#michael blurb

[cheralith]

from that one sae thingy i spat out recently… id like to think that kaiser is on that agenda as well—that he doesn’t tell people he’s married.

but while sae does it as a form of protection, kaiser does it more in an aspect of possession.

kaiser doesn’t like telling people he’s married more on the basis he doesn’t want people to know you exist. the more people know about, the more people could possibly desire you, and kaiser doesn’t want that! you’re his, you said so when you gave your vows to him on the altar.

he doesn’t wear a wedding ring on his finger to avoid suspicion. he’ll maybe instead wear a necklace with the ring around his neck—something he can easily hide yet still serve as a reminder of your existence, that he has someone waiting at home especially for him with open arms. he refuses events with models and celebrities if he truly doesn’t have to attend them so no tabloids can brew up a false storm because god forbid he exchanges the most menial of words with an attractive women.

the only person he’s told is ness—and that’s only because the snooping idiot looked into the players’ files and gasped aloud at the little box of kaiser’s marital status. the midfielder provoked kaiser until he broke and he seethed to ness that if he were to tell anyone about his spouse, he should try and leave germany as soon as possible before kaiser gets to him first.

you’re his little secret. one that he isn’t ashamed of necessarily, oh no… absolutely not. not his little dove, an angel straight from heaven. kaiser could never be ashamed of you. you’re his soul—his reason that love still exists within such a cold and malicious person.

but he only wants his selfish eyes to gaze upon you. that’s why he married you, isn’t it? to have you as his own… and only his own?

[faestunna]

WHAT IF…Stack knew just how to speak to you?

PAIRING: elijah moore (stack) x fem!reader

WC: 567

WARNINGS: smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, vulgar language and dialogue, creampie, maybe inaccurate translations

A/N: as always, the race/ethnicity of the reader is not disclosed and does not pertain to the story. smut is not my specialty and i wrote this up super quick but i thought i’d share 😌

After two semesters of Italian and a year of studying, i’ve been loving the idea of Stack knowing some Italian during his time in Chicago…

Maybe you speak some, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’ve spent more time in Chicago than you’d planned and picked up a few words along the way. Enough to understand what the men on the street were saying when they called after you.

So then maybe…you have just enough knowledge of it to understand what Stack whispers lowly in your ear with his fingers in your hair, pulling you to him as he plows into you from behind.

“Questa dolce figa.” You can feel his breath on your ear coming from his chest in heavy pants. He almost always does all of the work, but you’ll never hear him complain. “Così stretto che mi sta baciando.” This sweet pussy…so tight that it’s kissing me.

His hand drips the flesh on your hips like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough. Something inside you flutters at the sound of those words tinged so slightly but the swing of his accent. He must’ve been from somewhere deep in the South. You haven’t heard a voice like that in Chicago.

“You feel me, baby?” He asks as if you can answer. A broken moan croaks from your throat, earning a deep chuckle from Stack. “Esatto. Mi senti.” That’s right. You feel me.

Maybe he’ll flip you over so he can see you in all of your glory—head thrown back against the mattress, your tits bouncing along with every thrust he gives you. In between your legs is the sweet ache of a stretch you’d never felt before, not with any other man. Your hand reach for his shoulders, sweat lining his back. Stack knew that good things didn’t come easy; he works for what he wants.

And right now, your pussy is about the only thing in the world to him. To have your warmth practically consuming him to the point where he’d be cold as soon as your touch was gone.

“What’ya say about doing this every night, darlin’?” He says without halting or even slowing down his movements. He’s sitting up now, back straight with one of your legs pulled flat against his chest, reaching even deeper inside you. Stack pushes his thumb against your pearl. When he rubs, you swear you could’ve died right there. “Oh, beautiful girl,” he grins as you look up at him with heavy lids. “Ti farò mia.” I’m gonna make you mine.

Unable to let out anything coherent, he knew that he didn’t need to from the feeling of your grip clenching even more around his length before it began to flutter like a scattered pulse. Stack laughs, “Oh, wait. I already did.” He doesn’t pull himself from you or cease his movements. With sharp thrusts of his hips, he rides out the euphoria coursing through your body until he reaches his own.

You feel the mixture of your releases inside of you. Not a single bit drips out. When he goes to move, you grab his arm. “Wait,” you tell him, pulling his arm even tighter around you. He smiles. “I just wanna feel you.”

How can he say no to that face?

Stack doesn’t move. He’s got his arms wrapped around your torso. Keeping himself warm for as long as he wants, and you let him.

© faestunna 2025.

[pyjamatranslation]

A Match Being Struck

Plot: Accidental bed sharing on a night shift

A/N: I know this is crazy but I couldn't help it. 1.4K. It's PG-ish.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

You cracked open the door of the on-call room.

“Robby?” you called into the dark room.  The slice of light spilling in from the hall cut across his face causing him to groan and roll away from the light.

“Close the door,” he pleaded.  You had questions about a few patients so you stepped in and closed the door, blinking at the total darkness.  Making your way slowly over to the bed, hand out to catch yourself, you found the edge and turned to lean against it.  The relief you felt made you wonder when you sat down last.  You were both pulling a double to cover a shortage in the ED tonight. 

You’d been on your feet all shift and then some.  Was that why Robby was always telling the med students to sit bedside?  Pulling the phone from your scrubs, you ran your patient care by Robby and texted replies to the staff’s questions about your patients, sending new orders for meds and tests.  Done now, you told yourself to stand up and go take your break in the break room but your body didn’t listen.  An idea formed and you didn’t know if it was your night-shift brain but it didn’t feel like the craziest idea.  You moved your hand further on the cot and didn’t encounter Robby.  He really must have rolled away from the light.  You could lie down for a minute and then you’d be good to get up and go.  Maybe not even a minute, just 30 seconds to trick yourself into thinking you’d rested.  

“Robby?” you whispered into the dark.  No reply.  He was dead to the world.  He’d never know. 

You shifted silently, laying down, and sighing at the huge comfort that came from the thin cot.  You started counting to stick to your 30 second limit.  You were out before the count of ten.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The door opened briefly, someone looking for a place to take a break but finding the room occupied.  As the bright hospital lights and noise seeped into the room, you turned your face into the pillow to hide from it.  Robby had the same idea except he snuggled into your neck.  The scratch of his beard against your skin was like a match being struck.  You squirmed as the spark spread like a wildfire which made him tighten his hold on you. You took inventory of all the places most scorched that you knew you’d have trouble forgetting long after the fires had cooled.  Your breath hitched as you became hyper-aware of his hands: the one that slipped under your scrub top and splayed across your skin, the other tucked between your bent knees, warm against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.  

“Normally my work dreams are pure stress,” he mumbled against your skin.  You suppressed a groan at the way you could feel his voice rumble through his chest and yours.  You were never going to be able to look him in the eye ever again.  

“Dr. Robby, this isn’t a dream.” Your heart started pounding as you panicked about how you’ll explain this.  He laughed lightly,

“Sure, I just have my hands on a coworker in the middle of a shift, in some very soft and warm places.”  He moved his hands slowly, sliding one across your torso, the other along your inner thigh.  You swore as his hand inched closer to the pulsing between your legs.  You were going to combust from the lust coursing through your veins and constricting your chest.  He was going to have to call a code blue any second.  The phone in your scrubs’ pocket chimed, playing out an alarm tone, and cutting through the dreamy haze in the on-call room. You fumbled for it, squinting at the bright screen to turn it off.  Robby tensed and said,

“Oh, fuck,” before pulling his hands off you and rolling onto his back.  Free of him now, you sat up, hoping to reorient yourself firmly in the real world.  It wasn’t any easier to breath without his touch.  Your chest was still tight, heavier now at the realization you just discovered the most wonderful thing in the world and might never feel it again.   

“I’m so sorry, I was just going to rest for a second. I didn’t think—” Oh God, you sounded like a crazy person.  Who climbs into bed with their superior?

“You didn’t think I’d grab you and hold you hostage.  Jesus Christ,” his hands were over his face, “I’m sorry.”

“Not a hostage,” you insisted.  He was spiralling.  You tried reassuring him but he just kept muttering about hostages and how the hospital administrator Gloria was going to kill him.  Nothing you said got through to him.  You’d broken Dr. Robby.  He tried to sit up, his hand finding your thigh instead of the cot,

“Christ," he groaned, "why are you so soft?” Heat climbed up your neck at his rhetorical question.  

Your phone dinged again, a message about your patient.  Your break was over and you needed to get back out there.  You tapped out a reply, and looked at him in the harsh glow of your phone’s screen light.

“This was my fault,” you said. “I climbed into bed with an unsuspecting attending.  You didn’t even know who was in here with you, a warm body to curl up against.  It could’ve happened to anyone.”  He shook his head.

“I knew it was you.”  Your heartbeat, that has semi-settled to a normal rhythm, sky-rocketed at his words. 

“What?” you asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know if it’s a perfume or your laundry detergent or a shampoo, but I can apparently identify you in the dark.” He ran his hands over his head, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”  You stood, fighting the sudden instinct to crawl into his lap, and jump his bones.  You needed distance.  Hand on the doorknob now, you noted the cold of the metal and wondered how warm his skin would’ve felt.  You should have just left, but you paused to say,

“Please stop apologizing, I liked it.”  With that, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door on an unexpected and potential life-upending lapse in professionalism.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The rest of the shift passed slowly.  You saw him a few times, each time causing a flare up of feelings you tried to smother.  He helped you with a couple of patients and you were painfully aware of how close he was to you.  Had he always done that?  Were you just noticing it now?  You lost track of the conversation a few times watching his hands as he treated his patients.  They showed no reaction near the one you'd had when he'd touched you.  And the eye contact?  Had his eyes always found yours across a hallway or the ED like that?  He shouldn’t be allowed have such big sad tired brown eyes.  You looked away from him now, unable to take it.  Not for the first time today you wondered if you were having a heart attack.  You couldn’t quite catch your breath.  It was going to be embarrassing if they needed to use the crash cart and if the autopsy determined cause of death to be eye contact.

You swung by the nursing station to see where you were headed next, trying to ignore Dr. Robby sitting at a computer in your peripheral.  You starred harder at the board when you noticed he’d stopped typing and looked over.  You could feel his gaze on you like the ghosts of his hands from earlier.  You had a feeling they’d haunt you forever.  He held a chart out to you and you walked over to see it.  As you were reading it over, he said,  

“After shift, I’m going to grab breakfast and sleep the day away.  Care to join me?”  Your breath hitched at the invitation, embers from earlier simmering at the thought.

“For breakfast?” You clarified, squinting to make it seem like maybe you hadn’t heard him right.  Maybe he just meant breakfast. He took his glasses off and ran a hand over his head, watching you carefully, 

“Yeah, or both.”  You bit your lip to keep from smiling.  This middle-aged man was going to be the death of you.  You leaned closer over the counter and lowered your voice,

“Full disclosure: if we’d spent another minute in the on-call room, I’d have had my hands all over you.”  You watched the colour bloom across his face until he was near-red at your confession.  “Am I still invited for both?”  He nodded, unable to do more as he fought a wave of feelings he’d been drowning in all day.  

[oldermenfucker]

Candles | M. Robinavitch

summary: it’s your husband’s birthday, you and your daughter take it upon yourself to make it as special as possible for him especially knowing he hates celebrating today.

Warnings: fluff, girl dad!Robby, lots of kisses and sweetness, a bit of angst, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 985

an: it’s Noah’s birthday and I just wanted to make something special for our one and only dr robby and his girls!!!

“Shh, Mommy! You’ll wake him up!”

  Robby hears the voice from out of the room, followed by lots of giggles and hushed laughter. He sits up, resting his back against the headboard as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms, sighing as he listens to the rustling in the house.

  With a groan, he stands up from the bed, stretching his back, hearing a few joints popping. He is getting old, he knows it, and what makes it worse is that today is his birthday. 

  He dreads his birthday; from weeks before to the day itself. He hates the idea of getting old too fast, he despises the fact that he has chained the two people he loves the most to him, and his biological clock nearing its stop. He’ll be long dead before he sees his daughter getting married, and it upsets him beyond belief.

  He walks out of the room, finding you and his daughter whisking what he assumes is a cake batter, talking with a hushed tone as you guide her through the process slowly.

  “Morning.”

  “No!” Your daughter screams, her head whipping towards him, big brown eyes wide in surprise, “Nooooo! You’re not supposed to be up, Daddy!”

  “Easy, easy—“

  You try to catch her before she trips over the edge of the chair she is on, but she jumps down and bolts towards Robby, small hands pushing on his belly as hard as she can.

  “Why not, princess—“

  “No! Go back to bed, go go gooooo!” She whines, nearly bursting into tears as she grabs Robby’s hand and pulls him to the bedroom, “It’s your day, we wanted to surprise you, but now it’s all ruined!”

  “It’s not, I promise. C’mere, lemme look at you,” Robby picks her up, cradling her face in his large hand, forcing her to look at him, “It’s not ruined, I still don’t know what you wanna do, okay? I’m gonna go back to bed and close the door, that sounds good?”

  “But now you know…” she pouts, her eyes tearing up slightly, and the sight breaks Robby’s heart. He coos gently, kissing her forehead and hugging her little body tightly.

  “No, I don’t know, princess,” he walks back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with her cuddled up against his chest, “Go and help mommy, yeah? I’m gonna get under the blanket. I promise I don’t know what you want to do.”

  “Pinky promise?” She holds her pinky up, blinking her doe eyes at him with a glint of hope in them. He beams at her, kissing her little nose before hooking his own finger around her.

  “Pinky promise.”

  “Yay! Now go to bed!” She giggles and pushes him down, wiggling her way down until her feet touch the ground and she runs outside, leaving him chuckling to himself.

  He pulls the cover over his body, resting his back on the mattress as he waits for his girls to come and get him. He doesn’t know how long it will take, but his eyes get drowsy and he falls asleep.

  “Wake up, Daddy.”

  He groans, wrapping his arms around the tiny body and crawling up his chest, flipping her over until she is giggling and screaming under him. Robby nuzzles his face against her cheek, rubbing her beard over her soft skin, making her laugh wholeheartedly.

  “Daddy! Stop!”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he pulls back a bit, looking down at his daughter’s beautiful toothy smile, “What are you up to, princess?”

  “Happy birthday!” She leans up to kiss his cheek, his nose, then back to his cheek until he lets out a belly laugh, and she hides her face in her hands in embarrassment.

  “Princess,” he chuckles, gently sitting up pulling her to his lap, and taking away her hands, “Thank you, sweetest girl.”

  “Look! Look!” She points at you, walking inside the room with a large cake in hand, lots of candles on top of the cream that he is sure his daughter’s put on, “Surprise!”

  “Ahhh, thank you so much!” He kisses her cheek, nearly melting on the spot when she wraps her arms around his neck and smashes her cheek against his, “Hey, Love.”

  “Happy birthday, my love,” you sit next to them on the bed, leaning forward to peck his lips, smiling when you find your daughter, shyly grinning at the two of you, “It was all her work.”

  “Really? Wow, what a talented daughter I have!” He kisses her forehead, smiling back when she grins up at him, nodding in agreement.

  “Mommy helped! But blow your candles, Daddy! Please, please!” 

  “Alright, alright,” he chuckles, blushing when you hold the cake up, winking at him when he looks at you before he looks back at his daughter, “Wanna blow them with me?”

  “Yes!” 

  “Ready? One, two, three— yay!” You laugh when they both blow the candles, watching as your daughter claps her hands and then wraps her arms around Robby’s neck again, pressing hard kisses on his bearded cheek.

  “Happy birthday, daddy! I love you!”

  “I love you, too, my sweet beautiful girl,” Robby’s eyes sting with tears as he looks at his daughter’s radiating smile, “I love you so much.”

  “Happy birthday, Michael,” you cup his cheek, kissing his forehead gently before he turns his head to you, pulling your lips for a slow peck, “Thank you for everything you do for us. I love you.”

  “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers, closing his eyes when you reach and wipe his tears with your thumb, “Thank you for making me the happiest man on earth.”

  “Thank you for not giving up on me,” you say and put the cake on the nightstand, crawling next to both of them on the bed to hug them at the same time, “Thank you for giving me a family I’ve always dreamed of.”

[onlyquinns]

soft jealous kess

michael’s cat sits in your lap, purring and kneading into your thigh. you giggle happily, scratching her behind the ears and down her back. the cat’s content, enjoying your attention while you sit on the couch with a show on in the background.

you and michael had been watching severance, a show that one of your friends had recommended, when he’s suddenly got up to use the restroom. when he got back, one of his cats had already stolen his spot on the couch and left him to sit on the loveseat.

alone.

michael let out a dramatic sigh, folding his arms over his chest. he pouts, jutting his bottom lip out. you don’t look over at him, busy cooing at the cat in a baby voice.

he groans and flops onto the arm of the loveseat he’s on, draping the upper half of his body over it so his arms are touching the floor. you look up at him, a small smile on your face and fully amused.

“is something wrong, mikey?” you ask, and his cat looks up at you with squinted eyes as if to ask why you’ve stopped petting her.

“you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” he grumbles, voice muffled against the upholstery. “this is cheating.”

you roll your eyes, lightly pushing the cat off your lap even as she meows in protest. “you’re so dramatic, mike,” you say softly with an amused huff.

michael pouts even more, “you’re not supposed to say that; you’re supposed to say ‘oh my poor baby—come here!’” his voice raises to a painful pitch, a poor mockery of what you sound like.

you laugh and pat the seat next to you, lifting the throw blanket to welcome him in. “come here, you big baby,” you tease and he perks up immediately, sitting up to sit next to you and lay his head in your lap.

michael hums softly, his equivalent of purring. you giggle and run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nails—nails that he’d paid for earlier on in the week.

“is this better?” you ask him, and he nods.

“much.”

[piinnkkryyss]

LIKE A TATTOO | SMOKE “ELIJAH” MOORE.

PAIRING — smoke x pharmacist!reader

SUMMARY — Just a slow, unbroken stretch of intimacy, tension (if you squint), and (really) quiet understanding. It’s dusk. You’re alone. And he’s at your doorstep again.

CONTENT — NO WARNINGS (that I know of 🫩)

RENYlogue; I’m black, so… I write my characters in a slight description of me but there’s not really any description in this so read freely if you’d like.

—AUGUST 17th, 1932  It starts like this: a cough at the back of the room, sharp and shallow, more stubborn than sick. You don’t turn right away. You finish straightening the bottles on the shelf—castor oil, menthol salve, a tin of senna leaves. The pharmacy’s quiet in the heat, late afternoon pouring thick through the windows, the wooden counter warm under your fingertips.

The door hadn’t rung. He must’ve come in with that careful walk he has—silent like smoke, all lean shadow and long jaw, always watching, always listening. You know who it is before you turn.

“Elijah.”

You say it soft. Like the name’s a secret.

He leans on the counter with one elbow, half in the light, half in the dark. White shirt rolled to his forearms, the same worn suspenders he always wears when he means to stay a while. He doesn’t smile. He never really does. Just looks at you like he’s seeing something worth memorizing.

“Need somethin’ for a toothache.” He says it like a joke, like a lie. You know damn well he ain’t hurtin’. Not where medicine can reach.

You nod, take your time reaching behind you for the oil of cloves. You don’t ask why he’s really here. You never do. Smoke Moore don’t belong to anyone, but he circles you like he might be trying to. Like something in you keeps pulling him back, even when he don’t want to be caught.

He watches your hands—always your hands. “How’s your daddy?”

“Same,” you say.

“Sleepin’ more than he’s wakin’. Doctor think it won’t be long now.”

Elijah nods slow, jaw working like he’s chewin’ on something unsaid. He knew your daddy before you were born. Most of Clarksdale did. But only Elijah Moore got forgiven for what he became after. Only Elijah got to stay in the story.

You place the tiny glass vial on the counter between you. He doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move. Just looks at you like maybe he wants to ask if you sleep at night. If you still sing in the kitchen when you think nobody’s listening. If you still light that candle by the front window when you’re waiting on word from somewhere nobody will name.

Instead he says, “Hot today.”

“Mmhm.” You cross your arms. “Ain’t no wind.”

“You look tired.”

You laugh, dry and low. “Everybody tired.”

He shifts then, finally picking up the vial. His fingers brush yours—warm, rough, careful. He always touches you like he’s afraid he’ll leave a mark. But he already has. “Let me drive you home,” he says.

Not a question.

You shake your head. “Ain’t far.”

“I know.”

Still, he waits.

You close the shop not long after. You don’t say much walking to his car, but he opens the door for you like it’s habit. Like it’s always been that way.

“You still talk to the Lord?” he asks, voice barely loud enough to hear.

You keep your eyes on the road ahead. “Sometimes.”

From the time your dad getting sick and the boys leaving you abruptly to Chicago in the middle of the night. Speaking to the lord felt so much like an echo, like it was all for nothing.

But look who came back.

He nods, like that’s enough.

Your house is quiet. Shutters closed to keep the heat out, front steps swept clean like always. You see the porch chair shift in the breeze, and for a second you think maybe your daddy’s out there, humming like he used to. But no. Just the wind.

Elijah walks you up. Doesn’t ask to come in. Still, you let him.

Inside smells like rosemary and lemon balm, old books and memory. He stands in the doorway while you set your bag down, glances at the picture of your mama on the mantle. You feel his eyes on you again, the way he always looks like he’s tracing something delicate.

“You eat today?” he asks.

You blink. “Don’t think so.”

He nods, slips off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves. “I’ll cook.”

You don’t tell him no.

He moves through your kitchen like he’s been there before. Like he remembers where the flour is, how your daddy likes his greens. You watch him chop onions like a man making penance. You sit at the table, hands folded in your lap.

“Why you come by today?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps cooking, slow and steady, steam rising around him like a ghost. Finally, he says, “Been thinkin’ about you.”

You exhale through your nose. “You always thinkin’, Elijah.”

“I know.” He turns. “But lately it’s been louder.”

You meet his eyes. Dark and tired and full of something you’re too afraid to name.

“Elijah,” you whisper.

“Don’t gotta say nothin’,” he says quick.

“I know what this is. Ain’t tryna make it somethin’ it ain’t.”

You shake your head. “That’s just it. You don’t know. He sets the spoon down. Crosses the room in three steps. Stops short of touching you.

“Then tell me.”

You look up at him, heart kicking against your ribs.

“I don’t want you to be another ghost in this house,” you say. “I don’t want to wake up and have to scrub you out of the air.”

His face goes still. But then he nods. Like he understands. Like maybe that’s what he’s afraid of too.

“I’ll go,” he says. “If that’s what you need.”

But you don’t answer. Not right away. You stand. Move closer. Your hand lifts—slow, uncertain—and rests against his chest.

“I just need you to stay a little while,” you say.

So he does.

The stew simmers low. The light fades blue. Somewhere in the house your daddy coughs once, then falls silent again.

Elijah pulls a chair beside yours. Doesn’t touch you. Just sits. Close enough you feel the heat of him. You rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets you.

Just the weight of a man who’s done too much, and a woman trying not to love him for it.

The cicadas sing. The stew cools. The clock ticks.

And he stays.

AUTHORS NOTE *gasps* I actually wrote something mate longer than 400 words and didn’t give up! CLAP! Anyway, I do wish I wrote better paragraphs though but this’ll do. If you have any reqs they’re always open 🫩.

[ilyasorokinn]

expect the unexpected , michael robinavitch

note, i've hopped on the pitt train. someone send help because i now am in love with noah wyle and everything to do with him. that's my husband fr. also, if you have requests, please send them in!! pair, michael "robby" robinavitch x reader summary, y/n and robby were something so long ago that gray hair wasn’t even a worry in his head. now, with a head full of gray hair, y/n and robby, by some miracle, find each other again. this time, he isn’t letting go. warnings, probably medical inaccuracies, heartbreak word count, 3577 words

(gif not mine)

Robby felt the ache of exhaustion deep in his bones. It was a sort of feeling that never really went away, especially in his profession. He was lucky if he got a few hours of sleep, hell, even a half hour. Today wasn't one of those days.

As he approached the nurse's station, he plastered on a look that aimed to convince his co-workers everything was fine. Just his luck, Dana was someone who could see right through him and his fake smiles.

"You look awful," She commented as soon as she saw him.

"Gee, thanks." He spoke sarcastically.

"Maybe this'll wake you up. Kid with a stomach ache or woman with a broken foot." She held up both of the files, letting him decide. He wordlessly took the file in her right hand and walked off to the room where the woman was waiting.

"All right, let's see what we go." He pulled open the curtain and froze. The woman who was typing something on her phone also looked up and froze.

Both adults just stared at each other, not saying a word as they looked at each other. Words seemed to escape Robby as he stared back at the woman Years and years of memories flooded back like waves.

“Michael?” The woman asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me.” He spoke professionally, grabbing the edge of the curtain and gently pulling it shut. He walked away, ignoring the concerned looks of everyone around him.

He set the file of whatever was handed him and made his way away. The direction was still unclear, but his main goal was away. He ended up in a random storage closet somewhere in the furthest corner of the hospital, closing his eyes and catching his breath.

He felt like the walls were closing in on him and like everything around him was getting smaller. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe.

After a few minutes, he managed to gather himself and stop his racing heart. He stretched his back before he reached for the doorknob and stepped back out into the chaos of the hospital.

When he returned to your room, he found someone else already checking out your foot. When you saw him and locked eyes with him again, you tensed up.

"Dr. Robby." Whitaker greeted, a shaky smile on his face as he snapped on a pair of gloves, "I just started, but I've got everything."

"I can take it from here," Robby stated, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Are you sure? I'm almost-"

"I got it," Robby repeated, cutting the man off and offering him a smile, taking the tools from his hands, and taking over. They switched spots, and Whitaker gave you a smile and a brief wave before he was out of the room, leaving you and Robby in a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Robby worked in silence, and you watched him. You watched every cut, every stitch, everything. You analyzed his face, memorizing every line, every wrinkle, every crease, every gray hair.

"Are you gonna say anything?" You finally broke the silence, feeling like you were going to combust at any point.

"Was waiting for you to." He offered you a smile.

You took a breath, carefully thinking of your next move. You weren't expecting this, that's for sure. When you showed up at the urgent care earlier, you were expecting to be in and out. But they had referred you to the ER after your injury had proved to be more severe.

"This isn't how I was expecting my Friday night to go," You laughed nervously.

"I bet." Robby laughed, helping ease your nerves, "What'd you do? This is a pretty severe break." He commented.

"Was trying to put a light bulb in, fell down the ladder." You explained, wincing when he pressed into your foot.

"Sorry." He winced, "Well, my prognosis is it's definitely broken. Not enough to need surgery, but you'll be here for a few hours."

"For real?" Your eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm sorry." He smiled sadly, "I know you hate hospitals, but it's protocol."

You tilted your head to the side. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." He responded quickly, his eyes never leaving your face. The intensity in his eyes made you look away.

He could read you like a book; it was something you had learned early on. Every little thing you did, the faces you made, your movements, when you spoke, your tone.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" He asked, looking down at the file in his hand, trying to find a distraction.

"I could go for some apple juice?" You admitted shyly.

"I should've known." He chuckled, grabbing the curtain again and leaving the room.

-

"All right, Mrs. Y/L/N, you're all ready to go." The nurse, whom you learned was named Princess, smiled at you. After waiting hours, someone bandaged up your leg (In a pink cast) you were given a pair of crutches.

It took another hour for your release papers to finally be given to you, and another half hour to finally be given the all clear.

"You're not kidding? I'm allowed to go home?" You were almost afraid she was gonna say no.

"I'm serious." She smiled again. "How are you getting home?"

"I'll probably just call an Uber or something." You shrugged, slipping your jacket on.

"We can call you a taxi, if you prefer." Princess offered.

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother anymore."

"No worries," She shook her head, opening the curtain and letting you exit first before making her way back over to the nurse's station and grabbing the phone.

You waited around, taking in the sights around you. Everything seemed hectic, but it seemed to be running on controlled chaos. Or maybe that's just how they wanted it to seem to patients.

"What are you still doing here?" Robby asked, approaching you, his bag slung over his shoulder as he stopped next to you.

"Was gonna call an Uber, but they offered to call a taxi for me." You explained, smiling over to Princess, who gave you a thumbs up, then set the phone back on the receiver.

"I could give you a ride." Robby offered. You quickly turned to look at him. "What?"

"No." You stated.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, no. Do you want to hear it in another language?" You joked, rolling your eyes.

"Don't waste your money on a taxi, I can give you a ride." He offered with a shrug.

"I'm good, thanks though." You brushed him off, making your way out to the front. of the hospital, the best you could with your new crutches.

"Y/N, I'm offering, come on." He was pleading with you at this point as he followed you out.

"Why?" You raised a brow, "You do this with your other patients?"

"Just the ones who break their legs putting lightbulbs in." He joked.

You stared at him, pursing your lips and weighing your options. After this hospital bill you were about to get, you knew things were going to be tight, and you knew that he was just being nice.

But another part of you wanted to ignore him, forget this ever happened, and go on with your life like you hadn't run into him at all.

Against your better judgment, "Fine."

-

Weeks later, Robby was still checking in on you. You wanted him to leave you alone; you had told him that on numerous occasions, but Robby, being Robby, he couldn't do that.

Being a healer was in his bones, and he couldn't, in good conscious, leave you to fend for yourself.

Every Friday morning, there would be a knock on your door, and on your doorstep, there would be a small to-go cup of your favorite tea and a blueberry bagel with cream cheese, your favorite.

There wasn't a note, but you knew who it was from. Of course you did, who else would remember you liked raspberry tea and blueberry bagels?

On Monday night, he would come over and drop off a few containers of food he had made. He brushed it off as "meal prepping", but you knew it was a lie. He barely had enough time in the day to find something to eat, let alone plan his meals.

There was a knock on your door, and you checked the time. "Right on time." You muttered, hobbling over to the front door.

You made your way over and opened the door. Before you could greet him, your cat Pepper greeted him. Snuggling his legs and weaving between his legs, purring when Robby bent down and scratched his ears.

Traitor, you thought in your head. Robby finally stood to his full height and looked at you, "You know, you don't have to keep doing this, right?" It had been well over a month now.

"I know." He nodded, moving around you and into your kitchen, grabbing silverware and a plate like he owned the place, "I want to. I have the time."

"No, you don't." You crossed your arms.

"Okay, well, I enjoy doing it." He shrugged, taking the containers of food out of the bag he had brought.

"No, you don't." You repeated, "You hate cooking."

"No, I don't." He stopped, raising a brow at you.

"Yes, you do, Robby." You rolled your eyes, "You could literally burn water, how that's possible if still a mystery."

"Okay, fine. I hate cooking, I don't have time to cook, anything else to add?" He asked, crossing his arms and pausing his plating of the food.

"No, I think that sounds about right." You smiled.

"Are you gonna sit there a taunt me? Or are you gonna eat?" He rolled his eyes at you, pushing a plate to the opposite side of the island, closer to where you were standing.

"I'll eat, I guess." You made your way over to the seat, carefully getting onto the stool and grabbing the fork. As you ate, Robby watched you. He ate too, but he watched you, examining your every movement.

He smiled. You ate. Life was good.

-

You and Robby were... something.

It had happened a long time ago, before all the stress and all the long nights, all the sleep deprivation, and long before the bags under his eyes became permanent.

It was the early days of medical school. Sleep was still something he could still get every night, and you were someone he could come home to and vent to about his hard day.

You heard him before you saw him. The walls of the apartment you called home were thin, and the hallway from the stairs to your apartment wasn't very long. He couldn't even put his key in the lock before you were ripping the door open and pulling him in for a hug.

It took him a few seconds to comprehend what was happening, but when his brain caught up with his arms, he wrapped his arms around you and exhaled a deep sigh of relief, one he hadn't known he had been holding in.

"How was your day?" You managed to ask, pulling away just to look him in the eyes. He simply shook his head, hugging you again.

You stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms in the entryway of your small apartment, neither of you saying anything, just basking in each other's presence.

You eventually pulled away, and Robby made his way into the bedroom, changing into more comfortable clothes while you warmed up a plate of dinner for him. He made his way back out, his shoulders hunched and a look on his face that had you raising a brow.

"What's wrong?" You asked, putting the plate in front of him.

"We need to talk." The tone of his voice made your heart stop, and you stood up a little straighter.

You gulped, "About what?"

He couldn't even look you in the eyes as he began speaking, "I think we should break up." You could already feel tears forming behind your eyes as you waited anxiously for him to continue.

"I just-I think you deserve someone better, someone who can make you happier. I can't, I know I can't, and I know I'm not. I'm barely here, I know I'm barely going to be here if I keep going down the road I'm going down. You deserve someone better." He finally looked you in the eyes.

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, and you could see that it went deeper than just his eyes. You could finally see it in his body. How you didn't notice it before was another story.

"Why are you saying this?" You finally asked.

"I can't make you happy, Y/N." He stated, tears in his own eyes.

"I can't say anything that'll change your mind?" You asked, swallowing harshly again when he shook his head. You nodded, "I'll grab some stuff, find somewhere else to stay tonight."

"Where are you gonna go?" He asked, suddenly aware of how late it was.

"That's not your problem anymore." You stated.

This was not how you expected your night to go.

-

You were twiddling your thumbs, trying not to think about the fact that you were in a hospital again. Although this time, you were there for a happier reason.

The pink cast on your leg was finally coming off, and while you had enjoyed it, you were excited to be able to shower without a bag over your leg and walk normally and not have to hobble.

"Mrs. Y/L/N," A woman you didn't recognize, walked into your room, "I am Dr. King."

"Nice to meet you." You smiled, shaking her hand.

"I'll be the one to remove your cast." She grabbed a pair of gloves. "I also heard you liked apple juice." You raised a brow, "Dr. Robby let it slip. I'll be sure to get you some."

"Thank you." You nodded, fiddling with your fingers again. She noticed that.

"So, how do you and Dr. Robby know each other?" She asked, breaking the silence as she slipped a pair of protective glasses on.

"Oh..." You blew out a breath, "We have some history, you could say." You nodded, not wanting to disclose too much.

"I understand." She nodded. She looked like she was thinking hard. "Have you always lived in Pittsburgh?"

You smiled. She was trying to distract you, "Moved here for school, loved it too much to leave." You answered.

"What do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work in real estate." You responded, "So if you ever need to sell a house or buy one, let me know." You winked.

"I'll let you know." She smiled.

After many distractions and a few bottles of apple juice, the cast was finally off, and a whole talk on safety from Dr. King, you were on your way home. Once again, you were signing more release papers and waiting for a taxi.

"Look at you. Back on two feet." Robby joked, making his way over to you again, his bag slung over his shoulder. It felt very familiar.

"Couldn't be happier." You nodded, handing the clipboard back to the nurse behind the desk and gathering your stuff up.

"You taking another taxi?" He straightened up, gripping the strap of his backpack.

"You know it." You nodded, turning on your heel and weaving through the people, making your way to the exit.

You finally made it outside, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. You didn't have to open them to know Robby had followed you and was standing right next to you.

"Can I take you out?" He blurted out.

"Out where?" Your eyes opened, and you stared at him.

"Lunch? Dinner? Brunch?" He suggested with a shrug.

"You asking me out, Robinavitch?" You raised a brow.

"I am." He nodded.

"Right." You nodded, laughing and looking away. "Oh, you were serious." You stopped laughing.

"I was." He nodded again.

"Why?' You asked curiously.

"Why not?" He shrugged.

You stared at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms, examining him, "If I say yes, I get to pick the place." You stated.

"Deal." He nodded.

"And I can drive myself home."

"We'll see about that." He made a face of disagreement.

"And lastly, I pay for myself."

"Absolutely not." He shook his head firmly.

You smiled, "You've got yourself a deal."

-

One date turned into two turned into four, and next thing you knew, you were seeing Robby more and more often. Things weren't official, but things were good, and that was that.

You were also scared.

You still hadn't talked about that night, the night that he had decided seemingly in five minutes that he wanted to end things. It wasn't something you liked to think about, but it was also something you needed answers for.

A knock on your door shook you from your thoughts. You got up slowly and unlocked the door. "Hey! I got your favorite." Robby smiled, holding up the bag. He leaned down and kissed your cheek before moving past you and into your kitchen.

You followed him, your movements slow, which he caught onto, "You okay?" He raised a brow at you.

"Can we talk?" He stopped, his hands freezing what they were doing, and his pulse quickening so fast and loud he could hear it in his ears.

"Of course." He nodded, wiping his hands on the towel on your oven, giving you his full attention, "What about?"

"That night." Was all you said, and he understood.

"Yeah." He nodded, "We can talk about it." He had been waiting for this moment.

He didn't want to bring it up. After all, he was the one who did the breaking up. So, he waited for you to bring it up. But just because he had been waiting, didn't mean he wanted it to happen.

It wasn't a moment he was proud of, nor was it a moment he enjoyed thinking about.

"I have so many questions, questions I've had for years that never got answered." You closed your eyes, running a hand down your face.

"I understand." He nodded again. In that moment, he didn't know what to say or how to say it.

"You broke up with me, you remember that?" You were angry now. His short answers were pissing you off, and his lack of emotion was making you mad.

"I do." He nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

"You said because you wanted me to be happier, and you knew you weren't making me happy." You repeated the very same words he had told you on that fateful night, words you had repeated in your head for years, words that were so ingrained in your brain, you could see them when you closed your eyes.

"I know." He nodded yet again, dropping his head shamefully.

"Well, you were wrong." You swallowed hard, "You're such a smart man, you're the smartest person I've ever known, yet you're so stupid!" He looked up at that, "You made me happy, you make me happy."

"You being back in my life these past few months has made me so unbelievably happy, the happiest I've been in years. Don't you see that? I don't need someone else, Michael, I need you." His eyes filled with tears as he took in what you were saying.

"I'm so angry at you, you know that? You left me because you-you thought you knew what was right. But you didn't. You didn't even ask me, come to me with your problems. That's what you're supposed to do. Come to me and talk to me. We could've talked it out, and we wouldn't be here, starting over." There were now tears streaming down both of your faces.

"I didn't need to be happier or to have someone else, I just wanted you. I wanted to have that life with you, and I didn't care if it meant losing. I just wanted to be with you." His feet finally started moving, and he walked over to you, hesitantly holding out his arms, wanting so badly to go in for a hug.

"I thought I was doing the right thing." He said, "I thought I knew what was best. You were successful, you were doing so good in school, and I was just some kid who didn't know what he was doing. Dreamed of being a doctor, but barely passed by. I thought you needed better." He admitted shamefully.

"I know now that I was wrong. I've spent so many years knowing I was wrong. Spent so much time thinking about you, thinking about how things could've been different. But I can't go back now. I can try my damndest to do better now, if you'll let me."

Instead of responding, you wrapped your arms around him, catching him by surprise. He let out a shaky breath as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you there. He didn't plan on letting go anytime soon. Neither did you.

You weren't done talking about it, but for now, things were good. You had no idea what was going to happen next, but you did know Robby wasn't letting go anytime soon.

One thing you did know was that this was not how you expected life to go.

-

tagging some friends: @kolsmikaelson @writingsforfandoms-multi @2manytabsopen @literaryslapshot @itsjuliak5

add yourself to my taglist!

[spxllcxstxr]

Give Me Strength to Stand • M.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: Could you do a story where the reader (she/her) is a nurse and is struggling with returning to work in the Pittsburgh after losing their dad suddenly? Hurt and comfort with either Abbot or Robby if possible 💜 -- @rae4725

Summary: With the recent death of your father dominating your thoughts, you find it difficult to think about going into work the next day. You call up Robby to help you through it

Warnings: nurse!reader, fem!reader, death of a father, grief, overwhelming sadness, talk of Adamson's death, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 950

A.N: I have never lost a parent, but I tried my best. If you ever need to talk I'm always here for you guys <3 Also first time writing for robby and the pitt (that's why its so short lmao) so let me know if i need to work on anything or something lol

•

Tomorrow was the end of your bereavement leave and the thought of getting out of bed and going to work as if everything was fine petrified you.

You would have to step into the trauma center and focus on saving people--saving other people's fathers so they didn't lose them like you did just a week ago. You would have to give them chest compressions or a blood transfusion and while you should be focused on their care, your mind would wander and you would wonder if you father received the same treatment, states away, and if they did why didn't it work?

Thoughts like these plague you enough that you pull your covers over your head, the sunlight filtering in through your blinds irritating. Your face aches from crying and your throat is raw from sobbing into your pillow. The thought of returning to work and seeing sons and daughters go through the exact same thing difficult to swallow.

It was hard before his accident, you know this, because you always imagined the father lying in Trauma 1 with their child holding his hand while pleading for them to wake up was you. But now it really was. Tomorrow when you brought a kid to their dying dad you would now see yourself, ragged and exhausted and racked with despair.

Your back aches from laying in your bed.

Your phone dings with a text from Dana, telling you that you could take another day off if you felt you needed it. All week your coworkers had sent you heartfelt messages that made the whole process just a little bit more bearable. Your fingers hover over the keyboard to reply to Dana. Of course you wanted more time; going back to normal felt like an insult to your father's memory and simply dragging yourself there seemed like an impossible task.

But something stopped you from simply taking her up on the offer.

Instead, you text Robby to meet you at your apartment after his shift. He was your mentor, your friend, and most of all, the man you trusted with your life. Having lost someone akin to a parent, you knew he could tell you what to do.

He replies moments later, assuring you he'd be there when he's able to, and it all feels a little less scary knowing that.

Robby comes late in the night, bags under his eyes and short hair resting in chaos. His sad deep brown eyes track your movements as you let him inside and offer him tea. You can feel his gaze on the back of your neck and you shiver when his hands accompany them on your skin. His soft touches contrasted with his bone crushing hugs comfort you in a way the countless amount of sympathies from relatives and friends haven't.

On your couch, his hands clasp on of yours, thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

"How did you do it?" You finally ask, voice cracking after not being used in days. You must sound so fragile because he frowns. "How did you just get back up and start another day after Adamson's death?"

He heaves out a sigh at the mention of his mentor. "It was hard," He states, nodding almost to himself. "So excruciatingly hard, like the world just crumbled beneath my feet and I somehow had to just keep walking like nothing was wrong."

Robby swallows roughly, thinking of his next words carefully. You bump his knee with your own, reminding him that you're still there with him. "But I knew I had to get up and continue on."

"I just...I just know I'm gonna have to save someone's father or watch someone's father die...and I just don't know how I can do that anymore without seeing him." You admit, looking past his shoulder to the yellow light of your lamp, hoping your tears would fade.

"The more you sit here and think about your father's passing, the tougher it will be to get up and resume your life." Robby shrugs. "It's a bitch, but it's true. You can't let the grief eat you alive, your father wouldn't want that."

Bottom lip wobbling, your eyes find Robby's. While your vision is blurry with tears, you can still see that his are as well.

"It's been well over a year since my mentor died but...but I know that if I stop for even a moment to lay down, I know my grief would consume me to the point of no return. He wanted me to be a great doctor and goddamn it, I'll be a great doctor for me, my patients, and for him." Robby huffs out a rough laugh. "Wherever he is, I'll make sure he knows he taught me well." His own smile is tight, red dusting around his eyes.

"You think I can do it?" You ask after a beat.

"Kid, I know you can do it. And you won't have to do it alone, either." Bowing his head, he searches for your eyes once again. "It gets easier, it really does, the grief you'll hold onto for the rest of your life will be a reminder of all the love you had for him and all the love he had for you. You just have to hold onto it and not let it consume you, ok?"

You take a deep and shuddering breath and nod. "Ok." Squeezing your eyes shut you lean into your attending and he wraps his arms around you once again. "Thank you, Robby." You whisper into his jacket.

"Any time, kid." He replies softly into the top of your head, lips grazing your hair. "We've got you."

•

[jackabbotsfakeleg]

Hiraeth, n.

a deep, bittersweet feeling of longing and nostalgia that goes beyond simply missing a place or person

For something that didn’t belong to you, nothing felt quite as safe and like home as the side of the bed that you slept on in Robby’s apartment. Navy blue sheets, the feeling of an arm wrapped around your waist or his head in the crook of your neck, the way he’d pull your hips back against his in the early hours of the morning, reclaiming something he thought he’d lost in a dream. You longed for these moments, the normalcy, the calm before the storm of chaotic hospital shifts and asking you to wait up for him so he could decompress after a long day with a long night of worshipping your body, the sound of your name coming out of his mouth like a promise. You come running home to it, the space between his arms; the feeling of belonging somewhere you’ve always longed to be welcomed.

[equallyshaw]

Just One More Sunrise | dr jack abbot

i love this man, i need him biblically atp.

pairing: dr abbot x reader (sunshine)!

word count: 2.3k warnings: depression, intrusive thoughts, and contemplations of death.

It wasn’t supposed to be you. You weren’t supposed to be up there. Especially not in his goddamn spot.

Yet here you were—sobbing quietly, the deadliest kind of cry—staring up at the world, asking why it was so cruel. Why did you have to be the one to feel it all, crashing into you like waves in the sea?

Your vision blurred from the tears. Your stomach twisted in knots, and the remnants of your stir-fry threatened to come up. Images played on loop in your mind—blood seeping into the smallest crevices. You couldn’t shake them, couldn’t unsee the scenes.

You stood dangerously close to the edge, the tips of your feet hanging just over, teetering with every breath.

Downstairs, it was actually quiet now. For once, the rooms were open. The night shift was always a different beast, but tonight, it was calm. Except for the two back-to-back deaths that happened under your care. Not your fault—but that never mattered to you. You took them to heart. You always had.

Each death was a nail in your own coffin. A tick on a chalkboard. Downstairs, nurses and doctors stood at computers, soft conversations between them. The shift ended in thirty minutes. Jack, for one, couldn’t wait. The night had dragged on forever.

He stood at a monitor, flipping through post-patient notes, casually glancing around for you. He always did. Whether it was platonic or something else, you couldn’t say. He never clarified. Jack himself wasn’t sure if he just cared about you, or if it was something more. Given the years between you, and the fact that you were just beginning your emergency medicine career, maybe he thought better than to explore it.

The trauma bay doors swung open, and Jack's head whipped toward the sound. Robby strolled in—his sunglasses perched on his nose, coffee thermos in hand, AirPods in his ears. Probably listening to Ella Fitzgerald or Sinatra.

Jack blinked at him, still in his thoughts. “What’s up?” Robby asked, setting down his thermos and phone.

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Nothin’,” he muttered, finishing his notes. Robby studied him for a moment. Then he looked up and scanned the room.

You weren’t there.

He turned back to Jack. “Where’s Dr…?” He said your name softly, like music to Jack’s ears.

Jack shrugged as he signed off. “Don’t know. She dipped after we—we lost our second patient in a row. I’m sure she’s just in the break room.”

He said it casually, or at least tried to. But his heart was pounding.

Robby didn’t buy it. He and you had worked the day shift together for months, before you transitioned to nights. He knew how you took death—how it clung to you. He also knew there were demons always waiting, lurking at the corners of your mind.

“Hm,” Robby hummed, picking up his thermos and following Jack toward the locker room. They packed up in silence, both scanning the room. Both thinking the same thing.

“Have a good day, Jack. Don’t have too much fun,” Robby joked, voice light, though the weight was still there.

Jack shut his locker and smirked. “Always, Rob.”

They stared at one another—no words, just a look. The kind that said a thousand things at once.

“Robby!” Dana’s voice cut through the quiet as she jogged in, panic in her eyes. Her breath came fast and ragged.

Both brothers turned instantly.

“Someone’s on the roof,” she said.

Robby didn’t hesitate. He and Dana rushed toward the elevators.

“Do they know who?” he asked.

Dana shook her head. “They just said it was a female in her thirties. That’s it.”

Jack was already on their heels.

Robby looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Jack asked, breathless.

Robby shrugged. “Nothing.”

Jack swayed on his heels, his nerves betraying him. Anger, disbelief, fear. Please not you. He repeated it like a prayer.

__

On the roof, your arms clung tightly around yourself, desperate for any comfort. Nothing worked. You ran through the mental checklist your therapist gave you—meant to help when work got hard. But nothing helped when your own mind turned against you.

You leaned over the edge now, hunched. One strong gust of wind, and you’d be gone. If someone came up behind you, you might just let go.

You didn’t want this. God, you didn’t want this. You’d choose life. Every damn time.

But the voice in the back of your mind didn’t care. It always chose death.

You sobbed again, right as the metal door groaned open behind you. A collective gasps from whoever had arrived.

Robby held a hand out to stop the others—Dana, Jack, Kiara & the security guard—so he could approach first.

He called your name gently. You whimpered in response.

Jack watched in horror. You were standing in his spot.

Not yours. Not Robby’s. His.

Dana held him back by the arm, shaking her head. “Backup. Got it?” she whispered.

Jack clenched his jaw, looked away, then sighed. Robby tried again, calling your name. You shook your head, tears still falling.

You were like a little sister to him, keeping you close to mentor you, answering any and all questions, and making sure you were ok. mentally, emotionally, and physically. Someone he mentored, looked out for.

He watched you teeter there, and his chest ached.

He turned back slightly toward Dana and Jack.

Jack looked ready to run to you, to wrap you in his arms and hold your broken pieces together. But Robby stepped forward instead.

He called to you again. “What’s going on?”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to contain a sob.

“I couldn’t save them,” you cried. “A daughter and a grandfather. I couldn’t—why does it always have to be the ones who least deserve it? Why couldn’t it have been me?”

Your voice cracked open like thunder. It clawed at your ribs, threatening to pull you down with it.

“Why does it always have to be them?” You covered your ears and stared at the sky. “Why couldn’t they see this beautiful sunrise?”

Robby’s heart shattered.

“There’s never a perfect reason,” he said softly, your name a prayer. “There’s never a justified reason why they’re gone and we’re still here. There never will be.”

He waited, watching you.

“But we learn to live with it. To cope. It doesn’t sting less. It never will. But it does become something we learn to carry.”

You sobbed again, the morning sky blurry above you.

“I know that doesn’t make it better,” he said. “But please.” Your name again. A plea. “Please step back. Let’s talk about this.”

You sniffled, torn in your thoughts.

“I don’t know why…” your voice trembled. “It’s like part of my mind doesn’t see the rational side. Doesn’t grab the logical piece. It just—its first option is always to jump. To end it.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t want it to be the only way out. I want to want more.”

Your voice grew stronger with those words. Everyone on the roof felt it.

But you didn’t step back. You looked down.

Robby looked at Jack—who gripped Dana’s arm like a lifeline. A tilt of his head, and Jack was moving.

“Sunshine...” Jack said, just behind you now.

“Oh god,” you said with a loud sigh. You hadn’t realized there was a peanut gallery—a full viewing of your demons.

“You're in my spot, Sunshine,” Jack said with just a hint of teasing.

Your cheeks flushed, betraying your heart and mind. Your chest joined in the betrayal too, letting out a soft chuckle.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Not when your knees were barely holding and your heart felt like it had been hollowed out with a spoon. That nickname—so casual, so him—landed like a gut punch.

Because this wasn’t sunshine. This was the storm after it.

You shook your head, a clarifying breath running through your lungs.

Licking your lips, you muttered, “Didn’t see your nameplate here,” your tone dark and dry. Jack chuckled silently, his eyes fluttering shut as he took in your humor.

Even in her darkest, most grief-stricken moods, you always had a sarcastic comment ready.

Jack stepped closer, voice low and steady. “You did what you could. You held the line—just like any good soldier.”

That struck a nerve. Anger surged through your veins, awakening even your most dormant cells.

You let out a bitter laugh, one that never made it to your eyes. “Yeah. I just know you say that to every soldier.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you didn’t bother hiding it. “My uncle used to say the same thing—right before he poured himself another drink and changed the subject.”

You shook your head again, eyes locked somewhere far away. “It doesn’t mean a damn thing when the ghosts and demons don’t leave.”

Jack sighed, taking a gamble with himself.

He debated whether to stand behind you, to reach for you—or to join you in the view.

"But I mean every word, Sunshine. Every one of them," he said gently. He glanced behind him, catching Kiara inching closer.

This would end one of two ways. Though Jack was never a betting man, he took the gamble.

With calculated precision, he moved under the railing, now standing beside you. A surge of dread hit you like a freight train.

He tucked his hands into his scrubs pockets, the stethoscope gone from around his neck. His eyes stared straight ahead, like yours.

Guilt began seeping into your bones.

Still, you stayed. And so did he. Neither of you dared move, both afraid of what might come next.

You looked up, studying the harsh, lived-in lines that danced across his face.

“I’ve come up here more shifts than I care—or dare—to count,” Jack began once he felt your gaze. “Guilt, anger, frustration, pain… they bubble over until even my own traumatized mind calls me to the edge. Sings me a melody. Promises peace, tranquility. Heaven.” He confessed like it were a sin.

“But after so, so many years, I finally found my hope after all the constant worry and pain. I found the light at the end of the tunnel…” He trailed off, and your breath caught in your throat.

It was you.

“Death has surrounded me for years—on the battlefield, inside these walls… and with my late wife, Beth…” He paused, sighing.

A shaky breath escaped you.

“I found the light that pulls me through. Even in the worst of tragedies,” he continued, both of your minds flashing back to the aftermath of Pittfest.

Neither of you moved.

His lips twisted into a pained smile as he leaned forward, staring down at the cobblestone beneath your feet.

“Even in the worst moments, I find myself clinging to the good—the pure. The warmth that surrounds me even when I don’t see it. But I feel it. And it’s there.”

He hadn’t realized how much he cared for you until now. God must’ve been playing with his mind and heart, letting this be the moment it all spilled out.

And for the first time in hours, your eyes met. His were deep brown, layered with warmth, peace—free of judgment.

He tilted his head back slightly, that same pained but hopeful smile still etched onto his face.

“How 'bout we go home?” he said softly, his voice only meant for you.

“But I—I don’t think I can be alone…” you whispered, vulnerability shredding Jack’s defenses.

“You won’t be,” he promised. “I’ll be there too. Holding you. Doing my damned best to keep your mind at peace.”

And that broke the dam.

You didn’t move forward, but the tears finally burst through—and this time, you didn’t feel like you’d collapse. This time, arms wrapped around you from the side and gently pulled you back from the edge.

You both sank to the roof, Jack grunting as his bionic foot hit the surface at a rough angle.

You clung to him like a child to their parent, guardian, or mentor. Safe.

Kiara, Dana, Robby, and security let out a collective breath, heavy and loaded with gratitude.

Jack cooed soft, calming words, trying to bring you back from the ledge—mentally this time.

You sobbed into his chest, guilt and the overwhelming sense of being a burden spilling out.

“I’ve got you, Sunshine,” Jack repeated like a prayer, one hand on your head, the other firm around your waist.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you wept, over and over.

Jack shook his head, pressing a kiss to your crown.

He’d do anything—absolutely anything—to bring you peace. To see you smile again. To watch you light up a room the second you walked into it.

And if it was the last thing he did… it would be worth it.

This moment, raw and open, was a gift. A second chance to show you that life was worth living—and that you deserved goodness. That you deserved love.

Your chin slowly tilted up, cautious like you might disturb something delicate.

But Jack was already staring. And your heart melted at the look in his eyes—not just longing.

Yearning.

He yearned to bring peace to your demons.

“I got you, kid,” he whispered—the nickname he’d used the first day he met you, when the shift was changing. He said it with appreciation, teasing, and—most of all—declaration.

“I’ve got you now, tomorrow, and the next day... and the next after that.” His voice softened as he whispered your name like it was something sacred.

You smiled—really smiled—for the first time since your first shift here.

Jack opened his mouth to speak again, but you were already closing the distance.

Your lips met his like they were the sweetest honey. The softest melody. A gospel he hadn’t realized he needed.

Your kiss was slow, reverent—a waltz. A forever imprint.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, you were both breathless.

A quiet sound—half-giggle, half-release—escaped your lips.

“Ever the punctual, Dr.,” he teased, and your name slipped from his lips so sweetly you wished it’d always be said that way.

Laughter overtook you, head thrown back, and the sun now shone brightly above.

A sight Jack knew he’d never, ever want to forget.

i hope you enjoyed!!! please like, reblog and comment- id love to hear what you thought xx

(also im sorry, the dramatics !!! lol)

[angelltheninth]

Michael Robinavitch Makes Take a Break From Work

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, age-gap, established relationship, co-workers, being tired, overworking, teasing, cheek kisses, headaches, banter

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Another medical show for me to obsess over. So many cool (hot) characters here. Enjoy, comment, reblog, all that good stuff.

Robby couldn't find you anywhere and it was already pretty late. What was worse was that you weren't answering your phone at all, which only added to his worry. In the last few days he'd been seeing you less and less, yes the work was piling up, especially with the recent strings of fights breaking out, but he still wanted to have some time with you.

The last place he looked was where he found you, over your little desk, with a lamp shining at you and the stack of papers and medical records. A cold cup of coffee was in the corner, almost gone.

"I kind of suspected you were here but I really wanted to be wrong. Working late again are you?" Robby's heavy, warm hand pressed against your shoulder, then another giving you a massage. "You're gonna get all stiff if you keep sitting like that. The posture's gonna ruin your spine too."

You chuckled and leaned back, head tilted to look up at him. "Don't worry about me Robby. You know I don't mind awkward physical positions." You teased and winked up at him.

He chuckled knowingly, his hands pressing a little harder, pressing a pleasant sounds from your lips. "Doll, you've only been working here about half a year and in that time there's one thing I've learned about you. How insanely nimble and stubborn you are. But you need to rest every once in a while. As new doctor you should know that. Or did you spend your medical school partying and studying just before tests?"

You thought back to those days, endless hours spent in front of a book, the cheap instant ramen you ate even though you knew how bad it was for you, the sleepless nights... definitely not as much partying or fooling around. You were a good student.

"No parties. Mostly getting as much studying in as humanly possible." You reached for you coffee and drank the last of it. Robby shook his head and sighed. Taking the cup out of your hands he set it back to the corner and pressed his thumbs against your temples.

Again, a soft, pleasant sound left you.

"More like inhumanly possible if the coffee intake is the same as what I've observed. Just because you're in your mid-20s doesn't mean you have to push yourself beyond what's good for you. It's probably not helping your headache either." You groaned under the scrutiny of his words. He was right, absolutely right and it irked you. "Let's go home. I'll make you tea and we can sleep until our next shift. And I do actually mean sleep this time. Promise."

Your cheeks heated up slightly but honestly you felt a little too tired to do anything but sleep once you got home. Even with all the caffeine in your system, it would have inevitably lead to an energy crashout and you can't afford that.

"Always looking out for me. My big, strong man." You kissed his cheek and felt a smile grace Robby's lips.

"Someone has to right? We look out for each other now, doll." Hand in hand he walked through the mostly empty halls, the cold lights illuminating your path.

Dividers by: @/bredasbendystraws

[michaelsfavgirl]

porn stash

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: Alone at home, consumed by boredom, you stumble upon Michael's secret stash of tapes. Lost in curiosity, you're oblivious to his return until he catches you red-handed.

Tags: smut, established relationship, breach of privacy, snooping through his stuff, mentions of pornography, masturbation, getting caught, p in v, a singular pussy spank, doggy style, squirting, overstimulation, no creampie :( dom!michael, sub!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: we're back to smut let's goooo

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

You wake up from your nap with a slow blink, stretching lazily as the afternoon sunlight filters through the curtains. The house is quiet, almost too quiet. You groan, flipping over on the bed, hoping to hear the soft sounds of Michael coming back from the studio soon. But instead, there's just silence.

With a sigh, you grab the remote from the nightstand and flick on the TV, hoping to find something that will pass the time until he gets home. The screen buzzes to life, and you start scrolling through channels, trying to find something, anything, that might hold your attention for a while. But nothing works. 

The shows are cheesy, the dialogue cringe-worthy, and after five minutes of trying to force yourself through a scene, you roll your eyes and switch it off. “Ugh,” you groan, tossing the remote aside. Boredom starts creeping in fast, the empty house feeling too big, too still, and your mind begins to wander.

Your eyes lazily drift across the bedroom, over the familiar space, the faint scent of Michael lingering in the air. Everything is in its place but then your gaze lands on his bedside table. 

More specifically, on one of the drawers. 

The one that’s locked.

Curiosity tugs at you, a feeling that’s been there for a while now. You’ve always wondered about that drawer. Michael never mentioned it, and you never asked out of respect for his privacy. You figured it was something personal, something he didn’t want you to see.

But right now, with the house so quiet and your boredom clawing at you, that drawer seems to call out to you louder than ever.

You sit up in bed, biting your lip as your gaze lingers on it. What could be in there? Something secretive? There’s something about the way he’s kept it locked that has you more intrigued than ever. What could be so private that it’s kept behind a key?

You glance toward the door, making sure you’re still alone. Michael won’t be back for hours, he said today would be a long day at the studio. It’s the perfect opportunity to satisfy your curiosity. A little peek won’t hurt, right?

Heart racing, you slide out of bed as you approach the nightstand. Your fingers hover over the drawer, feeling a little tingle of excitement and guilt all at once. 

Where could the key be?

You start searching. You check inside the nightstand’s upper drawer, rifling through the neatly arranged items, but there’s no key there. You crouch down and look underneath the table, and that’s when you spot it, a small, metal key taped to the underside of the nightstand, hidden just out of sight. A sly smile spreads across your face as you peel it off.

Your heart beats a little faster as you sit back on the bed, the key cool in your palm. For a moment, you hesitate, chewing on your lower lip as a wave of guilt washes over you. You shouldn’t be doing this—it’s his private space, after all. But then again, what harm could a little peek really do. 

Taking a deep breath, you slide the key into the lock and twist.

The drawer opens with a soft click, and for a moment, all you see are a few VHS tapes stacked neatly inside. At first glance, it looks innocent enough, maybe some old home movies or forgotten recordings. But as you take a closer look, your eyes narrow, the momentary disappointment turning into your cheeks heating up.

These aren’t just any VHS tapes.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize what you’ve stumbled upon. The titles scrawled on the side of each tape in Michael’s handwriting aren’t the names of movies or shows. They’re far from innocent.

Your eyes widen as you pick up one of the tapes, your fingers trembling slightly. The label reads Doggy/Anal/Squirting in bold, messy letters. Your face burns as you quickly put it back down, glancing at the other tapes. Each one has similar titles, all in his handwriting, and each one more explicit than the last.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, a mix of shock and disbelief washing over you. 

This is his porn stash.

You can’t help but laugh nervously to yourself, your cheeks still burning as you sit back, staring at the drawer filled with explicit tapes. You never would’ve guessed. Michael always seemed so in control. To think he had a secret like this tucked away in your bedroom, just a few feet away from where you slept every night... It's a little mind-blowing.

Your fingers hover over the tapes again, curiosity piqued. He wrote the titles himself, meaning he put these together for his own, private collection. There’s something oddly intimate about that, something that sends a little thrill through you as you pick up another tape, reading the words Public/Threesome/Creampie written in the same familiar handwriting.

Your mouth goes dry as you imagine him watching these when he’s on tour, far away from you. You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, a mix of embarrassment and desire.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You know that. 

But now that you’ve seen it, you can’t stop yourself.

Your fingers trace the label of another tape, and your heart races at the thought of popping it into the VHS player, of seeing exactly what he’s been watching in secret. The idea sends a flush of heat through your body, your imagination running wild with possibilities. 

But before you go any further, you pause, biting your lip. 

You’ve already invaded his privacy enough by opening the drawer. If he finds out you’ve watched one of these tapes... you’re not sure how he’d react. And part of you doesn’t want to break that unspoken trust between you.

Still, you can’t deny the way your body reacts to the thought of it. The thought that Michael, your seemingly perfect, polished husband, has this secret stash of pornographic tapes stashed away, it changes something in your mind.

The drawer is already open. The key already used. What’s a little more?

Your pulse races as you move to the TV, sliding the VHS into the player. The soft click of the tape being swallowed by the machine feels heavier than it should, like you’re on the edge of something big, something that will change things between you and Michael forever. But at this moment, you don’t care.

As the screen flickers to life, you lay down on the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. You feel your thighs press together, squeezing tightly as the seconds tick by, your body growing hotter with each moment. The slickness in your panties has you feeling needy, aching, and the more you wait for the tape to start, the more your mind drifts to Michael. 

Finally, the screen lights up, and you’re immediately greeted with the sounds of heavy breathing, loud moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. The woman on screen is bent over, her face twisted in pleasure as a man pounds into her, hard and fast. You can’t help but widen your eyes at the explicitness of it, the way the camera zooms in on her pussy, stretched wide around a cock. It's raw, no-holds-barred.

Your cheeks burn but instead of turning down the volume or stopping the tape, you lean in closer. There’s something intoxicating about the graphic nature of it. You try to keep your breath steady, but it’s impossible. Each loud, wet sound seems to pull you in more, and you can’t stop thinking about Michael watching this.

Has he sat on this very bed, stroking himself while this played? The thought sends a shiver through your body. He’s been away on tour so many times, away from you, and you wonder how often he’s resorted to this. How many times has he pictured you in the same position as these women?

Your hand slips down your stomach and under your underwear, your fingers brushing between your wet folds. You bite your lip, barely suppressing a moan as you feel just how aroused you are. There’s something both thrilling and scandalous about this—watching what Michael watches in secret, knowing this is what he gets off to.

But then something shifts.

As you continue watching, you start to notice something about the women on screen. They aren’t just random actresses, no there’s something familiar about them. The way they move, the way they moan, the way they react to being fucked. It’s not just their bodies, though there’s an undeniable resemblance there as well. It’s more than that. It’s the way they look at the camera, the way they carry themselves. 

They resemble you. 

You almost choke as the realization hits you. Each woman in these tapes... looks like you. From the way they arch their backs to the way they tilt their heads when they moan, it’s as if Michael specifically chose women who could pass as your double. 

He didn’t just stumble upon these videos. He sought them out.

You picture Michael watching these tapes, his hand wrapped around his heavy cock, imagining you. Every time you weren’t there, every time he needed to relieve his tension without you, he turned to this collection—a carefully curated set of videos, all starring women who resembled the one he truly adored and craved. 

You.

A low whimper escapes your lips as your fingers find your throbbing clit, your body acting on instinct now. Your hand moves on its own, your trembling fingers slowly rubbing your glossy nub.

As you try to take care of your sensitive cunt you watch tape after tape after tape…your hunger insatiable. Your fingers move faster, circling your clit as you squeeze your thighs together, barely able to contain the pleasure building inside you. The images on the screen are raw, primal, and you can’t stop picturing yourself in the same position, moaning for Michael as he takes you the way you like it.

You’re lost in the haze of pleasure, your drenched fingers working in quick, desperate strokes against your pulsing clit. The pressure is building, your body tense and trembling as your other hand grips the sheets for stability. 

Your arm is getting tired from the frantic rhythm, your hand trembling as it works your glistening heat, but you can’t stop. Not now, not when you’re so close, the familiar warmth coiling in your belly, ready to snap. The pornographic scene on the TV doesn’t help either, the loud, graphic moans and the wet slaps of flesh against flesh have you imagining him in place of the actor on screen. You see Michael’s face instead, hear his voice, his deep groans as he takes you hard, filling you to the brim with his thick cock, stretching you in ways that make your toes curl.

Your breath is uneven, your thighs shaking from the tension as you lose yourself in the fantasy. You don’t even hear the footsteps approaching the bedroom, so consumed by your need that nothing else registers. 

Michael’s back from the studio. As he steps closer to the bedroom, he hears the unmistakable sounds of moans, the erotic noises seeping into the hallway. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he listens. The noises are louder than he’s used to hearing but he simply assumes you’re feeling extra needy, and not that porno playing on the tv is causing this commotion. 

His cock twitches in his trousers but when he pushes the door open, what greets him is something far more tantalizing. His eyebrows raise, a mixture of surprise and lust washing over him as he takes in the sight before him. You’re on his side of the bed, your legs spread wide, your hand buried deep in your panties, desperately working yourself toward an orgasm while his porn tapes play on the TV. The explicit scene fills the room, the sounds of sex mingling with your own gasps and moans.

Michael leans against the doorframe, watching for a moment, his mouth slightly parted as his gaze trails over your flushed skin and the way your body moves with each thrust of your hand. His cock is painfully hard, his tip leaking at the sight of you completely unaware that he’s standing there. He could watch you like this all day.

“My, my,” he finally says with a teasing smirk, his voice deep and thick with amusement, “look at my baby.”

The sound of his voice snaps you out of your daze, and you jerk your head toward the door, eyes wide in shock. Panic floods through you as you yank your hand out of your panties, your soaked fingers trembling as you fumble to grab the remote. You scramble, trying to turn off the TV, but in your haze of embarrassment and the frustration of your unreached orgasm, your hands can’t seem to function properly.

Frustrated, you lower the volume instead of turning off the video, and the scene on the screen continues to play in the background, the wet, obscene sounds still audible, though quieter now.

Michael stands there, watching you with clear amusement, his eyes dark and heavy with lust. You can feel his gaze burning into you, making your skin tingle as you sit there, frozen and unsure of what to do. The embarrassment claws at your chest, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at him.

“I- I was just…” you stammer, but the words die on your lips as you glance down at your fingers covered in your juices, your face burning with humiliation.

Michael pushes off from the door and walks over to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. He sits on the edge of the bed in front of you, his intoxicating scent filling your senses.

His gaze flickers to the open drawer, then to the tapes scattered on the floor. A chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he raises an eyebrow. “Got a little curious, I presume?” he asks, his voice teasing.

You nod, still unable to meet his eyes, your fingers clutching the remote like it’s a lifeline. “I’m sorry…” you whisper, your voice so soft it’s barely audible, your cheeks burning even hotter. 

“What was that?” Michael leans in closer, pretending he didn’t hear you. “You’re gonna have to speak up, sweet girl.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice trembling with embarrassment, barely louder than before. You can feel the weight of his stare, making you feel small under his gaze.

He smirks, tilting his head as if considering your apology. “Sorry for what, exactly?” he asks.

“For going through my stuff? Or for getting caught?” His voice lowers. “Because I think you’re only sorry you didn’t hide the evidence in time.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat. He’s right, you’re not just sorry for snooping. You’re sorry he walked in on you like this, caught red-handed, mid-orgasm, watching his secret stash of porn. 

“I-” you begin, but Michael raises a hand, stopping you.

“No need to explain,” he says, his voice teasing as his fingers trail along your thigh, sending shivers up your spine. “I think I already know the answer.” His fingers reach your hand, still clutching the remote, and he gently pulls it away, tossing it aside. The TV is still on, though the volume is low enough now that it’s just background noise, the moans and grunts mingling with the heavy silence between you two.

You bite your lip, feeling the tension coil tighter in your stomach as Michael leans closer, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, a slow smile tugging at his mouth.

You feel a surge of boldness coursing through you, your heart beating fast as you turn your head slightly, still flushed and embarrassed but unable to resist the curiosity building inside you. 

"They look like me." Your voice is soft, but it’s enough to make Michael pause for a second, raising an eyebrow at your admission.

He glances back at the TV. His smirk deepens when he understands what you mean. "Who? The ladies?" he asks, his tone teasing, knowing the answer before you even nod. 

You blush even deeper, your face heating up at the truth laid bare between the two of you. It’s not just a coincidence; Michael clearly has a type, and it’s you. 

He chuckles softly, leaning closer until his lips brush against your ear. "My clever girl," he murmurs, and your heart flutters at the way he says it, his voice thick with pride and amusement.

You don’t know how to respond, your mind racing as his hand slides up your thigh. His presence is overwhelming, and you’re all too aware of the slickness between your legs, the wetness that’s soaked through your panties. Michael notices too, of course. He always does.

He grips your chin, tilting your head so you have no choice but to look at him. His touch is firm but not rough, commanding without being harsh. "Eyes on me," he orders, his voice low and authoritative. You obey, your gaze meeting his dark, intense eyes. 

“Were you enjoying yourself?” he asks, his voice low. 

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes…” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

“Yeah?” His smile widens.

“You were doing such a good job, too,” he coos, his voice low and dangerous, filled with heat. “Getting yourself all worked up like that. I almost didn’t want to interrupt.”

Your breath hitches as teasing. “M-Michael…” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

“But now that I’m here…” He murmurs, “I guess it’s my turn to finish what you started.”

"Spread your legs," he commands softly, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

You part your legs slowly, your movements shy and unsure. The cool air of the room brushes against your heated skin as Michael’s gaze drops between your soft thighs, and his eyes darken with lust when he sees just how soaked your panties are. You’re practically dripping, the fabric clinging to your swollen folds, slick and wet with arousal.

He coos softly, his voice filled with a teasing sort of affection. "My poor baby.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he casually tugs your panties to the side, exposing your drooling cunt to him. His fingers slide between your slick folds, finding your pulsing clit with practiced ease. He begins to circle it gently, his touch light but purposeful. Your head falls back onto the pillow as you buck your hips a little.

As his fingers toy with your sensitive flesh, Michael glances at the TV again, the sound of the porn still filling the room. "Did something catch your eye?" he asks, his voice laced with amusement, as if he already knows the answer.

You swallow hard, your thighs trembling as he continues to tease you, but you manage to nod toward the screen. You don’t need to speak; he follows your gaze and sees the woman on top of the man, riding him, bouncing on his cock with wild abandon. The woman clearly takes control, and it makes your pulse quicken with excitement.

Michael’s lips curl into a knowing smirk as he turns his attention back to you. "Is that what you want?" he asks, his tone teasing but with a hint of challenge in his voice. 

You nod, unable to find the words to express just how much you want it. It’s something you’ve fantasized about—being on top, feeling him beneath you as you move, your bodies in sync. But Michael never lets you. He’s always been the one in control, always the one calling the shots in bed. The idea of you straining to pleasure him is a foreign concept to him. You’ve never dared to voice your yearning. Until now.

He grins softly, shaking his head in amusement. "Not happening," he says, his tone firm but playful, as if he finds your request cute but entirely out of the question.

Your face falls, you pout at his response. But before you can protest, Michael’s hand moves faster, his fingers toying with your pearl in quick, sharp motions that make your whole body jolt with pleasure. A soft, needy whimper escapes your lips, and you instinctively arch your back, pushing your hips toward his hand.

"Don’t be greedy," he warns, his voice low and commanding. He pauses just long enough to give you a soft, teasing slap right on your pussy, the sting causing you to gasp. "Or you’ll get nothing."

The sound of his dominance, the way he takes control of the situation so effortlessly, makes your breath hitch. You can’t help but nod sheepishly, your body already trembling from the tension building inside you. 

Michael’s smile widens, clearly pleased with your submission. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. "Now, let’s get these off, yeah?"

Without another word, he helps you out of your clothes, his fingers brushing against your heated skin as he strips you down to nothing. He moves you into position, pressing your chest down against the mattress, your face smushed into the soft sheets. Your ass is raised in the air, the perfect angle for him to take you however he pleases. your pussy leaks with anticipation.

Michael undresses himself behind you, the sound of his belt hitting the floor making your heart race. You can hear him stroking his cock, the slick sound of lube as he preps himself.

Michael presses the bulbous head of his cock against your weeping hole. You breathe heavily as you feel his warmth. He teases you, prodding his tip into your soaked folds before slipping it out, leaving you clenching around nothing, your needy pussy instinctively trying to keep him inside.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, your body craving him. Your walls throb with want, slick and hot, desperate for the fullness only he can give you. Slowly he pushes in again, this time sinking deeper into your tight heat. Your breath hitches at the intensity of the stretch, your pussy molding around his thick shaft as inch after inch disappears inside you.

Your eyes flutter, half-lidded in pleasure, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan as he fills you completely. The feeling of his delicious girth inside you is overwhelming, your gummy walls gripping him like a vice. He pauses, letting you adjust to the fullness, his hands firm on your hips as he stays buried deep within you.

"Oh god," you breathe, the word barely more than a whisper as your body trembles beneath him.

But Michael isn’t in any rush. His hips pull back, and you can feel every inch of him as he withdraws, the slow drag of his lengthy cock making your body shudder. The moment he nearly slips out, he thrusts back in again, a little faster this time, driving his meaty shaft into you with a satisfying stretch. Your pussy squeezes around him, trying to suck him deeper.

Your gaze remains fixed on the TV screen, watching the woman riding her partner, her body moving with a freedom and control you crave. You want to ride him so bad. The thought sends a jolt of desire through your core, your pussy fluttering around him as you imagine it.

Of course Michael notices. He always does.

He shakes his head, his amusement evident in his voice as he keeps plunging deeper into you, "Stop daydreaming about it," he says, his tone dripping with authority. "You can barely take my cock as it is."

Your brows furrow in frustration. You try to say something smart to defend yourself, but before you can, he cuts you off with a sharp slam that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"Wasn't a question," he growls, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounds into you with more force. "You should be grateful you’re not being punished right now."

A helpless cry tumbles from your lips as his pace quickens, each powerful stroke filling you to the brim. Your sensitive pussy can barely handle the relentless pleasure, your slick walls gripping his cock as he drives into you, hitting spots that make your entire body tremble. Every vein, every ridge of his huge shaft presses against your walls.

Your legs shake beneath you, your muscles trembling with the effort to stay in position. If Michael wasn’t holding your hips so firmly, you’d have collapsed by now. His grip keeps you in place, keeps you grounded as he pistols his hips against you with a brutal intensity that leaves you breathless.

Whines spill from your lips, needy and high-pitched as your body struggles to keep up with the overwhelming sensation. His heavy balls slap deliciously against your swollen clit with each deep pump. Your eyes roll back in your head, your vision blurring as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

The sheets are damp beneath your face, muffling the sound of your ragged breathing as Michael's relentless teasing continues. His deep voice drips with amusement, mocking you for going through his things, and you can barely focus on his words as the overwhelming sensations in your body mount.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" he says, his tone laced with playful cruelty. "Had to go snooping."

His words stir a heady mix of shame and arousal. Your thighs tremble as he continues to pound into you, his cock sliding in and out of your glistening, swollen pussy with ease. The wet, obscene sounds of his cock plunging into your dripping core fill the room, mingling with the pornographic noises still playing on the TV.

"Look at this mess you're making," he groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock covered in your shared slickness. "All because you went through my stuff. Naughty girl."

Your vision blurs, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you feel the pressure building inside you. It’s too much—his fast, relentless pounding, the slickness of your juices making everything slippery, the way his cock stretches you perfectly. It all blurs together, overwhelming you.

You try to speak, to warn him that you’re about to lose control, but the words die in your throat, your mouth opening in a silent gasp. And then it hits you, hard.

Your body tenses, muscles locking up as a powerful wave of pleasure crashes over you. Before you can stop it, a rush of liquid spurts from your pussy, soaking the sheets and spraying onto his thighs. A loud, guttural cry escapes your lips as your face is pressed deeper into the mattress, your entire body shaking uncontrollably as you squirt. It’s messy, uncontrollable, and you can’t stop it as your pussy sprays out more of your juices, drenching everything in your wetness.

"Fuck, go on sweet girl, mark your territory," Michael groans, his voice thick with arousal as he feels the warm liquid dribble down his skin. He doesn’t stop, if anything, the feeling of your wetness covering him only spurs him on, making him thrust harder, faster. His cock slides in even easier now, the extra slickness allowing him to plunge into you effortlessly

Your body jerks with each powerful thrust, your legs shaking beneath you as your sensitive pussy clenches around him. The overstimulation is almost too much to bear, the pleasure bordering on pain as he prolongs your squirting, making it last longer than you thought possible. Your whole body is quaking, your muscles spasming as another wave of pleasure washes over you, your pussy clenching hard around his cock as you cum again.

The bed is completely soaked beneath you, the sheets drenched with your juices as your orgasm wracks through you. You’re trembling uncontrollably, every nerve in your body on fire as Michael continues to pound into you. His balls slap against your swollen clit with each thrust, the sensation pushing you further into a haze of overstimulated bliss.

"You look so beautiful when you make a mess for me," his voice thick with desire. His movements become more erratic, his breathing ragged as he chases his own release. You can feel how close he is, the way his cock twitches inside you, his balls tightening as they slap against you.

His voice lowers, rough and filled with need. "You want me to fill you up, don’t you?"

You can barely find the breath to respond, your body trembling with exhaustion and overstimulation. But you nod, gasping out a breathless, desperate "yes." Your pussy still pulses around him, aching to be filled with his thick, hot cum.

Michael lets out a breathy chuckle, the sound dripping with mockery. "Mm, I don’t know about that," he says, his tone teasing as he slows his thrusts to a torturous grind. "How are you supposed to learn your lesson if I give you exactly what you want?"

Your breath hitches in frustration, your pussy clenching around him in a futile attempt to keep him inside as he suddenly pulls out. You whine, your body instinctively arching toward him, desperate for more. But he’s already stroking his cock, the slickness of your juices making it glisten as he groans at the sight of your puffy gaping pussy.

"My pretty girl," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the way your pussy is still spread open, glossy with your arousal and his precum. He strokes his stiff cock with long, slow motions, his gaze trailing over your trembling body.

You feel the cool air hit your exposed skin as his heavy length hovers above you, and you know what’s coming next. His heavy balls are tight with need, full of his potent seed, and you can hear his panting as he brings himself closer to the edge. But instead of giving you what you crave, instead of filling you up the way you always crave, he teases you further.

With a low groan, he pumps his cock a few more times before he cums, thick ropes of his creamy seed spurting from his tip. His creamy load splashes onto your pussy, covering your folds in his sticky, milky release. You gasp at the sensation, your body still sensitive from your own orgasm, and you feel the warm liquid drip down your inner thighs.

But none of it goes where you want it most.

Not a single drop enters your aching, empty hole. He’s careful to avoid your entrance, his cum pooling around your swollen folds but never filling you. You can feel the heat of it, the way it marks you, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. Your pussy clenches instinctively, craving the fullness of him, but he denies you.

One drop of his cum starts to seep toward your stretched hole, and for a moment, you think you’ll finally get what you want. But Michael’s hand is quick, swiping it away before it can slip inside. You let out a disappointed sigh and nuzzle your cheek into the soft sheets. 

You feel utterly spent, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all. His cum dribbles down your inner thighs, marking you, claiming you in a way that makes your heart race. But at the same time, there’s a lingering sadness, a frustration at the thought of all that creamy seed going to waste when you could have been filled with it.

Michael leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the small of your back as his hands gently rub over your warm body. He’s back to being tender now, his teasing nature momentarily softened as he takes care of you. 

Once he’s cleaned you up, he moves to put the tapes back in the drawer, his actions slow and deliberate as he organizes them neatly. But this time, he doesn’t lock it.

You glance up at him, your eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion, and he catches your gaze with a knowing smile. He says nothing, but the unlocked drawer speaks for itself. You know he’s giving you permission—whether it’s to test your boundaries again or to explore your curiosity more freely, you’re not sure. But either way, it feels like a small victory, a silent acknowledgment of the power you hold over him, even when he’s the one in control.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @theladyinmoscow @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @leociinta @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @sirusxx @maybe7tommorow @falllovesomemichealjackson @virgomjj @michaels-nonbinary-child @veavixen @elthoughtzos @kingayanna @kaoritowa @callsignwidow

[oldermenfucker]

hello rue!! hope youre having a great week! i unfortunately have to go get some blood work done tomorrow, and as someone who hates needles and having blood taken out…. i was wondering if you could write a little blurb of how our sexy hot doctors, jack and robby, might deal with a situation like that with you??? i just need some good vibez in my head before tomorrow 😭

Hey beautiful!!! I hope these two lil blurbs help you! Don’t be scared you’ll be just fine and i’ll write as many blurb as you want🥺🫂 I’m gonna go with general check up for the bloodwork!

Tw: needles and bloodwork<3

Robby

He is a goofy man, always trying to make you laugh even when is in the shittiest mood ever. So when you tell him you have to get some bloodwork done, his mind goes to ten thousand different places. Are you hurt? Why would you need a bloodwork? Are you okay? Is your period late? And he sits you down and interrogates you until he is 120% sure you’re just fine and it’s a simple check up. And who does that better than Robby himself?

He takes you to the ER with him first thing in the morning after he wakes you up with lots of kisses and snuggles cause he knows how much you hate needles. The least he can do is to make sure you are as comfortable as possible before, during, and after. He sits you down on one of the beds and pulls out the necessary equipment before he starts.

He starts cracking jokes; from your first date, to your first kiss, to the first argument until he has to grab your arm so you won’t shake it while laughing wholeheartedly. He does it so effortlessly that you don’t even realize he’s done until he pulls out his gloves and kisses you softly

Abbot

He isn’t like Robby, he won’t do the test himself, but he will make sure he grabs the safest nurse to do that. He is basically your personal doctor, all the illnesses and family background are known to him cause he has to make sure he is keeping you healthy at all times. So when he suggests a general check up, you get a bit worried.

“It’s nothing, I know you hate to see those awful needles but you gotta trust me, ‘kay?” And you do, so he makes sure to take you to the ER a few hours before his shift starts and asks Perlah to come and help him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he holds your free hand and keeps staring at you to the point you get flustered and have to look away, but even then, he makes sure you can’t even glance at the needle inside your elbow and the unit of blood in Perlah’s hand.

Safe to say he enjoys making you distracted with his intense eyes.

[onlyquinns]

Heyy my love, I'm baaack. Hope you don't get sick of my kess requests, seriously just tell me anytime if it's getting too much 🩷 But could I get a kess x reader where kess takes their toddler into a post-game interview. And then maybe a cute little moment at home after, up to you. Sending love!!!

AHH OMG HII!! ofcofc i am here for all this kess love 🙂‍↕️ hehe

it’s the first season after the rebrand from the hockey club to the mammoth and michael shakes with energy. his body is tired and his legs ache from just getting off the ice, but he smiles regardless.

the locker room is crowded, teammates rustling about as they take off their gear, but michael doesn’t care. he couldn’t care any less about the cameras and the insane amount of microphones pressed to him, not when he’s cradling your guys’ son in his big arms and seated in his lap.

a slew of questions come at once—some about the game and some about the grinning three year old pressed up against his chest, hair the same color as yours but his eyes and smile all michael.

michael’s about to answer a question about how he likes the new team name, but the toddler in his lap suddenly looks up at him with wide eyes.

“daddy,” he whispers, and michael looks down at the boy, the question he was about to answer completely gone from his mind.

“yeah, bud?” he asks, bouncing the boy on his knee despite the deep settled ache in his bones. “what’s up?”

the little boy holds out a little ziplock bag filled with quartered grapes, jostling the fruit that you’ve packed for him in his small fist. “can you help, please?”

michael grins and takes the bag, “yeah, daddy can help,” he says softly, grinning so wide his cheeks burn. he pops the little baggie open and takes a few pieces of grape—dad tax, he calls it—then hands it back to his kid.

the interviewers behind the mics look warily back at their cameras, impatiently waiting for michael to get back to them. michael ignores them for a second longer, making sure the toddler doesn’t choke, then looks back up at the crowd around him.

“sorry,” michael says bashfully, running a hand down his jaw. “where were we?” he gives a slight smile, and the interviewers launch back into their questions, ignoring the little boy in his lap.

when michael’s finally done, interviewers satiated with his answers, he makes his way back to you, his body leaning awkwardly to one side to hold the little kid’s hand. he smiles at you, chuckling when you let out a relieved breath of air. the three of you finally leave the arena and drive home, quietly singing along to children’s songs that play in the car.

as michael helps your guys’ kid take off his shoes, you quietly prepare the couch for your and michael’s movie night after the two of you put your son to sleep.

“alright, bud,” michael says once he’s done with the little pair of light up sneakers. “it’s time to wash up for bed, yeah?”

the little boy looks at michael, then glances around him to where you’re quietly pulling out the container of popcorn kernels. he looks back at michael and shakes his head, earning a chuckle.

“i wanna stay with you and mama,” the boy says softly. his eyes soften impossibly more, shining in the dim lighting as he pleads. michael looks back at you, watching you move around the kitchen as smooth as liquid gold.

michael’s obsessed with you—always has been—but after you’d given birth, it was like something in his brain was permanently altered. he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes raking over your soft hips and up to your sleepy eyes. he’d wanted to just cuddle and maybe make out after putting your son to bed, but…

the boy tugs on michael’s shirt, drawing his attention. “please, daddy?” he pleads, and michael folds.

“okay,” he breathes. “you can watch a movie with mommy and daddy, but you have to promise to be good, okay?” the little boy nods eagerly and then toddles over to you, where he clings himself to your loose fitting pants as you giggle.

you shoot a look at michael, one that tells him that he’s definitely going to be the one dealing with cranky tantrums the next day, but he doesn’t mind. he chuckles to himself and makes his way over to you, scooping up the toddler into one arm and cradling the giant bowl of popcorn in the other.

“go get comfy, mama,” he says to you, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

you give him a tired smile and michael watches as you walk away, eyes drawn to the way your hips sway as you move. he looks down at the little boy in his arms and thinks about asking you later if you want another, maybe a girl this time, but pockets the thought.

michael settles next to you and you immediately tuck into his side, nuzzling into his warmth. he smiles to himself and starts the movie, something animated that he’s seen a million times since his son was born, and thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world—because life can’t get better than this.

[carryonafi]

my poor brain.

calum hood x reader; SMUT!!!

a/n: this one has been cooking for a little while teehee 😋 some more smut (high edition) because apparently that is all i am capable of writing — and plus, we need some more calum on this blog <3 enjoy!!

words: 2.1k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The drug made your head spin, taking one slow, deep breath as colorful specks clouded your peripheral vision. Did it feel euphoric, though. Your eyes hooded, staring up at the popcorn ceiling which spun gradually. It made you dizzy, you had to close your eyes. However, they opened immediately after you thought you heard the sounds of footsteps approaching and a soft laugh came from your boyfriend.

“Don’t think that's yours, sweet pea.” He sat on the edge of the bed, just next to where you were laying with your head half-way on the pillow.

“What’s yours is mine too, now.” You mumble as lovingly as you could manage, a lazy smile followed as your head lulled to the side to look at him. He had more. He was over the rolling tray as you perked up, then slowly began to straighten up on the bed. The change in position made you all muddled again, a wave of warmth rushed over you as you shuffled closer to Calum and wrapped your arms around his middle. Your chin rested on his shoulder to watch what he was doing, but the soft pump of your heartbeat blended with his and echoed in your ears. You could hear his breathing through the haze, everything was just so slow. So slow, and so warm. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, pressing the thin paper closed with the tip of his tongue. “That’s my way of saying you’re mine.” Your thought finally finished, nose pressing into his hair as he let go of your face to grasp for the patterned lighter left on the bedside table.

“Mm, you stole that from me too.” He hummed, that was what he had told you at some point during your year of being together. Clothes were shared between the two of you to the point where you didn’t know what belonged to you anymore, but you couldn’t focus on your blatant plagiarism. Now, you could hear the flicker of the lighter, the crackling and hissing of the joint and Calum’s frame expanding as he inhaled. Dizzy again. You had no idea how anyone could make taking a drag like that as attractive as he did, your pupils dilated to accompany the glossy shield as you admired him. The hollowing of his cheeks as he pulled, joint still a flaming orange as he pushed out the blue-tinted smoke ahead of him. His hair had grown into a thick mess of black and blond atop his head, so easy for you to tangle your hands in… but they were too occupied tracing small shapes into his sides. He offered you the burning joint, to which you politely declined by shaking your head.

“Shotgun me.” You said just above a whisper, followed by another dazed smile as you poked your tongue out to wet your lips which felt endlessly dry. Calum breathed out a laugh, shaking his head as he flicked the lighter once more.

“So bold, Y/N.” He teased, you giggled and waited so very patiently for the moment he made your wish come true. Another flick of the lighter, and another, and another… Calum cursed. This made you whine.

“Cal..” You pouted, slowly falling back into a kneeling position, sitting on your heels as Calum got up to search for a lighter that wasn't all burnt and useless.

“I’m comin’ baby, I’m comin’...” He rushed to dig through his coat pockets, letting out a breath of relief as he tossed the old piece of plastic off to his desk and used this new lighter. It felt like hours, such long hours until he was finally standing just in front of you as you stood on your knees at the edge of the bed. Soft navy blue sheets crinkled under your weight, wrapping your arms around his neck to feel the same shift of fabric on his shirt, Calum’s free hand cupped your jaw, rough pad of his thumb rubbing against your bottom lip and making you feel like the most wanted in the world. You could see every little detail, half-lidded eyes, full lips wrapped around the paper, you leaned in just at the right time as he pushed the smoke past your lips. You could only let out a soft hum into his mouth which sounded more like a reaction to pleasure, Calum briefly pulled away to set the joint down onto the ceramic ashtray. Just before he kissed you again, he leaned in close and hovered while brushing his top lip against your bottom one. A sigh of want exited you, a quick, sharp inhale taking its place as Calum forced your lips back together and moved the hand that was on your jaw all the way down to the small of your back to ensure you didn’t fall back. He was bending you down, holding on carefully as you made out and he couldn’t hold your bodies up anymore. You were finally laying down on the bed again after shuffling out from that kneel, ankles hooked around his waist to hold him close.

“Guys are downstairs.” He mumbled between kisses, squeezing his eyes shut as your warmth pressed into his hips.

“So?” You whispered back, now rushing to tangle your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck so he could never get away from you. Calum whispered some nonsense about them expecting the two of you to come down soon, all you did was move those kisses to his cheek, then his soft jaw, then his neck just about as far as you could get without him resisting. You lifted your leg slightly, thigh pressing into where he stirred in his sweatpants.

“So.. they’ll wonder why we’ve been gone so long.” Calum replied, but it didn’t really sound like he was trying to fight back too much. Especially with how breathy he got at the end of his sentence, you knew he just couldn’t say no.

“We can be quick.” You traced your fingertips along the curve of his jaw just as you let your head drop back down into the bed.

“You know I can never just be quick with you.” Calum began to push your (his) top up your body either way, his fingers were so warm against your body that the contrast made you shiver. He was so gentle, so intoxicating that without another word you lifted your arms to bring the shirt over your head and throw it off to the side.

“Y’know..” You mumble, hands immediately finding the hem of his shirt as well before making the same moves Calum had to take your shirt off. Then you trailed off, taking a moment to think as your boyfriend stared back at you with curiosity. “Forgot what I was gonna say.” You giggled, a soft one that turned into a quiet laugh as Calum’s hands trailed over your sensitive, ticklish sides.

“You’re silly.” Was all he could say, leaning in and pressing soft kisses to your stomach despite your body constantly wiggling against him. It was like a battle to get you to stay still… he blew a raspberry into your skin just below your navel.

“Calum!” You gripped the sheets and laughed, but the more you laughed the more those soft waves of euphoria washed over you and made your grip weaker. All to distract you, since you had no idea that your panties had come off in that instant.

Calum’s lips twisted into an amused grin against your skin, pulling away and looking down at you with those sweet chocolate eyes almost completely darkened with desire. His eyes were so beautiful, just so goddamn beautiful. It was like Calum could see your thoughts in the way your expression softened once you got to losing yourself in his deep, hypnotizing irises. He didn’t speak a lot, he never spoke an excessive amount while making love, but he didn’t need to. There was an understanding in you both almost at all times. However, it was nice to hear his voice.

“Y’ready for me, sweet pea?” Calum said in a breath, his eyes roaming every inch of your face, towards your hair fanned out across the blankets, then following the line of your jaw and the fading hickeys he had left just the day before.

“Mmhm..” You nodded with that weak hum, nothing that was going on past your field of vision had registered in your slow moving mind, but hell, it did when you felt him sink inside.

It didn’t even take a second, you were already starting to writhe slightly against the blankets and silently beg for more with quiet, needy huffs of breath and eyes suddenly wider than before. Calum would be smiling at the sight of you if he weren’t so focused on making sure you didn’t hurt yourself with how much you moved.

“Slow down.. s’okay. I’m gettin’ there.” He squeezed your hip to put your wiggling to an end, it all just felt so real— more real than anything has felt in the last hour.

His words soothed you a little bit, though at this point you weren’t sure if the things you thought you were saying actually made it past your lips. It all just moved so slow, so slow and loving.

Calum would mutter these little phrases under his breath, right next to your ear so you could feel each syllable being spoken to you, or to himself. Just sweet things which could turn so vulgar so quick, how beautiful you were to how badly he wanted to pound you into the mattress within a matter of seconds. However, he was just so expressive… you couldn’t get sick of it.

“Cal,” you mutter hoarsely. Watching as his eyes gradually opened and the soft movements of his hips slowed down, but hit so much deeper. You reacted boldly, a hand moving to tangle in his hair again. Those soft ones right on his neck which tended to be smoother than the others. His coconut conditioner really did him wonders.

“Mm?” Calum was taking his time, his hands braced on the backs of your thighs and digging into your flesh, bound to leave bruises.

“I need it faster…” Your voice came out in a slight gasp as Calum spread your legs further and paused his rhythm for a moment, fully inside you. He looked at you expectantly, did you not add that sweet plea at the end like you thought?

“Please.”

“That’s it.” He said so gently, lips wandering over your cheekbones and peppering kisses over your recently sun-kissed skin before settling a place on your lips. You let out a muffled, whimper-like noise once Calum started to move again but faster as you wanted.

That was it, this was the pace that was going to have you seeing galaxies despite how slow and attentive Calum was. If anything, it was all fuel to the fire.

He looked at you with nothing but love, love which shone through the deep, glassy exterior of his eyes which in all honesty made this ten times better. Calum was physically making you weak in the knees and with every second that passed, it got even more intense.

You let out a weak call of his name, and he responded by leaning in and gently kissing your lips.

“Shhh, baby…” He mumbled, mouth never moving off of yours which created a soft vibration of his words on your lips. All you could do was gasp against his lips, it was so slow… so slow but so good. The pace was making you lose it, back arched against the mattress and crinkled sheets when your body finally started to react to your orgasm quickly catching up to you and pleasure crashing down in waves. Maybe that wasn’t the right phrase, it wasn’t very intense… move like soft rushes of electricity which made your legs twitch.

And there was even more to come as you clamped down on his cock, sending that delicious domino effect of your orgasms following one another through the room. Your body was stuck in one place, looking up at Calum and the sweat on his hairline like it was shore meeting the ocean. His perfect skin, being the case.

He sat up and pulled you with him, making you sigh as he held you close and idly stroked the like of where your spine was.

“Told you I can never just be quick.” He muttered right against your hair, peppering kisses down the side of your face as you grinned at the sensation of Calum’s soft lips on your skin.

“Yeah,” You hummed in agreement. There was no doubt what you would be met with downstairs when you finally got back to your friends, in for the teasing and playful comments which would drive you to blush, but Calum just to feel prideful.

[cuteandhughesy]

34 with micheal kesselring please!!

prompt no. 34: "look at that shiner" "have some sympathy"

michael sends you a guilty smile, which only makes you glower more. it’s well passed the time you usually fall asleep—you’ve never been a night owl, and most of the time once your head touches the pillow, you’re out. but tonight you made sure you’d be up when michael gets home.

you watched his game, like you always do, from the comfort of the apartment couch. which means you got a pretty nice view of michael’s fight. it was an even tilt, where your boyfriend got a few good punches—but that also means he got hit a few times too.

the thing that concerned you the most was the black eye blooming under his brow bone, purple hues slowly leaking down to envelop his entire eye socket. you know that the utah hockey club has some of the medical staff, and they’d do anything and everything to make sure michael was okay.

but it still made you anxious, and you needed to check him out yourself—hence why you waited up for him.

untangling the blankets wrapped around your legs, you climb off the couch. you mute sportsnet playing on the tv before making your way across the room—stopping right in front of your boyfriend with a curious glint.

your fingers touch his cheeks gently, gaze never starting from his injury—which has only gotten darker since the last time his face was shown on your tv.

“i’m okay,” michael tells you firmly, hand squeezing the back of your neck before his fingers slowly trickle into your hair—scratching at your scalp.

you stay silent for a beat, too busy checking over his face like you’re waiting for more injuries to pop up. eventually you let out a long, deep breath, gnawing on your bottom lip as you come to terms with michael’s new look. “look at that shiner, babe. jesus christ.”

michael snorts, hand sliding back down to hold the back off your neck. he pulls you into his chest, “have some sympathy. it hurts.”

“no shit,” you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt. “but may I remind you, that this mess on your face is the consequence of your own actions.” you look up at your boyfriend tenderly, a playful smile pulling at your face as your chin rests between his pecks.

michael smirks, “I thought I was going to be greeted by a kisses and cuddles, but instead my girlfriend wants to bully me.”

“whatever you big baby,” you mumble before pushing up onto your toes and gently kissing his lips.

—

(unedited)