slibraries

[slibraries]

18+ only please and thank you

Soap who loves floor time.

Especially after coming home from deployment, he practically lives on the floor. He'll be stretched out on the carpet any odd day, scrolling his phone with his chin propped on a throw pillow.

Or you'll hear a strange, "huff, huff" coming from the living room, only to poke your head in and verify that he's been overtaken by a bout of pushups.

He watches TV from the floor.

Chats with you about everyday stuff from the floor.

Is a giant pain in your ass, trying to snag your ankles, from the floor.

He tries to get you to do stretches with him on the floor. Probably thinks you'll join him, and live forever in floor world if he tricks you there often enough. Give you enough tastes of it, and you'll be craving floor just like him.

Delusional bastard.

Since floor is the key to his heart though, you do oblige, in the ways that mean the most.

You wear something cute. Something extra short, with your moisturized legs on display and your toes stroking casually against the soft carpet of his darling floor.

Stand just like that, within arm's reach of your floor man. Pretend you don't see his pleading eyes, just keep your eyes on the TV and let him decide when he's needy enough for it.

It doesn't take long.

Just a few minutes, and then there's a strong hand clasping around your knee, trying to tug you down to the carpeted depths. You pretend to be surprised by it, because he likes to feel like he's a smooth operator.

"What is it, Johnny?" you ask innocently, plopping your ass down in his territory.

His lips are already on the inside of your ankle, scruff and soft kisses wandering along your sensitive skin. "Your legs are fuckin' nice."

"They are?"

"Mhmm."

His mouth is at your knee already, unable to pace himself when there's floor sex at his fingertips. Lovely floor and wonderful sex and amazing you, happening all at once?

Make that man your bitch, fuck him on the floor.

He has to prove his devotion, though. Take your underwear off for you, make sure you're cozy and comfortable in his floor habitat. You're not a native species like he is, so he gets you a few pillows just in case. Would you like a blanket? Wouldn't want you getting cold on his floor while he tends to you.

You're his guest, when you're on the floor. He gives you the sweetest, most delicate little kisses on your clit, whispers little things at you about how happy he is you're here, how pretty you are, and how much fun you're going to have.

Kisses turn to licks, licks turn to sucks, sucks turn to fingers, and fingers turn to wet. Wetness dripping down his knuckles, your thighs quivering when he won't let up on that spot inside you. His guest, so you get a nice long orgasm in his safe place, with his tongue massaging your clit and his fingers shoved up against that wonderful spot.

Oh, but you're so tired now from cumming, can he take care of the rest?

Of course he can, he's built for floor.

[slibraries]

gnite makeout sesh?

you roll your eyes at the text from soap, shuffling your bare legs on top of your comforter. huffing you throw on your t-shirt and reply back quicker than you mean to.

you're right down the hall... you couldn't just come and ask?

a short six second pass before you hear the footfalls of your roommate. when your door creaks open, a mohawk, pretty eyes, and strong eyebrows appear in the low light of the hallway.

"'s a simple answer, bon: aye or yes?"

god, he's annoying. "those mean the same thing, soap."

snickering at you, soap drags himself the rest of the way into your room and you gulp at his unclothed, hair-covered torso and low hanging sleeping pants. then the man stalks to you, on a prowl, just to ruin it by flopping onto the bed and rolling his weight atop you with a shit-eating grin.

"johnny–"

"ne'er answered me, hen."

"yes but only if you get the fuck off."

johnny squirms his way into a hover over you, and your legs part subconsciously to make room for him. something in the air shifts in record time, soap staring down at you for a long tick just because he feels like it before lowering himself down your body with hazing over eyes.

"thought we were just kissing?"

"aye. didnae say where, though," he grunts, hooking your thighs over his shoulders to get settled. a hot breath huffs out against your panty-clad center when johnny exhales in reverence. your hair finds his head, playing in thick strip of hair he should've cut a week ago as he pulls the fabric out of the way with a painful-sounding groan. shaking his head, he looks up at you with slow blinks. "...bleedin' jesus, jus' th' smell 'a ye's gonnae take me out..."

the kiss soap plants right against your clit muffles his last few words, and neither of you could care less. you arch almost immediately at the tongue that glides a long lick along your slit, johnny making good on his word and snogging away like your pussy is another mouth against his. his hand sneaks under the bottom of your shirt and finds a hot grip of your chest soon after.

soap devours you, grunting like he's starved, and his hips melt into a sweet grind into your matress. the tip of his cock end up sneaking out of his cotton pants, and he spurts out a thick mess of cum along your sheets just as he's slurping up a mouthful of your squirt.

"whoopsies. didnae mean tae nasty yer sheets, babe. look's like a've gotta make it up tae ye somehow..." johnny shrugs to himself, and you can only squeak out and throw your head when he slides a thick two fingers inside your spit-slick entrance.

curling them, he grins.

bugger. aren't ye a sight 'n a half...

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[slibraries]

I just know Wade would be a munch. He could stay between your legs for hours, hugging your thighs to the sides of his head like earmuffs. The messy kind that slurps and sucks and shakes his face right in there. He knows where the clit is and he makes it your problem. I feel as though he’d be prone to overstimulation, unable to tell when enough is enough until you’re pushing him away by his head and slapping some sense into him all while he wears that lovesick little grin on his face. He’s always been a people pleaser, even in his own little way. He wants to he wanted, and he’s more than happy to earn your attention between your legs.

[slibraries]

richie jerimovich fucks like he’s pissed off you ever let someone else touch you before him. he’s all teeth, chain and sweat, hand between your legs before you can even speak, fingers spreading you open just to look—just to mutter “jesus fuckin’ christ” under his breath like it offends him how wet you already are. and yeah, he slaps it. sharp, stinging, perfect. right on the clit, again and again, until you’re jerking, whining, grabbing at him, and he’s just smirking like a menace, saying “nah, baby, stay still— you wanted this.” and when he finally fucks you, it’s rough, fast, deep like he’s trying to fuck something out of you—your ex, your pride, your ability to walk straight. one hand gripping your throat, the other slipping between your thighs again mid-thrust just to slap you one more time—wet, filthy, mean. he keeps saying “so fuckin’ pretty like this” but his voice is ruined, wrecked, like he can’t keep up with how good you feel. and when you cum hard enough to clench around him like a vice, he chokes out a desperate “fuck—fuck, baby, take it—take all of it,” and stays buried deep, twitching inside you like he’s claiming something no one else gets to touch ever again.

[slibraries]

How your men experience their first Father’s Day after you’ve given birth to the twins.  

The only ones who remember are Kyle and Johnny, because they’re still in contact with their families and actually care about their fathers—yet they’re oblivious to their own situation. 

They’re all fathers now, all four. It’s been decided since they made you theirs three years ago. 

Still, it’s surreal to them, the fact that they’re considered dads now, so they’re just as baffled as John and Simon when you suddenly go out of your way to make their day special despite your own exhaustion. 

John, who’s usually the first one up while the rest of the house is either eerily silent or filled with a snoring concert given by three other men, saunters into the kitchen after finding your spot in the martial bed empty and the nursery, too.  

His expression turns the slightest bit sour, not knowing where you and the babes have gone this early without telling anyone, though as soon as the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles hits his nostrils along with his favorite sounds reaches his ears—your gentle cooing and the adorable babbles of his babies—John Price is an absolute goner. 

Your eyes light up with glee as soon as you see his reaction. “Good morning, papa,” you greet him, standing behind the two highchairs of your babies, their chubby cheeks and mouths covered in waffle crumbs and mushed strawberry pieces. “Sleep well?” 

“I–” John’s chest feels terribly tight at the sight in front of him, how your eyes shine so brightly, and how his children smile their gummy smiles, babbling happily as soon as they notice him, too.  

“Your chipmunks are saying Happy first Father’s Day, daddy!”  

His throat clicks as he swallows hard trying to keep himself from tearing up. Words fail him as he stands there, love and gratitude blossoming fiercely in his chest and warming him up from the inside out until it burns in his fingertips and he can’t keep himself from approaching you and his babies, pulling you into a bear hug and kissing you slow and deep before smooching both his chipmunks’ chubby, sticky cheeks until they squeal. 

While John has breakfast and watches over the twins, you go upstairs after hearing the toilet flush. 

The ensuite bathroom door is cracked open; light spills into the bedroom, illuminating the silhouettes of Simon and Johnny still sleeping soundly in bed. 

It’s not easy to sneak up on a Special Forces operator, but somehow you manage while Kyle is bending over the sink, rinsing out his mouth after brushing his teeth, and his soul nearly leaves his body as he jumps and barks a high-pitched yelp. 

There’s some movement and rustling of bedsheets coming from behind, but your focus is on Kyle as you grin at him. 

“Bloody Christ, baby,” he curses under his breath, clutching his beating heart. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

You chuckle, stepping up to him until your chests nearly touch. “Skittish, are we?” 

Droplets of water drip off his chin, nostrils flaring as he glares at you for a few seconds—until his lips split into a bedazzling smile and his hazel eyes light up like fireworks in the night sky. 

“Cheeky minx,” he chuckles whilst slinging an arm around your waist to pull you flush against his solid frame. “G’mornin’.” 

You’re swift to reciprocate the embrace, wrapping your arms around his midriff before nuzzling against his sternum while warmth and the smell of sleep and comfort are still clinging to him. 

“Good morning, baby.” You mumble into his shirt. “Happy Father’s Day. I already made a special breakfast for my sweet, sexy hubbies.” 

But Kyle’s brain has already short-circuited as he realizes what day today is, and his fingers flex around your waist, needing to ground himself as his heart flutters rapidly in his chest, full of love and awe for the extraordinary little family he’s claimed for himself.  

And he embraces you tighter, burying his nose into the crown of your hair with a sigh. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

When Kyle parts from you, though not without another lingering smooch to your lips after absolutely railing your mouth with his swift tongue, to go downstairs to see his precious babies, you pad into the still semi-dark bedroom instead, crawling onto the custom-built bed toward the source of gravelly snoring. 

Simon must have snuck out while you were busy with Kyle, because now it’s only Johnny in bed, still splayed out on his stomach and with his head buried under his pillow. 

“Johnny,” you croon against his neck before playfully biting into the delicious thickness of his nape, eliciting a soft hum that dissolves into a whine when his body begins to stir. “Wakey, wakey, Johnny.” 

“Mhmmmpf–uuuck.” He burrows deeper under the pillow but pads his burly hand across the mattress uncoordinatedly, trying to snatch you up blindly. “Jus’ c’mere, hen.” 

A shriek escapes you when he does manage to catch your wrist only to roll onto his side and pull you in with ease, murmuring into your hair: “Thought ye could escape me, hm?” He chuckles darkly. “Nae.” His voice is even more attractive like this, rough and rich, hot gun oil dripping over gravel. It causes your thighs to squeeze together, and your breath hitch when arousal pools into the gusset of your panties while his limbs coil around you like a bloody snake. 

You tap out against his forearm that is now tucked under your chin. “I yield, J-Johnny!” He laughs again, a little louder when you bite into his arm, tugging on coarse body hairs.  

“S’tha’ how ye alway gonna wake me up on ma special day, duckie?” he coos, tightening his hold as you try to squirm only to end up mewling pathetically—which you’re aware is already a dangerous sound to make around Johnny. “Gonna make me a da again, hm? Want me ta fuck ye while our boys are havin’ a cuppa?” You can’t bite your lip hard enough to keep in your moan as he grinds the swelling bulge inside his boxers against your rear. “Have ye waddle ‘round the house while ye carryin’ our babe again?” 

Once you mew out a pathetic little ‘yes, daddy’, it’s over for you.  

By the time you’re able to walk and somewhat presentable again, Johnny is whistling a merry tune under the shower while you clutch the stair-rail as you make your way downstairs once more. 

John is reading the newspaper at the head of the kitchen table, still sipping on a coffee, Kyle is seated across from him, scrolling on his phone while nibbling on a buttered toast, and the twins are nowhere to be seen. 

“Had fun, baby?” Kyle asks cheekily while you blink away the post-orgasm daze. “Where are our children?” 

“Hm?” The newspaper crinkles when John peeks over the edge at you, the crunch of Kyle biting into his toast filling the tense silence before you gesture at the empty highchairs. “Our babies? They can barely walk, so I feel stupid to ask where did they go.” 

“Ah,” Kyle chimes in, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “Simon,” he swallows thickly, “said he’ll put ‘em down f’nap time.” 

“By himself?” you ask incredulously, brows furrowing. “They’re blessed with three daddies and–” 

“Darlin’,” John cuts you off before you can go on a rant, and your lips shut as you meet his stern, steel blue gaze. “Simon needs a moment alone with them. Okay?” 

Now that really shuts you up, and you nod after a moment, feeling utterly stupid for not even considering that today could mean even more to Simon than it does to your other husbands. 

The kitchen becomes livelier when Johnny joins the bunch; mohawk still damp, rocking sweats and a muscle shirt along with a shit-eating grin. He places a wet peck on your cheek before cupping your jaw and turning your face for a proper kiss. 

“Woah, woah, haven’t ya had enough yet, Tav?” Kyle complains, coming up behind you two while John watches in amusement. “Never,” Johnny retorts with a snort before grabbing Kyle by the back of his neck and crashing their mouth together in a bruising kiss—all while you can merely squeak at John for help, sandwiched between their bulky bodies. 

When you manage to escape the usual kitchen chaos, you make your way upstairs, coming to a soft stop in front of the door to the nursery. As you press your ear to the wooden door, you can hear the low murmur of Simon’s voice, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. 

The door creaks the slightest bit as you open it carefully to slip inside, and the sight that greets you nearly takes your breath away by the way your heart clenches so tightly. 

Simon is standing by the twins' cribs with his back turned towards you, his massive frame barely illuminated by the soft glow of the teddy bear night lamp on the nearby commode. 

He’s simply been talking to his babies. 

Slowly, you approach him on socked feet, your steps nearly silent on the plush carpet except for the trademark crack of one of your knees. As soon as you’re close enough, you embrace him from behind and rest your cheek against his shoulder blade while he slowly starts melting against you. 

“You deserve it just as much, Si,” you whisper, tightening your arms as best as you can. “Happy Father’s Day.” 

And you can feel how he inhales sharply, how his body tenses for a few seconds, before he relaxes again. The click of his throat loud in the otherwise quiet room as he swallows thickly, cupping his larger hands over yours and intertwining your fingers. 

“Thank–Thank you, lovie,” he sniffles quietly. 

And you both end up watching your beautiful babies sleep peacefully. 

I know it's too early, but Father's Day was last week here in Germany, so—Happy Father's Day! ❤️

[slibraries]

If this is not too late for Frankie Friday. Maybe one where his girlfriend is a OBGYN and helped deliver a baby in the ED that day and Francis gets the biggest breeding kink watching her to her magic. That when they get home, he is unable to keep his hand off of her and she teases about a ring on a certain finger before he knocks her up. Even though Francis has that ring in his nightstand drawer waiting for the perfect moment

you were magical and it’s eating frank alive–how you’d eased a mother and her baby through the toughest ED birth any of them had seen in a while alongside robby, collins, frank, and a slew of other interns and nurses that like you way more than they like him.

the expression on your face read calm but determined for the entire birth, melting into a smile whenever the new mom was in need of some reassurance.

there was a tick sometime near the end where frank was forced into a frozen stare. it was the smallest of seconds he allowed to pass but the image sat with frank for the rest of the shift; you cradling the minutes-old baby with a delicacy that made him warm all over. the sight swam itself around in his stomach and danced through the man’s mind with visions of you bouncing a drooling baby on your hip–one with your nose and his chin, of course–and daydreams of blowing raspberries into chubby cheeks while you watch with smiling eyes.

god.

the thoughts don’t subside when the two of you return home and you head straight for the shower, nor do they leave him when he joins you in the bathroom to ramble about the day until you tell him to stop.

‘babe, i know you love to see how many words you can say in a single minute but i’m begging you to talk about anything other than work right now…’

now, that he can do.

frank is finally able to corner you at the fridge, smirking to himself when he finds your frame bent over and staring into the appliance with a cute frown.

“what do you think about pizza night–mh.”

a surprised sound seeps from you when frank yanks you to him, interrupting your question with a scorching kiss. bodies melting together instinctively, frank kisses you as long as his lungs will let him, tongue twirling a tease across your own before pulling away to heave out a request that bobs your throat with a gulp.

“lemme put a baby in you.”

you blink but are unable to get out any words when frank kisses you again. the feeling of his lips against yours, his hands squeezing your ass in a desperate grope slithers a warm feeling throughout your core. another heat threatens to do something worse when frank breathes out a groan into your mouth, the deep, guttural noise being inhaled by you easily.

“what?” you just barely get out, your attempts to fully pull away from the kiss going nowhere with a way frank licking into your mouth.

“‘m serious,” frank mumbles messily, his spit mixing with yours as he speaks to you with ending the snog. he shifts the two of you to the island of the kitchen, and your body moves impulsively in its climbing onto the countertop. without thinking, you tug frank closer by the roots of his hair, grinning a little at the shiver the action earns from him. “let’s have a kid. for real…”

while it does take a few seconds, your senses return with a hand to frank’s chest and a scoffing laugh leaving your throat.

“frankie–wait,” you emphasize when he tries to pull you back into another kiss. “what?”

the man sighs and it sounds rougher than you expect. however, it’s the look in his eyes that tells you it’s at himself rather than anything you’ve said. frank rubs at his forehead with a sobering shake of his head and punishing bite to his tongue. damnit.

“...sorry,” frank chuckles a little, barely able to meet your eyes as he repeats the word. “‘m sorry, it, uh–shit–that was not how i wanted to start this conversation. um, you were–you were saying somethin’ about a pizza, right–”

it’s your turn to shut frank up. you do it with a finger against his lips and peck to his jaw. palms moving to rest upon his cheeks, you make sure he’s looking you right in the eyes before you say anything further.

“don’t be sorry,” you ease out, hooking one of your legs around his waist, making the usually-certain man hue a little redder than usual. “just put a ring on my finger first. then we’ll talk, hm?”

if frank had any less decorum, he’d have choked at your sentence.

luckily for him, his name is francis frank langdon and there’s already a ring sitting at the bottom of his nightstand drawer with your name on it. therefore, his response to your proposition is another sweeping, breath-stealing kiss and confident tug at your waistband.

“yes ma’am…”

frankie friday tag

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[slibraries]

soap who's got a little crush in the intel office

Soap, who isn't processing a word out of your mouth as you explain the complicated geometrics of this base, how normal detonations wouldn't would because of something longwinded and boring but goddamn if you didn't have the cutest face he'd seen in a while.

Soap, who sheepishly had to walk his distracted ass back to your office to ask if you could please jus' explain it one more time, i wasnae payin' any attention last time, muttering an excuse about a migraine. You didn't say anything about the demolitions expert being distracted at a demolitions debrief, welcoming him in with an eye roll.

Soap, who'd get distracted every meeting going forward if you could pull him into your office, sit so close he could smell your shampoo, and explain to him patiently the objective and geography and the coordinates and hell, you could explain year 8 geometry and he'd hang on every word. Your office was nice, cool and cozy. He didn't like group debriefs; he needed to stand up and pace or fidget with his velcro vest, or ask too many questions than Price thought appropriate.

But you used better explanations, sat through his often stuttered questions, and let him play with the pencil holder on your desk while you spoke.

Ghost had taken to finding him there in moments of downtime, listening doe-eyed to you murmur about a mission that didn't even belong to them. He snorted. Soap darted to his feet, stumbling over the rug.

"I...I was..." he gestured vaguely, neck purpling with embarrassment. You swiveled in your chair, grinning.

"Hi, Lieutenant," you greeted Simon, waving pleasantly. "Johnny just wanted some alone time."

Soap gaped at you because that's how you decided to phrase that?? In front of his LT?

Not even addressing the elephant in Simon's mind - Johnny. You called him Johnny.

"Price needs ya," Ghost said gruffly, disappearing down the hall.

Your cackling echoed in Soap's ears as he followed grumpily. "Sweet boy," you murmured, going back to your notes.

It was another late night of Soap's pestering. Please, bonnie, jus' need ye to explain tha' again, my ears, ye ken, all screwy from the bombs n' shite. You raised your eyebrows, surprised that, again, a detonations expert needed review on C4 placement for a relatively low-stakes assignment.

He was sitting too close again, knee brushing yours. The low lamplight shone in his dilated eyes, baby blues wide with adoration. The overt affection in his gaze made your cheeks burn a bit, until you noticed the circles growing beneath them. Soap was exhausted; the lines of his stout shoulders sagging into your cushy armchair.

"Johnny," you said when he asked another frantically inane question. He clamped his mouth shut at your tone, hands yanking on the pockets of his pants. You chose your words carefully.

"Are you sleeping?"

He blinked. "Eh? I'm- what sorta question- Yeah. Course," he blustered, puffing up a bit.

Your chin tilted. "Y'sure?"

Johnny nodded, but you saw the falter in his gaze. The bags were prominent now. Deep purple beneath his dark lashes.

"Why don't you head off to bed," you said quietly. "It's late. You've got early rollout tomorrow." You handed him a manila folder of notes to review and a tired smile. He stood quietly, head heavy with a sorrow you hadn't seen before.

You didn't see him for a while after that. It made you a lot more productive without the nagging or constant whassat? whassat? whassat? aimed at every piece of intel you had spread on your desk. But the armchair looked lonely, and you missed his cheeky teasing.

A knock startled you from your pondering. Eyes flicking to the clock - 1:00 - you frowned, opening the door a sliver.

A mountain of grime and sweat pulled you into a hug, muffling your surprised squawk.

"Johnny?"

He sluggishly dragged you into your office, finally releasing you when the door was shut. You struggled to regain your footing. Head reeling, you scaned him for injury. But...he was in pajamas?

"What..."

"Went...running," he said hoarsely. You nodded slowly, piecing apart the lie. Barefoot, dirty hems. Night terrors, probably, coupled with an unlocked door. It made your heart ache.

"Sit...sit down, Soap," you whispered, coaxing him by the shoulder. A meaty hand clapped over yours and were alarmed by the intensity in his bloodshot eyes. Too crystal to be drunk but too crazed to be...here.

"Sit, Johnny," you said, firmer. He sank shakily, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Nay...nay, nay, I can explain, I jus'...had a question a-about tha last thingie you were...you were..." he trailed off, seeing the pity in your face. "Don' look a' me like that," he muttered.

A moment as your hand shifted down his arm, fingers still laced with his. A gentle motion, petting the gooseflesh rippling over his musculature.

"You wanna hear somethin' funny?"

His eyes shot to yours, pleading. Johnny scooted closer, almost falling into your lap. A reminiscent smile flitted over your face as you continued to stroke him.

"A few recruits, while you were gone, got ahold of one of those mop buckets. Big yellow one. Well," you cleared your throat, muffling a giggle. "Well, one of the pipes burst upstairs, and the whole hallway flooded. So one of them got the great idea to make a slip'n'slide..."

You giggled at your retelling, quietly imitating the characters in your little tale. Johnny had edged closer, head inches from your chest. Not pausing your whispering, you pulled him to you. He draped over you, absolutely massive over your tiny desk chair.

It was unbelievably uncomfortable. Your legs were numb in two seconds.

The story was over, but Soap squeezed your waist the moment you had the thought of moving. "Grabbin' a pencil," you soothed, patting his sweaty head. His heart was pattering slower now, breaths coming easier.

"Can...can ye explain it again?" His forearms tightened a bit, relaxing when you stroked his hair.

You grinned. "Yeah, Johnny. Sure I can."

not as good as i wanted it but it was cute in my head.

[slibraries]

You cannot tell me Frank is not thinking about the Frank or Francis Affect the entire day at PTMC because he is knows you are sleeping and recovering on your day off

tw(s): language, one quick scene of smut, oral (m receiving), quick pov change (flashback), bodily fluids, food (mentioned), illness (mentioned), undefined relationships, frank missing you bad and realizing something big, plus a quick dana and robby appearance :)

✩ THE FRANK AFFECT PREVIOUS PART (ONE) ✩

Fuck. Frank misses you. He saw you less than three hours ago, and he’s missing you already.

Your presence lingers in everything–in the roll of your eyes he doesn’t see when he brats out his seventh wisecrack of the hour… the wink he doesn’t get to throw at you while you stand across from him and work with the rest of the room to save your patients… the playful hip checks he can’t help but give you whenever you pass him.

It’s weird without you here. Still bustling and demanding, but there’s a weight to your absence. The rainbow is missing one of its colors. The third of the chord isn’t here, and there’s a persistent irritation that sours the back of his throat when he can’t figure out the quality of the day’s collection of notes.

With that being said, Frank’s glad you decided to spend the day at his apartment. It took him a few deep, whining pleeeases and a squeeze of your ass but he’d been able to convince you to sleep your exhaustion off in his bed instead of your own.

…God, he loves that shit. You in his space, wearing his clothes, using his shower–all while you’re still full with the remnants of the loads he blew this morning 

Yes… loads. He might’ve had to rush to throw on his scrubs but he’s a weak, weak man. And you’ve got a tongue like a snake and look so pretty when you’re gagging on his cock like you did before he finally dressed.

“C-can I… can ask you a question?”

You’re mid-bob when it stops, tongue sticking along the bottom of his cock while you drag him out of your throat. “You’re joking right?”

Frank shudders at the hand you start stroking him with, hips flinching and hand reaching to press against the nearest wall of porcelain.

“I just, uh, just wanted to know if you think it’s weird I wanna beat up whoever you learned to suck cock like this on?”

Eyebrows furrowing, a surprised laugh peppers out of you. What the fuck?

“Jesus, Frankie,” you breathe out with a shake of your head. “You do realize you don’t have to say everything you’re thinking right?”

Frank shrugs, scrunching his nose in a half smile, half frown.

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that? And can you really blame me for wanting to? Beat ‘em up, I mean,” he pauses, coming to “You’re kinda… hard to not be crazy about.”

The softening of his eyes as he speaks is a nice sight. It’s a warming, reassuring act that clouds you full of something sweeter than the piece of brown sugar crepe cake he bought you yesterday evening.

It was a spur of the moment thing, the dessert. Got you all drunk on sugar and eased you into the haze of The Frank Affect. There’s something about having some sweet on your tongue that opens you up a little more to his charming but overbearing wits and fast counter jabs. Never spiteful but edging just enough to keep you on your toes, which you take beautifully… and make sure to match when you feel like it.

Last night was great. Perfect. This morning, even better.

And when Frank thinks of tonight, around nine hours from now, it makes his stomach turn happy flips. You make him soar higher than heaven and shake with nerves and come so hard that his abs burn a deep fire and he loves it… loves you–

“All good?”

Frank blinks with lost eyes, turning his head to where both Dana and Robby are staring at the man over their glasses.

“Hm?”

“Got a pulmonary on the way, three minutes out. You ready to rock?”

Frank shakes out of his daze, clapping his hands together with a sobering sniff.

“Born ready,” he assures them, scurrying to the nearest box gloves and sliding them on with a loud snap.

Frank hopes you’re sleeping okay, ‘cause he’s gonna have you up half the night to ramble about all the cases you missed today.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

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jack abbot knocking cigarettes from your hand because there’s no way he’s watching you kill your lungs like that. jack abbot making you talk to him, kid when you slip out of the room after a hard loss because there were too many times that he didn’t, and it’s still fucking with him. jack abbot bringing you tea instead of coffee because otherwise your hands will start shaking around 2 AM. jack abbot having to be held back by shen when a patient in chairs keeps talking to you like they have no sense. jack abbot dragging you up to the roof and not leaving until you eat the half of the burrito he paid $10 dollars extra to have brought to him directly because all he’s seen you nibble on was some hershey kisses ellis left for you two nights ago. watching the sun come up before walking you to your car, and not breathing deep enough until you text him home. jack abbot seeing himself in your willingness to bend if it could save the patient and hesitance to accept deserved praise, and doing everything he can to hone that shit. build you up and keep you there, regardless if it looks like he’s picking favorites. you’re good. great, and the gust of fresh air that keeps blowing him back from the edge…

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Frank seeing you wearing HIS scrub top in the morning of your day off. Yea you have your own but he sees you wearing his by the kitchen counter as you prepare breakfast

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 – 𝐟. 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝟏𝟖+) | hopping on the francis train with @ovaryacted! all aboard! he's sooo ugh. thank anon, for sending this in cause i'm thinking about him very hard. warnings for this one include: smut, language, unprotected sex, creampies, bodily fluids (mentioned), sex in the kitchen, undefined relationships, langdon being a fucking menace but also down bad for you, cooking (mentioned), me trying to use religious imagery (?) (@stellamarielu your turn 🫵🏾) w/c: 1.2k

“Frankie, the eggs–”

“Fuck the eggs,” he mumbles, the baritone of his voice a little thicker than usual thanks to the hours of well-earned rest. The man had slept like a rock next to you for most of the night, snoring off the exhaustion from his latest shift and how deep he’d fucked you in his bed afterward. One might think that Frank had satisfied his taste of you yesterday with the way he was babbling away in your ear while plowing into you from behind. This morning proves that fact is anything but the case.

Frank’s got his face buried into the skin of your neck, mouth attached and licking like you’re made of sugar. A groping tug at your sides drags you closer to him, and the cooling pan on yolk to your right is becoming but a distant recollection. He drags the kisses, wetting the skin from the dip of your shoulder to your jaw with thick laps of his tongue, and mewls with a little shudder at the way you tug his hair when his mouth slides back against yours.

When Langdon pulls away, it’s with a gentle grab of your bottom lip between his teeth. He has to smirk a little at how your eyes try to roll, and playfully nips the plush one last time before releasing the flesh.

“Fuck those eggs, turn around,” he breathes out, not waiting for you to respond before spinning you himself and pressing you into the nearest counter. Bunching up the fabric of his shirt–his fucking scrubs–he yanks it over your hips and pauses to throw his head back with a painful-sounding groan at the thong you’re wearing. It’s tiny and a shade pretty of aegean and finishes pumping his cock to a full length that bulges through the tight white of his underwear. “Christ, you’re fucking perfect.”

Frank’s compliment seeps out of him like a prayer, and he’s going to fuck you like you’re divinty itself.

He’s thick and aching as he sinks into you, and you can only whimper and grip the countertop as he clutches you with a crave-drive desperation. Frank’s thrusts start right away, his good friend impatience taking over to have its way with the man. Eyes clenching, he bends into a close hunch with a smushing of his front into you, your name tumbling from his lips in a way comparable to asking for forgiveness.

“Shit, Frankie…”

The falling of his name out of you forces Frank to grunt. Strings of his hair bounce in his face as he pumps himself into you, and both of your foreheads are starting to shine with a layer of sweat.

“Gonna let me come inside you this time?” Langdon questions, words uneven and mostly breath as his cock rams inside your pussy. Pulling back, he lowers his chin to his chest to watch the way you’re starting to cream around him, and the noise he makes has the audacity to fucking echo thanks to the steel appliances of the room.“Can even think of it as a–mmm–a souvenir, ‘f you want… n-nice little keepsake to remember me by ‘til you come back over tonight, and I get to–fuck–fuck‘til you’re seein’ five of me.”

Soon enough, you’re halfway folded onto the counter, and Frank’s already close.

His shirt. You were wearing his shirt, his goddamn scrubs, plus a thong in a shade of blue most people don’t know the name of while making him breakfast even though it’s your day off. And now, you’re letting him fuck you raw on his counter in the garment and drenching his cock in a mess that’s already running down to his balls.

“Oh, my God,” you’re forced to croak out when Frank quickens his pace, and you don’t have to see him to know what expression is gracing his face. You’ve seen it more than you thought you would when you’d started your residency at the PTMC; the hazy-eyes and glistening forehead. Browline pinched and jaw dropped like he’s closer to tears than he’ll ever admit. “How am I so fucking wet already? Jesus…”

Frank exhales with a laugh, not bothering to move the hair that’s starting to stick above his eyes. Steady in his pounding, he smirks.

“Oh, that’s just the Frankie Affect, sugar,” the man boasts, using the shirt he’s gripping to rut you back onto his cock, and you’d roll your eyes in annoyance if his tip wasn’t thwacking against your spot every two seconds. You can tell he wants to keep joking but a throaty moan interrupts him. Good.

“Gonna need an answer to that question soon,” Frank heaves, flushed cheeks puffing with the blow of a quick breath. “Very, very soon, darlin’.”

It takes you more than one attempt to answer him, as a wail beats your words every time you open your mouth. Core flooding with a pooling heat, you can just barely squeak out your repeated response of yes.

That’s all you manage to get out, mouth falling open in a silent scream when Frank’s waist surges with a new sense of drive. His thrusts grow sloppy as he starts to chase it, broken moans streaming from the man while you join him in a wash of unruly cries.

“Mmhm?” He checks one last time, his legs starting a shake he knows is only going to get worse. One last nod from you is all it takes for him to grit his teeth, keeping his angle perfect long enough for you to start squelching out your orgasm around his cock.

“That’s it,” Frank purrs out, squishing you in between himself and the counter, arms wrapping you in a strong embrace as you tremble powerless against him. “Mmm, right there… fuuuck, just like that.”

When Frank comes, it ruins him. At least, that’s what it sounds like.

He stiffens and holds you tighter, sobs falling loud upon your ears as he explodes inside you. You’re flooded with rope after rope of his thick spend, his hands disoriented and unsure which part of you they want to grab. Frank bawls your name, slurring out unintelligible stammers of unashamed curses while his sack pulses with mind-numbing twitches.

“Holy fu…,” Langdon whispers loudly with a few hitches inhales, remaining pressed into you as your hole milks him stupid. “You cannot be real.”

When you shake with a short but spent giggle, Frank nearly growls at you to not do that until he pulls out or he might faint.

Once his breath finally returns, Frank slides from you slow. His lips almost quirk up at the whimper he hears from you. Peeking down, he sniffs at the way some of his cum spills back out of you, painting his cock with a pretty pearl hue. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, twisting to pull Langdon into a tender peck. He stops you when you pull away, grabbing your chin and kissing you once more, letting it linger until he’s satisfied. “Except for the fact that now I wanna shower but I don’t think my legs will let me make it there without giving out first.”

Face brightening with a grin, Frank loops an arm around you.

“Another ramification of the Frank Affect–”

You shut Frank up with a finger to his lips and shake your head.

“Mm-mm,” you hum out, and he ignores the urge to bite your finger, smiling wider.

“What? It’s a real thing! You just experienced it firsthand–”

“Stop while you’re ahead, Francis…”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

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Got a question. Who out of all the men of The Pitt would you see this scenario fitting with most?

Let's say you and your kids are watching a movie, let's say they need more snack or laundry needs to be switched. (Insert Pitt Character) follows you to kitchen or laundry room with 10 minutes of free time with the kids distracted to get some "snacks" or "fold laundry". Then after go back to the movie acting like nothing happened but a smirk on their faces(or maybe an innocent look?)

Maybe it's just me but this thought makes my brain short circuit.

MICHAEL MOTHER FUCKING ROBINAVITCH

Oh anon, he is a handsy one. That man is purely a menace and will take any opportunity to get you alone and have you any way that he can. He'll even make up secret hand signals or code words for you to use whenever one of you needs a little more than a PG rated affection.

I PROMISE I TRIED TO KEEP THIS SHORT LOL

warnings: contains domestic fluff, you and Robby have two kids, nothing explicit ((sorry!))

Michael likes to think he's very creative. He has absolute confidence he had a system down with you when he needed a little extra TLC when the kids finally get preoccupied with toys or the TV for an hour or two. It started with a subtle gesture--him tapping his glasses to signal story time for the kids, who were four and six.

You fake a yawn and stretch from your seat at the couch, eyeing the two kids snuggled together between you and Michael. "Okay, who's ready for story time?" Two small faces turn to you wide eyed before excitedly squealing and rushing to their room.

"Brush your teeth first!" Michael hollers and more quick little footsteps redirect to the bathroom. You're all giggles falling into his chest at how adorable your little life has come to be with two of the smartest kids.

With the lights off and the door softly shut, your husband quietly sneaks behind you, his lips finding the back of your neck. You clasp your hand over your mouth when you giggle a little to loud and he steers you to the bedroom with his hands on your hips.

-

“Danny, remember when mom and dad used secret codes when they wanted to sneak off and make out?”

The wine goes down the wrong pipe and leaves you in a coughing mess beside your husband on your couch. Michael laughs incredulously at Jackson, his seventeen year old, as he tries to pat your back to help you recover. Danny, who's nineteen, snickers at his brother coming from left field with his question.

“Jacks! What are you-”

“‘Honey, I gotta fold the laundry’, ‘Mom needs to help me get the snacks ready’, 'Popcorn takes a long time to prepare', tapping your glasses twice to finish story time early, I could honestly go on,” he laughs counting every famously used line around this household, passing you a napkin to wipe your wet bewildered eyes.

“I- Well, your dad thinks he was very discreet with his code words and hand signals,” you laugh so hard thinking back to all the times the two of you used your secretive system.

“Always a man on a mission,” he shrugs and it makes you all laugh again. Having a last dinner all together before your oldest drives his younger brother off to college, lightens the sadness in your heart when the next day comes and leaves you and Michael with an empty nest.

Morning comes, bags are loaded into the trunk, a thermos of coffee quickly tossed in a cupholder and hugs goodbye were made at your driveway. Fresh set of tears threatened to spill from your eyes again seeing two parts of you set off to a new part of their life. Michael with his arm around your waist, rubs it soothingly also trying to keep himself composed.

He clears his throat, "I guess we don't have to fold any more laundry in the middle of the night now." You yelp when his hand on your hip travelled to your ass, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Michael!"

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18+ minors DNI sfw drabble pope cody x nonbinary/trans!reader

cant stop thinking abt pope hanging out at reader’s apartment more and more often and eventually their roommates making appearances very casually. at first he gets super tense and either has a hand on reader while theyre on the couch or just scoots closer to them in general.

but reader only lives with lgbtqia+ people so they see this and are like oomfie has a feral cat ok we’ll go at your pace sir. theyre super respectful of his space and walk/talk around him to reader as casually as they can. if theyre ordering food for the roommates they check in w reader abt what pope likes to eat and order for him too.

pope getting more comfortable around them and reader starts to notice and it makes them so happy they could cry. one night one of your roommates is going out on a date and she’s worried she looks to masculine in the outfit she chose and is just super nervous and pope gives her a once over from the hall coming back from the bathroom and hits her with a “you look good, quit bein’ a baby” and the silence is deafening.

your roommate realizes how big this is and is overwhelmed w emotion at this comfort hes providing strangely? and kisses him on the cheek with a big smack of her lipstick and with all the confidence in the world heads out the door telling you both to not wait up.

and pope comes back to the couch and wipes the lipstick off with his hand and you kiss his other cheek and all over his face till hes blushing and telling you to knock it off, but hes not serious he doesnt want you to stop he loves the praise and the positive reinforcement of his good behavior

GOD I LOVE POPE AND THE GAGGLE OF QUEERS THAT ADOPT HIM

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Tying a pretty lil pink ribbon around Abbot’s biceps <3 yes they’re just so scrummy!!! Maybe around both his wrists if the mood takes me :3

let's give him some credit... jack's trying. he really is.

...but the man is five seconds away from ripping this damn ribbon into broken strings of nothing with the way you're humping against his bulge. he's rock fucking solid and leaking a god damn lake through the tip of his cock, and there you are–agonizingly gorgeous... biting your lip through a smile at how pretty the pink looks against his skin.

"look..." jack starts, pausing to swallow because fuuuck. "i know you're havin' fun and all, but if you keep rocking against me like that, i'm gonna blow a blood vessel, sugar."

"i'd rather you blow a load inside me instead."

you're reply edges with a tease that he usually rejoices in. now, however, all it does is remind him of how many times you've slipped him in and out of you at a speed that feels quicker than light.

"oh, yeah?"

two words... those two words are all it takes for him to snap the cheap silk and grab you with rough palms. you squeal out a laugh but it softens into a long curse when jack spins you faster than you thought he was capable of and slicks himself inside you from behind.

“much better,” he groans aloud as his entire body sags onto yours. jack immediatley sets about with a weighty shove of his hips that causes your eyes to start watering. his chin finds home on your shoulder just in time for you to feel the hot breath that puffs out when he tells you, “that’s more like it, baby. s’posed to be nice and deep inside this pretty hole, not playing games… we both deserve better than that, don’t you think?”

a inkling of you questions how the fuck jack is still able to form complete sentences because you’d think he’d be closer to your state; sobbing and failing in your quest of trying not to drool all over the pillow beneath your head as he rails into you.

he’s relentless. keeping steady in the strike of the head of his cock into the deepest parts of you. arms trapping your figure and hips smacking messily against yours, jack’s eyes roll as he finally pleases the ache that’s been torturing the two of you since you looped the mediocre knot around his wrists.

“jesus, that feels good… so fuckin’ good…” he trails off, sinking into you in perfect time with the claps against your ass. 

“f-fuck, jack–”

“i know. i know, doll. lemme milk one out, then i’ll eat you nice and good, okay?” he murmurs, voice dripping with sweet, a gentle shush pushing from his lips when you whine. “ah, none of that, baby, ‘m just doing what you wanted, right? for me to blow my load instead of a vessel?”

is that what you said? you can’t remember–and don’t care that you can’t remember–because jack’s pounding into you with grunts that tell you he’s already closer than close. you’re pulsing and squelching with each flick of his hips, creaming a mess he’s itching to clean up with his tongue. like jack said, he’ll fuck you full and trap you to his mouth until you’re crying. then, he’ll wipe you down, kiss you dizzy, and go to buy some new ribbons that will be tied around your wrists next time.

and yes, it has to be tonight ‘cause robby’s coming over… and he’s a sucker for you in pink.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

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CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Talks of Jack Abbot & reader having a breeding kink.

Can’t stop thinking about seeing Jack Abbot carrying a little baby in the ER who came in late during night shift, sick and running a fever and they just won’t stop crying no matter what’s given to them and they’re so fussy. So Jack does what he thinks is best, holds them in his arms, and the baby calms down instantly, they just plop their head right against his shoulder and grips onto his stethoscope and he rocks them gently to soothe them as the medicine takes effect, all while comforting the distraught mother and reassuring her she did nothing wrong and did the right thing in getting some help.

Your reaction was instantaneous, a rush of warmth blooming through your chest and flowing into your gut at the sight of him cooing at the little human, his large hand running lines up and down their tiny back like it was second nature. It was at that moment you started imagining him with a little baby of your own, one you carried and nurtured in your own body, laying on the couch with them against his chest in the same manner.

The daydream haunts you for weeks after that night. You two spoke about having kids a little while back, way before he got down on one knee and slipped a ring over your finger. He promised once you were settled in your career and things have calmed down a bit that you could both take the next steps in your relationship and potentially build a family of your own. You bring it up to him, a little nervously at first, but Jack just gives you a kiss on the tip of your nose and your forehead, an understanding but mischievous glint flickering in his hazel eyes.

So when a four day weekend rolls around, and you’re set to be ovulating after your body adjusts to getting your iud taken out, Jack gets right to work. He takes advantage of the free time you both have, having you every which way for the duration of three whole days. You don’t think you’ve ever had such a lengthy sex marathon with your husband, hell you didn’t even know he had it in him to have such vigor when it came to family planning. But you didn’t complain, not when he ate your pussy until you cried, not when he fucked you so good words failed you and you drooled onto the mattress, not when he filled you to the brim, making sure he marks you as deep as he could go, as deep as you’d let him.

And yet it was never enough, he could never get enough of you. Jack had tunnel vision every time he’d drive into you. Whether it be from above, underneath, behind, or on the side, he kept picturing you glowing with a round belly and full breasts, waddling around the house in a stretched out T-shirt, probably one of his, as you looked for something to snack on. He wasn’t going to stop until he gave you what you wanted, until you both got the family unit you’ve been wanting for so long.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure it takes. You’re not leaving this room till it happens. Understood?”

You can only give him a playful salute and a tired smile.

[slibraries]

curse you for tugging on his heart strings like that, love. Gaz cannot stand to see your eyes tear up for any reason. his love for you won't allow him to stand there while you're sad. he needs to do something about it. he needs to put a smile on your face, otherwise the whole world will fall apart. and heavens forbid you try to hold back your tears and be tough in front of him when he's right there to offer a shoulder to cry on.

[slibraries]

here's a little thought (major spoilers if you haven't watched the pitt):

but langdon and you are close. too close, and have been for a while. you fucked–once, before he and abby became serious. it was the best night of his life and you refuse to talk about it.

today's shift is going as usual. fucked and insane with a handful of new faces but still. the usual, other than the fact that langdon's been staring at you funny since noon. nearly five hours later, robby asks you to meet him at your locker.

the angry, bitter laugh you give robby when you open your locker to let him search cuts short when he pulls out a few doses of librium. you frown at the drugs, eyes immediately watering, and shaking your head.

"robby, that's..." the words die on your tongue, a tear falling. hot anger burns across your skin and all you see is red. "...that's not mine."

red-faced, robby stares back at you. without blinking, he mumbles two devastating words. "go home."

"robby–"

pocketing the meds, he grips your shoulders and holds them tight.

"we will talk later," the man promises, face tight with dread. "i know it's not you. but i need you to go home."

waiting, you swallow. it takes a while but something clicks.

the sweating. the puppy. the calling you at two in the morning because he can't sleep and just wants to talk to his best friend.

"abby's your best friend, francis."

"second best... no one's topping you, babe, you know that–"

"...not supposed not call me that."

he chuckles and your eyes water.

you blink at robby, who ghosts a kiss across your forehead before muttering one last heartbroken go.

you leave. shaking hands clutching your bag, and eyes burning with tears you don't let fall until you make it to your car.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

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They have COD soap and Soap has one