branches that you can easily walk under. 

His house was nice, quiet neighborhood with a classic single family style look- a porch where he reads the paper, sipping coffee on his day off. And you feel nervous again. Butterflies swarming around in your belly and you have no more alcohol to drown them in because his hand is on your lower back, ushering you inside. It was quiet- simple. You can admire his style while you take off your shoes- from the old record player in the corner of the living room, the shelves of books along the walls where you can make out a title or two that you’ve been dying to read. You thumb through his books, running your fingers along the spines and he has his hands in his hoodie, watching you with desire creeping up in his gut. What were you doing here with him? You were so pretty and smart and funny and- he stops thinking because now you’re rounding his couch and settling into the plush fabric while holding your hand out to him. Okay. Okay he can do this. You can do this. He unzips his hoodie, laying it on the arm of the couch.

“Yes?” He asks smugly, coming to sit next to you on his couch. Taking your hand in his- he kisses your palm, beard tickling gently- then kisses up to your wrist. He can smell the dab of perfume that you sprayed as he kisses gently. Why was this so hot? Letting him kiss up your arm and you don’t realize you’re leaning closer with each kiss until you’re face to face now- 

“Can I kiss you?” It comes out barely above a whisper- as if you’re still unsure if he wants this with you like he didn’t just kiss and lick up your arm a second ago. And he laughs- soft and lightheartedly because yes, yes you can fucking kiss him. He’d beg for your soft lips on his and he doesn’t have to wait much longer now as you’re surging forward- knocking into him and throwing yourself in his lap. Okay- maybe you were a little too eager and you’re about to apologize but his hands are in your hair now and- oh this is good. He kisses so eagerly and bites your lip with a tug when he pulls back to look at you and you’re both breathing hard now after just a fucking minute of kissing. Everything feels hot and too much and his hands are on your thighs now- dragging up to your hips from under your dress and he’s actually toying with the band of your underwear now, snapping it absentmindedly. You just- it’s hot and you’re needy and you have to take initiative so you’re pulling your dress up and over your head and he groans. One hand pulls the cup of your bra down and he trails light kisses down your neck, coming up to the swell of your breast and bites- sucking a soothing mark into the stinging feeling and your hands tug at his hair now. 

“Let me taste you angel,” he begs, feeling how you grind into his lap- desperately, for some sort of relief. He mumbles against your chest rubbing his beard a little and grinning at the way you gasp at the sensation while he’s easily unclasping your bra with one hand and tossing it on the floor like it’s offended him. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer- grabs your ass to grind harder into him while sucking galaxies along your breasts. “Just- fuck let me use my mouth on you, please?” He’s fucking begging to eat you out? Is he actually? He is. He hasn’t fucked in so long and he knows you’ll taste amazing and if that’s all you want is to cum on his face and in his beard  he’ll be happy but-

“I don’t- I’ve never really,” you try to find the words- try to think but the way you can feel him under the rough seam of his jeans has you mindless at the moment. “It’s not my favorite.” You weren’t lying- the few times you’ve had someone between your thighs you just, laid there. Waiting until they were done because it was weird and your clit actually was a few inches to the left and-

“No?” Michael forces himself to pull away from your chest, holding your hips still from grinding and you whine a little- “do you not- like it? If you absolutely don’t want to I understand but-“

“No- no, it’s not that I just-“ you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks now. You’re practically naked in his lap and you’re having this conversation and- “it just feels weird.” You shrug. It did feel weird. Most guy just mindlessly lick and miss your clit and you can easily just use your own fingers and-

“Can I try? Please baby?” God he was begging. Maybe- maybe it’ll be good? Wordlessly, you nod- sit back on the couch to let him kneel in front of you and fuck- it was a sight. On his knees, kissing up your ankle while he slides your underwear down. Okay. Okay, fuck- this was happening. Definitely happening now as he easily pulls you by your knees and slides them over his shoulders. You were mouthwatering. Absolutely appetizing. Wet and glistening in the moonlight for him- whispering for him to taste and he actually moans when he looks. 

“Lemme take care of you.” He sighs, readying his tongue between your folds.

“Yeah- sure oka- shit!” You roll your eyes back with a scream, arching your back to where it’s not even touching the couch anymore and the only thing that’s keeping you from ascending to the fucking heavens is the way he has you caged to him. Both legs thrown over his shoulders, forearms around the tops of your thighs and keeping you still. So fucking still- but open for him because his shoulders are massive and wide and you’ll feel the stretch tomorrow for sure. But you can’t seem to care right now. You’ve been on edge for at least an hour now since you’ve met him and are unbearably wet. It would be embarrassing really. He’s licked a single stripe up your cunt and- fuck. His tongue is hot, wet, flat and slowly dragging up your cunt and his beard gives a fucking heavenly scratch against your thighs and- fuck. He’s staring at you. And starting from right below your entrance, trailing so devastatingly slow up to your clit- his eyes never closing or breaking contact. Once he reaches your clit- he swirls his tongue around it for good measure before closing his lips around it and sucks. Fuck. And he was fucking moaning- finally closing his eyes and enjoying the way you tasted and how one of your hands has taken hold in his hair now, pulling just a little. God he was fucking good and you know you’re about to cum soon and it’s going to be so fucking good. He wasn’t lying- it does feel good. You haven’t had sex in so long, hadn’t really even had much time to take care of yourself between prepping for tomorrow and moving and- fuck you were already feeling that swell of ecstasy. 

“Good?” He mumbles, smirking against your wet lips and you want to slap his stupid fucking gorgeous face because you can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he’s clearly trying to prove a point now. And you can only nod but- “say it- look at me and tell me how good you feel angel.” Fuck. He’s stopped- you can just feel the ends of his beard against you and you try to grind into it but he’s so much stronger than you are and his eyes are dark and beseeching you to tell him how good his tongue is. How good is fucking mouth feels against your throbbing pussy and-

“Fuck- fuck yes it’s so fucking good Michael please just- don’t stop please baby I need-“ you don’t get to finish your babbles and whimpers because his lips have wrapped themselves around your clit again and you’re melting into his damn couch now. Sinking into the fabric and the only movement you can make is pulling his hair and using the heels of your feet to pull him closer to you. He teases a finger inside, just one and tries to not moan at how tight it feels. Just testing the waters- then another. One more of his thick heavy fingers getting easily sucked into you and it was tight. You’ve had your own for so long but his already have you seeing stars behind your eyes and- he’s pulling them out. No. No no wait. And he laughs because he hears you groan- looking up and he’s replacing his hand back to keep you still and he drags his tongue back down again, swiping at your entrance and shoving it deep inside while one of his thumbs start slow circles around your clit. He was fucking good, knew exactly what he was doing. His other hand finds purchase on your chest- roughly tugging at your nipples and pinching. You’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum in his mouth, and it’s going to be amazing. His tongue- while still inside you is shoved up along your top wall and licks back and forth slowly while working the same pace with his thumb on your clit. Fuck. Your nerves are on fire. Your body contracts and arches into him more as you cry out from your orgasm. Fuck it was good. Slow and steady and creeping up along your body. You’re whining his name and he’s letting you roll your hips into his mouth to ride out the heat and waves. 

He was watching you. The entire time. Eyes focused on how you’d bite your lip, throw your head back, use your other hand to grab your breast and you were fucking gorgeous. Fucking ethereal and unreal- cumming on his tongue and whimpering his name so sweetly. And when you finally open your eyes you’re giggling, the adrenaline pumping through your body and you’re pulling him up by his collar to kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue. God he needed you. He needed to bury himself inside you now because he was impossibly hard at the moment and wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not knowing what you felt like.

“Good angel?” Like he didn’t already know the answer- but you’re still smiling and can barely nod before he stands- tugging you to sit up. “C’mon baby, up-“ easily, he grabs you from the couch and you cling to him- bare legs wrapping around his waist and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. “I need you so fucking bad sweetheart.” Grunting into the kiss you’ve dragged him into by a tug of his hair- he’s maneuvering through his living room and down the hall to his bedroom but you’re grinding into him now, desperately needing some friction even though he tongue fucked an orgasm out of you minutes ago. “Fuck-“ he stops, tripping almost over the feeling of your bare pussy over him- he’s pushing you against his doorway for a moment and the corner of the wood digging into your back but he takes just a second to compose himself and- “just wait, fuck- just wait until I’m inside you.” You’re not sure if that was a threat- or he’s telling himself to hold out from blowing his load all over his jeans before he’s hand a chance to fuck you into his mattress like he planned. maybe both. Definitely both. 

You get placed on his bed- gently and you look up at him with anticipation in your eyes as your hands reach up to capture the hem of his shirt and drag it upwards while you rise to your knees to be eye level. He had never been shy really, he was painfully aware that he doesn’t have the same body he did when he was 20 but- the way your eyes hungrily took him in? He did feel a small pang of insecurity. You were at least 15 years younger than he was, could’ve went home with any one from that fucking bar but you’re here now- in his bed, pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans and dragging the zipper down almost torturously slow. And your eyes didn’t leave his. You smiled. You kissed him. You pulled his jeans down and fucking gasped. Oh. It was- well it was fucking bigger than you expected that’s for damn sure. Your mouth watered, and you feel young and inexperienced all over again because you’re tentatively touching him, just a slow drag of your index finger along the length and he shudders. He was hard- but it was so heavy and thick, his cock wasn’t even able to be held up, the sheer gravity of it kept him hanging deliciously low and you leaned down to take a swipe at it with your tongue, desperate for a taste- but he stopped you. 

“No- don’t- I need you now-“ he rasped, forcing himself to tell you no, stroking your cheek and shoving you as gently as he could to lay back on his bed. “I can’t wait any longer sweetheart.” He wants nothing more than to fuck your mouth- have your pretty little eyes watering and looking up at him with your lips wrapped around his cock and drooling for more. But he’s even more desperate to be inside you. He’s tasted you- felt you clench around his tongue and if stuffing his cock in you is half as good as eating your pussy, then Michael needs to fuck you now. He’s crawling up the bed with you, kicking off his jeans and kissing your lips in a firm kiss, tongue licking into your mouth and swirling around yours as he grabs your thighs to come around his waist, feeling the blunt tip of him at your wet entrance. He settles above you- one of his hands holding your thighs open while the other comes to rest atop his headboard- swiping his cock along your folds to tease and collect at the juices that have dripped and finally- he pushes inside you.

“Oh- f-fuck-“ You don’t think you’ve ever gasped when someone stuck it in before. You’re sure of it. Because you would remember this feeling. You would have remembered it because of the way Michael’s feels. Splitting you open, pushing slowly through your tight walls. You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet and where you weren’t naturally wet with your own juices- his own mouth took care of that for you. The only resistance was his size- the tightness of your pussy contracting and working the sheer girth of him through. Fuck. Fuck it’s good. It hurts in the way that feels so fucking right. You feel rearranged, feel him not even fully sheathed within you and- god he still has more? It’s been so fucking long since you’ve had anything besides your own fingers inside you and his were already stretch to begin with earlier. It hurt so fucking good and you whine when he pushed deeper inside you- tensing your thighs around his waist and dragging your nails down his back. 

“Almost angel, fuck- fuck almost I-“ God he was already losing what little sense of control he had. He hasn’t had sex in ages and you were so tight and wet and sounded so pretty underneath him and he’s trying to ride out every clench you give around him- but fuck it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard when you’re whining his name and he’s not even fully buried inside you yet. “You’re doing so good for me baby, so good. Almost. Little more ok?” He moans, dropping his head down to kiss your lips because you’re biting them, biting at your lower lip to keep composed because you already feel the waves of another orgasm crawling up your spine and dancing along every fucking nerve that wasn’t burnt from the last one.

It’s hot. Fucking searing. Your orgasm slams into you all at once. The first one was a crescendo of ecstasy that his tongue slowly pulled from your body and let you ride out with it. This? White hot pleasure- ripping into your soul. You feel it in your bones, rattling and shaking with each fucking wave. You make no noise, can’t even fucking breathe because you’re sure whatever neurons you have left have been fried by the way he felt. He wasn’t even fully seated in you, a little over halfway- shoved tightly inside your walls and your body just, gave in. Gave into the indulgent way his cock was inching its way inside you, rubbing up against that spot that your fingers can never quite reach- stroking along with nowhere else to go besides deeper. Of course you came that easily- there was nothing but delicious fucking friction from the way Michael was wedging himself between your legs and how the bit of hair at the top of his cock rubbed so mouthwateringly well against your clit. All you could do was let him keep pushing inside you, his hand coming down to grab one of your legs from around his waist so he can slide it over his shoulder and- fuck. 

“Fuck- I feel you cumming angel,” you somehow got wetter, aiding so he can slide in just a bit more with the angle and he presses his forehead against yours now. Sharing panting breaths and hot whiny moans together- finally his hips were flush against yours. “You okay baby? Talk to me,” taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently and kissing the back of your hand before letting it rest above your head. He starts a slow pace, inching back out of you slowly and groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t want to cum yet, he wants this, no- needs this to last longer. And it’s hard when you’re squeezing around him and whimpering his name- your perfume is dancing around in his mind and he feels himself pulling tighter and higher. Fuck he’s about to cum. He’s using his headboard to steady himself- the knock of the wood thudding against the wall in a tantric rhythm, would almost have you embarrassed if he wasn’t fucking you so good. 

“K-keep going baby- don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop Michael-” you beg him. The rub and heavy drag of him felt so good. Indulgent and sinful because there’s no way sex could be this intense and not be frowned upon by the heavens. He’s kissing and licking at your ankle now, the anklet that you had was scratching at his shoulder and a charm was reflecting the moonlight and he swears he sees fucking stars. One of your hands cards through his hair, then his beard, and you drag your nails down his chest, dancing along the hair that’s trailed from his belly button to his cock and you just let it rest there, stroking your thumb gently. Resting right above his cock only to dig your nails into his lower abdomen and rub your thumb along the marks and- he’s fucking cumming. 

“Fuck! Fuck me- so fucking-“ he groans, hot and deep into your calve and bites down hard enough to leave a mark but- he doesn’t stop. No- Michael keeps fucking you, he goes soft for a beat, maybe two but immediately you feel him hardening up again and nudging up into you deeper and- he’s fucking his cum into you now. It’s wet and warm and he doesn’t know what happened to his refractory period but he thanks all the gods he can in this moment so he doesn’t have to leave your tight heat. But he does- he does stop to reluctantly pull out of you and ignores your whining with a chuckle and light slap to your thigh as he rolls you over to your front. Instinctively, you start to arch your back but-

“No- lay flat baby, legs together.” You feel his voice in your ear, tongue licking the shell of it and biting at your lobe while the metal of his chain is between your shoulder blades now. He pushes some of your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck, down your spine a bit with his beard scratching along the way before licking back up from the base of your spine and you shudder, sighing because it’s so good. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next. One of his heavy hands is holding your hip steady now- while the other holds his cock to slide teasingly against your folds. Oh. 

“Oh f-fuck me-“ you gasp- biting the meat of your palm from just the stretch alone. The angle has you grabbing at the sheets in front of you- needing something to cling to because between his fucking thick cock and the hand on your hip that’s all you feel from him. You want to open your legs a little more, you try but his legs have you stuck and you try to surge forward to escape the pleasure and-

“No- you can fucking take it,” he growls, a slap to your ass to drive the point home. Fuck. He’s so fucking hard again, fucked you through both your orgasms and immediately still ready to keep pounding into you. “Be a good fucking girl and take it sweetheart.” It’s not slow this time. It’s fucking brutal and you can hear the slap of his hips against your ass. This man- Michael- this fucking stranger has given you two orgasms already and another is quickly flickering in the bottom of your gut- his mind shattering pace is hard to take and you think you can ride it out until he reaches under you and grabs you by your throat to haul you up so your back is pushed into his chest. He doesn’t squeeze- no but his hand is still heavy and he can feel your pulse under his fingers like a good trained doctor. He’d be able to tell you your BP if you asked and if he had the wherewithal to stop his sufferingly brutal pace to do so. He has you on your knees, holding you up with one hand on your neck and the other hand that has captured your own is now trailing down past your stomach- lowering to your soaking cunt to force you to rub your own fucking clit with him. 

Fuck it’s so good. The hand of yours that’s not caught between his heavy one and your soaked clit is reaching up to tug at his hair while you turn your head a bit so you can try to see him. You try to breathe evenly because it’s so hot and the air feels heavy now and you swear there are stars beginning to form in your mind as your eyes roll back into your head now. He drags his nose along your temple- the hand resting against your neck trailing a few inches up to hold your jaw and kiss you. Biting and pulling at your lower lip when you open your mouth and moan his name. So sweet. You sound so fucking pretty and wrecked by him. He hasn’t fucked this hard since med school- you’re intoxicating. Your body fucking sings for him- every touch he gives is met with a sigh, a moan, a while of his name. Your hips are rolling back to meet his now and he groans into the kiss- feeling you clench around him again as you tug roughly on his hair. 

“Fuck- just like that angel,” Michael has you pulled tight against his chest- his necklace digging into your back, one arm around your chest, hand gripping your jaw so you can look at him and see exactly what he looks like as he’s wrecking you. The other arm is strong against your stomach, his hand making your fingers rubbing vicious tight circles around your clit. “Doing so- fuck- so good for me baby. Are you gonna cum again for me? Just one more?” And you can only nod, it’s not like you have a choice, really. Between the way his fingers and yours are working in tandem to play with your clit and the way his thick cock is spearing into you from behind- you’re lucky that you can breathe at this point.

“No, no-“ he stops his movements now, feeling your whine into his mouth and attempt to push your ass back into his hips. “I wanna hear you say it baby- tell me you wanna cum again.” Fuck, you’re trying to get the friction back- get the delicious drag of his heavy cock back but he’s shoved so deep inside your wet cunt that he’s not moving anywhere. And neither are you from the way he has you pinned to his front. Fuck. 

“P-please Michael,” you whimper into his lips, trying to wiggle your hips just a little so that you can feel him rub against that spot inside your- or maybe get his fingertips to brush your clit but he has your hand forced between his and your body, still and twitching for movement but he’s so much stronger than you are. “Fuck- I need to cum. I need to cum again baby. Please. F-fuck please. Please. Please. Please-“ you’re babbling and he groans. 

“God- asking so fucking pretty baby. You need it?” He’s going to be an asshole- make you beg for a third orgasm like some fucking greedy bitch and you nod. You nod and whine and because you know he likes to hear you say it now. You’re saying yes. Whining really but it’s all the same to him.

“Yes baby,” nodding like a woman drunk and starved and high all at the same time. “Please I’ll be so fucking good Michael just-” you choke out at the end, he’s easing out then shoving himself back inside you now. Fast. Fast and hard and you can fucking hear colors at this point. You feel him in your veins. You’ve been injected with pleasure and it’s so good. He’s spewing pure fucking filth in your ear now and the wet slapping sound of his hips and fingers against your clit drive the point home. Growling out how good you feel. How fucking wet you are. He’s trying so hard not to cum yet- he needs this to last because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity to fuck you someone like this again. It shatters through you. Like glass spidering around every weak point of your nerves. That drop. Like the drop of a roller coaster. It’s wet. It makes you soar and float off the planet for a second and you think you can see yourself from above. You cum with a loud scream of his name and he stops fucking your pussy for a moment, stops your rubbing of your clit and moans along with you now- feeling you clench and tighten around him. 

“There it is, angel, you sound so pretty for me baby.” He lets you go. Lets you slump forward but he hasn’t pulled out of you yet and you can feel him throbbing inside you still. You’re tired. So fucking tired and he’s still hard. He leans over you now, kissing the back of your neck and when he pulls out- you gasp because he’s been inside you for so long but he’s turning you back over now. Grabbing the back of your knees and slotting himself between your thighs again and you whimper because you’re so sore. But he’s kissing you so softly now, running his hands over your body and whispering praises and- pushing the head of his cock back inside you fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck. 

You just- lay there now. Accepting the pleasure of his fucking. Becoming a wave of orgasm and orgasm after fucking brutal, hot, wet orgasm. He’s buried his face into your neck- kissing and biting gently but still slowly keeping a steadfast pace. He adjusts you for himself. Pushing your thighs open or closed to suit his needs. Gripping your leg to place over his shoulders or around his waist to drive deeper into you if he wants. And you just- take it. You moan and sigh his name because that’s all you remember how to do. You’re sure you black out at some point because it’s so overwhelmingly good. He asks if you’re good- if you want him to stop and you beg him- no. No. Don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop because you’ve absolutely never been fucked like this before and you’re sure it’s some gift from the gods. And how can you deny such a gift? Between his hot tongue in your mouth, beard against your skin, cock inside your pussy- you don’t even remember your name. You just- you’re more him than you at this point. 

“Fuck- are you cumming again?” He stills, feeling the familiar tightness of your pussy spasm and flutter around his cock as he nips at your jaw. “Oh- f-fuck yeah you are- you’re cumming again for me baby,” slowly, achingly slow he starts his pace again, angles his hips up and- fuck. Fuck you can’t think anymore. He’s caged you in, completely has you under his control in the best way possible. You can’t even move your hips in tandem with his- you’re stuck in this position and you have to just fucking take it. Your body is being accustomed to the slow debilitating orgasms that are coming, just one after another after another after a-fucking-nother. There’s no point in counting. No point in attempting to keep score because you’re losing. Winning? No- definitely losing because it’s devastating now. You’re accepting your fate. You feel raw. You feel heavy. You feel your mind blank because all you know at this point is pleasure that’s bordering on pain- and his name. 

“M-Michael I- fuck I- I can’t-” Your thighs were sore, so fucking sore from being held open by his cock but not wide enough from the way his knees are on either side of your thighs. You were gonna feel him tomorrow. Fuck you were gonna feel him all week. Your legs hadn’t stopped shaking from your first orgasm and that was at least an hour ago. 

“Can’t what baby?” God, his voice was so deep, raspy and graveled in your left ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth and groaning so deep you felt it in your gut and swim along your spine. “You can- fuck, you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He still doesn’t stop. His cock is inching through your tight walls with no real trajectory other than to wreck you- so fucking tortuously slow. You shake your head and turn- looking at the art he has along his wall, anything to distract you from the pleasure for a moment because your think you’re going to die by orgasm and-

“No, no you stay right here with me angel-“ his calloused hand grabs your jaw and forced you to look back into his eyes. “Look at me baby- I need you to look at me so I can see those pretty eyes while I wreck you okay?” You nod along with him- obediently accepting your directions and fate. The drag- the long and heavy drag of his thick cock through your wet cunt has you spiraling, circling the drain between pleasure and pain. It feels so fucking good- his thick warm thighs bracing your own as he rocks into you devastatingly slow. The way he’s consuming you, all you feel is Michael. He’s the breath in your lungs, the taste in your mouth. It’s the scent of his cologne in your nose, the burn of his beard along your neck and jaw, the feel of his elbows digging into your shoulders with every deep, slow, hard thrust while the chain he had one is no longer cold- it drags, back and forth in the valley of your breasts.

“Just- fuck, just one more for me? Okay baby?” his voice cracks a bit- he’s almost coming to a close. He ducks his head down and swirls his tongue around your nipple then licks a hot stripe up your neck, coming to stop at your jaw and gently nipping at the skin there again while his hand gently brushes some strands of your hair from your face. Fuck- you feel it. You feel another fucking orgasm clawing its way through your body. Fuck. You have hot, frustrated tears running down the side of your face. The pain is so good. And the only thing that stops your from transcending into the fucking astral realm is how he grabs your hand, gently from its position that was locked on his back and no doubt leaving angry red marks along his skin- grabs your hand and threads his fingers between yours and squeezes gently- and kisses your hand once more. Yeah. Yeah you’re fucking cumming again. It’s ripping its way throughout your body now, hot- hot violent waves erupting from within you. Michael moans against you, feeling you clench around him and he’s letting himself go now, content that you’re spent and whimpering bonelessly under him. “That’s it- good fucking girl.” 

The tightening and shakes of your orgasm inspire one in him, he’s ready to fuck his cum into you again but he just needs to be a tiny bit deeper. Michael pants, tries to slow down so he can move you how he needs, sitting back slightly and grabs your leg to wrap around his waist and you whimper. Feeling just an inch more of his thick cock inside- you whine. He’s fucking you hard in contrast to the way he’s kissing you- pressing his sweaty forehead softly against yours and “so sweet baby- so fucking good for me angel, I’m gonna cum ok?” Nodding and slamming just a bit too hard- bordering on painful but fuck, it’s perfect. And that fucking headboard again- slamming against his wall in a heavy pace. Hard and rhythmic and starting to pick up speed just from the sheer force of how he was driving into you. The waves of your orgasm are riding out as he’s cumming finally. Hard. Hard- and a deep raspy groan is emitting from him while he continues fucking you through it, shoving the remnants of his resolve deeper with each sloppy broken few pumps of his hips. 

You lay there- sated and weak and let him kiss along your face with praises whispered between. He hasn’t pulled out of you yet- he needs a moment to enjoy you like this. To remember what this feels like next time he’s spiraling in his own mind. You have just enough energy to kiss his palm when he cradles your face- swiping at a stray tear and asking if you’re okay. Yes. Yes you’re okay. You’ve been fucked into his mattress, split open and completely sated. You’ve never felt better. You just wanted sex before starting residency because who knows when you’ll have time and- yeah. Michael definitely gave you more than you asked for. More than you ever bargained for. 

“Give me a second,” you whine into a kiss, “I don’t remember my name.” He’s chuckling- letting your hands lazily trail over his broad shoulders, card through his beard with a twirl or two of the hair around your finger, and you push his slightly sweaty hair back from where it had stuck against his forehead. He hasn’t stopped smiling. It was so- cute? Grown man with the softest brown eyes you had ever seen, smiling after sex and it made you smile too because yeah- it was fucking good. Finally- he pulls out of you with a bite of his lip and a soft sigh. Trying to commit the feeling to memory because he’s not sure if he’ll get to experience this again. It’s been a while since he’s had sex and he’s sure it’s never been like this. He would’ve remembered vividly it being this good. 

“Hey, wake up sweetheart,” you don’t even remember closing your eyes- don’t remember how long he was gone but he helps you sit up and has a glass to your lips and- “here, drink.” It’s cold, icy and immediately soothes your throat. And while you take slow sips he holds a washcloth in front of you and- “can I?” And- you just nod. You’ve never had anyone offer to clean you before. Few have even tossed you a rag but- he’s gentle. He apologizes when you gasp at the contact because you’re sore and overstimulated but the washcloth was fucking warm. He gently cleans you and kisses your temple. Who was this man? You just- you watch in awe as he cleans the mess he made of you and takes the glass from your hand to set on his night stand. 

“Um, I- I should go.“ you stutter out. You should- right? You’ve clearly overstayed your welcome from what’s acceptable after mind altering sex. But he just nods. 

“You don’t have to.” He doesn’t trust himself to not beg you to stay. He just- he wants more time with you. He just met you hours ago and he’s not ready to give you up yet. “You can stay- if you want. Only if you want. Offer stands.” He smiles, trying to not seem nervous because he genuinely never has done this before. He’s never taken a girl home from the bar. He’s only had sex with women he’s been in relationships with. But you just- he was fucking drawn to you since he landed eyes on you. When you tipped your head back laughing at whatever your roommate had said- he was struck. The way your eyes would dart over to him and then quickly back when he’d make eye contact. It was cute- how you bit your lip and tried to ignore him until you pat your roommate on the back and practically floated over to him. He knew he was a goner then. 

“Okay,” you bit your lip and nodded- “yeah- I’ll stay.” You smiled. Leaning in to kiss him and he’s offering you something to sleep in- one of his shirts or some boxers but you shake your head and smile wickedly at him as you slither back up his bed and in between his sheet, grabbing his hand to pull him with you. No. No clothes necessary tonight. 

It was his lips you woke up to, dragging along your neck with his beard in tow. You were sore and tired but it was hard to argue with the way your body opened up so easily for him. His hand splayed across your chest, not rough- just warm and resting along your skin while his lips mindlessly kissed your neck and jaw. 

“Good morning,” he rasps, feeling you stir against him. He woke up maybe 15 minutes ago, your legs tangled up with his longer ones. He took a moment for himself, a moment to enjoy the feeling of someone in his bed again- no matter how fleeting it would be. You would be gone soon. And he can’t- he can’t delude himself into believing he’s ready for a relationship right now. It been a while since Janey. He’s been focused with work and things have settled down, albeit slightly, pandemic wise. And you were so- young? Clearly a woman and old enough to drink but- you two did get to talking to be fair. He wasn’t drawn to you in a way that felt deeper than physically. And maybe that was his own clouded judgment but he wanted to get to know you. He wanted to see you again. But he wouldn’t say anything- not unless you did. He wasn’t ready to get rejected or shatter a perfectly harmless fantasy. But he couldn’t help tasting your skin one more time- seeing the erupting marks along your chest and smiling to himself a bit. 

“Good morning-“ you mumble, sighing into the way his lips felt along your raw skin. How was he so gentle? How could he rearrange your insides last night and place feather like kisses along your jaw now? Turning- you face him, throwing your arms around his neck and tilting yourself up to capture his lips. 

“I have to go-” you’re not really trying to leave the comfort of his warm bed- sighing into his mouth as he’s pulling you into his chest. “I’m gonna be late for work- it’s my first day.” mumbling against his lips, moaning at the feeling of his hands dragging down to your ass so he can grind you into him. Fuck. No. You know you’ll never be able to leave if you stay now- feeling his heavy cock start to stir against your thigh.

“Don’t go baby,” He was going to be late too, he had a fresh crop of interns to see to, so he absolutely had to be there today but- “stay here with me.” Fuck- why was it so hard to let you go? It was one night. Stranger at a bar, something he’d never allow himself to do and he was struck. He’s grabbing your ass to grind into him harder- smiling at the way you gasp into his mouth when the tip of him catches your clit. You can hear a phone vibrating on his nightstand- probably yours, most likely Langdon calling you and wondering where the fuck you were. He did call, 3 times and texted. He had your location and you were still alive at least. He was going to have to pick you up and haul ass to the hospital.

[Frankie]: 20 minutes away

[Frankie]: Be ready 

[Frankie]: Or I’m leaving your ass.

[Frankie]: Got your stuff tho

You groan, exasperated because you have to untangle yourself from Michael to walk to the living room for your clothes but you feel his strong, heavy arms circling around your waist as he’s coming up behind you to kiss your neck. God why was it hard to leave him? He was so funny, charming and- no. No, you just needed sex to get through your first day- one night stand. Someone you’ll definitely never see again because you’re starting residency and can’t afford to be distracted now. But- he was so fucking handsome. 

“I really,” you pause to kiss him, “really,” another kiss, “mm, really need to go.” A moan, kissing his swollen lips again but running a hand through his beard to hold him into the “last” kiss. You make it to the living room and sit on the couch to tug your underwear on, well- trying to, anyway, because he’s grabbing at it and pulling you back into his lips and your back hits the couch. He just- he needs to get it out of his system. One last kiss. Maybe a mark that he nibbles into the top of your breast. That’s it. And as you’re pulling on the rest of your clothes he’s going back to his room to find his boxers and walk you out the door but- 

“Just one more kiss-” you whine, pulling him hard and crashing your lips into his. You spend another 15 minutes trying to leave. Every time more clothes come on, one of you pulls the other back for ‘just one more kiss’.

You’re on his couch, pressing him into the arm rest now that your shoes are finally on- locking your lips against his.

He’s pushing you against his kitchen counter now as you’re reaching for your purse, hands coming on either side of you so he can cage you in and claim your lips once more. 

You grabbed handfuls of his Steelers shirt at his chest, forcing him against his front door now while you try to savor the possibility of a last kiss. 

He would walk you to the car- but he’s so fucking hard again that there would be no hiding it from his neighbors or your roommate in broad daylight. So he claims the official last kiss, cradling your face in his large hands and- this one was gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Gentle like- like it would be happening again. But you’re not delusional. It’s won’t happen again. You didn’t get his number, he didn’t ask for yours. You’re definitely never going to that bar again because this was a one time thing you allowed yourself to have. You need to be focused. Focused now because you’re gonna be so fucking late and it’s your first day and you got hardly any sleep and Frank is fucking honking-

“Hurry the fuck up- I have your shoes, clothes, and stethoscope along with a nice cold Red Bull.” Fuck he was the best. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you have a Frank Langdon in your life who can read your mind. “So did the old man lay it down good or?” You take the thought back immediately, jumping in the back seat to change into fresh clothes as you tell him to drive and not break any traffic laws to get to the hospital now. You’re running through the hospital- Langdon a few paces ahead because of his stupidly long legs and you’re chugging the rest of your Red Bull while running the ER nurses station to sign in and let them know you’re both here for your internship. 

“Barely made it.” A voice interrupts as you both are shuffling through the doors to who you assume is the Dr. Abbott the nurse mentioned- arms crossed and pointing to the locker room for you both to await further instructions. A few other interns are already inside and what you assume are some residents prepping for their shift. 

“ER?” One asks, throwing her hair in a bun while you shove what you can in an empty locker next to the one Frank picked out. 

“Yeah,” you nodded- offering your hand to her with your name and introducing your other half to her as well. “You?”

“Surgery, Garcia.” You wanted to ask more but Dr. Abbott is calling everyone outside the locker room for a briefing. God, why were you nervous? You’ve never been nervous- well about work or academics anyway. But your stomach won’t stop fluttering and you’re trying to pay attention to Dr. Abbott but something is gnawing at your gut. Langdon can feel your anxiety, can feel your antsy movements and see the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip And pulling at your fingers so he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze- making you look at him to see his wink. A silent “it’ll be ok angel.” Like he always says. 

“Okay kids, the rest of this little introduction into your internship will be handled by Dr. Robby.” You don’t hear anything more- blood is rushing through your ears, mouth has gone dry, palms fucking sweating. Fuck. No? Fuck. There he was- Michael, in all his fucking 6’2, bearded, sad soft brown eyes, wide linebacker shoulders glory. As if on cue, your pussy clenched involuntarily- thighs started to ache from being held open by him for so long last night, scattered bruises across your chest started to sting. Every kiss and touch he laid on your body flared up like they knew their owner was near- like your body was calling out to his. As if your body picked up on the fact that he was near like some fucking homing signal for orgasms. And Michael, well- Dr. Robby actually, he’s as cool as a cucumber on the outside. Laying down some information and guidelines while trying to not stare at you. He doesn’t remember anyone named Angel on his list of interns. Did you lie? Of course you did- you just wanted sex and to be fair no one really calls him Michael so he can’t blame you. 

And next to you? Well Langdon is practically vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t been this happy since his med school acceptance. He’s trying to contain his joy while his eyes bounce back between you and your new boss. You’re speed running through all five stages of grief and he’s never been happier because that is definitely the old man you went home with last night. He’s excited for your debriefing and inevitable crash out session at home later because you have a 12 hour shift ahead of you both and you cannot spiral. Not now. Not yet anyway.