28 / Basically treading this Blog as my own little Library about my favourite fictional Men 📚☀️ 18+ ONLY! English is not my first language, so please be kind 🩷
✶ pairing | jack abbot x f!reader, michael robby robinavitch x f!reader
✶ word count | 2.4k for part 01
✶ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (f receiving in this part), face sitting, undefined age gap, switching pov, begging, dirty talk, pet names, enthusiastic pussy eating, edging, orgasm control, squirting, threesomes, sharing is caring, porn with emotion, porn with plot, mild angst, wet n messy, desperate, robby has a crush on abbot's girl, undefined relationship, praise kink, part 02 is going to be all smut
✶ summary | Paris is lovely this time of year, isn't it?
✶ notes | aka alternatively titled call me eiffel. un-betaed atm. part 02 will be up sometime over the next few days. i tossed in a yes chef reference lmao. dedicated to my lovely sister @pulseistacky~
From slogging through medical school together before he enlisted to quick blink-and-you-miss-him encounters, Jack Abbot was a constant in Robby's life. The Holmes to his Sherlock, the Jim West to his Artemus Gordon: the dynamic duo tasked with wrangling the Wild, Wild West that was the PTMC.
And while they were close in age, in addition to sharing a love of complaining about how technology ruled the world and Mayo Clinic articles rotted the brains of their patients, Jack was several years younger, hovering on the cusp of over the hill but not quite — not yet.
As such, he deferred to Robby's seniority when the matter called for it much like how Robby preferred to yield to Abbot's judgement when situations got a little too personal.
Not only was Abbot a widowed combat medic who might as well have been a chef in another life, he attended a weekly yoga class, and surrounded himself with a regular circle of friends — albeit small as it was.
Meanwhile, Robby was just... Robby.
His diet consisted of burnt coffee and cheap freezer meals, the extent of his exercise regiment (if you could call it that) was walking to the PTMC for his shifts, and the last time he got laid — let alone went on a date with someone — ChatGPT didn't exist.
So when Abbot approached him after yet another unscheduled shift with a smirk, rattling a can of beer and motioning towards the park, he followed. A little buzz and bullshitting between old friends was far preferable to the stale silence waiting for him at home.
The world ground to a startling halt, and Robby choked on a mouthful of beer. Shamefaced — floundering — flustered.
Leaning against the bench with a mean spirited smile, Abbot looked as nonchalant and unbothered as ever. Like he hadn't just asked him how long he's wanted to taste his cute, questionably young girlfriend-not-girlfriend's sweet pussy — how hard he came when he imagined fucking her until she cried.
Then he propositioned him. Said it was your idea.
But it couldn't have been — not completely — not if the impish glint in Abbot's eyes was any indication. Robby must not have been the only one who noticed the way you looked at him. Those coquettish blinks and considering once overs; the soft giggles and shy smiles (that kiss tucked in the corner of your mouth a secret he longed to unearth).
This seemed like a terrible, world-ending-friendship-ending joke.
"What, uh, what're you — I— Jack…"
"Don't worry, brother," Abbot reassured, his voice low and rough with amusement. "Nothing wrong with lookin'. Besides, I don't mind if it's you. She's been eyein' you up lately too."
Oh, what the fuck.
Abbot scratched his jaw. "That said, I'm not gonna let you fuck her but…" He trailed off with a shrug.
"But?" Robby parroted, mouth dry and tacky as he struggled to swallow. His heart thundered in his ears, his hands shaking where they clasped the aluminum can like a lifeline. "What're you saying, Jack?"
"My mother taught me how to share — within reason." His eyes glinted beneath the jaundiced glow of the lamppost. A flash of his teeth like the grinning maw of a wolf before it gobbled you up. "Whaddya say? I think it could be fun."
Robby opened his mouth to respond, words molasses thick.
Time contracted, constricted.
Robby stumbled to Abbot's house in a haze.
Jittery with anticipation — with dread — a great, awful churning in his stomach. He worried he might puke as his heart threatened to burst out from beneath the cage of his ribs and tumble to the ground with a sickening wet splat.
Was Abbot really okay with this — was Robby?
After months of fantasizing — of stripping his cock raw to the thought of how soft and wet your pussy was — of blowing his load as he imagined the exact pitch of your moans and the taste of your cum — could he go back to business as usual once it was over?
But then he was being ushered inside and there was no more time to overthink. The lock sliding into place rang through the entrance, a noose around the neck. Final. No going back.
This was a mistake. Maybe if he was quick enough...
Robby swallowed, hands flexing by his sides.
Before he could bolt, you sashayed into the room graceful and collected. Greeted them both with a coy smile and playful waggle of fingers. His thoughts dissolved like incense smoke, curling through the air in wispy tendrils as his awareness narrowed in on you.
"Hi boys," you said, then nodded towards Robby, "I'm glad you decided to join us."
How could I say no?
Only your attention — blinding as the sun — didn't last because once you got close enough, Abbot pounced.
He reached for you, his strong arms pulling you into his chest as you wasted no time in winding a hand over the nape of his neck, fingers delving into disheveled curls.
Robby's stomach swooped at the wet smack of your mouths meeting in a filthy kiss, your softness yielding to the greedy pulls of Abbot's lips as he tangled your tongues together. Then your eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring into your soul, enraptured and unable to look away as you licked your way into another man's mouth.
So pretty with your mouth slack and eyes half-lidded — blissed out and needy. If this was how sensitive you were from a kiss, how would you be with a dick shoved deep inside your tight little cunt?
... Is this what you looked like when you came, cum-drunk and half-conscious?
Hapless, he watched as the tip of your tongue — wet and glittering beneath the light — traced the seam of Abbot's lips. His blood thrummed hot and heavy in his veins; a pounding pulse. Envy hooked behind his navel, sharp and unwelcome, as he choked on his breath.
Fuck.
His cock jolted against his thigh, and he couldn't help but think about forcing you to your knees so he could stuff your mouth full, that slick muscle lapping kitten soft along his shaft and bathing his balls until they dripped with spit.
Wished, not for the first time, it was him you clung to so desperately — the one you dug your nails into as you gasped.
Distraction!
He needed a distraction.
— There.
Across the room a strange piece of art hung slightly askew. All bold, impressionistic brush strokes and muddled blobs of color; it no doubt cost Abbot a criminal amount of money to obtain. Though from a certain angle the painting looked like something done by an angry toddler. Fit for the fridge, but not the wall.
If he had to guess, he'd say it was your doing.
Goddamnit.
There he went thinking about you again; a never-ending cycle. One that plagued him since he met you all those months ago, running through his mind like a broken record player: you, you, you.
Before he spiralled further into hysteria — the wet smacking of your mouths and heavy exhales dripping down his spine like candle wax — a hand settled over his forearm. The soft touch tugged him from the depths of his thoughts.
"Come on," you said, leading him (weak-kneed and jelly limbed) into the bedroom, "let's get comfortable, Baby."
Under the guidance of your gentle palms and peppered kisses, he stipped naked and settled flat on his back. His fingers fisted in clean sheets as the sea-salt bite of Abbot's cologne and something distinctly warm and musky — feminine — clogged his nose. Made his cock chub up until it throbbed, pre-cum oozing down the shaft in thick, sticky strings that pooled in the soft divot of his belly.
"Just relax, man," Abbot said. He disrobed, prosthetic leaned against the side table, and slotted himself into place in front of the headboard. Plush pillows cushioned his back as his thighs stretched out across the mattress, the toes of his left foot flexing. "She doesn't bite unless you ask nice."
Then you were slinging your leg over his body, knees anchored around his shoulders with your pussy hovering over his face; pretty folds spread wide and slick with arousal. He almost went cross-eyed, hissed out a low curse between clenched teeth. Struggled to keep his hands to himself (you didn't say he could touch, not yet) when your clit throbbed.
But fuck, he wanted to feel you pulse and quiver on his tongue. Smother him as you soaked him in your cum until he went light-headed and dizzy. "Please," he murmured. "Want to taste you."
Your hand reached between your thighs to pet at his face, lowered your hips until you sat flush against his mouth. Soft, warm, salty, sticky; smearing across his skin.
You sigh, "Robby."
He moaned, his mouth dropping open to pant against your pussy as the vibrations of his noise riccochetted up your spine. Then your back bowed and your legs clamped down on the sides of his head, crushing his ears. Pressure built in his temples — the soft spots aching.
He didn't even care, so far gone the only thing he could focus on was the silken clutch of your body. His tongue snaked out, the tip drawling languid circles around the swollen bud of your clit.
With every high pitched whine and low, wounded whimper, he cared less and less about how he got here and more about when he'd feel you drench his beard in squirt (he knows you can — Abbot bragged the first time it happened and Robby'll be damned if he stops before you're absolutely dumb and dripping).
"Oh, f-fuck!" you said. "That feels —"
Lips whispered over the length of you, your folds surrounded by the wet heat of his mouth as he traced your drooling entrance, the slick muscle of his tongue thrusting shallowly — taunting, teasing — as it chased after the taste of your pussy. Fingers tightened around your squirming hips, shackles that refused to let you pull away.
"He feel good, baby," Abbot asked, "like his mouth on your pretty pussy?"
Your shoulders curled in as your hands shot out to find some stability on Abbot's thighs, nails digging into the dense muscle. "Mhm! Ah, s'good. Robby — don't stop. F-Faster."
What was that saying — can't teach an old dog new tricks?
Well, fuck that.
Robby might be old(er) but he'll prove to you how fast of a learner he was. Every press of his lips was an offering as his tempo increased, his tongue twisting and lapping over every inch of your slit faster and faster. Your body jolted with every talented flick and your clit pulsed between his lips when he sucked the hard bud into his mouth.
"Ohmygod, right there — yeah, yeah. Suck on my clit, please—please—please. You're making my pussy feel s'good, Robby, I can't— hng!"
Slick gushed across his lips and into his mouth as your hips rocked down onto his face. Fuck. He was lightheaded. Your scent — your heat — your everything surrounded him. Consumed him until his thoughts were weighted down. Sluggish to come and even slower to go.
Tiny little snapshots of what's happened and what more he wanted to do before the night was out; brain getting ahead of his body as more pre-cum spurted out across his pelvis, his hips rocking up futilely for the wet friction of your body.
Calm down.
Abbot chuckled, raspy and burning with arousal. "Yeaaah, you're feelin' it. You already look cum drunk and he hasn't even really started yet."
You whimpered, head dropping to hang between your shoulders. A flush of heat oozed down your spine, thready and thick like warmed honey. Spread between your hips and pooled behind your navel. Every nerve ending sparked to life. You shuddered as the friction of Robby's coarse beard rubbed you raw.
"Shit, you look so fuckin' good like this." Abbot pumped his cock in a loose fist, thumb teasing the swollen crown. His eyes laser focused on the pretty picture you made sitting on his best friend's face. He never thought he was one for sharing but… "Could watch him eat that pretty pussy for hours. Fuck," Abbot squeezed the base of his shaft, a pearl of pre-cum oozing out of the slit, "I just might have to get my own taste of you, huh."
You clenched, head spinning as your stomach swooped. Electricity crackled down your spine. The thought of that talented tongue in your pussy alongside Robby's eager lips kissing and sucking your clit, their tongues tangled together and playing in your slick as they made you cum over and over again until the sheets were drenched and you shook with pleasure almost ended you then and there.
"Please, want it - want it so, so much. Please."
Robby groaned, working his jaw side to side as he sucked and slurped and swallowed. He released your folds with a soft, sticky pop. Then pressed a tender, open-mouthed kiss to your pulsing clit to hear you whine. "Sh, it's okay," he said, moist breath ghosting over your slit. "I got you — m'not going anywhere. Gonna be so good to you, baby."
You hiccupped, a tear squeezing past your clenched eyes. "Please." You weren't sure what you were begging for but you needed something — anything to happen. You felt like you were about to burst out of your skin, bones rattling and nerves buzzing with barely leashed energy. "I can't."
Robby replied, "You can."
"See, Sunshine?" A hand cupped your jaw and tilted your face up. Your blurry gaze snagged on Abbot's. He devoured your expression, brushed a thumb over the slack give of your mouth. Tugged until your teeth showed. "You got us right where you want us."
Robby murmured in agreement, petting his hand over the outside of your hip as he nuzzled his nose into the crease of your thigh. Teeth nibbled their way down your inseam before retracing a path back up towards your center, little kisses of pain. Your hips wiggled and Robby buried his face as far as he could between your legs. The bridge of his nose ground into the top of your slit.
"O-Oh, fuck, Robby!"
You tried so, so hard to stay still — Abbot trained you well — but it was nigh impossible. Every messy flick of Robby's tongue felt like a live-wire. And once you started grinding down on his face, peeking between your thighs to see the flushed tops of his cheeks and fever-bright eyes, you couldn't stop.
"Hey now," Abbot interjected, "I'm starting to feel a little left out so why don't you put that pretty mouth to work and make me feel good too?"
part 02 dropping soon | feedback is always apprecaited
★word count: 2.6k
★description: you finally have a night off (ish) after a busy week of work. lucky for you, you can do whatever you want. unlucky for you, soap takes that to mean he can drag you (and the rest of TF141) to the pub. extremely fortunate for you, then, is the fact that simon riley is there to make it all better <3
★content: this is smut. don't like, don't read! MDNI! they get freaky in bed, consensual somno (it's not explicit, but i have written this as if it were consensual), established relationship (reveal at the end hehe)
roe speaks: i've recently been playing back through the cod games (again... i know...) and have been plagued with a simon riley fixation that i just can't shake off! also the green from the moodboard reminds me of the first mission in mw2 (2022) (the night vision). anyway, enjoy this post-gym fic i wrote up tonight <3 anyway im gonna go dream ab that picture on the right tonight teehee
You had a routine. The same old, usual bullshit - day in, day out. Monday to Friday, rest day on Saturday, prep day on Sunday. Sometimes, you'd give yourself a little leeway though, like tonight. After all, the rest of the team was out here for drinks too - so why not, hmm?
So here you are - in some random pub Soap had dragged you all to. Nursing a shitty beer, trying not to get your arms on the weird sticky surface every pub's tables had. It's loud (as it always is, on a Friday night), and you can barely hear yourself think. Gaz and Soap have been eyeing the karaoke machine for a while, leaving you all alone with Captain Price, making small talk as the two of you avoid proper conversation. Well… you're not really all alone.
The room shifts around you as he walks in - six foot four, towering over everyone as he swaggers over towards your table. You don't turn around (but then again, you dont need to. You know he's here), sipping at your beer as Price scoffs and shakes his head,
"Not how you drink that-"
"I know."
"And yet here you are, sippin' away like a baby."
"Fuck else am I supposed to do - tastes like shit, Cap."
"Can't deny that- Simon. Nice of you to join us."
His voice holds a consistent tone, until he acknowledges the other, a small inflection giving away his joy at seeing the still masked man. Price nods at him, and he nods back, taking a seat across from you. After he's finished his conversation with Price, he slowly turns to you - his eyes following after as he drinks you in.
The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment, both you and him know exactly how this night ends. But that's not an issue that either of you are willing to acknowledge at this point in time. As you have your slightly strange, very awkward moment, Price stands up and Gaz and Soap finally get their hands on the mics at the karaoke machine. He sighs, letting out an almost fatherly chuckle,
"Right then kids, steppin' out for a cig - don't call me unless you're dyin', or someone else's dyin', got it?"
..which was his own way of saying 'love you, but leave me the fuck alone tonight'. Neither you nor Simon stop him, watching him trail off and step outside. The two of you turn towards each other again, words tickling your tongues before you both think better.
One moment passes… and then a second… and a third, before you finally smile at him and get up, pointing towards the bar,
"I'm gonna go grab myself a new drink - can't stand this beer - you want anything?"
"I'm good."
"…cool…"
"…"
Your hips sway as you turn away from him, not realising how his eyes follow the way you move. Watching you as you order. There's something that tugs at him as he watches you giggle and play with your hair, leaning on the bar as you watch the bartender make your drink.
With their song finally over, both Gaz and Soap have had plenty of time to assess what's happening in front of them. And it's nothing short of a nuclear disaster, in their books! They pass their mics off onto the couple waiting patiently to sing after them, nodding to one another as Soap saunters over to Simon, and Gaz over to you,
"New drink, huh?"
"In my defence-"
"Shitty beer! Say less."
"Exactly! Ugh, why Soap insists on beers for everyone is.. beyond me."
"Some bullshit about it being the 'right drink', or something. So, whatcha drinkin' now?"
"Double Bells and coke."
He makes a low whistle, nodding appreciatively as he orders himself the same. As the two of you fall into a comfortable conversation, back at the table, Soap's just planted himself beside the not-so-stoic, struggling man,
"Lt!"
"Johnny."
"Preoccupied tonight, eh?"
"Never."
"I dunno Let, seems like ya mind's lost somewhere… perhaps on someone, even…"
"What're you tryna say, Johnny?"
"Nothing! Nothing…"
The two sit quietly (a stark difference to your and Gaz's bumbling gossiping away at the bar), hands shoved in pockets. It doesn't start out awkward, but with how Soap stares at him, and how the pub seems to suddenly feel so overpacked - he can't help but pull a face under the mask. He tugs off his jacket, letting his head roll back.
It's that exact moment that your eyes land on his stretched neck, watching how his Adam's apple bobs up and down and trying so very hard not to stare at the veins that colour his skin. You quickly tug yourself back into conversation, inhaling deep as you try to ignore what had just happened.
As both Gaz and Soap nod in some sort of success, Price walks back in - face dropped as he approaches the table. He turns to face Gaz and you, beckoning you over and then crossing his arms as he waits,
"Right. So. Our lovely Sergeants have fucked up their paperwork of the night - calling this lovely get together to a quick end. Unfortunately we'll just have to reschedule - understood?"
Both Sergeants moan and groan as Price practically drags them out of the pub. You miss the subtle wink he throws in Simon's direction, but don't miss the knowing eyebrow raise on his way out. Fortunately, that has brought a very awkward situation to an end… ish. Neither you nor Simon make any move to continue at the pub, leaving and catching the first bus back to your place. Despite all the places you had travelled, there was always a weirdly nostalgic feeling about Manchester at night. The slightly off-putting lights, the dinghy signs. Even better when slightly tipsy, riding a bus and stumbling back home.
As soon as the two of you stumble inside, you quickly fall into a well practiced rhythm - his hands pressing up against your waist, holding you up to the wall as he rips his mask off, and his lips find your neck. Your hands tangle into his dirty blonde hair, anchoring yourself to him as he lifts both of your legs and wraps them around his waist,
"Upstairs, now."
"So commanding - don't you get enough of that at work?"
"Oh, she wants sweet and soft tonight?"
"Hmmm… we'll have to see~"
He sighs, shaking his head as you wrap your arms around him, pressing kisses to the side of his face. As he walks the two of you into the bedroom, he lowers you onto the bed, and you elt your arms fall from him. Unlike before, there's no awkwardness as the two of you stare at each other. There's no weirdness between you as both you and him quickly strip down to nothing, as he lowers his own body - letting it loom over you and cage you in.
He can't deny how his cock twitches when you whine like that.
You take the moment, flipping him over as you take control (for now) (or does he let you take control?). He's briefly taken back, before he rolls his eyes, leaning against the headrest. One hand reaches out to flick on the nightlamp, casting a soft amber glow around the room and upon the two of you. And as the cold Manchester night rumbles on with winds and bursts of rain, the two of you finally bring yourselves together.
He runs a finger up your folds, before parting them, playing with the slick as you inhale sharply. Your hands find his shoulders and he moves his to your waist, helping you lower yourself onto him. You wrap your thighs around him, rocking back and forth as you slowly accomodate his thick length. His head drops to your shoulder, breathing in the scent of you as it mixes with his, and the sweet tang that begins to fill the room starts to waft in between. His eyes flit open as he groans, urging you to go faster,
"Patience, Simon-"
"Patience? Don't talk to me about bloody patience, love."
"What, the great Ghost can't practice a little restraint?"
"…"
"Awhh.. poor baby… sulking and sighing and-"
"Do you want to be in control?"
"Yes!"
"Do you want to stay in control?"
You roll your eyes but comply anyway, picking up the pace as you roll your hips up and down. His hands help, pulling and pushing your body. You tell yourself you're letting him help, but both you and him know it's not that. Still, you won't stop him - not when you feel so perfect, with his cock filling you in ways you had missed so desperately. Except right as it starts to feel like that, he stops. He holds your hips in place, pulling his cock out of you and ignoring your pathetic whines as he turns you around - facing the long, full length mirror in front of your bed as he pulls you back down onto him.
And now you're presented with the sight of you - legs wide open, back pressed against his chest as his mouth finds your ear, whispering softly,
"Sorry love - let me take over tonight, yeah? You can have another night."
"Not fair, Si-"
"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay - I'll make it up to ya."
"You better.."
He hooks his arms under your legs, lifting them up and practically folding you on his cock. Your hands rest on his arms as shaky breaths trickle out of your throat - he's so much deeper than he ever was before, reaching further into you as he thrusts in and out at a pace that you know will have you sore in the morning. The need for him begins to envelope you, a thick haze clouding your mind with thick, lustful mists. You try to claw at him, to anchor yourself to him, and your nails practically dig into his heavily tattoo'd arms. Not that he minds. He never minds.
"So pretty and fucked out f'me, huh? Don't pass out on me yet."
"I- o-oh, that's it, right th-there!! I wo-n't~!"
"Good girl."
"Oh!"
The validation has you clenching around him as he chuckles, slamming his hips into you faster as your body falls forward from him. The two of you move into a position that has his arms caging you in, pinning you down to the bed as your hips move back into his. Your back arches and you feel one hand lower to your stomach as the other trails further.
The one on your stomach presses down as he kisses your neck, speaking into your skin as vibrations rumble through your body,
"Feel that, right there? That's me, fillin' ya up."
"F-fuck, Si-"
"I know, baby. Gonna fill you, don't you worry."
You only moan in response, body slumping as he drives you closer and closer to your release. The other hand finds your clit, rolling slow circles whilst you try not to buck your hips back into his (and fail miserably). As you get closer and closer, your hands dig into the bedsheets below - tugging at them whilst your brain drives itself over the edge, filled with a maddening desire for him, him and only him. You make the mistake of looking up in the mirror, meeting your own eyes (overtaken by a hazy lust) before finding his own eyes. When you do, he slams into you one last time as you cry out - entirely overwhelmed as you shake in his arms, small whines and moans whispering out of your throat.
The two of you stay still for a while, with him whispering slow, sweetened praises into your ear as you bring yourself back to reality. He slides out of you - taking his time, letting both you and him enjoy every inch before repositioning you in bed. With you now on your back, he trails kisses down your body.
Your neck.
Your chest.
Your nipples - the very peaks, before swirling his tongue around both.
Your stomach, and finally all the way down to your folds - coated with cum. He holds your thighs apart, pressing down with his hands to ensure you won't close your legs around his head (not that he'd mind if you did) before licking one long, unhurried stripe up your folds - stopping at your clit. His mouth latches on, sucking at your clit with a vigour that you just can't match as you cry and grab at his hair. Your hips rock up into his mouth, overwhelmed by his expert ministrations.
But he doesn't slow down. Instead, he removes his mouth from your clit - replaced with three fingers that swipe over with a maddening pace - and moves to your folds. As his fingers work tirelessly over your aching clit, his tongue plunges in and out of you. He laps up each and every drop that leaks out of you, all as you writhe and shake underneath him. You're rolling your head back, pushing your hips into his face and he's chuckling and humming over your clit. The sensation sends shivers up and down your spine as you attempt to clench your thighs around his face - held back by his hands still pressing down. Still, you cum fast and quick on his tongue. He works through, swirling his tongue through your folds as he ruts himself into the bed below. His cock leaks onto the bedsheets, sure to ruin them as he grinds down to relieve himself, his mouth still pressed firmly against you.
The last thing you realise before you pass out from the sheer overwhelming nature of it all is how he spells his name out - one letter at a time - into you.
You're not sure how long he spent with his head between your thighs, but if previous nights were any indication to go by, he probably stayed there well past you passing out. All you know is that when you wake up to the sounds of birds chittering outside, wrapped up in the arms of the man you love so very dearly, you feel nothing but content. Your head rests on his chest as you lazily draw patterns into his skin - tracing over his tattoos, trailing your nails up his skin as he sleeps-
"Oi - quit it, you."
His voice holds no real malice, nor any actual wish for you to stop as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. In respose, you hum, pressing a kiss to his chest and looking up at him. Oh, how he missed your doe shaped eyes, staring up so peacefully back into his own soft blue eyes. One hand finds your back, drawing circles onto your skin as the two of you slowly wake up,
"Been a while, hmm?"
"Mmm."
"Si?"
"Yes, love?"
"When are we gonna tell 'em?"
"Who?"
"Gaz and Soap?"
"…"
"Simon…"
"I dunno, love.."
"It's been three years. I'm tired of pretending! It was funny at the time, only having Laswell, Price, Nik and a few others in on the wedding-"
He sighs, closing his eyes as memories of you in your dress, twirling around flood his memory. Only to be quickly replaced by memories of him practically tearing you out of the dress, pounding into you all night as-
"Simon?"
"Huh?"
"You zoned out?"
"Oh.. erm.. we'll tell 'em soon-ish?"
You roll your eyes, closing them again and letting yourself drift off to sleep. Whilst outside, as morning birds sang their songs and two tired Sergeants stumbled out of base (oh, if only they knew!) - desperately seeking a bed and sleep, in here, the two of you had made your own sweet paradise.
summary logan and hannah accidentally walk in on dean making out with his tutor.
contains suggestive content, making out, dean really likes reader's boobs, they get caught (shocker...), down bad dean, mutual pining wc 4k
a/n ive been too busy to sit down and write but this was so fun and silly to write!! likes and reblogs are appreciated :)!!
"I'm just tutoring him."
"That's what Hannah said," Allie states, tone laced with sarcasm. "Now look where she is."
You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the assumption, more so annoyed by the fact that she may be right, even if you don't want to admit it.
You've been tutoring Dean for the past two months, and what starts off as a horrible agreement that you regretted with your entire being turned into an anticipated two hours study that you now look forward to.
Ironic.
At first, you did it for the extra cash. It's easy money, you couldn't refuse the tempting offer when you were already struggling to get by with a part time job. Not only did it pay better, but it consumed less of your time.
It's a good deal, you couldn't pass it down when Dean was practically begging on his knees for you to accept it. He once sent over his hockey teammates just to cozy you up into accepting his offer, causing a whole humiliation ritual in the cafeteria while he watched from the side with puppy eyes and a pout formed across his lips.
It was a ridiculous sight, made you fume for days before finally calming down and eventually agreeing to help him. You regretted it in an instant, watching as a cocky, taunting smile smears all over his face, screaming at you to get away and avoid trouble.
But you didn't. Instead, you showed up, even if you dreaded it, and considered it the worst part of your day. In your defense, Dean is very annoying, and wouldn't take you seriously unless you flashed him a life-threatening glare that would end him in the spot.
He'd pretend not to understand things just to rile you up and make you scold him, almost as if he enjoyed it, amused by the way your face twists into a sour expression. Then comes apologizing, where his voice lowers into a whisper, and you'd fight the urge not to fold over the hushed apologies he mutters to you while tracing soothing patterns to your hand.
You don't know when, or how it starts, but the dreaded sessions suddenly turn into something you look forward to. Two hours oscillate into three then eventually four, until you both lose track of time, and forget the entire reason to you being there.
You hate it, how easy going he is, and how his dimples form when he flashes you a smile, or chuckles at a stupid joke you make just to earn a reaction out of him. Or how your stomach flutters with butterflies when he sits too close, or teases you with that taunting tone that makes you melt.
You hate how easy it is for him to be near you, when you're short of breath half of the time he's around. It's absurd how the compliments he gives you roll off the tongue, like it's natural for him, like he doesn't flirt with half of the girls on campus.
He probably thinks it's some joke, something that started and now you can't seem to get away from it. You know you shouldn't, this is Dean Di Laurentis, everyone knows he's trouble, and you shouldn't have let him cross your boundaries, or get to you with a few flirtatious comments, but somehow he did, and now you're in too deep to end things.
So the least you can do right now is deny it. Deny anything even happened, even though your friends can see right through your lies.
"Like I said," you start, "Nothing's going on between us, I'm simply tutoring him."
"Oh, for fuck' sake." Allie shoots back, "The whole campus thinks you're dating. You know how serious that is for Dean Di Laurentis?"
"It's just rumors, nothing more. People thinking we're together doesn't mean that we are." You mumble, rolling your eyes with offense. "You wouldn't catch me with Dean Di Laurentis even if my life depends on it."
"I call bullshit." Hannah chants from the side, shifting the attention to her.
"Hannah!" You shout, as Allie perks from her seat in agreement. "You're supposed to take my side, why are you feeding into her delusion?!"
"It's not delusion if everyone sees it," Hannah shrugs her shoulders, approaching your bed. "C'mon, I'm dating his best friend, that man never stops talking about you."
"You're lying," Allie gasps, scooting close to Hannah as she throws herself next to her. Her gaze shifts back to you, eyebrows pinching with frustration. "She never tells me stuff!"
"That's because nothing happens." You reason, exhaling with fake annoyance. "We're barely even friends, I doubt he thinks of me like that."
"Calling bullshit again," Hannah's head tilts towards you, not believing a word you muttered. "Have you seen the way that man speaks about you?"
"Stop it!" Allie slaps Hannah's side, excitment visible on her face. "Tell me about it! he mentioned her often?"
"She's all he talks about," Hannah turns back to Allie, ignoring your presence and pretending you're not even there. "Once he stayed by my side for an entire party just to ask about her interests."
"He did that?" You mutter, feigning oblivion to the teasing smile Hannah flashes you. "Okay, why are you talking as if I'm not even here?"
"Oh, come on you have to admit, he likes you." Allie chimes in, "I've never not seen Dean Di Laurentis not have sex at a party. What do you mean he gave that up just to talk about you?"
"Okay," you mumble, slightly convinced. You settle for shaking off that feeling, "That doesn't mean anything, he can, not have sex if he wants, how does that involve me?"
"I need to knock some sense into her," Allie huffs, falling back into the bed. "Do something, Hannah."
"I tried," Hannah pouts, joining Allie's side with disappointment. "She's such an idiot."
"Hey!" Your brows pinch with annoyance, as you sling your backpack over your shoulder. "Anyways, I'm leaving. Do you guys need anything?"
"Where are you going?" Hannah questions, sitting up along with Allie.
"I have a tutoring session with Dean." You reply.
"Oh my God." Allie says under her breath.
"Wait, I'm coming with." Hannah gets up, heading towards her room to grab her stuff.
"Are you going in that?" Allie questions, gaze flickering to the baggy shirt covering all your curves.
"What's wrong with it?" You ask, glancing down as you grab into the hems of it.
"Dress up a little, will you?" Allie groans, grabbing into you as she walks towards her closet.
"You're acting as if I'm going to a party." You mumble, face scrunching with confusion when she throws a pink, spaghetti strapped top over to you.
"Wear this." She orders, observing you with anticipation.
You don't argue, because doing so will only lead to more arguing, and Allie won't give up unless you admit defeat. Instead, you sigh, taking off your shirt and throw the soft material over your head.
It... complements you. Definitely not appropriate for a tutoring session, but you know exactly what Allie intents when she handed it over to you. It scrunches around your chest, showing a bit of cleavage, and it displays all your curves, curling at your waist, and showing the sliver of skin around your stomach.
Then, before you can argue, she throws a denim skirt in your direction, lips pressing into a a thin line as she waits for you to take off your pants.
You do. It's not like you really have a choice.
Your pants slide off your legs easily, soon replaced by the skirt she handed you, which complements the top well. It rests comfortably around your hips, the length of it reaching just below your inner thighs, covering enough for you to not pick a fight.
"I still don't think this is appropriate for a tutoring session." You start, admiring yourself in the mirror.
"Oh, shut it." She huffs, grabbing a necklace and a few bracelets for you to wear. "Here, put these on, I'll find you a pair of sneakers that match with your outfit."
"That's not needed!" You shout, but she ignores it as she digs deep into her closet, only coming back up when she pulls out a white pair of shoes, decorated with a bit of pink.
"Here." She offers them to you, waiting for you to put them on.
"What's taking you so–" Hannah's sentence cuts short as she stills in her spot, taking a moment to admire your outfit. "Oh."
"It's too much, isn't it?" You complain, ready to slide off your top.
But before you can proceed with your action, Hannah perks up again. "No wait!" she says, approaching you. "You look amazing."
"Hannah." Your lips form into a pout, shoulders relaxing with defeat.
"I'm not sure Dean can handle all that." Allie murmurs, checking you out with an amused expression spread all over her face. "You look so sexy, holy shit."
"You did your big one, Al." Hannah shoots back, fist bumping Allie with her attention still glued to you.
"So dramatic," you roll your eyes, failing to hide the smile smothered across your lips. "Should we leave?"
"Oh, yeah." Hannah nods, "We definitely should."
"Is it too late to go back home?" You anxiously look back at Hannah, who's a moment away from knocking on the door.
"Probably," Hannah shrugs her shoulders, glimpsing between you and the door. "Dean's expecting you any second now, Garrett said he's camping by the door for you."
"But–" You start, cutting your sentence short when Hannah sends you a death glare.
With no hesitation, Hannah knocks on the door, barely giving you time to process the gesture before the door's wide open.
Your eyes widen with shock at how quickly the door unlatches, gaze instantly shifting to Dean, whos eyes land on Hannah with a tight-lipped smile that displays his dimples.
"Wellsy!" He leans against the door, feighning surprise, as if he hasn't been waiting for your arrival for the past hour. His attention lands on you, breath cutting short when his eyes lock with yours. He mutters your name, deliberate, quiet, if you weren't paying such close attention, you would've missed it. "Hi."
"Hey."
Tension seeps into the air, and you're sure it's obvious in the way your body tenses, stilling in your spot as Dean's eyes travel from your head, all the way down your legs, then back up again. You fight the urge to come up with an excuse as to why you're dressed up today, but settled on silence when Dean huffs out a ragged breath, one he didn't know he was holding.
"I was waiting for you." He doesn't think when he speaks, mouth moving faster than his brain could process. He clears his throat, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as he realizes what he said, quickly correcting himself. "Since you're tutoring me. I wasn't sure if you wanted it to take place here, or maybe in the library, since–"
"You don't have to explain yourself," You nervously scratch the back of your neck, an awkward chuckle tumbling past your lips. "I'll make up for it, since I'm a bit late today, sorry."
"Oh, it's totally fine." He emphasizes the 'totally', nodding his head with comprehension. "Should we..." he trails off, stepping to the side. "Come on in."
"About time," Hannah rolls her eyes, walking past Dean into the house. He almost chuckles, face growing serious when you follow behind your friend, nervously fidgeting with yours fingers.
Logan perks up from the couch at the sight of you, tilting his head back as a sigh of relief escapes his throat. "Ugh, finally."
"Hi," you wave, chuckling even though you're confused. Dean closes the door, following behind you as you step up the stairs.
"I'm glad you're here." Logan states before you can disappear, continuing when your eyebrows pinch with confusion. "I've never seen someone this excited to study, he's mentioned you like a million times in the past hour alone."
"John Logan." Dean's tone laces with embarrassment, the threat barely heard through his gritted teeth.
"Oh, be nice to him," you joke, glancing towards Dean from over your shoulder, who's far too busy observing the way your hips sway back and forth to pay your gaze the attention.
The walk up the stairs feels like an eternity, but you eventually get to Dean's room, door instantly clicking shut once you're both inside.
Dean leans against the door, taking a moment to admire as you throw yourself on the bed, making yourself comfortable as you grab out your school stuff. Your head shoots up with confusion once you take notice, lips jutting into a slight pout as you utter your next words.
"Are you not sitting down?"
You ignore the tension cutting through when he flashes you a lazy smile, taunting, yet teasing, tugging at the strings of your heart and making your stomach flutter with butterflies. Your gaze flickers back to your supplies, taking a deep breath to get a hold of yourself.
Why's it so difficult to control yourself?
Dean doesn't say a word, simply walking over to you before he positions himself next to you. He sits close, too close you can smell his musky cologne that impales all your senses, and feel his breath as it lightly fans over your exposed arms.
You cut to the chase, starting your tutoring session like you normally do. Everything's going smoothly, and you're nearing the end of it, but something else is weighing down your chest.
You can clearly feel Dean's gaze on you, burning holes through your skin and flustering you into a mess. Your words stammer past your lips, and a deep breath drags out before you're fed up, finally looking up from the textbook. Your eyes shift to Dean, who's propped against his elbows, too comfortable to move, or take his eyes off of you.
"Someone's paying close attention." You tilt your head, tone filling with sarcasm. Dean laughs at the abrupt change of atmosphere, head leaning back for a moment before his eyes are on you again.
"For sure." He goes along with the 'joke', entertained by the sassiness laced in your voice.
"What did I just say?" You question, your words more of a challenge.
"Don't put me in the spot." He cooes, and if not for how annoyed you are, you would've folded in the spot.
"You're not paying attention!" You state, causing the boy to scrunch his nose with defeat.
"Alright, I'm sorry." He admits, barely earning a smile out of you. "I'll try to pay attention."
"And what's got your attention, Di Laurentis?"
"Something." He says, as he fidgets with the sheets covering the bed.
"And what would that something be?"
His gaze flickers to your cleavage, and it's swift, you would've missed it if you aren't paying such close attention. It's not on purpose. his face turns pale as soon as it happens, and he fight the urge to come up with an excuse as to why he looked, and why he did it right as you asked.
But you know. Deep down you know what's distracting him, and keeping him from paying attention.
"Oh." You mumble. It's barely coherent, but Dean still hears it, cursing under his breath in reaction.
"I'm..." His eyes force shut, head dipping with shame. "I'm trying really hard not to look."
"Wow," you chuckle, entertained by how guilty he seems. "Aren't you the gentleman?"
At that, Dean laughs, tension off his shoulder as his eyes travel back to you. "Trying to be," he reasons, voice lowering into a whisper. "But it's really hard when you look this pretty."
Your breath gets caught in your throat, and it's difficult to control the corners of your lips, tugging into a smile, barely visible, but it's there, enough for Dean to take it as a sign.
He inches close to you, leaning his head down as he traces small circles to your hand, ticklish, and making goosebumps breakout across your arms. You take his action as a challenge, leaning forward so there's barely any distance separating you.
He whispers your name, exhaling through his nose. Like your mere presence is tempting him, pulling at his strings. His gaze flickers down to your lips, keeping contact for a brief second before his eyes lock with yours again.
"You should probably tell me to stop." He states, forehead brushing against yours. His fingers trail up your arms, deliberate, yet casual, halting around the spaghetti strings of your top. He toys with the material, breath shuddering when his knuckles make contact with your bare skin.
"Probably," you repeat, fingers finding the curve of Dean's jaw. Your tone drops to match his, breath shaking as you mutter your next words. "But what if I don't want you to?"
That's the only sign Dean needs.
Dean ceases the distance separating you, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss, needy, and so desperate, it knocks a breath out of you. Your hands move to the back of his neck, grasping onto his hair as he kisses you numb, tugging and nibbling at your lips.
He bites down hard enough, the pressure of the action making you whimper, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. His tongue meets yours halfway, the warmness of his mouth engulfing the inside of yours in an instant.
Dean's hands trail wherever he can get them, traveling from your waist to your stomach, to your back, and back on your hips when you moan into the kiss. His fingernails dig into the skin, applying enough pressure for it to leave a mark, and the mere thought of that turns you on.
Your body leans into the touch, back arching as he rolls your hips against his knee. The fraction makes you feel funny, tingly all over, he doesn't give you a chance to process it before he does it again, entertained by the mess he creates out of you.
You mewl into the kiss, crying out in pleasure when he disconnects the kiss, not giving you a chance to complain before his lips are back on your skin again. Only this time, he kisses down your throat, licking and nipping at the curve of your jaw, then slowly kissing his way down your neck, where his teeth graze the delicate skin with so much want, you can feel the desperation in his action.
Dean groans against your skin, pressing slick, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones, while one of his hands messages the exposed flesh of your cleavage. He kisses his way down, taking a mouthful of your chest the moment he has the chance to.
The kisses he litters to your chest are soft, the sensation like feathers on your skin. He presses another kiss, grazing his teeth over the flesh, licking the same spot to soothe any pain away.
"Dean," You whimper, head falling back as you press his face into your chest, chasing after the pleasure he's making you feel. "Please."
"Please what?" He mumbles, kissing your chest once more before he straightens again, sitting up as one of his knees separate your legs, giving him enough space to stand in between.
His hand caresses soft circles to your cheek, now hovering over you, with his legs dipping into the mattress. Then, with a thumb to your chin, he forces your mouth open, pressing a kiss to your lips, licking a stripe of your mouth before he repeats it again.
"God, you know how much I wanted this?" He says in between kisses, gaze growing hazy. "Wanted," another kiss, "you."
You don't say anything, simply letting him tilt your head as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your lips, licking into your mouth and savoring every bit you're offering him. He kisses you like a starved man, like he's never done this before, like he's been dying to feel your lips on his.
"So fucking pretty for me." He says, slowly kissing down your jaw, this time lingering when he sucks on the skin, to mark you for everyone else to see. "You dress up for me, darling? Dolled up all for me."
You whine out in embarrassment, but that doesn't stop the pleasure surging through your body, traveling to in between your legs when Dean's hands reach under your top, massaging the plush skin and pressing you closer than you already are.
He kisses you again, this time deepening it to savor the taste on his tongue. He tilts his head to the side, taking your upper lip between his, fingers occupied with the clip of your bra.
And just as he's about to unclip it the door clicks open.
"Tucker told me to bring over some–" in front of the door stands Logan, with a bunch of snacks scattered on a tray. He almost drops the stuff in his hold, mouth gaping to speak, but falling into utter silence instead.
Your attention shifts to Logan in an instant, and you have to process the situation for a second before realization takes over.
Fuck.
You don't think as you push Dean off of you, causing the boy to lose his balance and fall off the bed. You try to grab onto his shirt, but it happens too fast, he lands on the ground with a thud.
A gasp escapes your throat, attention shifting from Logan to the now stretched out shirt in your grasp, with Dean, a mess on the ground.
Dean's eyes follow yours, flashing his friend a guilty look that tells Logan all he needs to know.
As for Logan, he's awkwardly standing by the door, gaze flickering from Dean to you. His head tilts, and he's contemplating whether right now is a good time to speak, maybe confront you both?
And just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, they do.
Hannah's giggles bounce off the walls as she approaches Dean's room with a plate Logan seemingly forgot.
"You forgot the–" Hannah starts, words dying in her throat when she's met with the awkward position you and Dean are in. "Cashews."
"Fuck." You mumble under your breath, falling into the bed with defeat.
"Are we..." Logan trails off, pointing between you two. "Are we interrupting something?"
"Huh?" Dean starts, too hazed by what just happened to answer. "I–"
"No," you beat him to replying, violently shaking your head. "We were just studying."
"Mhm, just studying." Dean agrees, reaching for the hand you offered him earlier, for the mere purpose of balancing. It doesn't help your situation, causing you to instantly pull back your arm when both Hannah and Logan glance down. "I'll just, stay on the floor."
"Yeah, right." Hannah says, not convinced whatsoever.
"We should probably leave," Logan turns to Hannah, nudging her side as he continue. "We'll leave you to it."
"You are explaining yourself as soon as we're home." Hannah whisper-yells to you, as if the two boys aren't still listening.
"Explain what?" You whisper back.
"This." Hannah points to you, eyes traveling down to your chest, and Dean on the floor, a total mess, he can't even pick himself back up.
You fix your shirt, covering Dean's face with your palm. "Don't look at him."
Hannah's lips tug into a smile, amused by how much you're trying to prove a point.
"He's all yours." Hannah's eyebrows raise with intrigue, giving Logan the signal to leave.
"It's not what it looks like!" You shout, but they don't give you a chance to justify yourself, shutting the door before you can continue.
And through the walls, you can hear Hannah yelling "Guess what we just fucking saw?"
Right, so now everyone will know that happened, no matter how hard you try to deny it.
Isn't this great?
"They left without giving us the snacks." Dean's lips jut into a pout, growing serious when you flash him a death glare.
"Dean Di Laurentis."
"That would be me." He scratches his chin, avoiding your gaze.
Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley considered himself an old-fashioned man, and he wore that belief as comfortably as he wore his mask—like it had always been fixed there.
The world could shift and twist itself into whatever new shape it fancied, but some things, in his mind, remained fixed. Proper.
A man provided. A woman was provided for.
Simple as that.
He didn’t think it cruel.
Didn’t think it limiting.
If anything, he thought it kind.
Women, in his eyes, were meant for softer things. Quiet mornings with sunlight spilling through the windows. A book resting open in her lap. Maybe paint on her fingertips or the citrus scent of a mandarin orange as she peeled it slowly.
Not this.
Not hauling around something that looked like it could snap her bloody spine in half.
So when he turned the corner and saw Y/N staggering slightly under the weight of a box that was, frankly, absurdly large for her frame, he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause. Didn’t consider that perhaps she had chosen to do this.
He stepped in.
“Oi,” he called, voice low and firm, boots echoing against the corridor floor as he closed the distance. “Put that down.”
Y/N didn’t. She adjusted her grip instead, stubborn thing, shifting the weight higher against her stomach as if that would somehow make the situation more acceptable. Ghost frowned behind his mask, irritation flickering to life.
“I said put it down,” he repeated, already reaching for it. “Women can’t do that.”
The words came out as naturally as breathing—no malice, just a statement of fact as he saw it. His hands closed around the sides of the box, effortlessly lifting the burden from her arms before she could protest further. It might as well have weighed nothing to him.
“There,” he muttered, settling it against his chest. “No reason for you to be strugglin’ like that.”
She gaped at him.
Ghost tilted his head slightly.
“What?” he asked, brow furrowing beneath the skull-patterned fabric. “You shouldn’t be carryin’ things like that. Not your job.”
He started down the hall again without waiting for an answer, fully expecting her to fall into step beside him like this was the most natural thing in the world. “You’ve got better things to be doin’,” he went on, tone shifting into something that almost resembled a lecture. “Stuff that suits you.”
He gestured vaguely with his head as if the air itself could supply examples. “Reading. Painting. Hell, sittin’ in the sun doin’ nothin’ at all. That’s the point, innit? Not this.”
Behind them, a door creaked open.
Captain Price stood in the doorway of his office, mug halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip as he took in the scene before him. His eyes flicked from Ghost to Y/N, whose face was utterly unreadable.
Horror slowly crept across Price’s face.
Ghost, oblivious, kept talking.
“A man’s meant to handle the rough parts,” he continued, adjusting his grip on the box with ease. “No sense in you wadin’ through muck when someone like me’s right here, s'there?”
Price lowered his mug.
Very slowly.
“Ghost,” he said, voice edged with genuine disbelief that was rapidly shifting into panic.
But Simon Riley didn’t hear the warning in it. Didn’t see the silent what the hell are you doing written all over his captain’s face.
Because as far as he was concerned, he’d done exactly what he was supposed to do.
"Next time, you bloody ring me. Daft thing." Ghost muttered.
kiss your screen every time you see a typo or grammatical error in my fics because it means it's home grown and not some ai bullshit and im dead serious about this
who do you think reader would go to if she had a bad dream in her own room, i can’t tell if bro!frank would baby her or not lol
18+ mdni i absolutely think frank would baby you!!! probably more than robby tbh. So i think it would depend on what kind of comfort you needed. if you wake up needing to be coddled your best bet is to go to frank's room and gently shake him awake "Frankie."
"What, baby?" without even opening his eyes.
"I had a bad dream."
n he's opening his eyes and sitting up right away, immediately clocking that you're crying from how small and fragile you sound. "Aw, poor thing. C'mere, pretty girl." He coaxes you into his lap and holds you against his chest, swipes away your tears and pets your head and runs his fingertips against your scalp. "You're okay now, I've got you. Wanna tell me what was scary? No? That's okay, baby." n he'll cup your jaw and pepper kisses all over your face until you giggle. "That's much better."
robby's much more blasé about it, but that's comforting in it's own way. like it helps ground you in reality and makes you feel protected to have him be so unbothered and calm if that makes sense?? if you shake him awake through tears he'll raise an arm for you to snuggle in beside him. his voice is all low n gruff with sleep-- "Shhh." He rubs your back as you nuzzle into his chest. "Breathe, hon, you're fine. I've got you."
What if Jack has to stay at Robby’s place cuz the heatings broke at his or smth n then Robby’s house only has the three rooms (Robby, frank, reader) so reader says jack can stay in her room
Js thinking abt all the shenanigans they’d get up to 🤭
Maybe even frank getting a little jealous reader is spending so much time with Jack
18+ mdni omg your mind.... several little moments have come to my mind so this is gonna jump around a bit and probably end up kinda long
first im picturing you're all in the livingroom when jack calls robby and the second you hear robby's "Hey, brother" you're grinning, disentangling yourself from frank on the couch, going to robby’s chair, and crawling into his lap <33
"Oh, shit. Four days to fix it? Yeah, man, I heard it's gonna be a cold one. Of course. We don't have a spare room, but--" there's a short pause before robby scoffs lightheartedly. "you kidding me? I like you and all, but I don’t miss waking up to your arm hitting my face. We've got a perfectly good couch--"
"He can stay in my room!" You chirp right away. Robby looks at you with a raised brow, Frank rolls his eyes, and you can just barely hear Jack's chuckle through the phone. Jack says something that you can't make out, but whatever it is makes Robby scoff again. "Please?" You frown. "He shouldn't have to stay on the couch..."
"She ends up in one of our rooms most nights anyway." Frank points out wryly. As if you'll be sharing a bed with anyone other than Mr. Abbot for the short 4 days you have him.
"Yeah. Sure." Robby allows. You break out in a huge grin.
When Jack arrives that evening with his duffel bag, he also comes with pizza, wings, garlic knots, beers, and cookies <3 he shrugs it off when you gape and robby says it wasn't necessary "Gotta eat, don't we? And you're doing me a big favor."
ugh it's like a 4 day long sleepover with your biggest crush <3 you break out all your cutest pjs, you guys are constantly oogling one another and being all touchy... at one point jack comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and asks "How the hell do you turn on the hot water?" and you brightly say "Let me show you!" and are up so fast that it's a wonder you don't get whiplash....
of course it leads to Jack fucking you in the shower... and when you both emerge later, hair wet and in your pajamas, frank laughs and robby looks at you both over his glasses and dryly jokes "If you do that every night you're helping with our water bill this month."
ugh YES and frank getting jealous!! i think he’s fine at first bc he really does like jack and doesnt mind the dynamic of the four of you… but by the end of day 2 the constancy of jack having most of your attention does start to get to him.
it comes to a head the morning of day 3… frank’s definitely starting to miss you guys’ usual morning routine of making coffee and being all cuddly :(( he comes to the kitchen to find you already sitting on the counter, looking so cute with your bedhead and your legs swinging idly… but you don’t even look at him when he walks in, you’re staring intently at jack as he cooks breakfast
Frank grumbles back a quiet “morning” when Jack greets him, then grabs a mug from the cabinet… and you scowl and say “That’s Jack’s mug.”
and frank shoots you such an exasperated look, so over it. “Jack doesn’t live here, how could this be his mug?”
“He uses it every morning—“
“It’s been two mornings”
Jack’s wearing an amused grin and cooly says “It’s okay, doll, I don’t mind.”
“But you said you pick it cause you love the color.” You insist, stubborn. Then to Frank, “Use a different one.”
But Frank just scoffs and rolls his eyes and continues the process of brewing his coffee. You stretch out your leg to jab him with your foot. “Fraaaank.”
“Watch it.” He snaps with more bite than usual.
You pout. “Why are you so crabby? It’s no fun.”
“No fun?” He mocks. He puts down the bag of coffee he’s holding and approaches you. Plants his hands on the counter on either side of your thighs, boxing you in and getting in your face. “You want me to be fun, princess?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, already a little breathless… his lips are on you the next moment, heavy and rushed and possessive. You gasp into his mouth and he grips your waist to pull you closer to the edge of the counter, allowing you to grind against one another…
Soon Robby walks into the kitchen to see Frank fully fucking you while Jack casually cooks at the stove not 4 feet away. He groans and tiredly scratches his beard. Mutters “Jesus christ, it’s too early for this.” as he moves to stand beside Jack and lean against the wall. “We’ve talked about fucking on the counter.”
“Please,” Frank pants. “You ate her pussy in this exact spot last week.”
Robby ignores the heat that rises to his cheeks when Jack shoots him a boyish grin. “That was after dinner— there is active cooking going on right now! Food is out!”
“Don’t be a prude.” You tease breathily. You grin, pleased with yourself, when both Jack and Frank let out shocked laughter. Robby shakes his head, resigned.
You’re curled up against Simon beneath the heavy comforter, your cheek pressed to the steady rise and fall of his toned chest. One of his arms is wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. The other hand moves lazily along your back, fingertips tracing slow, absentminded patterns through the thin fabric of your shirt. Every touch is gentle, warm enough to melt the last bit of tension from your muscles.
The apartment is wrapped in that late-night stillness that only settles in after midnight. Somewhere in the distance, rain taps softly against the window, and the muted glow from the bedside lamp paints everything in soft gold. His thumb drags lightly across your shoulder before his voice finally breaks the silence, low and rough with exhaustion.
“Wanna hear a joke?”
You already know he’s going to tell it no matter what answer you give. That alone makes the corner of your mouth twitch.
You let out a sleepy hum, somewhere between a groan and permission.
Simon shifts slightly beneath you, like he’s preparing to deliver the greatest punchline of the century.
“Why did the scarecrow get promoted?”
A soft sigh escapes you as you bury your face further into his chest, already bracing for impact. “Why?”
“Because he was outstanding in his field.”
The terrible joke is followed by his own quiet snicker, you can feel the vibration of it beneath your cheek.
You groan softly, nudging him with your knee. “Go to sleep, Simon.”
Sometimes the house became almost painfully quiet when Simon was away. Not the good kind of quiet, the kind that settled softly over the room and let you breathe for a while. This was different. A strange, persistent silence that felt like something was missing from the walls themselves, like the whole place had forgotten how to sound like home.
You did your best to fill it.
Books, music, little cleaning spurts that turned into reorganizing entire shelves, and, most often lately, cooking. Cooking helped. It gave your hands something to do and your mind something to focus on. It was soothing, for the most part, until you made something you knew Simon would have loved, and there was no one there to tease, taste, or steal the first bite.
Still, tonight’s recipe had gone well. The kitchen smelled warm and rich, all garlic and herbs and something sweet lingering underneath. You stood there with a plate in one hand, ready to finally serve, when you heard it.
A shuffle. Then a low groan from the front door.
Your whole body went rigid.
Simon was not supposed to be back for another week. You were alone. No guests, no deliveries, no reason for anyone to be at the door at all.
Someone was breaking in. Shit.
You went cold all at once, every lecture Simon had ever given you on self defense flashing through your mind, but panic left no room for careful thinking. You grabbed the plate tighter, your knuckles whitening around it, and moved before your brain could catch up.
The lock rattled, the door bursting open and you swung.
The plate shattered spectacularly against the head of the very tall intruder.
For one breathtaking second, you stood frozen, half expecting a stranger, a threat, anything else.
Instead, a familiar grumble filled the doorway, "Fucking hell."
Your soul left your body.
“Simon?” you gasped, throwing your hands up in horror as adrenaline shot through you so fast your fingers trembled.
He staggered inside, a duffel bag slipping from one shoulder and thudding to the floor. One hand braced against the wall, the other pressed to the side of his head.
“Are you okay?!” you gasped.
“I got smashed with a plate. What ya think?” he muttered, eyes shut tight.
“You were supposed to be back in a week!”
“Mission ended early,” he said with a pained groan.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wanted t’ surprise ya.”
You stared at him.
Then gestured wildly at the ceramic graveyard on the floor.
"That is objectively the worst possible strategy for someone who constantly tells me to be careful because of all the enemies you've made."
He gave you a flat look. “Nice. Blame the victim.”
"The victim broke into the house like a raccoon with military training."
He huffed "rude."
“Just go sit down,” you said, already ushering him toward the sofa. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
He kicked off his boots with a grunt and dropped onto the couch like all the bones in his body had collectively decided to quit. By the time you returned, kit in hand, he looked tired in that deeply worn-out way that made your chest ache, guilt gnawed at you like a tiny feral creature.
"Si, I'm so sorry," you blurted the second you sat beside him. "I genuinely thought someone was breaking in and then the door opened and I panicked and my body moved before my brain did and I hit you and—"
"It's alright, swee’heart," his voice came soft, steady.
You worked carefully, cleaning the scratches on his forehead and the small cuts along his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch much, though he did keep staring at you with that quiet, warm look that always made you feel like you were the only light in the room.
“Been through a dangerous mission,” he said, “an’ get home to get clocked by me wife.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said, glaring at the cotton pad like it had personally offended you.
“Never said it was.”
“You are being very smug for a man who got ambushed by dinnerware.”
He huffed a laugh. “Usually wives greet their husbands with kisses and hugs. Not ceramic warfare.”
“I was trying out a new greeting method.”
He raised one brow. “Next time, how about a pan to the face?”
You let out a helpless laugh. “Shut up.”
“You hit me.”
“I thought you were breaking in!”
“Still counts as domestic violence, luv.”
You snorted despite yourself, and he looked absurdly pleased with that.
Once you finished, he leaned back into the couch with a long sigh, still horrified and still trying not to laugh at the stupidity of this entire situation. He tilted his head toward you.
“On the bright side,” he said, “I do know for certain you’re safe when I’m gone.”
his wife ── michael robinavitch
michael 'robby' robinavitch x wife!reader.
summary: robby doesnt advertise his marriage. so when his wife shows up at ED to discuss their son, safe to say the residents were shocked. now they wonder how the two of you met. this throws him back to when he was a ms3.
content warnings: reader and robby w/ 2 year age gap. thought to be 22 and robby 24 when met, around when he'd be a MS3. fluff. med school robby. lightly flirty young robby. lil mention of mature content so pls mdni 18+. reader is clinical psychologist/completeting masters to be one. lowkey implied fem reader shorter than robby. im short im sorry. he adores his wife like hard. two kids.
authors notes: lowkey med school au and robby who isn't as emotuonally consipated in the show. lowkey wanna do a few bits here and there about their life but not sure lol. inspired by this meme.
word count: 4079
Everyone was aware of the chain that hung around Robby’s neck. It peeked from under his scrubs sometimes. Though, no one knew what might be on the chain. There might be nothing or there could be something. Either way, it was always tucked under his shirt.
Nobody questioned it, never really thought to. He’s a private person. Residents don’t ask about his personal life. But they get curious when he steps out to the ambulance bay sometimes, phone to ear.
Santos thinks that maybe he’s faking to take a break. Whitaker thinks he might be talking to a relative, parent or sibling. Javadi thinks … Well, she isn’t quite sure what to think. But she doesn’t think its what Santos or Whitaker’s thinking.
So when a gorgeous woman strolled into the department, beelining towards the charge nurse with a smile, they were confused to say the least. You seemed to be friendly and familiar with Dana, greeting each other like old friends.
The med student and two residents share subtle looks, watching the interaction.
“Is my husband around?” You asked Dana, glancing around to see if he was nearby. It was never predictable where he might be. It’s not uncommon for him to not answer his phone when he works and you don’t blame him. It’s understandable. But it’s rare for you to show up at the department, that usually means it’s important.
The three watching noticed your eyes wandering, quickly busying themselves. Santos and Javadi looked at the same computer, as if they were reading results together. While Whitaker fumbled with the chart he’d picked up. The two women look at him in disbelief and annoyance. Smooth.
“Trauma one. He’s in a mood.” Dana pre warned you, giving you a knowing look. You weren’t surprised by the fact, very aware how moody Robby can be when he’s stressed.
“Not surprising.” You huffed out a dry laugh. “When isn’t he?”
“True that.” The charge nurse hiffs, knowing you'd understand more than anyone. But you’re able to diffuse him unlike anyone else.
“Alright if I hang around?” You asked, knowing the answer but much preferring to be sure instead of assuming.
“Of course.” Dana assured you, well aware you don’t like to presume but instead hear directly. Everyday is different in the ED. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just Levi.” You explained, not details but enough for her to understand that something had happened. Your son could get into his own mess these days, he’s 22 and at college, figuring out his life. Didn’t mean he didn’t avoid doing dumb shit.
Before Dana could respond, her mouth hanging open before shutting as a painstakingly familiar voice rang out.
“What’re you doing here?” You heard your husband’s gruff voice, head turning as he wandered up beside you. He pressed a kiss to your head before his eyes returned to your face. Concern was etched across his features, worried that something was wrong. You didn’t show up here without a reason.
Javadi tried to not look invested but she was, Robby was married? Santos and Whitaker thinking the same thing. And this woman is his wife? No way. That can’t be right.
“Your son decided that getting drunk and running around campus was a good idea.” You informed him dryly. This is the second time you've talked about this. Not that you were angry but more annoyed. You had to leave work, because Robby couldn’t, to go and get him from the police station by his campus. “Naked.”
“Why is he always my son when he does something stupid?” Robby inquired in disbelief before shaking his head immediately. It was too early for this, barely 8:30am. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
He knew that if either of you had passed the doing something dumb gene, it was him. He had never done something quite like that but he was the more reckless between the two of you. He didn’t need to have his workplace hear about some of the dumb things he’s done in his 20s.
Levi isn't a bad kid. Just tends to do dumb things.
Javadi, Whitaker and Santos all shared glances in utter shock. This man has a son? A kid? No way. They don't believe they’d heard this correctly.
“Anyways. He’s alright. But he called Jack who called me.”
“Fuck.” Your husband signed, hanging his head low before looking back at you. “You going to get him?”
He gave you a look that said you gonna go or… not to rush you out but instead to figure out why you were hanging around with your shared son behind local station bars.
“Yeah.” You nodded, pausing before you explained absentmindedly. “Letting him sweat a bit.”
“You’re evil.” He commented dryly.
“It’s why you married me.” You grinned.
He huffed a soft yet dry laugh. He won’t even deny it. Your nature was one of the many reasons he’d fallen inlove with you in the first place. He knows how incredible of a mother you are. He’s cherished raising children with you. He’d never seen you so soft and loving. He sometimes still found it hard to believe you had married and had kids with him.
But he was aware that you weren’t going to let this stint slide.
“That’s why you’re here?” He quizzed, almost a little amused, though pissed that his son had done something so stupid. This would be something you two would discuss with him later.
“Partially. But thought I'd tell you before Jack blabs at shiftchange.” You answered, not going to have spoken to him later about this. It was too important. And you knew Jack would’ve let him know this evening. Better if it comes from you.
Jack has been a staple in your kids' lives since he’d met Robby years ago. When Robby had started working at PTMC as an attending, you’d been pregnant with your second child. When Jack had joined a few years later, your kids were 8 and 6 at the time. He’d immediately grown attached, loving them like they were his own. They adored him, not having a day without him since (minus when he’d been in the army and deployed).
As much as he loves them, he made it clear he wouldn’t keep things from you and Robby. Especially when it’s important. He loved them. But he loves you both too. All of you are like his family. He wasn’t going to lie.
“Good thinking.” He nodded, appreciative you’d told him instead of letting him be blindsited later.
“I’ll head out.” You said, wanting to get this whole thing sorted and just get back home. Not like you’d go back to the office. Thankfully your appointments were all via zoom today, it helped. “Hopefully won’t take too long but i’ll let you know.”
“Alright, thanks.” Robby replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It was something he always did when you’d separate for the day. “See you after work.”
“I love you.” You said softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
“I love you, honey.”
You waved goodbye to him and Dana, turning back around and heading back to your car.
“You’re married?” Santos blurted in disbelief, unable to keep it in. Whitaker nudged her with his elbow in panic, she should not have said that.
He looks over at her, pulling the chain out from under his undershirt. The chain dangled with a gold band hanging from it. His wedding ring. “26 years.”
He doesn’t hide he’s married. He just doesn’t find himself needing to share that information unwarranted. He loves his wife and kids but he prefers to keep his family outside of the workplace. So if he’s not prompted, he doesn't talk about them.
“How… when … what?” Santos stammered, in disbelief he’s been married. To you. For 26 years.
“You didn’t know?” Langdon quizzed the three as he wandered to the desk, amused at their shocked expressions.
“Don’t act like you didn’t react the same way when you found out.” Dana mused, shooting Langdon a knowing look.
He can’t even deny it. When he discovered his attending’s long-lasting marriage, he was shocked. The man didn’t seem emotionally capable. But must've been wrong. He’s grown to know that over the last few years when he’d seen you two interact.
Robby is a man inlove.
“How’d you meet?” Javadi mustered up the courage to ask, curious to hear how you’d met. Especially since you’d been married for so long.
Robby huffed a laugh at the memory, recalling the evening you’d met. It was forever seared into his memory.
1995.
Robby was out with a couple of his med school classmates for a rare night out between rotations. Being a MS3 was intense, going from classroom to real direct-contact work with patients.
The four of them were mostly sharing how their recent rotation had been. They’d all been put into different specialties. Paediatrics, orthopaedics, cardiology and gastroenterology.
He was mid laugh when his eyes glanced over the room, eyes locking on you. It felt like his breath had been pulled from his lungs.
You were out with friends for a monthly catch up. Since you’d both graduated and begun your career’s, you rarely get to spend time together. The two of you made it a point to organise a once a month where you’re both free to catch up in person. Talking on the phone can only do so much for a friendship sometimes.
The two of you were chatting, discussing recent events in your lives. She was halfway through telling you about an incident at her new job.
“God, can you believe it?” She said in disbelieving scoff. “I mean, who in their right mind thinks that it’s okay to show up drunk and deny the whole thing, it's just dumb to try and gaslight your boss.”
“That’s so fucked. Please tell me he was fired. Or at least suspended.” You said in disgust, already hating whoever this guy was.
“I wish.” Your friend shook her head in annoyance. She went to take a sip of her drink, to realise it was empty. “But I will say that I need another drink.”
“I’ll get some.” You said as you stood up with a chuckle, grabbing your wallet. Though you gave her a playfully pointed look. “Don’t venture anywhere.”
“No promises.” she teased, though not really planning to go anywhere. She was the type to just wander away without prompt. But honestly, so are you. She’s just worse than you, especially when intoxicated.
You chuckled and rolled your eyes at the tease, but accepted it. It's normal for the two of you, the teasing. But you do hope she won’t venture far if she decides to.
You made your way to the bar, sliding up between a tall man and a woman, there being a gap. They weren’t interacting so you took it as a safe spot to choose. It didn’t take long for the bartender to make it to you, barely 30 seconds.
“What can I get for ya?” He asked, leaning forward slightly to make sure he could hear you. It wasn’t too loud but to be safe.
“Vodka lemonade and a vodka coke please.” You asked kindly, always making sure to be nice to staff. He nodded and got to making the drinks.
Robby glanced down at you when he heard the honeyed voice. Oh shit. It’s you. He made an effort not to stare at you from a distance when he’d noticed you earlier. He’s not shy but he respects you’d been with a friend and he’d been with his. He barely noticed the bartender he’s spoken to before, placing the beers he’d asked for in front of him.
“Thanks.” He said to the guy but he made no effort to move. He glanced down at you again, at the same time your eyes had flickered up to him. You gave him a smile before looking back ahead of you, eyes seemingly glancing around behind the bar.
Robby’s attention went back to the bartender as he dug out a few bills and handed them over. He gestured with his head towards you besides him. “Her’s too.”
The bartender nodded, not really having much of a thought as he put the money through, conversing with the other bartender for what you’d asked for to figure out the total cost.
Your head had snapped up towards him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. You’ve had guys offer to buy you drinks, your friend too. Though never had been quite as forward as this.
“That’s awfully nice of you.” You commented dryly, looking up at him. You were a little suspicious. But you can't help but think of how gorgeous he is. It’s not actually fair. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He said honestly, offering you a grin that made your heart skip a beat. Fuck this guy.
“But it got you talking to me.” He added a beat later, that breathtaking grin widening a smidge.
“Ah, so that was your plan, huh?”
“No, kinda just happened in the moment.” He said with a shrug, grin not faltering. It wasn't a total lie. He had been thinking about ways he could start a conversation with you. He normally can do without ease. But you’d made him throw away the idea of using shitty pickup lines.
“In the moment.” You chuckled, a grin of your own forming. Somehow you could tell it wasn’t a complete lie, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth. For not, you wouldn’t question it. As gorgeous as he is, you didn’t plan on hanging around long. You had your friend to get back to.
“That hard to believe?” He teased, having noted you seemed to be somewhat amused.
“Nope, but you can’t tell me you don’t already have a list of pick-up lines ready to go.” You joked, but half-meaning it. He was unfairly attractive and you’re sure he knew it. No doubt he could easily get a girl’s attention.
The bartender placed your drinks in front of you. Thanking him, you turned back to the man you’d been interacting with.
“You got me.” He chuckled, not going to deny it. “But they don’t seem like something you’d be interested in”
“Now that's a line.” You laughed, grin turning into a genuine smile.
That smile? That nearly stopped his heart.
“Maybe it is.” He said with a light laugh, not denying but not having intended on it being that way. But really, anything to make sure you kept smiling like that. He leant his head slightly forward towards you, speaking in a conspiratorial murmur. “Did it work?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that.” You chuckled, unwilling to admit that maybe it was. It might just be his pretty face. But you weren’t immune.
“Besides, I have my friend to get back to.” You added, gesturing over to your friend. When your eyes landed on her, she seemed to be occupied with a guy. The two close together as they seemed in deep conversation. Good for her.
“Ah, that's one of mine.” he chuckled, eyes having followed where you’d directed and seeing it was one of his friends with your friend. He hadn’t quite anticipated his friend chatting with yours. But it certainly seemed to work in his favour here so he won’t complain.
“Yeah?” You quizzed but weren’t completely convinced he hadn’t coordinated that.
“Not my doing. Promise." He chuckled, raising his hands in faux-defence, sensing you thought it may have been. He meant it, genuinely not having a single thing to do with the situation. But he thought of it as good luck.
Your eyes drifted back to him, eyebrows raised. You looked at him for a few beats before grabbing your friend's drink and one of his beers. “Don’t move.”
He didn’t say anything as you left him, and your own drink. Not a smart move but it hadn’t even occurred to you in the moment. You made your way back to the table your friend was at, placing the drinks down in front of her and her guest. You subtly winked at her before you turned back and headed towards the drink and man you’d left.
As you slid back besides him, he felt elated. He hadn’t felt this excited to just talk to a woman in well … ever.
“Gonna tell me your name or am i gonna have to guess?”
“Michael. But you can call me Robby.”
“I don’t see how that correlates.” You mused, raising an eyebrow at him. You don't exactly see how those names worked together. Robby? You think Robert.
“Robinavitch.” he explained with a chuckle, eyes dazzling.
“Ah, gotcha.” You nodded with another light chuckle. Last name. You told him your name in return.
He repeated your name, letting it roll off of his tongue. He liked it. It was your name after all.
The two of you converesed. You discussed your lives, work, study, friends, hobbies. You discovered he was a third year med student, just completing a rotation in cardiology. He mentioned he liked the idea of emergency, wanting to help people at the hardest point of their lives. You respected it, understood it even. You were hanging onto every word he spoke, enjoying the words rolling off his lips and interested in what he was saying. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
He discovered you had graduated with a bachelor of psychology last year, now practising as such as you worked on completing your masters of clinical psychology. You explained how you want to conduct cognitive clinical assessments for patients who think they might have ADHD, autism and anything else that might support patients understand what is going on inside their brains. You didn’t go into details but you had admitted you’d had your own struggles with mental health. That being a huge part of wanting to support others with theirs. You wanted to work in a few areas of psychology, he had gathered.
You two spoke for hours. Literally hours. About everything and nothing at the same time. You joked, had serious topics at hand and discussed absolutely anything either of you could think of.
You checked the time on the wall with a glance, realising it was nearing 12am. God, you’d been talking to him since about 9, knowing you’d been here since at least 8 when you and your friend had arrived. Neither of you even touched your drinks, both just sitting there useless.
“Not to cut this short…” You said with a light huff as you got up from the seat you’d been on. Eventually the two of you had drifted to an empty table, finding it more comfortable to be seated as you chatted. But he would’ve happily stood there in discomfort if he got to hear your voice. Not that he’d admit that. “...but I should go, it's nearly 12.”
He looked at the clock as you spoke, eyes widening in surprise. It had been 3 hours? That’s how long he’d been talking to you. It felt like it had been 30 minutes. His eyes drifted back to you, not going to argue. He should probably find out if his friends are still here or not. You’d both noticed yours and his friend leaving earlier, so you didn’t need to worry about her being alone.
“Yeah, it was great talking to you.” He said with a soft smile. He was disappointed you were leaving but he understood. And he wasn’t going to make assumptions. Not with you. Other women he may have made some sort of line, getting them to go home with him or vice versa to never see them again the next day. But he didn’t want to do that with you.
“You too.” You replied with a smile of your own. “Bye, Michael.”
“Bye.” He smiled, his lips tugging wider at the use of his first name. Not his nickname. But his name. He watched as you waved and made your exit, eyes trailing you as you walking out the front door. He let out a small sigh, disappointed you were gone. He realised a moment later that he hadn’t even asked for your number. The thought slipped. Likely to avoid the anxiety. He;d never been anxious to ask a girl for her number before.
Meanwhile, the cold air was a welcomed slap to the face from the heat of inside the bar. It was soothing. But you couldn’t help the disappointment you felt. You had really begun to like him. You’d spoken for hours. Not like you’d spilled your entire life story. But still, you thought something was there. Something you hadn’t felt before. Not with your exes.
You became annoyed. Had he not felt that? Or did he? Either way, he didn’t ask for any form of contact details for you.
With a huff, you turned back inside and marched towards him.
Robby was shocked when he saw your figure storming towards him. He had just stood up to go in search for his friends.
“Okay. We have something. There’s this … this… I don't know … spark. It's there.” You ranted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. You wished you could blame it on the alcohol because this was not something you did. But you couldn’t help but blurt this at him. You can be embarrassed later. “We’ve been talking for hours. Literal hours. And you don’t ask for my number? Seriously? What the fuck?!”
His eyes were wide in shock as you spoke before softening. He hadn't exactly anticipated you running back to tell him off. It was hot. A soft grin tugged at his lips at each word you said.
“What?” You asked him in annoyance, arms now crossed over your chest.
“Is it too late to ask for your number?” He questioned, a hint of tease mixed in the hope in his voice. He had wanted to ask but had been caught off guard by you leaving. He was nervous at the prospect. What if you’d said no? That’d have just about broken his heart.
“You’re asking now?” You asked dryly. “Because I yelled at you?”
“First, you didn't yell. You firmly stated your annoyance.” He corrected genuinely but firmly “second, i wanted to but i got nervous.”
“Nervous?” you quizzed, not quite believing that. He hadn’t been nervous the entire time you’d spoken to him. Not openly anyways.
“Yeah. Nervous.” He admitted without shame. “Beautiful girl I've been talking to all night rejects me? That's nerve-wrecking.”
“Enough with the lines.” You responded dryly. He hadn’t really given you lines but that didn’t automatically exclude him from going to use them.
“Not a line. I'm serious.” Robby said, sincerity seeping through his voice. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He wanted you to know he wasn’t trying to be smooth. Just honest.
You stared at him for a few moments, debating if you could trust it. He sounded painfully sincere. You don’t think you can fake this kind of honestly.
“Still want my number?”
Present.
“I love her.” Javadi rushed out immediately, then flushing with embarrassment as she realised she said that outloud. Her hand covered her mouth in shock at her own words.
Robby just chuckled, which surprised her and the two residents.
“She’s incredible.” He commented fondly. His mind reeled with thoughts of you. Both from recent years and the early times of your relationship.
“Careful, you’re sounding human.” Dana joked, though she had grown fond of the dynamic between you and the attending. He was practically a different person with you. Your kids too.
“Don’t let my daughter hear that, she’ll use it against me.” He joked back, having broken out of his thoughts and preferring the humour based dynamic in the workplace. He didn’t need to be vulnerable here. Not about his family.
Before anyone could respond, he headed off. Intending to see a patient, check in to see how his residents are doing. But he’d instead slowed his moments and pulled out his phone, pulling up your text chain.
Husband <3: if he claims he was dared, you’re going to let me eat you out
Wife: if he says that he’s made a mistake and won’t do it again, you’ll eat me out
Husband <3: deal
“I’m sorry … DAUGHTER?!”
He heard the disbelief of his resident, ignoring the question and instead pocketing his phone continuing on his day. He’s the chief attending here. At home? He’s just a man who’s obsessed with his wife.
once again i am thinking about simon riley's bratty!missus and her fucking awful attitude even though her heart is full of love.
sometimes you're a pain in the ass just because you can be.
sprawled out on the couch, deliberately taking up the entire thing so there's no room for him when he gets out of the shower. when he asks you to move, you just look up at him with big eyes and fluttering lashes and a massive grin plastered all over your face and whisper, “no.”
simon stares at you for a beat, realizing what kind of mood you're in, then simply reaches down, wraps his hands around your ankles and yanks you towards him.
before you get a chance to even squeak, you're on your stomach, one of his hands holding both of yours behind your back, the other landing on your ass with a smack.
“yer an ‘orrible woman, you know that, don't you love?” he mutters - fond, not angry, not even a hint of malice in the words - head tilting to the side as he watches the way you arch into the next spank, knowing you're more than content with your situation. “my fuckin’ ‘orrible woman, though.”
ten minutes later you're curled in his lap, pressing soft kiss to the underside of simon's jaw like you weren't just testing every ounce of his patience for fun.
Daddy Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x Fem!Reader: When the baby wakes you both up in the middle of the night, Pope has a mini freak out and parental anxiety.
Mentions: Mental health, post-pregnancy, Paternal anxiety, past trauma (hinted at?), Pope being a protective father and loving husband.
(I think writing Daddy Pope is my new favorite hobby lol so sorry for the influx)
Call it mother’s instinct, but your eyes opened several seconds before your heard the sound of the baby crying.
It made Pope dart upright in bed, he was never a heavy sleeper anyways, and he quickly scrambled behind you as you got up and out of bed to go across the hallway and into the nursery. His heart pounded at the thought of what could be wrong, always heading for the worst case scenario.
What if he’s got stuck?
What if he’s hurt?
What if-
“Hey, hey little guy” Pope listened as you cooed and hushed, immediately going to the cot to scoop up your crying child.
“S’he hurt?” Pope quickly, and anxiously asked, moving to flick on the warm night light so he could see the baby for himself.
“No…not hurt” You hummed as you bobbed at the knees, soothing the baby as he gripped his pudgy little knuckles into your oversized shirt (stolen from Pope’s work out clothes drawer) as he cried into you.
Pope swallowed and blinked nervously as the baby cried. Memories were suddenly trying to push their way into his head, the horrible criticizing voice inside of him reminding him of crying when he was a baby and receiving no help. No one to come and pick him up, to take him away from the scary monsters, to kiss the nightmare away.
“I think he had a bad dream, and a lil hungry” you guessed, brushing a thumb back and forth over the baby’s cheek whilst pressing your lips to his sparse, red head hairs.
You looked briefly at Pope, and recognized that look on his face, stiff and anxious. You freed up a hand to press against his warm shoulder.
“He’s okay, I promise” you reassured Pope. “S’normal for baby’s to wake up like this, cranky and hungry…unsure of why it’s all dark and weird looking, why no one is nearby after a full day of faces and voices.” You explained.
Pope swallowed and nodded, yet he couldn’t settle, not just yet.
“What can I do?” Pope asked, frustrated at how helpless he felt, useless to make it better in an instant. He needed instruction. Control. A purpose in order to not spiral entirely.
“Can you grab a bottle from the kitchen please baby?” You asked, moving towards the soft arm chair in the corner of the nursery.
Pope hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave you and the baby, but eventually he left to retrieve a clean and sterilized bottle, filled up with formula. As Pope let the bottle sit out for a few minutes to come to room temperature, he gripped the counter, the sound of his son crying turning his heart sideways. As he tried to control his breathing, the voice of self doubt clawed its way in.
Why aren’t you fixing this?
You are a terrible father
You have no idea what you’re doing
She’ll leave, with the baby, because you’re fucken useless
Then, the crying dulled. Altogether stopped. Pope looked over his cold sweat slicked shoulder, in the direction of the nursery, now silent. He snatched the bottle and made his way towards the nursery, inside he could hear you, low and quiet, talking.
“You have nothing to be scared of little guy.”
“I know everything is new and scary, and it’s so confusing…but we won’t let anything bad happen…”
“Your Daddy and I won’t let any bad happen.”
“You’re safe…you’re so safe…”
“Daddy and I are here, we’re right here, always here…”
Your words had a profound effect on Pope. It was seeping deep into his soul, talking to your baby, his baby, with so much love and comfort. Pope dreamed of someone like you to be his parent. To tell him no bad would happen, that he was loved and safe, unconditionally.
Pope came out from his hiding spot from around the doorway, slowly stepping into the nursery where he saw you in the armchair, your nose and lips brushing across the baby’s face, now relaxed and void of any distress as his tired eyes slowly blinked up at you. Trusting you.
I wish I had this. I wish I had you when I was little. Telling me all the terrible things wont get me.
“You want me to feed him?” Pope asked, trying to keep his voice low as possible as he watched you yawn.
Despite both of you taking on shared night feeds, Pope knew you were tired, he knew you were still adapting to life post pregnancy, mentally and physically. The toils of motherhood, despite everything, wasn’t lost on Pope.
“If you want, he seems calmer now” You said, taking the bottle from Pope.
Pope nodded and crouched down to help transfer the baby into his arms. He looked dwarfed in Pope’s enormous arms, but that only reassured you that he was safe in them. To Pope, sometimes he feared his strength when holding his son, that something so delicate and fragile lay within his grasp. His hands that had inflicted so much violence and brutality, now used to comfort a baby. His baby.
“You got him?” You quietly asked as you got up and out the chair, freeing it up if Pope wanted it.
“Got him” Pope nodded and slowly rocked the baby whilst he moved around his arms so he could take the bottle of formula from you. “Should go back to bed. Get some sleep.” Pope softly said.
“Y’sure?” You asked as your fingers carefully pressed onto Pope’s forearm to get a final look at your son.
“M’sure” he said, his eyes lingering on your beautiful, sleepy features. “I got this.”
You then looked from the baby and up at Pope, a soft and lazy smile spreading across your face. You didn’t say anything, you just leaned up onto your tip toes and cupped Pope’s cheek to bring him down a tad to kiss him. Pope felt his heart squeeze at the situation; both of you, together with your little one sandwiched safely between you. It was made all the better when your lips left his and went to kiss the baby’s fuzzy pink forehead, as if taking your combined kiss and transferring it to the little one.
“I’ll take tomorrow night’s feeding duty.” you said as you brushed a hand across the baby’s hairline, and the other down Pope’s bicep before turning and heading back to bed.
No you won’t, not if I can help it. Pope smirked crookedly.
He waited and listened carefully for the telltale sounds of you moving into the bedroom, the duvet shuffling as you got comfy…then silence. The sound of his son languidly suckling his formula, his breathing, his little snuffles of content, was all Pope focused on now. He went to the armchair where he slowly lowered himself with the baby into the seat.
“Y’know…you’re a lucky guy” Pope whispered as he adjusted the bottle to help the baby get more. “My mom wasn’t like yours…you got it made with her…n’so did I.” Pope said, glancing up from the baby and out into the hallway where you had left.
“She’s right though” Pope said as he watched the last quarter of formula leave the bottle. “Nothin bad is ever gonna happen to you, or Mom…not whilst Im here.”
The baby let go of the bottle, his lips and gums milky and messy, to which Pope grabbed a nearby linen and deftly wiped the mess away. That was what he was good at, making the mess go away. Making the scary things go away.
After a thorough burping session, Pope delicately placed the baby back down into his cot, resting his little head against the soft mattress. Pope hung over the cot for several minutes, watching his baby settle back to sleep. He briefly hovered his pinky finger under the baby’s nose to give him peace of mind that he was breathing and safe.
“Daddy will keep the monsters away” He said, leaning down to kiss the baby’s head.
“Night lil guy” He whispered as he straightened up, looked over the baby one last time, then turned around to quietly creep out the nursery and back to you.
You’d been with the 141 long enough that the team felt like home—Price’s cigars, Soap’s endless jokes, Gaz’s easy laugh, and Ghost… well, Ghost was Ghost. Silent, broad-shouldered, always layered in black long sleeves and that damn mask. You’d never seen an inch of skin. Not once.
Well, until today.
You’d caught him in the gym, sleeves pushed up while he wiped down equipment. And oh God—Ink. A full sleeve on his left arm—dark, intricate, covered from wrist to bicep—maybe even higher— in sharp lines and shadows. Skulls, barbed wire, something that looked like a grim reaper. It suited him perfectly, and the sight hit you low in the gut.
You couldn’t stop staring. When he noticed, he tilted his head, that masked stare pinning you.
“Something wrong, love?”
You swallowed. “Your arm. I didn’t know you had any tattoos. They’re… really fucking cool.”
Ghost paused. “You want a closer look?” His voice dropped, low and rough, a warning but.. you didn’t catch it. “Might not be able to unsee it.”
You nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I want to see.”
You not catching that warning was more blessing than curse— now you’re in his quarters, door locked, the only light a sad lamp casting shadows across the room. Your back is pressed to his chest, legs spread over his thighs as he fucks up into you from behind—slow, deep, relentless. The thick, tattooed arm hooked around you, and he’s got three fingers shoved deep in your mouth, stretching your lips, pressing down on your tongue, keeping you quiet.
You can see every inch of the ink.
The sleeve is even more detailed up close—black and gray, textured, the designs shifting with every flex of his forearm as he works his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with his cock. Saliva slicks his fingers, dripping down your chin, but you don’t care. You moan around them, eyes locked on the tattoos, on the way his muscles move, on how hot the contrast is between the deadly ink and the way he’s using that hand to keep you quiet and full.
“Fuckin’ asked if you were sure..” he growls against your ear, accent thick, breath hot through the mask he won’t remove. “Now look at you. Mouth stuffed with my fingers, cunt clenching every time you see somethin’ new. Dirty girl.”
He thrusts harder, hips snapping up, the wet sounds were obscene. His tattooed arm stays exactly where you can see it—fingers hooked in your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he makes you take them deeper. You gag softly and he chuckles, low and dark, never slowing.
“That’s it. Keep your eyes on it while I ruin you.”
Your hands grip his forearm, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoos as your orgasm builds fast and sharp. Ghost doesn’t let up—he fucks you through it, fingers muffling your cries, the full sleeve on display just for you like he promised.
When he finally pulls his fingers free, strings of spit connecting them to your lips, he drags the wet digits down your throat, over your chest, and presses the tattooed palm flat against your stomach so you can feel every inch of him still buried inside.
“Next time..” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “you’ll trace every line while I’m balls deep. Yeah?”
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
A/N: ….I’ve been going feral since the sleeve reveal guys..
Two weeks without your kisses, sweet smile, silky hair, sweet carresses on his back and breakfast, lunch and dinner with your silly cute colored paper notes (you hated sticky notes cuz...well theey're sticky).
Ghost was sure he was going crazy, he's tried everything, wake up earlier than you, make you the biggest breakfast in human history, try to kiss your lips just to be met with your cheek, he even tried buying a cat (the bitch destroyed his gear but you didn't need to know that).
And nothing, you still gave him the cold shoulder, hid his keys, ordered takeout (he loved your homemade dinner) and even if the house was tidy, it was empty, bcuz how dare he forget the anniversary were you were applying for a job and he flied all the way through Boston to England just to appear on your door kneeling down in one knee and asking if you wanted to be his "happily ever after".
It's his fucking fault, he ruined his happily ever after.
A week later, you entered the house, hating the hollowness in your chest and the sudden sting of tears, walking a little slower than usual to your shared bedroom with him.
You expected it to be empty, with him taking care of his car or out for some deployment duties.
You did not expect this.
Simon "Ghost'' Riley, the same man that with his bare hands has destroyed bones.
Was sitting on the bed
Right in front of you.
Wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with a Hawaiian hat, sunglasses and coconuts on the bed.
And a fucking ukelele.
You blinked like he grew another head as he started to sing off-tune while playing it.
"three weeks without my love"
"I'm going to become bald"
"Right before fortie"
"Bcuz I don't have my shortie"
"Three weeks without my love"
"Trying to compose this song"
"But inhope that she knows"
"That I. Love. Heeeeeeeeeer"
You yelped, before burying in laughter.
"BABE OH MY GOSH" you giggled amused, deeply flattered, smiling affectionate at your husband who simply pointed at the window.
Your gasp echoed through the room as Simon hugged you from behind.
"Two TRUCKS OF FLOWERS!?"
Simon smiled, awkward, not really good at this apologizing stuff, but his blush melted by the dreamy look you shot up at him.
"Y'know it was easier tonjust apologize honey?" You spoke lovingly, pressing your smaller form against his chest, his hands went to your waist, and he gave you one of those gentle smiles that made your heart melt each time.
"I did that too, properly, like you deserve" your breath hitched as he handed you an envelope.
With shaky legs you sat down on the bed, opening it to find three things.
A single dry purple flower
25 folded pages of his apology
And two VIP trips to the city of your choice.
Your hands flew to your mouth, not noticing Simon closing the window, or turning on the dimmer lights, you turned to look at him, about to tell him this was too much, that he was too sweet.
But his shirt fell to the ground.
You felt that familiar heat pool in between your legs and your cheeks as he crawled on top of you, guiding your legs to each of his sides and putting his hands on your waist.
"I'm so sorry my sweetheart, sometimes life's so shitty that it makes me forget the people I'm fighting for, and you, my darling, aren't just a person".
His eyes softened in such a profound way that you forgot how to breath.
i wrote this in a haze 10 mins ago my mind really needs to be studied. uhh yeah Pope Cody fucking you against a mirror RAAAA ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)
content: p in v, shameless smut, mirror sex, rough, fem reader, unprotected
Pope wanting to fuck you in front of the mirror cause he loves your ass and kneading his hands into the soft folds of your hips as you bend and bend and bend, knees shaking and sweat just beading down your legs, mixing with the slick between your thighs. But he wants to look at your face, make you look at him. He wants to see your eyes roll back, saliva dribbling between his fingers hooked in your mouth, pulling your cheek open so your choking sobs and cries are loud and clear.
He fists your hair and pulls hard enough to make you cry, arching your back and letting his thick cock bruise your insides, let him see the bulge in the reflection as he buries himself, the clapping sounds of his pelvis against your ass growing louder and losing rhythm.
He pulls your hair so he can bite at your shoulder and neck, growling against your skin, tasting salty sweat and smelling sex. “You look at me when I fuck you.”
He lets you go and you just fold over yourself, standing on your toes being held up by Pope. Every thrust in this new position lets his balls slap against your puffy clit, making you hiccup as you try to tell him your cumming. It's slow and lingering, sizzling all over your body and making your head pound as blood rushes and your walls flutter around his throbbing dick, sucking him in deeper, creating a milky rim around his base. He just loves how your hole sticks to him, not wanting to let go, how your slick spreads across his pelvis as he grinds, slapping your ass to make you yelp.
He pulls you back up and makes you brace yourself against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass, hair sticking to your cheeks. He’s fucking mesmerized by your hanging tits bouncing and slapping as he beats your cervix with his tip, balls getting tight.
He can't let himself cum without you, so he starts abusing your sensitive clit, pinching and rubbing painfully fast, making your face scrunch as you choke. The sight of you shaking, dripping sweat down your chin and back, all plush beneath his hands, thighs raw, has him in a fucking haze as he coats your insides in cum and makes you squirt, your legs just giving out.
He’ll be so sweet with the aftercare, drawing you a hot bath and brushing your hair for you, letting you turn to mush against him, trusting him entirely to be gentle with you. He’ll stay up all night watching you sleep, knowing you don't regret a moment shared.
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