#writing in codes

[gay-ppl-real]

I made up a pet mini monster that I drew in pencil on my desk and I would draw out feeding it and giving it water etc. like it was a self-imposed tomodachi. Then the cleaners started cleaning it off. So began a turf war over domain of my own desk - every day I'd draw him again, every time they spotted him they'd rub him out. Much to my teacher's chagrin I did NOT stop doing this after she told me to stop vandalising my desk and pay attention in class, because, as I told her, "it's just pencil". She was similarly displeased when I got sick of him being erased so I resorted to drawing him in my notes and on scrap pieces of paper instead.

That and I wrote secret notes to my friend planning our next moves in the LARP game we made up to play at break. The teacher once caught us and tried to do that public shaming thing that's, y'know, well known as a terrible teaching method, where they expose the conversation in front of the whole class, but this proved impossible for as her my friend and I communicated in the Dragonology Dragon Runes and LOTR Elvish alphabets exclusively. She tried to get us to read it for her and we were just like "no lol".

Just in case anyone was wondering what the nerd version of these antics is. Sometimes it isn't dangerous, it's just weird!

"kids don't pay attention in class anymore Because Of Phone" is so funny as an argument. students haven't paid attention in class since school was invented. my parents' generation were in there making flipbooks out of the corners of their notebooks and doodling random shit instead of taking notes. and they didn't have phones.

[animentality]

[jjk4isen]

super annoying gojo satoru when a girl comes up to you and asks you if he's your brother even after clearly seeing him grabbing your ass and saying super cheesy lines to you to make you only roll your eyes at him.

and you're stuck dumbfounded because it's not rocket science to figure out that you two are a thing just by looking at the both of you because the clingy bastard is quite literally stuck to you everywhere you go, whining and pleading for yet another kiss after stealing several from you.

and it's the same clinginess that prompts him to answer in your stead "yes actually. we're siblings" he beams a smile at you and you scowl, why the hell is he feeding onto this random girl's delusions like that? can't he take the hint?

you're not done scrutinising him when he grabs your chin with his big ass hands and smashes his lips onto yours, tugging and devouring your mouth into an extra sloppy kiss for the girl to take a hint.

he pulls away, a smirk on his lips as he licks his lips where yours had been a second ago. "is that obvious enough?" he chuckles, eyes never leaving yours as you see the girl storm off in the corner of your eye.

[finitalacommediah]

will you be my overexplainer if I'm an overthinker?

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀��� husband john price - 01

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcollection - prev ⋆ next

it was not often that captain john price felt this relaxed. he didn't remember the last time he had slept that well, or that long. coming home after a deployment always took a toll on his body; he was getting older, after all.

extending his arm, he felt the spot next to him was still warm but vacant. that stirred him awake a little more as he realized the sun was already up. yeah, he'd definitely slept longer than usual. a soft giggle and the sound of tiny feet pattering on the floor alerted him of what was coming his way.

closing his eyes again, he pretended to still be asleep as the giggles drew closer. a hushed "shhh" followed, just before the bedroom door creaked open. it took all his willpower to stop himself from smiling. his children were still too young to understand his job, and still too young to realize that even the slightest noise could wake him-especially so early in his leave. it always took time for his mind to adjust, to truly accept that he was home, far from the battlefield.

small hands pressed against his back, accompanied by a soft, determined "push." eyes still closed, he pictured his little boy being hoisted up the bed by his older brother, both of his babies eager to see their dad. in his mind, he could see the focused expression on his eldest's face-eyebrows furrowed, tongue poking out in concentration. it wasn't easy for his little 5 years old body to push his brother up. smiling to himself, john decided to put an end to their efforts. he turned over suddenly, pulling both boys into his arms at once. happy squeals and uncontrollable giggles filled the room, making the captain's heart swell. oh, how he had missed this.

john felt his children squirming in his arms, most likely trying to hug him better, but he wasn't ready to let them go. he had come home far too late; a problem had delayed their return, forcing him to deal with paperwork upon landing. the house had been dark, his small family tucked away in their beds. he still hadn't seen his wife, other than her sleeping figure at 4 a.m. she knew he wouldn't have minded if she'd woken him, but she was too thoughtful-his sweet little wife-letting him sleep in.

after kissing the tops of their heads, he finally loosened his grizzly grip on the boys. both of his children's faces turned to his the moment he let go, showering him with sweet kisses before nuzzling their heads into his neck-one on each side. they began talking all at once, excitedly telling him everything he had missed while he was away. to be honest, john wasn't really listening. he simply relaxed, savoring the warmth and joy of having his family back in his arms. but something was missing-an important piece.

as if you had read his mind, you appeared in the doorway. the light streaming in from behind you into the dark room made you look like an angel, and john couldn't think of a better way to describe you.

"thought you wanted to bring daddy breakfast in bed?" you said softly, your heart overflowing with love at the sight before you: your husband, back home, all cuddled up with your children.

your kids didn't acknowledge you; they kept talking about silly little things that, to you, seemed trivial but, to them, were a big deal. john was happy to just let them ramble, extending one hand toward you, silently inviting you to join them. as you came closer, he gently pulled both boys to the middle of the bed, his eyes following you as you made your way to your side. with you lying back down and your children nestled in the middle, john felt whole. for the first time in months, his body fully relaxed, and sleep began to creep over him once again.

throwing his arm around his little family, he pulled all of you closer. the warm, comforting cocoon he had created made his eyes drift shut, lulled back to sleep by his children's soft voices. their chatter was growing quieter, a sign they were just as sleepy as their father. it must be early-too early to be awake. forcing his eyes open, he glanced at you, gently stroking your youngest's hair. the way you looked at him, filled with so much love, made the captain feel a flush rise to his cheeks.

yeah, as much as he loved his job, nothing could compare to having his family in his arms. maybe it was time to consider a desk job after all.

[cheriecoke]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[asxgard]

Handprints | [3/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Previous |

Summary: The birth of your first child and all the little moments that you cherish with your husband.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’m honestly enjoying this Robby and Reader, so I might do something with them/inspired by them. Let’s see where season 2 takes us👀

This one got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, pet names (my love, sweetheart), mild angst, comfort, fluff, birth scene (nondescript), postpartum, mentions of a prior panic attack, therapy, Mother’s/Father’s Day, vague smut (minors dni!!!!), Robby getting good things because he deserves it

not beta read

Langdon returned in the last few weeks of your pregnancy, rolling into the Pitt with something to prove. He wasn’t as cocky as he had been, but he threw himself headfirst into the chaos of it all — which worried you that he would only fall back into his addiction.

Michael had put strict rules in place for him after he was done rehab — random urine tests, he needed sign offs for most of the drugs he could prescribe, as well as having him attend NA meetings. You could see plainly that even if Frank succeeded in all of that, Michael would need so much time to trust him as he once had. You didn’t know what had transpired between them during that shift, not really, but Frank had let your husband down majorly.

Most in the Pitt might not have known he had been stealing the drugs from patients, or the ED, but with one glance at you and it was clear Frank knew that you knew about it. How could you not? You were Michael’s wife, his one true confidant in the mess of it all.

Frank sucked up to you, maybe thinking it would be an easier way to soften Michael’s heart to him again. Brought you a muffin from the cafeteria when he saw you hadn’t eaten, pulled a stool over to your computer so you could sit, even taking the meaner or nastier patients from your plate. All with a smile. All with a humility you hadn’t seen in awhile.

You appreciated the gestures, but it did little to help gain your trust back.

“It’ll just take time,” you said to Langdon one afternoon. “He won’t trust you again if you take the easy way out.”

He seemed to consider it. “And you? When will you trust me again?”

You turned away from the computer screen to look at him, “Pass all your drugs tests. Show me that coin you get after one year in the meetings. Don’t fuck with my patients again. Then we’re square.”

He gave a curt nod, “Okay, I can do that.”

You smiled softly at him, “I hope so, Frank.”

Due to your large bump, you were not frequently in the trauma room, not wanting to risk bumping into anything or anyone. Like usual, you stuck to triage and the non-critical patients. Michael wanted to keep your stress and adrenaline levels down, which you accepted with little pushback. He also ensured you always sat down to have lunch, even pulling himself away from the chaos long enough to eat with you when you demanded requested it.

If he was going to make sure you ate, you were going to make sure the same.

It was roughly lunchtime when the cramping started, starting as just a mild sense of discomfort before edging closer to moderate pain. Braxton Hicks contractions, you thought, seeing as you were only in your 38th week. You had been getting them periodically since starting your third trimester, but they never got any worse than mild.

Dana found you hunched over the nurses station, trying to take slow, even breaths. The cramping had gotten substantially worse, edging closer to you not being able to think properly.

“Honey?” Dana called your attention.

You took another deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth. “It’s nothing, I’m okay.”

“You and your husband, I swear to god.” She let out a long breath before raising a careful eyebrow at you, “How long has it been going on?”

You hummed, thinking, “I don’t know, noon?”

Dana grinned at you, “Looks like you’re about to have this baby, kid.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I still have two weeks.”

“Babies come when they’re ready, not when you are.” She chuckled.

You groaned. Adam, you really had to make an appearance now, huh? Couldn’t have waited a week and a half for when I started maternity?

You clenched your teeth, “Where’s my husband?”

“I just saw Robby head into Trauma-1.” Frank said as he passed, eyeing you warily. “You okay?”

“Baby Adam just decided he didn’t care about the plans I had, no biggie.”

“You better get used to that.” Frank said with a laugh.

You only rolled your eyes at him, trying to catch your breath after the contraction. You watched as Frank ran to grab Michael from the trauma room, and you mentioned to Dana it might be smart to call in someone to cover until the end of your shift. In one fell swoop, two ED doctors were about to be unavailable.

You tried not to feel guilty.

Michael exited Trauma-1, hiding his annoyance of being pulled away well enough, before he spotted you. His eyes flashed before he was jogging over to you, hand immediately going to your back.

“Sweetheart?” His cool mask had slipped, the one that kept everything between you two mostly professional while you were at work.

You squeezed his hand, “Adam has decided he’s ready to meet us.”

Michael’s eyes widened, gaze flickering between your belly and your face. “What?”

“Contractions edging closer to five minutes apart, for about a minute. They’ve gotten worse since noon.”

“Noon?” Michael yelled, though not at you, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly five! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were busy.” You said, “I thought it was just Braxton Hicks, like it’s been all month.”

“We were busy.” Michael echoed, tone disbelieving. “You were seriously—”

You hushed your husband as another contraction hit, clutching his hand tightly.

It felt like mostly a blur after that. You had gotten up to Labor & Delivery a little bit later, and Michael called a friend of yours to go get your go bag and baby bag to bring to the hospital.

As the contractions got closer, so did your desperation.

“Why did you do this to me, again?” You panted. “Jesus Christ, just get him out of me.”

Michael grinned at you, “Last I checked, you were the one begg—”

You swatted him away like he was nothing more than an annoying fly. “Michael Robinavitch, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking mildly amused, though he tried to contain his grin.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said a few minutes later, after another contraction, kissing your hairline.

“Trade with me?” You asked with a sly grin.

He chuckled, “I would in a heartbeat.”

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, trying to catch your breath, using the techniques you had learned in birthing classes.

“Now you say that.” You said, closing your eyes. “Wish you had said that before I went into labor.”

Michael kissed your forehead and rubbed circles onto your back. “Tell me what you need.”

You hummed, “I think I want to walk around. Might help.”

He helped you from the gurney to your feet, holding you steady. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned on him for support, swinging your hips from side-to-side. After breathing through a particularly bad contraction, Michael helped you walk back and forth across your room.

You breathed through each of them, taking them one at a time and trying not to get overwhelmed with how far you still had to go. Michael was steadfast beside you, nearly intuitively understanding what you needed when you needed it. Cold washcloth, soft caresses over your shoulders, squeezing your hips together while you leaned over the gurney, whispering encouraging words to you, or holding you close when the pain subsided.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, tone soft, standing behind you and swaying with you while you breathed in and out, arms wrapped around you. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Strongest woman I know. I love you so much.” He kissed your neck, moving to your jaw and then your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgement, though you kept your focus on breathing through the contraction.

A few agonizingly slow hours later and you were ready to push. You felt ready to cry, clutching Michael’s hand with a grip that rivaled a vice. He soothed you, kissing your forehead.

“You’ve got this. Push when you breathe out, come on,” he encouraged.

Part of you wanted to kiss him. The other wanted to throttle him.

During the next contraction, that was what you did, breathing out as you pushed. Slow, controlled, powerful. It ripped through you and you screamed.

You had once wanted to be dignified during your labor. You worked at this hospital and these people were more-or-less your colleagues, even though you did not always work with them directly. The thought of remaining composed now made you want to laugh.

“Alright, he should be out on the next push.” your OB told you, looking over to Michael. “Would you like to do the honors, dad?”

Michael’s eyes got glassy, though he looked at you. “I’ll stay right here if you need me to.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed out, mustering a smile. “I know you want to.”

He kissed you, before moving to assist your OB with delivering your son. Thankfully, she had been right, and it only took one more push before your son was in Michael’s arms.

Adam Robinavitch was finally here.

You cooed at him softly when he was laid on your chest, though he cried loudly — clearly upset to be anywhere else but your womb. You could hardly blame him, but you felt overwhelming joy finally holding him in your arms. Tears leaked from your eyes, a warmth cascading through your insides at the sight of him, at the feeling of his tiny hand on your skin.

Michael had his hand on your head, stroking your forehead softly with his thumb. His teary eyes remained, looking between you and your son with a soft smile on his lips.

Adam gurgled on your chest, making small noises to highlight his displeasure. You kissed the top of his head before letting your head fall back onto the pillow, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion.

“I love you.” You said, blinking through your fatigue to look at your husband.

“Thank you.” He whispered back to you, big brown eyes soft and warm as he held your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow.

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “For this life. For loving me. For giving me a chance. For bringing our son into the world. I don’t know why you decided to take a chance on an old guy like me, but I’ll forever be grateful that you did.”

Tears blurred your vision and you blinked them away, “Oh, Michael. I’m so grateful it’s you. Even before I knew it, it was you. It always has been.”

He kissed you tenderly, whispering ‘always will be’ against your lips.

—

Postpartum was no joke, and add in being new to motherhood? You were in the trenches. You were thankful Michael had gotten a decent amount of time off to be in the throes of it with you, but at times, it still felt like you were drowning.

You tried not to feel guilty when you knocked out on the couch or turned in early, leaving the brunt of night shift to Michael. He was an ever faithful partner, and never even flinched when you felt he was shouldering too much of it. All he asked was that you rest, heal and spend time with Adam.

He took time in the mornings for himself, even started seeing a therapist via Zoom and you could see it helping. His shoulders seemed lighter and it created healthier habits for when he went back to working.

Michael’s first shift back did not come home with him, though you knew it was not likely to always be that way. Not when harder patients hit, or major casualties, but you hoped the things he was learning in therapy would help him whenever that day came.

You were rocking Adam back and forth, trying to get him to fall back to sleep, humming a lullaby softly. You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, tired smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey, my love,” you said lowly, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not stir your baby, who still would not fall asleep. “How was your shift?”

He gave a small shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

You raised a careful eyebrow at him, but didn’t push. “I think Adam missed his daddy.”

Michael stepped into the room, walking until he was beside you, looking at your son in your arms.

“Yeah?”

You made a small noise of agreement, moving to hand him over. As he stirred, Adam opened his eyes to look up at his father, their eyes complete mirrors of each other. It was undoubtedly one of your favorite features that he had inherited from Michael.

“I think he likes your lullaby much more than mine, actually.” You said, kissing the top of your son’s head.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, is it buddy? No, mommy’s lullabies are the best.”

Despite having a tough day of your own, your heart warmed. You leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, staring down at Adam and rocking side-to-side with Michael’s movements.

Perhaps this was a healing all its own, in the quiet of your son’s room, just the three of you.

—

Mother’s Day came shortly after you got off maternity leave, and while it was nice to return to work, you missed Adam. It was nearly painful. But all your co-workers made it feel like a second home.

Dana and McKay were happy to swap baby stories with you, while Langdon attempted to give you and Michael tips. You seemed more receptive to it than your husband was.

You had decided that for your first Mother’s Day, you wanted the day off to spend with your son. Michael also ensured he had off, and let you sleep in. It was peaceful to wake up to a quiet house.

Michael brought you breakfast not long after you woke, and you showered him with kisses in gratitude. It really was the little things.

“I have a full day planned,” he told you, sitting beside you in bed, sipping a cup of coffee. “Slow morning, then when you’re ready, we’re gonna go out.”

“Out?” You questioned. “Care to be more specific?”

A sly grin formed on his face. “Nope.”

You scoffed, but you were smiling.

Sometime after noon, Michael was packing a lunch bag while you got changed, curious to see what he had planned. He got Adam ready, and you met him at the car with an eyebrow raised. He only smiled at you.

It was easy enough to guess what he was up to once you pulled up to the park. It was a beautiful spring day, and you enjoyed the little things — a picnic in the park with your family of three was perfect. Not too complicated, or required too much effort from you, and it was simple enough that you weren’t worried about Adam fussing too much.

You relaxed on the picnic blanket, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin, the warmth sending a happy buzz through your system.

Adam was only four months, but he took in the world around him eagerly. He was beginning to roll over with only a small amount of assistance, and he clapped his hands when he was excited, babbling nonsense.

It seemed like such a short amount of time since he had been born, but he was already beginning to grow far too quickly for your liking.

Michael kept Adam entertained while you read a bit, before you ate together. Michael really had quite the spread, aside from the sandwiches, he also had fruits and cheeses and crackers and your favorite chocolates.

“This is exactly what I needed.” You told him. “Thank you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, “You think this is it?”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He only smirked.

You discovered when you got home that Michael had hired a babysitter for that night. He said he wanted to take you out to dinner, and an excitement thrummed through you. You and Michael had barely had any alone time since Adam came into your lives, and while you enjoyed all the time you got with your son, you knew a night out with your husband would be good for you.

The restaurant he had picked? It was where you had had your first date.

A quaint little Italian place, and you nearly cried when you pulled up to it. It was not fancy or lavish, but it meant the world to you.

“Thank you for today.” You said, sipping your drink, trying not to cry in the middle of the restaurant.

He grabbed your hand on the table and ran a thumb over your knuckles. “You deserve it, sweetheart. You’re the best mom Adam could ever ask for, and I always want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

Your face heated, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Conversation flowed easily, and it was nice to be able to feel normal again — not just a mom, or a doctor, just you. It made your chest feel lighter. The topic eventually leaned back to Adam, and the fact that you missed him.

“We can take dessert to go.”

You smiled in relief, “Yes, please.”

On the ride home, you intertwined your fingers with Michael’s.

“So…any thoughts on another one?” You ventured quietly, a teasing smile on your lips.

Michael choked on an intake of air, “What?”

You laughed, “Eventually. Maybe. I don’t know. Just popped into my head.”

“Give a guy a little warning next time.” He chuckled.

“Consider yourself warned.”

He squeezed your hand, “Do you want another?”

You shrugged even though he was looking ahead at the road. “I don’t know. Adam’s still so little, but he’s also already so big, you know? I already miss how little he was. I wouldn’t be opposed in a year or so, but I wouldn’t be upset if we just stuck with one.”

“So…possibly another?”

“What do you think?” You asked instead of answering.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh, “I’m not getting any younger, I’d like to watch Adam grow up, go off to college. If we decided to, I wouldn’t want to wait too long.”

“So possibly another?”

You could hear the smile in his voice, “Possibly another.”

—

Father’s Day came with another day off, Michael wanting his first to be spent at home as well. You knew these kinds of holidays might need to be sacrificed in the future, so you were grateful that at least your first of each would be spent at home.

Knowing Michael, you knew he wasn’t one to want much fanfare, so you planned most a day in. From breakfast and lunch, to a few nice things to grill for dinner. It was mostly about spending time together, and you were happy to supply it. The details of his present sat in a card on the dining table, a cabin rented in the Poconos to fish with enough room for Jack and Jake to tag along (both had already agreed).

The day turned into a well deserved relaxing day, though you could see how much Michael was enjoying spending some time off with his family.

After dinner, you handed Michael the card, Adam in your lap. You bounced your legs, making car noises with your mouth, making him giggle and clap. You heard Michael open the card and silently he read over it.

“Jack and Jake already took off, and I worked something out with your shifts, you’ll be all set.”

He blinked at you before he was out of his seat and kissing your face, making you giggle. Adam squealed in your lap, clapping more eagerly while he babbled at his dad.

“This is…thank you.”

“You haven’t taken any time to go back up there in a really long time.” You shrugged, knowing he used to try to get away more frequently earlier on in your relationship. Sometimes you tagged along, but you thought a boys weekend away was just what the doctor ordered (you, you were the one who ordered it). “Soon you’ll have to bring Adam with you.”

Michael grinned, looking down at his son. “You’ll love it, I can show you how to…”

You watched Michael excitedly explain fishing to your son, who watched him with big brown eyes, mesmerized.

You put Adam down to sleep sometime later, before joining your husband in the living room. You curled up next to him.

“Thank you for today…it was very needed.”

You kissed his cheek, “You’re an amazing father, you know that? I’m incredibly thankful for you.”

He pulled you closer and kissed your head. You turned in his grasp and kissed his lips, moving into his lap to kiss him deeper. Michael responded instantly, one hand going behind your head and the other going to your hip.

The first time you had been intimate after giving birth to Adam had been a process riddled with your insecurities. Michael kissed his way through each one and took his time, like he was relearning your body. It took an incredible amount of pressure off your shoulders, and you revealed in his touch.

Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tongue licking along his bottom lip. His grip on you tightened, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Warmth pooled in your abdomen, and you moved your leg to straddle him.

His fingers ghosted over the skin of your hips, making you shiver. He moved a hand up your torso, grabbing at your flesh and you moaned into his mouth. You moved your hips down to find some sort of friction. A groan echoed low in Michael’s throat, and the sound set you on fire.

Michael had you up and on your back on the couch in a swift motion, settling between your hips. You pulled at the hem of your shirt until he helped you pull it over your head. He kissed down your neck and across your torso, moving lower until your head buzzed with pleasure.

You felt like your body was thrumming under his touch and you lost yourself in it. It wasn’t long before all of your clothes were scattered across the living room, Michael back between your hips.

He whispered his love for you against your skin, and proved it with each slow drag of his hips, until you were a moaning mess under him, a blinding heat overtaking your senses. He was everywhere, feeling so full of him, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, blissed out and overwhelmed with all the warmth swirling around in your chest.

Michael came with a few low grunts, groaning against your throat before pulling you into a rough, sloppy kiss.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, panting with him, foreheads touching. You leaned up to languidly kiss his lips again. He brushed a thumb across your cheek. He kissed along your cheek and nose, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle. You lightly pushed him away.

“Get off me, old man.”

An eyebrow rose, “Old man, huh? This old man can make you come again, if you—”

You laughed, “Get off.”

He moved his head in such a way that the softest touch of his beard ran along your neck and your face, making you squirm. The sensation was incredibly ticklish.

“Alright, alright, I yield. I yield!” You laughed again, turning your face away from him. “You’re not even that old anyways.”

He laughed and kissed your cheek, moving to sit back on his haunches. He looked down at you with a soft smile.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, “If you’re gonna keep looking at me like that, I might have to take you up on your offer.”

A sly grin spread across his lips, “Yeah? Thought I was an old—”

You reached up for him, “Just get back down here, Michael.”

He laughed, but complied.

—

A rare quiet morning was always a welcomed thing in your household, slow and lazy. With the hectic reality you both faced at work, you had begun to cherish these days. Adam on his playmat, you and Michael sitting on the couch eating breakfast and enjoying the company of each other.

When Michael came back into the kitchen from taking a shower, you had Adam sat in his highchair. You had a spread of paints and a canvas print sat on the dining table, a handful of newspapers protecting the wood from any mess.

Michael looked over it all with a face drenched in curiosity.

“Care to fill me in? What’s all this?” He looked over all the paints, raising an eyebrow at you. “This a new hobby, or something?”

You shrugged, “Not quite.”

He stayed silent and waited for you to elaborate, but you were messing with a few different colors, mixing them on a paper plate.

“Blue or red?” You asked.

“...blue?”

You handed him a paper plate with blue paint.

He stared down at it, “Do you want me to..?”

You looked at him and smiled, “Put your right hand in it.”

“Right, right. Of course. Logically, that was my next step.”

You chuckled, “I thought it could be a cute art piece for Adam’s room. Your hand, my hand and his in the middle.”

A softness warmed his face, and then he did as you asked. You pulled over the canvas print for him to put his now paint covered hand on. You handed him a damp paper towel when he was done. You dipped your hand into the red paint and copied your husband, so that your hands mirrored each other.

Adam seemed thrilled to be involved when you dipped his hand into the purple paint you mixed, placing his hand between both handprints you and Michael had left. You wiped his hand off and gave him a kiss on the head.

“It’s perfect.” Michael said in your ear.

You pulled him close, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You stared down at the little art piece of your handprints, your heart swelling at your little family you and Michael had carved out for yourselves. Even amidst the chaos, you had found your home.

“Always?”

“Forever.”

No matter what you two faced, you knew it was a promise you would both keep.

FIN.

All Dr. Robby content taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph

Robby deserves only good things. This brought me back to the layout I did for A Lesson in Firsts and omg it was another great journey.

Damn, s1 of The Pitt is over. What am I going to do with myself?? Write a lot? Probably

Also?? Heartbeat has over 1k notes?? That’s insane, thank you guys so much🥺🥹

[sunsburns]

clark kent, who just loves to stare at you (18+)

he just thinks you’re so pretty. a view worth risking everything for.

and you think he’s pretty too—especially like this. his lashes flutter, eyes lidded but never closing, even as they well up, clouded with heat and desperation. his brows knit together, a deep crease forming between them, like he’s struggling to make sense of the pleasure, to keep himself tethered when all he really wants is to fall apart for you. his lips part on soft, shuddering moans, the kind he doesn’t bother holding back, doesn’t want to—he wants you to hear him, to know exactly what you’re doing to him.

his fingers thread into your hair, holding you there, tugging just a little whenever you take him deeper. you can feel the tension in his grip, the barely-there restraint as he fights the urge to pull you down, to chase the wet heat of your mouth. and then—

he whimpers.

a grown man, six-foot-whatever, broad and powerful in every sense of the word, whimpers at the sight of you gagging around his cock. and fuck, it makes something in you tighten, makes heat pool low in your stomach. you let him slip from your mouth, just enough to catch your breath, and watch how his eyes go wide, unfocused, his chest rising and falling like he’s forgetting how to breathe. you press a kiss to the flushed, sensitive tip, slow and deliberate, and he shudders—actually shudders—his grip tightening in your hair.

your lips trail down, tracing every thick vein along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him before you work your way back up. never breaking eye contact. never letting him look away.

shit, you’re so pretty like this. he doesn’t want to look away.

and you don’t want him to, either. but you do love those fleeting moments when the pleasure overtakes him—when his head tips back suddenly, baring the length of his neck and throat, every muscle tensing under his flushed skin. you see the mess of bruises you’d left there, dark and blooming against his fair complexion. his jaw clenches, stomach going tight as his hips jerk forward, uncontrolled, needy.

yeah, you love to see him like that. that split-second loss of control before he drags his head back down again, like he physically can’t stand not looking at you.

there’s a tear slipping down his cheek now, his glasses fogged and slipping down his nose. his bottom lip trembles, wet and kiss-swollen, and then he’s muttering your name, voice thick with devotion and wrecked with pleasure. soft, sweet nothings spill from his mouth, each one punctuated by a moan, a whimper, a stuttered plea—

and then, breathless, ruined, he warns you he’s close.

[decaffeinatedpartymuggoop]

My favorite thing about Annabeth is her wardrobe.

Cause like, Rick simplifies her clothes in a way a man would, and you can tell.

Cause in EVERY book, from The Lightning Thief to Chalice, she’s in the goddamn CHB shirt. With like some shorts or cargo pants. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’s made improvements over the years, giving her some other clothes. But he’ll always come back to old faithful.

Like, he most definitely did it on accident, but he made her so Adam Sandler and I love it

[kechiwrites]

wake up; reader getting fucked from below by neighbour!Simon who keeps your hands pinned behind your back while he bullies the thickness of his cock inside you, just a little too deep. All too happy to let you drool on his shoulder as he drives into you again and again, watching the reflection of your ass bouncing heavy and fast over his lap on the black screen of your television. Scarred and tattooed arms sinking into your sides, anchoring you to him, implacable, insatiable. He was only supposed to pick-up a package mistakenly delivered to your front door, too heavy for you to bring it over yourself. Only supposed to have 'a cuppa, if you have it, pet.' Only supposed to take a kiss, soft, fleeting. Only supposed to 'touch it, over yer clothes, promise.' Only supposed to rub against the outside, slotting his ruddy, leaking tip between the already soaked lips of your pussy. Only supposed to pull out, come against the curve of your ass.

But Ghost can be neighbourly, he can go above and beyond. If it's for you.

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

[leonardcohenofficial]

lmao i know this is so low stakes but i do not know how to explain to people that the man from midcentury television you are obsessed with is almost definitely not in fact queer coded, you are reading a character through a queer lens

[scealaiscoite]

reasons for there to be only one bed ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

¹⁾ they’re undercover as a married couple, and as such need to act like one

²⁾ there’s technically two beds available, but it’s freezing cold and everybody knows body heat works best

³⁾ it’s a camping trip, and one character’s forgotten their sleeping bag

⁴⁾ a character goes to their friend’s house after an emotional upheaval in search of comfort, and ends up staying the night - but refuses to kick the homeowner out of their own bed, resulting in the two of them sharing it

⁵⁾ in a roommate scenario, one character’s bedroom has been rendered unusable - and with the couch being unsustainable in the long run, they proffer sharing the one remaining bed as a solution

⁶⁾ there are two beds, but only one blanket

⁷⁾ a character’s taken ill, and the other party worries too much to leave them alone for even a minute

⁸⁾ in a fit of anger after a mission gone wrong, both characters sleep in the only available bed because no one was chivalrous to offer to take the floor

⁹⁾ a character’s had a nightmare, and needs company to feel safe enough to go back to sleep

¹⁰⁾ the weather takes a tumultuous turn, meaning a late night hangout has to turn into a sleepover when a character gets stranded there for the night

¹¹⁾ it’s a late night at work and when they both grow too tired to continue on, the only option is the lone office couch

¹²⁾ a threat’s been made against one/all character(s) involved, and so under the guise of safety in numbers it’s deemed safest if they stay together - everywhere

¹³⁾ one character joins the other for a late-night conversation, and ends up getting comfortable in their bed next to them - evidently too comfortable, as the char in bed falls asleep on the visitor and effectively traps them there

¹⁴⁾ there’s no bed in the shoddy refuge they’ve found after things went sideways, so when it comes time to sleep the only real choice is to stay close together

and, of course,

¹⁵⁾ it’s the last room available at the hotel after a long trip

[inkskinned]

i wrote an interactive poem for my girlfriend in 3 parts. she said you need to read it.

go here: take only the final quiz or take all 3. i don't mind. it's sad, though. this is a poem about choice. about fate and mental illness and how love fits inside of all of it. this is a poem about a long dark hallway. mostly this is a poem about mango sushi rolls.

good luck. i love you. despite it all, i'm hopeful.

[choccorin]

thinking about suguru having tattoos and him letting you turn him into your human coloring book. you'll color the dragon on his arm with the new makeup palette that he bought for you, coloring each scale skin with a different color, mostly pastels. you allow him to choose some colors, but get pouty when he chooses dark shades, making him chuckle and choosing another one. other than makeup, you also use markers—which he also bought for you— to define the lines and draw little doodles, like sparkles and hearts, or a pink bow to make the dragon look “coquette”. he doesn't like how the glitters get everywhere, even after wiping it off, and how hard it is to wash the markers off, but anything for his adorable sweetheart.

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ roommate johnny 'soap' mactavish - 02

cw : sexual theme

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤ collection - prev ⋆ next

anyone would have thought that after you almost broke his nose, johnny would have learned to at least warn you when he was coming into a room. but all those people didn’t know johnny. as much as he could be the most professional person you knew, he could also be the biggest man-child to have ever graced this earth.

his new amusement was to scare you off any chance he got. you’d come to realize that, for all his loudness, he could be eerily quiet when he wanted to be. to be honest, johnny mostly loved to observe you, without you knowing. what could he say? you were one of the most beautiful lasses he had seen in his life. he also knew you found him attractive, which was why the flirting hadn’t stopped.

johnny was not a pusher. if he had noticed you were absolutely disgusted by him and his body, he would have stopped his advances and let you live your life. the problem was that your eyes lingered on his arms, his pecs, his abs, his v-line, his thighs… he had seen it. he'd give it to you, to untrained eyes, you checking him out would have been mostly invisible. sadly for you, part of his job was to notice everything. so he kept the flirting. if anything, it became constant.

more and more, every time he left his room, johnny had the tendency to be less dressed than before. you asked him, a lot, to at least put a shirt on, but he refused, pretending that he ran hot. it was the middle of winter, how could he be that warm?

the final straw had been when you'd invited some of your girlfriends over, having a night in, eating junk, and gossiping about old friends. you had asked him if he was okay with it. his answer had been simple, 'it's yer place as much as mine, lass.' so if he knew your friends were over, why the fuck did he appear in the middle of the living room, only wearing his boxers, asking if he could borrow some of your laundry detergent?

before he could say anything, you grabbed his arm, pulling him angrily toward the kitchen and slamming the door behind both of you. it felt like deja vu, but you were lecturing him about wearing proper clothes when people were visiting and so many other things that johnny had already forgotten. he hadn't been concentrating on what you were saying but rather on your breasts. who could blame him? you liked to talk with your hands, making them jiggle. he was just a man, after all.

"aye, everythin’ in the wash, bonnie," was the only apology you got.

after that, you had a very painful and long conversation with your friends, explaining to them that no, you were not sleeping with your roommate. no, you didn't know why he was shirtless. yes, you found him attractive, but it wasn't like that. and judging by their faces, they didn't believe you at all. that night, they all left, telling you that with a specimen like that under your roof, you could have a lot of fun.

you didn't know it, but johnny had heard everything, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. he was so close to his goal. of course, he wanted you in his bed, but he wanted so much more than that. when he wasn't flirting with you, johnny had actually gotten to know you. you were so bloody interesting, and passionate about what you did. you were everything he was looking for to finally settle down.

johnny never believed in god. after all the things he'd seen during his life, he didn't think a higher power was looking down at him. but the very moment the electricity got cut off in your flat, he swore god was real. no power meant no heater, and the nights were really cold in scotland. he also knew you couldn't live without your heater on, always cold, his sweet birdie.

so he waited, gently in his room, like a puppy waiting for his treat. after about twenty minutes, he heard your door open. had he been a real puppy, his tail would’ve been wagging so fast. a soft knock was then heard on his door. when you entered, you couldn’t see anything. johnny liked to sleep in total darkness, while you always let a bit of light from the blinds into yours. irritated, you asked him if his heater worked.

"na, but i know somethin' thon could warm ye up," he suggested. you could hear the smirk. you regretted it the moment you asked what. "guid auld johnny."

that's how you had found yourself in his bed, all the blankets in the flat on the both of you. you were lying close to each other, and god, he was a furnace. how could someone be that warm without being sick? compared to him, you were ice. and johnny was dead set on making you melt, apparently.

"take the sweater off, lass," and at first, you thought you hadn't heard him correctly, but he added. "body heat can heat ye up right quick, it's common knowledge, aye."

now in just a tank top and some shorts, this felt like deja vu. johnny had never been happier. you were so close to him, and he was just thinking about the best way to approach you without ruining his chances forever. he slid slowly toward you, cuddling up to you. when had he taken his shirt off? did he even have a shirt?

you didn’t know how to react. you were getting warmer, but it wasn’t fast enough for you. at the same time, the feeling of johnny’s body glued to yours, one of his legs between yours, sent a warm feeling through your entire body. it was going to be hard to fall asleep, wasn’t it? trying to relax your body, you closed your eyes, trying to imagine you were alone in your bed with a very big, strong, warm pillow behind you.

it worked, until you woke up in the middle of the night, and you were freezing. how was it possible? johnny was pressed behind you, and still in your drowsy state, you didn’t register the hard thing pressing softly against your lower back. feeling around, you couldn’t reach any of the blankets—did johnny throw them off? with how warm his body was, you figured he must have been sweating at some point. but now, you were cold.

you started squirming a bit in johnny's grip, trying to escape his arms. for sure now the power was back on, you could go back to your room, with your blanket and your heater. the movement woke johnny up. "staid air gluasad, till air ais gu cadal," he murmured into your neck, his voice and accent thick with tiredness. at your soft "what?", it registered in his brain that, in his sleepy state, he had spoken a language you didn't know.

"stop moving, birdie," he then said, a bit more awake. moving his hips against yours, he added, "ye're no gaun'ae like the consequences." your soft moan was the only thing his brain needed to be fully awake. oh. his moment had come.

slowly, one of his hands made its way between your thighs, feeling you over your shorts. the other one was already massaging one of your breasts. "ye cauld, sweet girl? dinnae worry, johnny's 'bout tae warm ye up."

and god, did he warm you up in the best way possible.