aryn !!

❝ how much sorrow can I take? ❞ reader | 19 | she/her writing blog -> @targaryensangel

[thceseus]

a man who can't be moved. ⨾ Peter Parker

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

summary: Peter Parker lost everything. The Avengers, Tony, his aunt, Ned, and MJ—all spelled away, till he met you. someone he'd eventually found comfort in. yet he never saw how you looked at him, too lost with his own ghosts to notice you were waiting.

tags/warnings: ANGST, cursing, reader is an idiot tbh, peter is also an idiot, peter is sad, based on the new bnd trailer but not accurate, also probably inaccurate timelines.

wc: 2.5k words.

a/n: AHHH HERE IT IS!! this one is for my day one fellow peter parker girlie @amoebadue. also i kinda don't like the ending so... yeah, and sorry for the long wait!!!

masterlist

Peter had told you everything.

Him web-swinging since he was 15, meeting Steve Rogers for the first time and getting his ass kicked, Thanos snapping half the universe, Tony’s gut-wrenching sacrifice that he said still keeps him up at night.

Even the spell ‘incident’ from four years ago where he lost the entirety of his world. Peter said it was still his biggest guilt—not being able to protect his loved ones when he could have.

Then smaller ones.

Aunt May, the small apartment they used to share, eating cheap Thai food because the two would likely start a fire sooner than something edible. How Ned is the only one who sticks by his side, with movie nights filled with salty popcorn and making set after set of Legos. And MJ.

Always MJ—the MJ.

He always speaks of her like she was an angel—a goddess that is perched so high on a pedestal it might as well block out the sun. With her sharp wit and pretty smile, he said that she was the only one who saw through him. The Peter behind the mask.

And yeah, you’re jealous.

It would be so much easier if she were this– bad person, but of course, she wasn’t.

You felt guilty for feeling that way, but another part of you just can’t help but feel hurt. Sometimes, it feels like he made you nothing more than just a rebound—a placeholder in the void that the spell left, even though nothing official was ever established—not even acknowledged between you two.

Maybe it was stupid. Hell, you were stupid.

Falling for someone who is so undeniably unavailable—still being chased by the ghosts of his past and his life full of regrets, he’s yet to be content with.

But how could anyone not fall head over heels in love when Peter is… Peter?

Total dork with that lopsided grin, always double-checking after a particularly brutal study session for your Immunoengineering course, the one who’d insist on walking you back to your dorms even though he lived alone at an apartment, blocks away in the opposite direction from you, his curls always sticking up in different directions no matter how many times he brushed them back.

It started when he was late to an introduction class for Biomechanics.

“Fuck…” he’d say under his breath, quickly looking around for an empty chair as the professor glared at him like he just blew up a lab.

Your eyes were on your computer, organizing the folders you’d just made, each titled after the courses you took in your first year, when a scrap of a chair made you look up.

You were confused about why the brunette in front of you was so flustered, as if he had just finished a marathon, though he wasn’t heavy breathing, and no drop of sweat was visible. Looking down as he motioned to the empty seat beside you.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

You shook your head, before locking your gaze on your computer again, as if he wasn’t there.

Since then, he has been your seatmate in that class. Then another when you found out that you both are in the same major.

You learned his name was Peter. A pretty smart guy, not so bad in the eyes, with a charming smile that is contagious, and stupid jokes so unfunny you can’t help but laugh at them.

But then it went on after the classes, too.

It was small at first, walking together to class, then the endless library sessions where both of you would always end burnt out after hours—he even got you obsessed with this deli owned by someone called Mr. Delmar (though it was weird how he always seemed to linger every time you’re there).

Then it grew; he would start to walk you back after those late nights, block after block. The city would unfold before you, neon signs buzzing, sirens wailing, groups of friends laughing freely after a night of drinks, and his voice would fill the silence.

Joking about how the previous lab practice was an absolute disaster and that the professor was a total bum for blaming your group when the problem was totally the improperly made bacterial cultures.

You’d giggle. “It’s fine, Pete! We should be glad he’s not failing us.”

His eyes widened—dumbfounded. “You’re too nice, you know?”

You only rolled your eyes, nudging his side with your elbow, making him playfully stumble as he grinned. You both burst out laughing after that.

And whenever you’d arrive in front of your building, he’d always make sure. “Text me when you’re in?”

“I will. Thank you for walking me home,” you smiled, earning one from him in return.

“Night.”

“Good night, Pete.”

You swear it didn’t feel weird before. Just two friends who don’t have any other friends except each other getting close, and surely Peter walking you home is just an act of basic human decency, right?

At least that’s what you told yourself—yet you keep on falling and falling every day.

The weeks blurred into routine—the nights spent together getting later now. Cloudy ones where Peter would share his hoodie because you forgot to bring a jacket. Bright ones, where he’d point out constellations when you’re both too tired to continue studying, yet secretly not wanting to go back to being alone. Even nights where you don’t utter any words to each other—only the too greasy fries and burgers being passed along as a silent witness of each moment you share.

One particular night though, he could sense how different you are compared to the rest of the nights. How you struggle to look him in the eye, way too quiet for someone who loves to laugh openly alongside him.

So stupidly gentle Peter stopped you as you were just about to go up to your dorms.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Your eyes widened, the dam that you built up since you woke up that day was now too close to breaking, and you nodded. Guiding him up to your rooms—his hands would hover just around you in case you needed grounding.

You finally let go the moment you stepped inside. Bursting everything that has been boiling up under the surface—under your smile that won’t reach up to your eyes fully, and he’d held you through it. Arms wrapped around you as you buried your face against his neck, muttering soft-spoken words as you apologize for wetting his sweater.

“It’s okay… I’m here for you,” as his hands would run along your back soothingly, calming you down.

He wound up falling asleep on your cramped couch that night. Saying something about how you needed someone to look after you as you rest.

How could you not fall for someone like him?

The line began to fade out even more.

What was once late nights in the library turned into shared company in one of your places. Yours when you’re feeling particularly lazy, or his when the both of you were craving that Chinese food just beside his building.

And then he told you everything. You were perplexed—almost laughing at his face till you realized that he was serious.

“You’re actually Spider-Man?” Your mouth gaped, your brain short-circuited like the neurons inside were just reduced to two and you’re struggling to wrap your head around it.

“Want me to show you?”

The next thing you know, you were screaming on the top of your lungs, clinging onto him tight as he swung you around the city. Shooting his webs effortlessly as he grinned. “You’re way too scared!”

“Of course I’m scared, you idiot! I am basically flying without any harness–” shutting your eyes and yelping as he drops from a building—swinging you back up the moment you feel like it was all over. Your legs were stumbling as you landed on top of a rooftop.

“Do not do that again,” you glared, making him laugh. Taking off the mask, his arm would still be wrapped tightly around your waist. Hand tucking your now messy hair just behind your ear.

“You’re a mess.”

You rolled your eyes to hide the fluster, thankful that the spot you were in was particularly dark. “Shut up. You ruined my hair.”

He also told you the secrets he kept alone. The spell and the years that followed him after first, then deeper—Tony’s last words and how he’s like a dad to him, how much he misses Ned and how guilty he is for probably making him think that he had no other friend growing up, and of course, MJ.

He laughed bittersweetly as he recounted how overprotective she was, always nagging and telling him to be more careful, yet never telling him to stop doing what he loved.

He told you how much he missed her arms around him, her soft and sweet lips, how she would make everything—the pain, the memories—gone in just one kiss.

The moment he showed you the letter he wrote for her from four years ago, you knew that you’re practically chasing nothing but a floating soul.

But you forced yourself to stay fine. To keep smiling and telling him that he did all he could, and you were there for him now. It felt more and more painful with each story he told you, but you can’t tell him to stop—you don’t want him to stop.

If it meant you had to hear about this ghost of a past just to let him stay, then you would.

So you swallow it. Every bile stuck in your throat, every confession you desperately want to say to him—you let it slide so that you can get more pieces of him.

And admittedly, it was so so incredibly stupid of you, but goddamnit– why was it so hard to hold him accountable? To finally be honest with yourself and let him go?

Then it happened. At some MIT students’ mixer party, he’d ask you to accompany him. Something about ‘networking before you graduate’ and ‘unwinding’—so you went together– well, not together together, but he asked you, so that had to count, right?

Now he’s at your door, smiling boyishly as he fidgets with the collar of his shirt. You let out a snort, before carefully fixing it up for him. Fingers lingering just above his chest too long for it to be safe.

You cleared your throat. “Ready to be functional adults?”

He’d chuckle and nod before you both walked towards the address that was sent.

The apartment was small, like any other student-owned place, but cozy nonetheless. The lounge hummed with lowly played music, conversations carried across by different groups of people, and there was a table filled with different alcohols and snacks.

Both of you instinctively took a deep breath, then your gazes landed on each other. He exhaled first, then you followed—these were the moments that made it harder to actually let go. How his shoulders visibly relaxed the moment he saw you, how his eyes softened like the pressure of the world and the mask were not there. For a second, it felt real. Like he was looking at your face for cues, and not the ghosts.

You felt your breath hitch, before you nursed it back to one of your rehearsed smiles. “Should we go look around?”

“Yeah. Text me if anything happens, okay?” he smiled back at you.

You nodded, before separating ways with him. You mingled with people, introducing yourself and your major, complimenting some girl’s hair, debating on which spot near the campus has the best pizza.

Meanwhile, Peter found his way to the table full of snacks. Already filling up a plate with your favorites, picking some up for him as well. Studying the choice of drinks and opting for a canned soda instead.

He watched as you weaved through the crowd. Effortlessly joining in conversations, with your laughter ringing through the crowd, he felt at peace. He felt like everything was going to be okay.

You found him already looking at you then. Immediately smiling, you excused yourself to the others so you could walk up to him.

Peter raised the canned soda and the plate of snacks, making you giggle.

For a moment, he forgot about the past. His mind and eyes were only on you.

But then, his gaze snags across the room—just for half a second—then it locks.

It was her.

He froze, plate and cans almost dropping to the ground if it weren’t for his super abilities. His heart lurched, breath caught, eyes zeroed in on the sight of her.

Narrowing your eyes at his sudden shock, you then followed his line of sight.

MJ.

She stood out like a beacon with her sleek black top—so perfectly fitted you would think it was made just for her. Her hair was tousled just right and effortless, not like yours, where you spent almost too long just to get it right.

Though she was not alone.

Beside her was a guy. Tall, broad shoulders, nice and bright smile, with his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Her own hand sprawled on his chest, the two whispering something that looked too intimate, before laughing with each other.

You looked at Peter again. How his once relaxed body is now rigid, his lips trembling just like how it was the nights when the memories hit him the hardest.

Your own heart was hurting now. You thought that he was finally seeing you. Seeing what’s in front of him instead of the past—turns out you were wrong. Oh, so very wrong, you almost laughed at yourself.

You finally took a deep breath, composing yourself, before continuing towards him.

“You okay?”

He swallowed hard and nodded silently, eyes finally flicking towards you again—grateful for the interruption from his own thoughts, yet fractured.

Stepping beside him and looking at her again. “Is that her?” You knew it was, and you knew it would hurt the moment he answered, yet you asked anyway.

“Yeah…” his voice shaking.

“She’s happy. She deserves it.”

“And you don’t?” you asked carefully.

He looked at you again. Nostalgia and pain etched along his face. “Not after what I’ve done, no.”

You frowned. “Pete– we’ve talked about this…”

He finally gave you one of his practiced smiles, the one he gives whenever he doesn’t want you to worry.

But you’ve learned to see through it at this point.

“It’s not your fault, okay?” you assured again, fingers twitching to reach out to him.

He nodded, then looked at her again.

“You deserve to be happy, Peter.”

He only let out a shuddered breath. Letting a few beats slip out in silence.

“Let me walk you home?” he eventually managed to let out. Burying his feelings down.

“Yeah,” giving him your soft smile—no matter how painful it was, how foolish you were feeling—knowing that he just needed a timeout from the amount of feelings and memories crashing down.

And now, even when you’re the one he’s walking with, you know that he’s the man who can’t be moved.

© thceseus, 2026 ༝ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. thank you for reading! ᢉ𐭩

[mostlymarvelgirl]

I really miss those old avengers tower fics

1. Clint in the vents

2. Bruce and Tony in the lab... science bros

3. Cap being accused and called out by his team ... either it's the "language" or "I understood that reference"

4. Loki for some reason being imprisoned in the tower by Odin to learn humanity blah blah

5. Thor and his poptarts

6. Natasha and wanda being the bestie

7. Reader either dating Loki or Bucky

8. Fury calling out reader initially as a threat as they were an orphan who was a lineage of witches type of trope. OR reader is Tony's kid.

9. Bucky randomly becoming besties with Sam and them having their own fights.

10. Peter and Shuri becoming besties with reader

11. Maria, pepper, wanda, Natasha and reader having sleepovers.

12. Tony having a party every time after a mission. Everyone ends up trying to lift thor's hammer and reader turns out to be worthy.

13. Loki teaching reader how to use magic.

And the list goes on....

[piouscoffeelover]

i miss you 2012 avengers. i miss you the avengers tower. i miss you irondad and spiderson. i miss you meme lord shuri and peter. i miss you loki lingering in the tower for no other reason than that he's the main love interest. i miss you poptart-eating thor. i miss you grumpy bucky barnes. i miss you old man, chronically offline steve rogers. i miss you clint in the vents. i miss you girls night with wanda and natasha. i miss you resurrected, shamelessly flirty pietro. i miss you clueless, socially inept vision. i miss you the rare bruce banner feature. i miss you sassy sam wilson. i miss you cheeky reader who always called fury by his first name. i miss you super nanny phil coulson. i miss you christmas avengers blurbs in the middle of the fanfiction written by an autistic 14 year old. i miss you 😔😔😔

[redsakura101]

Just Friends? (Part 2)

– Something Familiar

Dennis Whitaker x Reader, Peter Parker x Reader

Find My Pitt Masterlist here Read Previous Here! The news of your friend coming to stay sends your mind flicking through memories of the past... Yearning for that familiarity in the form of a sweatshirt. The news also just so happens to throw Dennis' minds into a flurry. Trying to keep his mind steady. Only to crumble further when Trinity and Victoria comb through photos of your past. Featuring a very happy you... All cozied up into the side of Dennis' future roommate.

Notes: wholesome fluff. slowburn. love triangle. meet cute. strong language. medical inaccuracies. meddlesome Santos and Javadi. The Pitt x Marvel crossover. Jealous!Dennis.

Word Count: ~3.0k

Dragging yourself out of bed, tugging on a sweatshirt, that was well worn and loved. Its bright blue hue now dulled and faded, whilst the yellow of the insignia had started to crackle. 

Perhaps it was a coincidence.

Perhaps it was simply a habit. 

Perhaps it was because Peter was on your mind. 

No matter the reason, you had gravitated towards that specific sweatshirt. 

It was an old sweatshirt, one with the words Midtown High plastered across it. 

An old sweatshirt that had survived your move from New York to Pittsburgh. 

One of the few things you were sure not to forget. 

It was one of your favourites. No matter how old it was. No matter how many times it had been washed or worn. It was always so soft. 

So comforting. 

A reminder of home. 

It also may or may not have been snagged from the closet of your friend, Peter. 

Even if you happened to own the very same sweatshirt, you had insisted that his was softer. 

Now ‘burrowing’ jumpers and sweaters was not something you were in the habit of–

Scratch that. 

‘Burrowing’ the jumpers and sweaters of your friends was definitely something you were in the habit of. 

Peter was one of your preferred victims of this habit. 

And since Dennis had moved in…

He had also been subjected to you using his sweaters and jumpers whenever it was chilly. 

Mens jumpers were simply made better, you would say with a shrug. Not elaborating any further on your little habit. 

There was perhaps one or two times Dennis would notice you come into work wearing one of his sweatshirts. 

I was in a rush–

–It was the first thing I saw. 

I totally thought this was mine–

Any and all excuses would be thrown out, whilst you blinked in surprise, as though him pointing it out was the first you were made aware of the jumper not being yours. 

And Dennis…

Dennis should’ve been annoyed. 

Should’ve told you to stop–but truthfully, whenever he saw you snuggled onto the couch in one of his sweatshirts or in one of his jumpers in the morning. 

It only seemed to fuel his growing affections for you. 

But that was an admission he was well and truly burying way beneath the surface. 

Tucking it away from plain sight. 

So this morning, when you had waltzed into the kitchen, Dennis already nursing a freshly brewed coffee, pouring you a cup when you entered. 

He stopped short…

Lips pulled thin. 

Eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

Normally on days off like today, on the rare occasions you both had the mornings off. You’d spend it having breakfast together, spending the time helping each other study, or plan the week of groceries…

And normally you would’ve snagged one of his jumpers to wear. 

…But today you were sporting a dulled blue sweatshirt, with the words Midtown High crinkled and cracked. 

It was familiar in a sense that Dennis had seen it before–but where he couldn’t exactly place. 

He didn’t remember you wearing it. 

At least not recently…

“Morning,” you grinned at him, plonking yourself down onto the barstool, taking the coffee he offered you. 

Inhaling its aromatic sense, hoping that it would dull the headache. 

He squints slightly, your voice just a few octaves too loud for this morning. Especially after last night’s karaoke…

“Oops, sorry,” you offer quietly, allowing your voice to drop a little, noticing how he winces ever so slightly from your voice. 

But the cheeriness in your voice is not lost. 

It doesn’t dim. 

Not for a single moment. Smiling happily while you drink your coffee. Dennis’ eyes furrow in question as he hears you hum a slight tune–vaguely similar to the songs sung last night. 

Your eyes focused upon your phone, typing quickly as you smile widely. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, elbows leant against the counter top while he sipped on his coffee. 

“Hm?” you hum, eyes still trained onto your phone. Before glancing up at him, placing your phone down, “Sorry, what?”

Dennis cocks his head to the side, “I said, how’d you sleep?”

“Oh–yeah, good, well as good as can be after last night,” you rambled on, “My feet are still aching but I’m not sure if that's from the dancing or from my last few shifts–what about you?”

He nods, “Yeah, slept alright–” his brows knit together once more when he sees your eyes dart to your phone, he watches as you scan the message that had popped up–and then you let out a giggle. 

Which quickly morphed into quiet laughter. 

Now this–this was strange…

Dennis wasn’t exactly in the habit of prying. Wasn’t exactly someone who would dig further into someone’s personal life…

But he couldn’t help longing to know what was making you laugh. 

What had brought such a bright smile to your face. 

Dennis would be lying if he said he didn’t have feelings for you–

And well, Trinity already knew. So there was no sense in lying to himself about how he felt. 

He was simply struggling to come up with the right way to tell you…

And last night on the ride back to the apartment, with your head tucked upon his shoulder, sleep trying to pull you under. 

After a night of singing, dancing and laughing together–that moment last night when you were saying goodnight, you had leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips–

Dennis was finally coming around to the idea of telling you. 

Had felt encouraged to tell you. 

Of taking a leap of faith and finally confessing how you made him feel. 

There just now seemed to be a slight problem. 

One tiny wrench–

A small spanner in the works–

“Sorry–Didn’t mean to be so distracted,” you said apologetically, while setting your phone down once more, “I just found out an old friend of mine might be coming to Pittsburgh for the Summer–and was hoping to stay in the spare room”

Dennis nods, shaking away the memories from last night, “Oh, yeah. Cool. Which friend was that?”  

Since living with you, Dennis had heard many stories about your life back in New York. 

Had stopped to admire the photos you placed around the apartment, after insisting that Dennis feel free to do the same. 

Frames filled with you and friends, faces beaming with glee. 

“My friend Peter, I would’ve brought him up before–we went to high school together,” in your eyes there’s this fondness found within them, a softness from the reminder of days gone by, “Gosh, I’ve been friends with him practically forever…” 

Peter Parker. 

Your best friend. 

You had met in Midtown High when you had both rounded a corner colliding whilst both of your books had fallen to the ground…

He had frantically helped you collect your things, sputtering out a stream of apologies. 

Only once you had clasped your hand over his mouth did he eventually stop. 

And that was how you both became friends. 

High school wasn’t ever easy. Between assignments, essays, tests and exams. Between the teases and off handed remarks thrown by Flash. 

High school was challenging. 

But it was made at least a little easier going through it all with Peter, who eventually led you to meet Ned. And then you had roped in MJ into your little mish mash of a friend group. 

Peter was the first one you told of your aspirations. 

Of your hopes to become a doctor. 

Something you had never told anybody else up until now. 

He was also the first and only friend you told about how you would occasionally help stitch up Daredevil. 

And that little secret you shared. 

Led to Peter sharing his very own secret with you. 

It led to him confiding in you about being Spiderman. 

…To which you might’ve thrown a bread roll at him to test out his ‘spidersenses’ or ‘Peter tingles’ as May calls them. 

Over the years he had gotten you involved in a web of tangled messes.

From making up excuses for him as a cover for classes. 

From having to haul his ass through his window, and help treat his wounds. 

And just from affiliation. Just because you had been photographed with Spiderman once!

Led to countless times finding yourself teetering on the edge of some building all because of some villain attack that you had been caught in the crossfire of. 

Despite it all. 

Despite the chaos and the stress. 

Despite the near death experiences.

You truly loved your best friend. 

You were truly grateful to call him a friend. 

And now you felt lucky to call Dennis a good friend of yours. Lucky to have such good people in your life. 

In fact there were times when you would be with Dennis and be reminded of Peter–their similarities bubbling to the surface. 

Their kind nature. 

The consideration. 

Their compassion. 

Their ability to be funny without meaning to. 

They were both so sweet–

Letting your thoughts fade away, you’re brought back into the present whilst you pluck a frame from a shelf and show Dennis, “So this one here is MJ, there’s Ned and that’s Peter”

Dennis's eyes scan across the picture. 

There you were, squeezed by Peter’s side, wedged in by MJ while Ned leaned in beside Peter. 

The photo itself must’ve been taken a few years ago, there was a youthfulness to it.  

All four of you, smiling widely, happily…

Dennis can’t help but note the way you leaned into Peter, your head tucked onto his shoulder, his eyes stopping short before flickering between the frame and your sweatshirt.

That same blue sweatshirt worn by you now…. 

Seen to be worn by Peter in the photo.

Now for all he knew, it could’ve been a coincidence. 

It was a high school sweatshirt, you could’ve easily had your own one. 

But the faint tear, the small little hole just on the shoulder of the sweatshirt, is identical to the small little tear on the sweatshirt you’re wearing now…

Dennis couldn’t quite explain why. But that made his chest twist, his stomach flip uncomfortably. 

“I’m so excited, you two are going to get along just like a house on fire,” you grin. 

Like a house on fire indeed….

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Dennis says, lacking his usual enthusiasm. Not that you notice–as you switch on to figure out what you guys needed from the supermarket.

…

The day carries on. 

By early afternoon, you’re tucked into your bed getting some shut eye in before your shift that evening. 

And all throughout that. 

While you’re sleeping soundly. 

Dennis is next door with Trinity. His head in his hands, a small frown placed upon his lips. 

Trinity’s eyes narrowed in on him. 

“Huckleberry, if I wanted to be suffocated by a cloud of sadness I would’ve put on Marley and Me–at least that movie has a funny dog,” she jokes before giving him a pointed look, “So what’s up with you?”

Ever since you had pointed out Peter in that picture. 

Dennis can’t help but fixate on all the other pictures around the apartment. 

Couldn’t help but notice how in so many of the frames, Peter would almost always be present. Wide smiles, carefree laughter frozen in a picture. 

Dennis was not a jealous person…

In fact he had no reason to be jealous–no right to be jealous. 

You and he…were nothing more than just friends, roommates, colleagues at the end of the day…

And yet. 

Dennis couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were both something more. 

Something more than just colleagues…

More than roommates…

More than just friends…

He couldn’t help but hold out hope. Hope that you would feel the same way. 

But with the arrival of Peter. 

Your good friend–

Your best friend Peter. 

Peter who had known you for far longer. 

Who had been in your life through some of the biggest milestones. 

Whose name made you beam and your eyes sparkle with joy at the thought. 

“It’s uh–It’s nothing,” Dennis tried to deny, lips pulled thin. A weight weighing heavily on his shoulders, mind stuck in a fog. Circling around you, Peter and that fucking blue sweatshirt. 

Trinity elbowed Victoria, an incredulous look shared between them both. 

“Is it about Y/N?” Victoria questioned. 

Before Trinity jumped in, “Did something happen with her last night?” 

Dennis’ brows furrowed, shaking his head fervently, waving his arms, “No, no–nothing happened,” his voice raised as a heat crawled up to settle upon his cheeks. 

Perhaps…

Something did happen…

But Dennis was not about to break on that front. 

“Bullshit,” Trinity countered. 

Cheeks puffed out whilst he sighed heavily, he placed his head on the countertop. Eyes shut, while he muffles out, “She has a friend coming to stay with us over the Summer” 

“And?” They both looked at him expectantly. 

“And,” his mouth twists in thought, wondering if he really should share this–if he really should say any of this. Eyes darting up to look at them both…

“And I think there might be something between them”

Both Victoria and Trinity’s eyes widened in shock. Victoria almost sputtered out the tea she was drinking, before clasping a hand to her mouth. 

“Are you sure?” 

He offers the slightest nod, as though his body was trying to reject the idea itself. 

“They’ve been friends since they met in high school–and you should’ve seen the photos, they just seemed so–so–so close. I don’t know how else to describe it,” Dennis rambled, “And I know this isn’t fair–I don’t have a right to feel this way–”

“What’s his name?” Trinity asked, already with her phone in hand, poised to type. 

Dennis’ brows dip in question, “Uh, Peter?”

“Peter Parker?” Trinity questioned, already finding him through your friends list on Instagram. She turns the phone for Dennis to check. 

He nods, “Yeah–that’s him” 

Her tongue pokes out whilst she works, “Ok, let’s see what we’re working with” 

She scrolls through his photos, nothing too much, the skyline of the city, science puns that make Trinity physically cringe while Victoria laughs, a few photos of him and a few key friends. 

Someone tagged Ned, another person, MJ…

And then you. 

You feature in a lot of the older photos, clearly from before your move. 

But as she goes back to your page, she scrolls through your tagged photos and she is flooded with photos to look through. 

And a few too many of them feature you wedged into the side of Peter.

Dennis leans over, pointing at one of the pictures, where Peter’s arm is slung around your shoulder while you lean into him. 

“See, don’t they look a little more than friends”

Trinity’s mouth twists in thought, while both her and Victoria take it in. 

“Hmm–kind of,” she agrees vaguely. 

“This morning I’m pretty sure she was even wearing one of his jumpers,” Dennis added. 

Both of them raised a brow when looking up at him, before Victoria adds, “Doesn’t she steal your jumpers too”

His cheeks flush once more, shrinking back into his seat, “Well–yeah, but she said it was because they’re warmer”

“Right,” Victoria nods exaggeratedly. 

Trinity’s eyes don’t move from the photos, flicking through them all. 

“What are you thinking?” Victoria asks, inching closer to look at the photos. One of Peter pulling a funny face whilst your captured mid laugh, the faint glistening of tears at the corners of your eyes. 

Trinity’s eyes flicker from the photo back up to Dennis before landing back on the photo. 

“What are you thinking?..” He asks, as a look of worry settles on his face. 

She hums faintly, before meeting his gaze, “I’m thinking you and him have a similar vibe–similar energy”

“What!” Dennis stands abruptly, almost knocking over his chair, hands moving quickly to stop it from falling, while shaking his head, “No we don’t” 

Both Trinity and Victoria let out a faint sound. 

A sound of disagreement. 

“I don’t know Huckleberry. He’s giving Huckleberry vibes–well a City Huckleberry at least,” she turns the phone, to show him a short video of Peter almost doing the exact same thing Dennis had just done. 

Standing suddenly in a panic, the chair almost clattering to the ground had he not clumsily saved it from falling, while you’re hunched over laughing, going over to him to make sure he was ok. 

The moment your hand rests on his arm–the video ends. Posted by MJ, who happened to only post the funniest instances of your friend group it seemed. 

…Watching it now. 

Both Victoria and Trinity do their best to stifle their laughter. 

It was hard to deny the vague similarities. 

Dennis pouts, sitting back down, arms crossed over his chest, “I knew I shouldn’t have told you both.”

“Don’t be like that–you know Crash and I are on your side” 

“Yeah…” Dennis sighs. Wiping at his face. 

The problem wasn’t whether or not his friends were on his side. 

It was never about sides.

It was just whether or not…You’d want to be by his side?

Or Peter’s?

And as he hands you your keep cup of coffee, a brief hug before you scramble to leave for your evening shift. Waving you goodbye–the way your smile brightens.

The way your hair seemed to frame your face. 

The way you had tugged on one of Dennis’ sweaters before leaving through the door. 

Had made his chest flutter at the sight. Had made his thoughts race. Had made him dizzy at the idea–that maybe one day, he’d be able to tell you of all the feelings you ignited for him. 

Of how he would long to kiss you goodbye, and greet your smiling lips with a soft kiss…

Those thoughts come to a screeching halt. 

Eyes landing onto one of the many frames in the apartment. 

A photo of you and Peter…

There was the gnawing thought that scratched at the back of Dennis’ brain each time he was around you now. Every time he was reminded of you. 

Every time he wondered about you…

Without even meeting Peter. 

Dennis had already grown to dislike the man…

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part (thank you for all the love on the previous part!! it's super exciting to be working on this series) ! I know I promised Peter would be here...but ended up pushing him to the next part...but I've put in a few glimpses into the past and the significance of Peter in your life in this part. Hope you enjoyed seeing Trinity and Victoria literally dig into it all on Dennis' behalf (a literal deep dive into Peter...Trinity totally dug up all she could on this guy making her puppy dog friend so down in the dumps) 👀 jealous Dennis literally making my heart swoon at the thought!! and yes, we can just pretend their sweaters will fit no matter what. Let me know what you thought or if you'd like to be added to the taglist✨

Ok! Now in the next part-Peter Parker comes to town! A blast from the past, and perhaps a few more feelings are set to brew...throwing a bit of a wrench into PTMC's betting board. Also did you happen to mention you've met Spiderman??

Read the Part 3: Something There here!

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 If you enjoyed, consider checking out my Dennis Whitaker x Former Army Medic!ReaderTread Lightly Series Or check out my Dennis Whitaker Masterlist here

Taglist: @the-sassy-one @ilocuras24 @may-machin @hazydespair @barnes70stark @kyky9103 @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @kmc1989 @rach2602 @delusionalphd @beths-shoelaces @prettypreyy @kiisotoko @1-800-bobcut @laitifly @velvetsighs @zuzoo94 @tinkerbelltxt @sleepydang @fungus130 @spiderstyles04 @reijixia13 @straykids1011 @nataliambc @californ1asnow @tendertulip @anyiahsbookshelf @pascalsryissa @majesticallyzo @qardasngan @antisirkbitch @clowninavan @alexandran825-blog @shxniq @gglouise23

Here's a few ideas of the photos they might've seen on Insta and around the apartment ♥️ (In some photos I am picturing the reader in place of Zendaya/MJ)

And yes - the reader putting her hand over Peter's mouth is inspired by the fact that everyone does that to Tom to avoid spoilers hahah 😂

[boogieboopie]

~ FRANK LANGDON X PEDS!READER ~

A MIXED MEDIA SMAU

MASTERLIST~

part 1 - something sweet

part 2 - just co-workers

part 3 - the jacket incident

part 4 - night shift

part 5 - welcome back

more coming soon...

~ meet peds!reader

peds!reader who is on her emergency medicine rotation after spending most of intern year in inpatient and outpatient pediatrics. she's still adjusting to the pace of the ER, where everything is louder and faster. she asks a million questions, carries too many pens in her scrub pockets, and still occasionally gets lost trying to find supply rooms because she spent the last year living on entirely different floors.

peds!reader who's known santos since her first day in pittsburg, they met at a bar one night and quickly became friends. eventually they became roomates and took in poor whitaker.

peds!reader who is slowly started to observe that ever since frank langdon started working closely with her, everyone else in the department has decided they are witnessing “something.” she does not agree. at all. she is extremely normal about it. they are just professional friends. the fact that she immediately starts talking faster whenever he walks into a room is irrelevant.

peds!reader who talks a lot. not because she likes hearing herself speak, but because silence makes her nervous. she'll ramble while placing IVs, while charting, while walking between rooms.

peds!reader who is incredibly good with scared children. she can convince a terrified five-year-old to take medicine, talk an anxious teenager through stitches, and somehow perform an exam while discussing dinosaurs, taylor swift, or whatever hyperfixation the kid currently has.

peds!reader who discovers that frank is weirdly protective of her. not because he thinks she can't handle herself, but because he knows she runs herself into the ground trying to take care of everyone else.

peds!reader who stress bakes. after bad shifts she'll go home and make bread from scratch at midnight because kneading dough feels easier than processing emotions. her apartment constantly smells like fresh bread, muffins, or whatever recipe she found online at 2 a.m.

peds!reader who never quite understands how she became so important to langdon, and she can't help but think that maybe, maybe she should start listening to the others...

taglist [comment to be added] - @straykids1011@h0e4fictionalme-n @angelxxrose@tulipfields11 pinguphd@shortqueershakespeare @blurredkissesx @angelicncity @lovesackles @boooootomato @strangegirl26sff @fawnsfern @vanillafan6 @siriuslycrying-blog @elizamoe133 @toxiccfrog @stargirlbabies @womenenthusiast8008 @silovicbaird

[megalony]

He's A Married Man

An anon request suddenly spurred some new ideas for Frank Langdon and I couldn't wait to get this one written down!

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602 @itshamleth @ladespedidas @devilslittlehelper @buckslifeline @wanniiieeee @jaydaaasworld @theelementofsurprisee @andrewgarfieldislife @lover-rep-fanfic @spideysimpossiblegirl

@ughyna @winterreader-nowwriter @natashamea18 @rayasromances

The Pitt Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: (Y/n) knows things would get complicated in the Pitt if anyone found out Frank was having an affair with her; especially since she's Robby's daughter. But when a situation escalates, certain secrets come to light.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God, she wasn't even halfway through this shift and already Dana was praying for it to come to an end.

Part of her wanted a mass load of casualties to clamour through the ambulance bay because at least that would keep them busy and focused on some proper work. It would need her attention, she would have to organise and distribute the staff and make changes. She wouldn't have to keep running out to the waiting room to sort out the brawling patients who couldn't stop arguing with one another and fighting over waiting times.

She felt the need to drag her fingers through her hair, but she'd just gotten it neatly clipped at the back of her head.

With itching fingers eager to do or grasp onto something, Dana turned and stormed down the hall, aiming for her desk where she could sit down and see what work needed her attention. And more importantly, get away from the waiting room.

It was as if fate realised she needed a distraction and sent one directly into her path.

Dana was used to noticing the changes in the ER, the people who stood out or the ones who looked like they didn't belong here. Working here for over twenty years gave her that experience and insight.

So she noticed the young woman ahead to her left, the distraction fate had put in her path for her.

She was hunched forward, arms bound around her middle and her head hanging down towards the floor like she was too afraid to look up or take in the sights around her. As if she were trying to break into a bank and didn't want to arouse suspicion.

Two steps closer to the girl had a small but warm smile floating onto Dana's lips as the girl finally lifted her head.

"Hey kid, good to see you…" As soon as she was close enough, Dana wrapped her arm around (Y/n)'s shoulders and gently pulled her into her side like she was taking her under her wing. "What's up?"

It had been almost two weeks, maybe even longer, since Dana had seen (Y/n) down here in the Pitt.

She was a regular visitor, always popping by to see them. Sometimes she brought them baked goods, other times she just brightened the atmosphere with her smile and calming nature. Now that (Y/n) worked up in the paediatric ward, she was often coming down to see them on her lunch break. Bringing her dad dinner or bringing them all a coffee from the good place because she wasn't as worked into the ground as they were down here.

It was usually (Y/n) coming down here to spend some extra time with her dad and to chat and hear the news going on down here. She had never come in with an issue or a problem before.

At first, as Dana guided (Y/n) in the direction of the break room, she thought that (Y/n) was upset. The way she was huddled forward and tucked herself into Dana's embrace was like one of Dana's girls when they'd had a break up or got overwhelmed and worried over something.

"So, what's-"

Dana didn't get chance to say anything else. Not when (Y/n) doubled forward and with a disgruntled cough, threw up a mixture of sick and a heaping of water onto the floor.

That was why she had turned up here. She wasn't well.

Her legs were shaking, barely able to keep herself upright and she tightened her arms around her middle like she was trying to hold herself together, fearing she would fall to pieces if she didn't.

Leaning over, Dana gently pressed the back of her hand to (Y/n)'s temple, clicking her tongue when she felt sweat and a rising temperature.

"Oh kid." Her eyes danced around them, relieved to see Trinity passing by who she reached out for quickly. "Hey, go get Robby for me, tell him it's a VIP patient."

Dana adjusted so her left arm was bound tight around (Y/n)'s middle and her right hand began to smooth up and down her arm, trying to keep her calm and coax her to keep breathing through her nose. She took steady breaths to encourage (Y/n) to do the same.

(Y/n) came by the Pitt often enough, and Robby talked about her so much that she felt like one of them. Sometimes Dana thought of her as an extension of her own family. They all looked out for each other and for their own down here, and Robby would certainly want to know that his daughter was here as a patient, not just for a passing visit.

It didn't take long for Robby to come out of one of the exam rooms, tossing a gown and a pair of gloves in the bin on his way over.

His sights set on (Y/n) immediately and for a brief second, Robby smiled. But then it seemed to dawn on him that his daughter was the VIP patient, and that meant something was wrong with her. That thought sent his mind spiralling and had his heart jumping up into his throat.

He jogged over and in an instant, his hand was on the small of (Y/n)'s back and he was leaning forward to try and look down at her to see the problem and why she was hunched forward.

"Sweetheart, what're you doing here? What's the matter?"

(Y/n) tried to give her dad an answer, she really did. But when her lips parted and she took in a deep breath, it went straight to her head like she had took in a large heap of laughing gas. Her eyes seemed to roll to the back of her head and everything fizzled in her ears.

She didn't realise her legs had given way until the tops of her knees just scraped the floor before her dad's arms were bound around her middle. His hands clutched at her middle, digging into her skin as he pulled and hoisted her up from the floor, holding her on her feet and taking all her weight for her.

She let her head loll forward, pressing her temple into Robby's arm that she shakily grabbed onto for support.

A groan murmured past her lips while Robby hunched over her, tucking her into his chest. He whispered a soft "I got you kiddo," with a kiss to the back of her head.

With her pliable and safe in Robby's arms, Dana hurried to retrieve an empty wheelchair. Something told her there had been a patient sitting in it a few moments ago, but that was a resident's problem to deal with right now, not hers.

(Y/n) was both relieved and grateful when her dad eased her down into a wheelchair and she could fold in on herself. She couldn't open her eyes, mainly because they were still rolled towards the back of her skull and the feeling made her want to be sick again.

She huddled her trembling arms to her middle and let her head sag forward while Robby wheeled her towards a free room, Dana right by his side.

"Let's take a look at you."

Once the three of them were shut in a room, privacy now enveloped around them, they set to work.

They took one of (Y/n)'s arms each, carefully easing her up from the chair and helping her clamber onto the bed.

(Y/n) felt at ease once she was laid in bed, almost as if she were back home in her apartment. And she knew that she had made the right decision in coming down here. Staying at home wouldn't have been a good idea, she would have gotten a lot worse and anything could have happened or gone wrong.

Thank God she made it down here on the bus alright; she hadn't been in any fit state to drive and most of her friends were at work or busy, and there was no way she would call herself an ambulance when she didn't deem herself an emergency.

She tried to curl up, to roll onto her side, but Robby's hands gently pushed down on her shoulders, keeping her laid on her back. They had to examine her first and get her set up on monitors and a drip before she could rearrange herself and try to lie down.

(Y/n) didn't quibble when Dana leant over her, a warm smile looking down on her as she gently pushed the collar of her shirt down and attached two monitoring clips to her skin. It felt like they had been stuck with pins, the cold metal and plastic making her shiver.

When Robby carefully peeled her eyelid back and shone his pen light across her pupils, (Y/n) groaned but tried to hold still.

Her arms trembled horribly as Dana held her left arm and swabbed the crease of her elbow, getting ready to set up an IV. (Y/n) had been sick, she needed fluids and they would need a way to get medication into her system fast when they found out what was causing her symptoms.

Robby didn't have to say anything for (Y/n) to follow his finger when he moved it from left to right, up and down to check her response and alertness.

A whine left her lips when she felt Dana insert the cannula into her arm and it made her shudder worse.

"Talk to me kiddo, what's been going on?" Robby leant over the bed, waiting patiently for her eyes to come into focus on him and for her to tell him why she was here.

They talked almost every day, whether it was a short phone call in the morning or just a few texts throughout the day. Robby hadn't seen her this week, they had both been busy with work and he was pulling a few doubles. But she hadn't mentioned feeling under the weather or being sick; had she not told him to try not to worry him? Had she been feeling like this for days, or just today?

(Y/n) blinked hard to focus and tilted her head back into the pillow to look up at her dad.

"Sick, kept being sick, my head kills… can't eat or- or drink anything."

"How long have you been feeling like this?" There was an air of suspicion in Robby's voice because he had a feeling this had come on before today.

A light shrug of her shoulders gave him most of his answer. She didn't quite know exactly how long she had felt unwell, which meant it was more than a day or two. "Got worse yesterday."

Eating had become such a struggle, but then (Y/n) could barely get a drink in her system with how horrid she felt, and everything started to come back up each time she tried to eat. She forced herself to drink sips of water throughout the day yesterday, knowing she needed to stay hydrated. She sipped on a hydration juice today for some sugars and electrolytes, but now they were all being thrown up again.

And her headache, oh that had gotten so much worse and she couldn't tell whether it was from dehydration or whether it was a new symptom she should be making her dad aware of.

"Okay, any tender spots, does this hurt?"

Robby began to press his fingertips and the heel of his hands in various places, against her lower chest, over her stomach and liver and down near her intestines. He couldn't feel any tenderness or blockages or any soft patches indicating an internal bleed. It all felt good, normal, and that was relieving.

He sighed with a small smile when (Y/n) shook her head. She didn't feel any pain when he examined her. She just felt sick.

"That's good." He was about to say something else but when (Y/n) twisted onto her left side to face him and leant forward, Robby knew the drill.

He took a quick step back, arms raised at his sides to be out of the way when (Y/n) leant over the edge of the bed and promptly threw up. But as Robby looked down, his lips pursed and he held a deep breath. She had only thrown up water and what he suspected was bile and maybe stomach acid. There was nothing left in her system now, she would definitely be dehydrated and if she hadn't managed to keep down any food, then she would be a lot worse off.

He found a wipe and gently eased (Y/n) to lie back down once she was finished, handing her the wipe while Dana confiscated her other arm and took her blood pressure.

As soon as the cuff was off her arm, (Y/n) groaned and rolled onto her right side so she was facing Robby. Her knees huddled up towards her stomach and she held her arms to her chest, trying to ignore the horrid feeling of the cannula stuck in her vein and the plaster taping it to the crease of her elbow.

"High BP and fever, maybe an infection or virus." It sounded plausible to Dana because (Y/n) wasn't in agony or experiencing any other symptoms. The main issue was her violent throwing up.

Tiredness ebbed away at (Y/n)'s mind as she reached out and shakily held onto her dad's hand. It was a comfort to feel him squeezing her hand, knowing he was here and he was going to take care of her. She would be alright now that she was here, she was safe.

She hummed when he leant over and his other hand began to smooth through her hair. And when he bent down to kiss her temple, (Y/n) felt like a little girl again, being tucked into bed after a bad dream.

"Go to sleep, kiddo. We've got you covered."

It didn't take long for (Y/n) to succumb to sleep and exhaustion, though she still trembled and her skin was flushed with perspiration.

When her hand finally loosened its grip, Robby laid her arm back down on the bed and stepped back. His hand raised to run through his beard, praying she had fallen asleep rather than passed out, although there wasn't that much difference.

"Take some bloods and run for everything, and come get me as soon as they come in. No one else comes in here."

If it was an infection or a virus then it would show up in the bloods and hopefully they wouldn't have to perform an endoscopy or any invasive procedure. They could give some antibiotics and keep her on observation until her vitals stabilised and she began to eat properly again.

Robby didn't want anyone coming in while (Y/n) was feeling like this, she wouldn't want anyone down here to see her like this or be around her when she wasn't well. And Robby wanted to be the first one to see her results, not have Princess or anyone else catching sight of the name results and sneaking a preview.

He wanted to make sure his daughter was safe and well, and if she wasn't, then he would be the one to take care of her.

***

The back of (Y/n)'s throat felt like it had been cut to ribbons, as if she had swallowed razors or hundreds of shards of glass before she went to sleep. The deep breath she took made her realise just how dry her throat felt, and how horrid it was. She needed a drink.

Her hand moved to graze along her throat as it dawned on her why she felt like this.

She had been sick. She couldn't stop being sick, not when she was at home, hugging the toilet and fearing she would keep retching and heaving so much she would damage her stomach. Not even when she turned up here, thinking she had nothing left to throw up.

As her senses seemed to come back to her and she pushed herself to sit up rather than lying slouched down, she realised she felt settled. Her stomach wasn't churning or rotating like a washing machine. She wasn't burning a fever; there was no cotton wool stuffed in the forefront of her mind making everything cloudy and hazy. She could actually focus on her surroundings and the little noises clattering around her.

Her hands pressed down into the mattress, sitting herself up a bit more and leaning forwards now that her head didn't feel like it was weighing her down.

She assumed she was still in the same exam room her dad and Dana had brought her into when she arrived. How long had she been asleep? Hopefully not too long.

She tried not to move her left arm too much, the IV was still taped there and snagged when she pulled her arm a bit too much. There was a small plaster on the crease of her right elbow, which (Y/n) guessed was from bloods being taken. It had been a while since she'd had bloods done.

Shivers coursed through her skin that bristled when she looked around the room.

How long had her dad been standing there?

He was stood in the corner beside the window, his shoulder nudging the end of the blinds that were turned down. Both arms were crossed over his chest, back slumped up against the wall with one leg crossed in front of the other. But it was the way he had his head hung forward that made him look so serious and gloomy, cast in the slim shadows from the closed blind.

It felt like a hand had closed around her heart, squeezing until it started to palpitate when her dad finally lifted his head, sensing that she was now awake. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. There was something almost frightening in the glossed look in Robby's eyes and the serious way his mouth was set with his jaw locked tight.

Had she done something to upset him? She couldn't imagine anything that might have upset him, (Y/n) could do the most mundane thing and her father would smile as if she had set the sun in the sky all by herself.

"Dad… wh- what's wrong?" Her hands reached down to run up and down her knees, pushing off the thin blanket that had been draped over her when she passed out.

"You feeling any better?" There was the usual softness in his voice, but there was still something different about the way that he was looking at her.

He'd never looked at her like that before.

"Hm, I think so."

She was feeling better, but not reassured. Robby wasn't moving away from the wall, he wasn't coming to sit with her or smiling at her with that soft look on his face that showed the crow's feet by his eyes. He wasn't reaching out for her or trying to reassure her or engage like he normally did.

She knew what her dad was like. He would hunch his frame up like that, shoulders raised, arms crossed, head angled down to avoid eye contact, he did all of that when he was getting riled up but needed to hold his composure. Was he getting upset with her?

"Good. You're on fluids and anti-emetics," he made a little motion towards the IV line beside her. "We ran bloods, to see if you had a virus or infection or some kind of bug."

Robby took a deep breath, trying his best to ease the tension rising in his frame that was turning rigid with each passing second. He could feel his nails puncturing into his biceps through the dark blue jacket he was wearing, an attempt to keep calm and composed.

He could see the wary look in (Y/n)'s eyes that were desperately searching for his, for some eye contact to make herself feel better and more reassured, but Robby couldn't meet her eye right now.

He watched her incline forwards, silently urging him to continue because she knew he clearly had some news on why she had taken a funny turn today.

"You don't have an infection, you've got something called hyperemesis gravidarum."

A frown formed on (Y/n)'s lips as she watched her dad's composure stay rigid and taut like a puppet whose strings were stretched to the maximum. She didn't know what that was. And she couldn't gage from his expression whether this was something to be worried about or not. Was it a condition, an illness, a reaction to something? A variation or a disease? Could it be cured, was it serious?

"Is that bad?" Her lower lip caught between her teeth that started to chew and tear at the skin when she didn't get a response. "Dad, you're scaring me."

"Otherwise known as real bad morning sickness."

A deep weight settled in (Y/n)'s lungs like rocks until she could scarcely take in a proper breath.

Her shoulders slumped down as her jaw slacked, but no words, not even a single breath uttered past her parted lips that were hollow with shock.

Morning sickness. She was pregnant. She was going to have a baby. Why hadn't she noticed any signs before now? Why did she have to find out this way? Why did her dad have to find out before her? This wasn't the way that (Y/n) would have told him- she had someone else she desperately needed to tell first. Her dad shouldn't have been the first to know this news. This was really going to complicate things.

Her hands began to tremble on her lap as Robby pushed off the wall and finally advanced towards her.

He perched down on the edge of the bed, but this time it was (Y/n) who wouldn't meet his gaze. Now she understood why he had been looking at her so strangely, like he didn't quite recognise her. This wasn't the kind of news he had been expecting either.

"Really?" Her voice was so shallow that she hardly recognised it as her own.

"Yeah." Robby waited a heartbeat, letting the confirmation sink in before he dared to break the silence again. "I take it you didn't know?"

She shook her head. No, (Y/n) had no idea or even a suspicion that she might be pregnant. This had come extremely out of the blue, and her mind wasn't working well at making much sense of this or formulating a plan for moving forward.

Oh God, there was so much to think about. So much to consider. Home. Work. Telling him. How was he going to react? What would he say, what would he think and feel about this? Would he be excited or frightened, overjoyed or furious and downtrodden?

Robby's lips pursed as he reached down and took her hand in his own. "You wanna tell me what's going on with you? Sweetheart I didn't know you were serious with anyone."

Tears began to well up in her eyes that wouldn't raise to look Robby in the eye. She couldn't stop a few tears from breaching her eyes and trickling down the bridge of her nose.

There was a reason, a big reason, why she hadn't told her dad about him. Why she hadn't mentioned it whenever she went on a date or went to see him. Why she made excuses not to meet up with her dad when she had someone over at her apartment already. It wasn't something she could go around telling people. Barely any of her colleagues up in paediatrics knew she was seeing someone. (Y/n) kept it close to her heart, a secret she didn't divulge to anyone.

Her breath shuddered and her lower lip began to waver when Robby cupped her chin and gently tilted her head back so their eyes were finally level.

"Talk to me."

"He's married."

(Y/n) choked through the words as she jerked her chin back down, adverting her gaze the moment she saw that distressed look appear on her father's face. Her shoulders began to quake and she bound both arms around her waist, wanting to curl up and disappear like a little child.

"You- you've been seeing a married guy? Since when?" The disbelief in his voice made (Y/n) cringe. This was exactly why she hadn't mentioned anything before now, and she wouldn't even be telling him if she had any other choice.

"A while… I- I couldn't tell you, I didn't want you to be disappointed in me."

How could she tell Robby that she was seeing someone? He would start asking questions, wanting to know who it was, what this guy was like, what he did for a living. (Y/n) couldn't have told him without eventually having to admit that the guy was married. She wouldn't have been able to agree if her dad wanted to meet the man she was seeing in secret.

The way he was looking at her right now broke her heart. He was shocked, stunned, bewildered and frightened for her. He didn't expect his daughter to go with a married man, to have to be the woman on the side. This came with a lot of worries and Robby never thought he would find himself- or his only child- in this situation.

"Oh sweetheart." A deep breath raged past his lips as he hung his head. "I'm worried, not disappointed. A married guy isn't likely to stick by you. Tell me who it is-"

"No."

She wasn't doing that. (Y/n) wasn't going down that road. She knew where her dad's mind was aiming.

He wanted to know who it was so he could talk to them, try and get them to do what was responsible, to make sure they wouldn't leave (Y/n) in the lurch raising a child by herself. Robby would never let that happen, not to his daughter. He wanted to ensure that it wouldn't turn out like that.

But (Y/n) wasn't willing to have her dad get involved, this wasn't his battle to fight, nor was that a conversation for him to have on her behalf.

"You're gonna tell me who it is. I need to know he's gonna support you with whatever you wanna do, this is his kid too."

There was a rough, authoritative tone to Robby's voice that made (Y/n) shudder and curl in on herself even further. She felt like a child being scolded. That was the tone of voice her dad rarely used with her, but it was one that always got her to listen to him. He wasn't asking, he was telling.

She shook her head, daring to look up at Robby through her lashes as she tried not to burst into a fit of tears.

"He will, dad he- he will."

"Is he gonna leave his wife for you?" There was something sharp in the tone of his voice and those words that were straight to the point and it cut through to (Y/n)'s heart.

"Stop."

They both knew she couldn't answer that. (Y/n) didn't know the answer and she was too afraid to find out. Her dad wasn't the person she should be taking to about this.

When she refused to lift her head to look at him, a guttural sigh parted Robby's lips along with a shake of his head. They were both stubborn, but arguing right now wasn't going to make (Y/n) feel any better or change the situation she was in.

Robby bowed his head down and closed his eyes, taking a few calming breaths to mellow his system out. He should get back to the Pitt before people started to realise he had disappeared. He should make sure everything was in control and let (Y/n) have a bit of time to process things further and think about what she wanted to do.

He pushed up from the bed and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple before aiming for the door.

"I'll be back in a while, then we can talk some more."

Tiredness ebbed away at (Y/n)'s eyes when she finally managed to open them and take a look at her surroundings.

There was the faintest streak of orange and lemon yellow peeking through the thin gap in the curtains. Morning hadn't properly risen yet. The bedroom was shrouded in darkness like a veil had been cast around them, but it was comforting.

Whenever (Y/n) saw the sun lighting up the room, it made her feel sorrowful and drowned with anticipation. Mornings always meant goodbye, and (Y/n) hated when he had to leave.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) buried her nose and lips against his hair that was the equivalent of a bird's nest by now. Strands stuck out like broken twigs, clumps fluffed together like a mass of feathers woven together for heat. She breathed in the scent of that apple shampoo he always used, and she couldn't resist raising her hand from where it had been draped across his shoulders.

Her touch was delicate, barely there as her fingertips skimmed over his temple and softly brushed a few pieces of hair away from his skin. Carding them back on his head and away from his eyes.

Frank hummed a sound similar to a moan at the touch.

His cheek nuzzled against (Y/n)'s chest, his temple touching her collar bone as his nose skimmed across her bare skin.

She carded her hand through his hair a few more times, almost getting lost in the sensation, until Frank's right arm groggily raised from the bed. When he held her hand, she thought he was silently telling her to stop, but then he laced their fingers together so their palms were touching. And he pushed until her arm was flat against the bed, his heavy arm laid on top of hers just beneath the pillow.

(Y/n) wasn't sure how long they had been asleep. Not long, she was sure of that because it had been late when Frank came by last night.

His shift had been extended due to a bus crash that brought in a flood of casualties for the Pitt to deal with. (Y/n) figured it had been a rough shift because when he came by- it had to be closer to midnight than to ten o'clock- he'd pulled her into an embrace and didn't release her for a good few minutes.

They'd stood just over the threshold into her apartment, Frank's arms around her like he thought he would lose his grasp on reality if he let her go. And his face tucked into the crook of her neck, while (Y/n) roamed her hand up and down his back, saying nothing because she knew touch was the only thing that would soothe him when he felt like that.

She began to graze her thumb along the side of Frank's hand, her other arm still loosely draped over his bare back.

She wasn't sure how either of them had managed to fall asleep when their limbs were in a tangled mess like this, but it must have been comfortable because it hadn't taken long for sleep to find them.

(Y/n) was laid on her back, her body further down the bed because her head was barely touching the bottom of the pillows. And she had Frank laid almost directly on top of her. His chest and abdomen were pressing down on her, his head nestled neatly on her chest with his right arm strewn up over her and their hands now conjoined against the pillow.

But his left arm was somehow tucked beneath (Y/n)'s shoulders which couldn't have been all that comfy for him, but he hadn't tried to move at all. His right thigh was on top of hers, but their lower legs were entwined like vines. And (Y/n) was sure that his left leg had to be hanging off the edge of the bed by now.

The sheets were somewhat wrapped around Frank's legs and partially on the floor, but the cold air didn't seem to touch him and with him laid on top of her like a personal heater, (Y/n) didn't feel the cold either.

"Sleep," Frank's voice was hoarse, but there was something lulling about the way he breathed it against her skin and seemed to tuck himself further around her like a living, breathing weighted blanket.

(Y/n) responded by pressing a few sweet kisses against the top of his head in between his nestled strands of hair.

She would fall back asleep soon, at some point, but she was content to admire him for the time being and relish in their moment of touch.

It was clear that Frank was already on the verge of sleep, exhaustion still bone-deep in his system and unwilling to leave. But there was something about (Y/n) that settled his system. She made him feel content, happy, at ease. He never had a problem sleeping when he was wrapped around her, and he never wanted to leave when the sun rose.

She made him feel like everything would be okay. He hadn't thought about anything other than (Y/n) the moment he got to leave the Pitt after an exhausting sixteen hour shift. All he had to do was see her face, those bright button eyes and wrap himself around her, and he felt like the world had righted itself.

(Y/n) closed her eyes again and tightened her left arm around Frank's back, squeezing him closer until she could barely take a full breath.

She didn't want to think about what time he would have to leave her in the morning, how early he would have to tear himself away from her and go. Go back to his actual home, with the woman he had married. She knew he had probably told her he was pulling a double shift, that was usually the excuse whenever he was staying over here.

Or he would say he was going out for drinks with the Pitt crew, when really he was coming over here, or going out with (Y/n) to a bar on the edge of town where no one knew them and the golden band on his finger didn't exist.

Whatever this was between them, whatever was going on, something that wasn't labelled or spoken about to anyone else but felt sacred and serious to them both, this was what (Y/n) longed for. This man in her arms was the one her heart was calling out to whenever he wasn't around.

She knew she shouldn't. She knew it was wrong, that he wasn't hers, that his friendship and job with her dad complicated everything; but (Y/n)'s heart was set on him.

She loved him, even though it wasn't practical or responsible and this relationship wasn't labelled or meant to last.

Determination ebbed away in (Y/n)'s blood as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

Her dad's words rung in her ears until she was dizzy and wanted nothing more than to disappear. She wasn't waiting around to talk later like her dad wanted. She wasn't going to tell him who the father was, she couldn't. She couldn't deal with that or this whole situation.

She couldn't wait around for her dad to come back, and she certainly didn't want to risk Frank coming in here and finding out she was here. Or finding out the reason why.

(Y/n) needed time to think. She needed time to work out the best way to tell Frank, to sit him down and explain and for them to work out together what they were going to do.

Once she had talked to him away from the Pitt, away from work, and she had a few things sorted out. Then she would talk to her dad and have more answers for him to calm him down and show him that he didn't have to worry. Because (Y/n) knew he was worrying already, but he was going to blow a fuse when he found out it was Frank that she was seeing.

Frank was close to Robby, he was a mentor to him and Robby thought highly of him. This was going to change everything and disrupt their work lives greatly.

A hiss tore through her gritted teeth when she unhooked the IV from her arm and reached down for her shoes that had been neatly placed beneath the bed. Once they were on, (Y/n) pushed up and headed to the door.

Her legs didn't feel like jelly as they had done when she came here earlier, but they did feel hollow and there was a black hole gaping in her stomach, drawing in every ounce of adrenaline and every emotion she could possibly feel.

With her head angled down and her arms bound around her middle, (Y/n) slipped out of the room and made for the nearest exit. she knew this place like the back of her hand. She worked in the hospital too, and she was often coming down here. (Y/n) knew how to go unnoticed and slip through the cracks.

She stuck close to the wall, making sure not to look around her and arouse suspicion or make people think she thought she was being followed. The closest way out was through the ambulance bay, and if anyone saw her they would think she had just come by to visit Robby and was now on her way home.

She made it three feet away from the doors when her shoulder roughly collided with a firm chest, the abrupt contact sending them both stumbling. But a warm hand curled around her shoulder, steadying her on her feet and causing her to look up

"Hey, what're you doing down here, lunch visit?"

The grin that threatened to worm its way onto Frank's face suddenly faded when he took in (Y/n)'s appearance and her expression. She looked like she had been crying, Frank could see faded tear tracks along her features. She was holding herself like she was wounded or bracing herself for an impact that wasn't going to come.

"Are you okay?"

Frank felt like he had taken a scalpel to the heart when (Y/n) pulled away from him and thundered towards the doors.

What had he done? Why was she running away from him? Why was she down here in the first place, looking so distraught?

The more he thought about it, the more confused he became because he was sure that (Y/n) wasn't working today. Frank knew her shift patterns, he had them memorised- something he didn't tell (Y/n) just so he could get those little messages telling him she was up in her ward, did he want a coffee, or that she was at work today, maybe she would bump into him- so he couldn't fathom why she was here.

She didn't usually come down on her days off, and Robby hadn't said anything about her dropping by.

He couldn't just let her run out the door in such a state, it wasn't kind nor fair, and (Y/n) would only play on Frank's mind for the rest of the day and distract him from his work. Distractions in his line of work were never a good thing.

Before he could stop to think about anyone seeing him hurry out after someone and take note that it was actually (Y/n) he was chasing, Frank made a beeline for her. He caught her just outside the bay doors with a hand around her wrist.

The touch wasn't harsh or firm or bruising, it was gentle and reassuring and made (Y/n)'s stomach volley up into her throat. She could feel his thumb gliding across her pulse point as he gently tugged her back towards him. His hold was light enough that (Y/n) could have broken out of it if she wanted to. She could have pulled away and ran off, but she didn't.

She wasn't sure where she would go or what she was even trying to do right now, and Frank's touch was the one thing that felt like it was trying to ground her to reality and hold her crumbling pieces together in some form of order. Pulling away wasn't an option anymore.

It was like a flip had switched within her.

Suddenly, (Y/n) didn't want to pull away from Frank, because just like he found solace and comfort in her touch after a rough shift or a harrowing day, she wanted that sense of peace she got waking up with him in the early mornings.

When he gave a little tug on her wrist, trying to prompt her to face him, (Y/n) turned and thrust herself into his embrace, almost knocking Frank back off his feet. Her arms bound around his chest, fingers scrunching up in the back of his scrubs until she was almost ripping through the thin material.

She glued herself into his chest, smothering her face in his scrubs until her nose was squashed up against his sternum.

The movement clearly caught Frank by surprise, his bones rigid with shock.

(Y/n) had never held him in public before, not clinging to him so desperately like this. And especially not at work where anyone they knew could walk by and see them. Robby could walk out those doors right now and see this embrace for what it truly was, two lovers seeking comfort in one another.

But Frank could hardly push her away when she needed him. He took a deep breath, letting the shock wear out of his system before he curved his arms around her. His left arm secured around her waist, hand settling on the small of her back while his right hand cupped the back of her neck, letting his fingers tangle in her hair despite knowing how intimate it looked to anyone who might notice.

"It's alright… whatever's wrong, it's fixable, I bet. You're okay."

He tried to steady his voice, the way he did when he talked to frightened kids who came into the ER, despite the nerves raging in his system wondering what the problem was.

He could feel her tears soaking into his scrubs and it ignited every nerve within his stomach like LED lights turning on full brightness. He couldn't fathom whether this was something to do with work, or a friend or a personal issue, maybe even something to do with Robby, considering she was down here on her day off.

It might not be as bad as (Y/n) thought. Bad things always seemed like the end of the world in the beginning, but once she'd calmed down and talked it through, it might be fixable. That was the way Frank preferred to see things because the alternative wasn't so bright otherwise.

He didn't gain a response, but it didn't matter right now, all that mattered was making sure (Y/n) knew she was safe, she was okay and Frank was here. He would listen whenever she wanted to talk.

For a minute that felt like an hour, they stayed there, stood to one side of the ambulance bay, entwined together like their bodies were forever fused that way.

He could feel (Y/n)'s breaths beginning to mellow into proper intakes and not just short puffs of air that made his skin prickle with heat and perspiration. Her hands clutching at his back loosened to a mellow grip rather than a ferocious one and she stopped trembling like she had been shocked with volts of electricity.

Frank's lips were an inch away from pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head since they were alone out here, when a shrill voice cut him right down to his core.

"You son of a bitch!"

Oh God.

[flowersforbucky]

you’re a bad idea (but a real good time)

frank langdon x reader ~ word count: 10.6k+

it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than sex. you barely even liked each other as friends. frank uses you, and you use him. but somewhere along the way, the lines got blurred.

warnings/tags: mdni, smut and implied smut, themes of addiction and recovery, emotional constipation from reader, vague references to prior relationships and trauma, coworkers with benefits to lovers, some angst and some fluff, oblivious idiots in love, frank is divorced, reader has a niece, takes place sometime after season 2, pov switches, reader is afab, resident reader, no use of y/n

author’s note: i needed to torture frank langdon, just a little bit, but i promise it’s a happy ending. also as always shoutout to my girl @fru1t4fr0gs for letting me virtually yap her ear off about this

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank’s therapist had cautioned him about replacing one addiction with another.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He’s never been a smoker, but if he were, would that really be worse than being addicted to benzos? It’s not like American Spirits or cotton candy flavored vapes would drive him to steal from his job.

Yeah, yeah. Cancer. Lung cancer, esophageal cancer, all the cancers. Gum disease and tooth decay. He is still a doctor, even if it took him a long time to start feeling like one again. He knows the risks. And that is exactly why he hasn’t tried filling the void with nicotine.

He works out just enough to be able to say that he does and it not be a complete lie, but he’s never understood how people can get addicted to exercising. He understands the science behind it, but every time he steps on a treadmill, it just feels like an opportunity to think too much about every mistake he’s made in the last few years.

Video games have never really been his thing. He’s still paying off his stint in rehab, so betting and gambling are off the table. Alcohol, of course, is out of the question for obvious reasons.

When he hit one hundred days of sobriety, he really thought he was in the fucking clear. He let himself breathe a little for the first time in a long time, thinking he had finally learned his lesson.

Never did it cross his mind that he could become addicted to a person. Least of all one that he isn’t even supposed to like.

Least of all you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“This is a really fucking bad idea.”

Frank grunts, bottoming out as he fills you so full of him that it takes your breath away.

He stills, looking down at you in the glow of your living room television. His hands were on you the second your apartment door clicked shut - the two of you didn’t even make it down the hallway to your bedroom before you were pulling him onto the couch by the collar of his scrubs, his lips chasing yours with a degree of desperation that you might have found laughable if it weren’t for the fact that you had to bite back a moan the second that his tongue slipped between your lips.

He huffs a half breathless laugh. “We can stop if you want to, but I’m already inside you, so it’s a little late to realize this is a bad idea.”

You wiggle your hips, grinding down where his body meets yours. His eyes roll shut at the sensation, his muscles tensing beneath where your fingers grip his biceps.

“Didn’t say that I wanna stop,” you breathe. “Just said this is a bad idea. It’s called an observation.”

Frank snorts, retaliating by hiking one of your legs over his hip to deepen the angle. You hiss, your walls clenching around him. “You didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea when you were drenching my face a few seconds ago.”

You aren’t surprised in the least that his argumentative nature carries over into sex, but the dirty mouth on him does take you by surprise.

“So, what?” You hum, part challenge and part genuine curiosity. “You don’t think this is a bad idea?”

He shakes his head. He snakes a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds. “It’s definitely a bad idea. I’m just finding it really hard to give a shit right now.”

You whimper at it all - the rough timbre of his voice, the the soft pad of his thumb brushing over your clit, the way he somehow still smells like musk and allspice even after working a full twelve hours in the emergency department and how his kiss-swollen lips glisten from his time spent between your thighs.

Come morning, you’ll regret this. Twelve hours from now, when you can’t concentrate on a routine intubation because you’re having flashbacks of pretty cerulean eyes peeking up at you as he brought you to climax with only his tongue, you’ll regret this. When you can’t take two steps tomorrow without the ache between your thighs reminding you where he’d been, you’ll regret this.

Probably should’ve thought about that before deciding that the best way to cope with stress of an exceptionally shitty day was by kissing him in the empty parking garage and inviting him back to your place, but you’ll deal with the aftermath of that when he’s no longer buried half a foot inside you.

You take his chin in your hand, stilling his face in front of yours. “Just so we are clear, this is a one time thing.”

Frank looks like he’s fighting the urge to laugh, a familiar, cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know you’re the one who kissed me and practically ripped my clothes off, right?”

Your hands ghost over the planes of his shoulders and up his neck before settling at the base of his skull where your fingers thread through the short locks of his hair. “Don’t let it get to your head. You were the closest conventionally attractive man I could find after that shitshow of a shift. Don’t confuse convenience with desire.”

He cocks a brow. “What I’m hearing is that you think I’m attractive.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands away from his hair and playfully shoving his shoulders. You don’t bother denying it, though. He is attractive. Annoyingly, irritatingly, frustratingly attractive.

“I’m serious. One time, Langdon.”

He doesn’t verbally respond right away. Instead, he leans down, closing the space between your lips and his. You taste yourself on him, sweet and salty with a hint of the gum he had been chewing when you first kissed him in the parking garage. It’s slower than the first time, and the second, and the third, making heat bloom where he’s hard inside you.

He pulls back just enough to murmur the words against your lips.

“One time.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Two months ago, Frank Langdon kissed you and swore that he was only going to fuck you one time.

Two months ago, he lied through his teeth.

The good news is that you’re as big of a liar as he is.

Because one time turned to two, and two to three, and now the Pittsburgh winter has turned to spring and he’s forgotten all about that broken promise.

He knew before the words had fully left his lips that they were bullshit. How could he mean them when your kiss tasted like watermelon lip gloss and being bare inside you made him feel the best he’s felt since he got sober?

But still, he tried. For a whopping seven days, he tried his hardest.

One week. That’s all it took for him to feel like he was going to lose his fucking mind if he didn’t touch and taste you again.

Then, in a moment of weakness - the kids were at Abby’s, he’d spent his day off cleaning his entire apartment in an attempt to keep himself busy, he’d already gone to an NA meeting earlier that afternoon, and he couldn’t get this one specific sound you had made when he nipped at the column of your throat out of his head - he did something he’s never done before.

He texted you.

Are you off work yet?

Short and vague, but you’re far from being dumb. He was confident that you could read between the lines without him having to spell it out for you.

Much to his relief, you replied before he could overthink the simple text message.

Keeping track of my work schedule now?

He scoffed to himself, smirking down at his phone. As if you haven’t worked the same set schedule the entire time he’s known you. At least, that was his excuse for knowing you’d be leaving work at approximately that time.

You replied fast. I take it that you are off?

He stared down at the screen as you typed, grateful that technology doesn’t allow you to see him waiting for your response in real time.

Leaving now. But if you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, then you should know that I have been both puked and peed on today.

That should have deterred him, but it didn’t. In fact, it only further encouraged him, because you didn’t immediately tell him to fuck off like he halfway expected you to.

I happen to have a shower.

Then, before you can type a rebuttal, he sends a second text with his address.

You didn’t even reply, but twenty-three minutes later you knocked on his front door.

(It goes without saying that yes, you insisted on showering, and yes, he insisted on joining you, and yes, he ate you out until your legs turned to jelly and he had to help hold you up).

After both of you were thoroughly spent, he expected you to say something similar to the first time - when he had you pinned to your couch, balls deep inside you, and you told him that it would be a one time thing. He expected you to insist that what just happened would not be happening again, that it was a mistake for you to come over, and that he should lose your number entirely.

So it took him by surprise when you got out of his bed, put your clothes back on, and said, “it goes without saying that this stays between us, right? If this is going to be a thing, the last thing I want is Perlah and Princess spreading it all over the hospital.”

“Please,” Frank had scoffed, pulling his own t-shirt over his head. “Like I want the entire emergency department making a bunch of ridiculous bets about us. Trust me, this stays between us.”

And that was that. There was no further discussion of what exactly this is, but Frank knows.

He knows what it is, and he knows what it isn’t. For two months now, you’ve been on the same page. He comes to your place, or occasionally, you’ll go to his. One time, you even rode him in the backseat of his dad mobile, as you had referred to the midsize SUV.

But work is off limits. You have made that abundantly clear by acting indifferent to his existence anytime a coworker or patient is within ten feet of you, which happens to be damn near always. When the two of you are at work, he pretends like he doesn’t know that you clench around him every time he tells you how well you’re taking him or where your birthmark is located.

As soon as he walks out of those hospital doors, though, all the pretending comes to a stop.

It most often happens after long shifts, when one or both of you needs to decompress and not think of whatever horrors had been witnessed that day. But every now and then, like that day you and Frank both broke the initial agreement of this being a one time thing, he’ll find himself alone with thoughts of you that are a little too loud and unrelenting.

So instead of only thinking about the way your breathy, fucked out voice sounds saying his name when you’re on the verge of coming apart, he calls and hopes that you answer.

And, for some reason that Frank refuses to let himself dwell on, you always do. He knows that there will inevitably come a day that you don’t.

But he doesn’t let himself dwell on that, either.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“Meet me in the empty on-call room in fifteen minutes.”

The words are murmured low enough for only him to hear. He glances up from his charting, utter disbelief on his face. He opens his mouth to question you, but you’re already walking away.

You’re weak. Spineless as a damn jellyfish, really.

And it’s all Frank Langdon’s fault.

If he didn’t kiss you like you’re the air he needs to breathe, go down on you like you’re the last thing he’s ever going to taste, and fuck you like he’s trying to ruin all other men for you, then it wouldn’t be so embarrassingly easy for you to go back on your word.

But here you are. Going back on your word. Again.

The first time it happened - when he texted you his address a little over two months ago and you wasted no time driving to his apartment even after telling him and yourself that you would not be hooking up with him again - you forgave yourself. You allowed yourself the small comfort of knowing it was him that reached out. It was him who caved first, even if you had thought about doing so every day since you first slept together.

But this time? Telling him to meet you in an empty on-call room in the middle of the day at work? Where any of your coworkers could potentially catch you? This boundary being crossed is all on you.

You must have a competence kink. That’s the only logical explanation for why you’re willing to let this happen right here, right now.

Your watch reads 2:17. He’s two minutes late.

Two more minutes. If he isn’t here in two minutes, then you’re leaving this room and forgetting that you ever even considered doing this.

The door creaks open and he slips in with only twenty seconds to spare.

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually going to come,” you hum from where you’re perched on the edge of the mattress.

Frank locks the door behind him. He still looks as confused as he did when you first told him to meet you here, but there’s now a hint of amusement on his features, too.

“Sorry,” he huffs a laugh, slowly walking towards you with his hands shoved in his scrub pockets. “I came as quickly as I could. My patient in Central 14 pulled up WebMD on his phone to try to argue about his diagnosis so I got a little tied up with that.”

You snort. “Don’t you love when they do that?”

“So…” he drawls, eyes glancing around the small room, empty save for the two of you. He comes to a stop directly in front of where you sit on the bed. “You gonna tell me what we’re doing in here right now?”

You look up at him from beneath your lashes. “What do you think?” Then, before he can answer, your hands go to the waistband of his pants. You don’t look away from his face, blue eyes dilating and pretty lips parted in surprise.

“Seriously?” He breathes, looking around the room again as if there’s anyone around to catch you in the act. “Here?”

You shrug, tugging his pants down just enough to expose the soft patch of dark curls below the waistband. “What can I say? Watching you perform that closed cervical reduction really did something to me.”

He blushes. Even with the curtains closed and only a small bedside table lamp illuminating the room, you can see pink bloom across the apples of his cheeks.

“That’s all it takes to make you stop avoiding me like the plague while we’re here?” He scoffs low. “A closed cervical reduction?”

You hum a laugh. “Sorry, does it hurt your feelings that I don’t spend my shifts fawning over you like every early-to-mid twenties female that walks into this place?”

Frank chuckles lowly. “Not quite.” He cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he leans down far enough that his lips hover just above yours. “You might not fawn over me, but you’re the one who got me alone just so you can give me head.”

Under normal circumstances, you’d keep going until you get the last word. But right now, you have a list of patients who need tending to and a boss who has already been on your ass about patient satisfaction scores today.

And as much as it physically pains you to admit, he isn’t wrong.

“Mm-hm,” you hum in agreement. “I did. Now are you going to let me or not?”

With your fingers still hooked into the waistband of his pants and boxers, you pause. It’s not like he’s ever said no to receiving head from you before - and the unmistakable bulge behind the fabric of his scrubs would normally be enough of an answer - but he is just now finding his way back into Robby’s good graces, so the risks here may outweigh the reward.

He exhales a shaky laugh, his nose brushing against yours as he nods slightly. “If I ever say no to that, page neurology, because something is very wrong with me.”

You roll your eyes, pretending you aren’t slightly charmed by the dorky remark. “Sit down, then.”

The two of you trade places. He lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress, and with help from you, his scrubs and boxers fall to a puddle at his feet. You spread his thighs gently with your palms, nestling yourself between them. You take his hard length in your hand, giving a few languid strokes as you look up at him.

“I mean it, you know,” you murmur, voice uncharacteristically earnest. For a moment, you drop the sarcastic facade. “The closed cervical reduction was very impressive. You were incredible.”

He swallows thickly, his cock twitching in your hand as he stares down at you in the dim lighting. Despite the truth to your words, you expect him to brush the compliment off with a cocky grin and smartass retort that undercuts the rare instance of genuinity between you.

Instead, he leans forward without a word, takes your face in his hands, and crushes his lips against yours. He tilts your head slightly, sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip to encourage you to open up for him. You can’t help but lose yourself in the effortless familiarity of his kiss that you’ve grown to crave more than you ever thought possible.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t release the careful hold on your face. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “Means a lot coming from you.”

For one impossibly long second, the two of you stare at each other until the sincerity of the moment starts to feel suffocating.

And because you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do with that, you swallow it down and do what you came here for.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank sees you before he finishes parking his car next to the ball fields.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. It must be someone who looks like you - someone with the same hair color and skin tone as you, who just so happens to be roughly the same height - because it couldn’t possibly actually be you.

Why the hell would you be at a Pee Wee soccer game bright and early on a Saturday morning?

He knows exactly why he’s here - it’s one of Penny’s last games of the season and between a pain in the ass custody arrangement and an even bigger pain in the ass work schedule, Frank has only been able to attend a few of his daughter’s soccer games this spring season. He would have missed today’s game, too, if Robby hadn’t agreed to him switching a couple shifts around and Abby hadn’t been willing to let him take Penny for the day during her week with the kids.

You don’t have children, though. He’s sure enough of that. There’s no way you wouldn’t have said something about having a kid at some point during your time spent together these last few months. He’s been over to your place enough times to have noticed toys scattered around the living room or sippy cups in the sink or tiny clothes left lying on the bathroom floor.

But as Penny sprints ahead to join the rest of her teammates and Frank crosses the field to where all of the player’s families sit in lawn chairs, he realizes that his eyes are not playing tricks on him.

Even from behind, he knows it’s you. He’s spent enough collective hours memorizing the curves of your body to recognize you anywhere - even wearing something so different than what he normally sees you in: scrubs or nothing.

He comes to a stop a couple feet behind you to take you in. It’s an unseasonably warm day, with temperatures already in the mid 70s before nine o’clock in the morning, and you’re dressed to match the weather. His gaze trails from your polished toes that peek out of your sandals and up the expanse of your legs before settling on the sun-kissed skin of your shoulders.

You’ve yet to notice his presence as you wave to a kid in the distance as all of the players start to take their positions on the field. “Good luck, Holly!”

He smirks, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the little girl with curly pigtails.

“Who’s Holly?”

You jump as if you had been electrocuted, your head snapping to look in his direction. He can’t see your eyes well because of your sunglasses, but he can clearly picture the look of surprise on your face.

“Jesus, Frank. What are you doing here?”

He snorts, coming to stand beside you, as he brushes off the fact that you called him Frank instead of Langdon. “My daughter is playing. What are you doing here?”

“My niece is playing.”

He looks back out to the field - your niece, Holly, you had called her - is standing right beside Penny. They’re wearing matching jerseys. Same team.

“Huh. I didn’t know that you have a niece.”

Now it’s your turn to snort. You cross your arms over your chest with a shrug. “We don’t exactly spend very much time talking about our personal lives, do we?” You glance around, seemingly looking for something - or someone. “Where’s Abby?”

“Oh,” Frank clears his throat, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants just so he has something to do with them. “It’s Abby’s week with the kids, but she let me take Penny for the day. She’s uh…she’s not here. She’s spending some quality time with Tanner today.”

You nod, your posture relaxing slightly. He isn’t sure if he’s just imagining things, but he can’t help but think you look a little relieved to hear that his ex wife isn’t here.

Not that he’d blame you for not wanting to see the ex wife of the man you’ve been casually fucking on a regular basis for months now. He definitely wouldn’t want that, either, and feels extremely relieved himself that Abby isn’t here to witness this interaction.

“That was very nice of her,” you say after a beat of silence with a small smile. “I’m sure Penny is happy that you’re here with her.”

Frank glances around now. You had been standing alone when he approached you, and you don’t seem to be here with anyone else. “So, is Holly your sister’s…or brother’s…kid?”

He mentally curses how fucking awkward he sounds. He knows what the most intimate parts of you taste like, knows what you sound like when you come for a third time in a row because of him, but he doesn’t know how to ask you a straight forward question about your personal life.

But he wants to. He shouldn’t, but he does. He wants to know if you have siblings, and how many, and if you have other nieces or possibly nephews. He wants to learn things about you because he asks and you answer or because you volunteer the information freely.

He wants to know what you do after a hard day at work, when you aren’t doing him after a hard day at work. He wants to know things because you want him to know things. Not just the shit that he observes at work (like how you take your coffee) or during the ten minutes that he lays in your bed after finishing inside you (like that you have a white noise machine that is basically always on).

“She’s my brother’s,” you answer, looking away from him to watch as Holly, Penny, and a few other girls all sprint after the soccer ball. For a second, he thinks you’re going to leave it at that, but then you continue. “He and Holly’s mom are going through a pretty nasty breakup. He only has Holly on weekends right now, and he works a lot, so…I’m just trying to help him out a little.”

“Ah,” Frank hums, surprised by the answer for more reasons than one. “Yeah, that’s tough. I know firsthand how…messy that kind of thing can get.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a sigh. “It sucks. But it’s probably for the best. They weren’t good together. I’m just hoping they can learn to co-parent for Holly’s sake.” You pause, eyes cutting back to him. “Seems like you and Abby do a pretty decent job with that.”

He has to refrain from laughing at that. He exhales slowly through his nose, gaze drifting back to the field. There’s a lot he could say in response to that - about lawyers and custody hearings and the same arguments that he doesn’t know if he and Abby will ever stop having - but if he starts then he might not stop, and he highly doubts you care to hear all of that. You’re here to watch your niece play soccer. Not listen to your fuck buddy trauma dump about his divorce.

“We try,” he settles on instead. “It’s still a work in progress, but we’re figuring it out.” Then, so you don’t feel pressured to respond in any particular way, he glances down at the lawn chair that he brought, still folded and tucked between his arm and side. “You uh - you want to sit? I brought a chair.”

He unfolds the chair, not giving you the opportunity to object as he takes a seat on the still slightly dewy grass right next to the chair.

The rest of the game continues with the two of you sitting side by side, watching the girls in an unfamiliar but not uncomfortable kind of companionship. He cheers for Holly, and you cheer for his daughter just as much.

You even introduce herself to her when Penny runs over to where Frank sits for a sip of water. As his coworker, of course. Because that’s what you are, even if the relationship title rubs him the wrong way for reasons he won’t let him think about for long enough to have to be honest with himself.

Still. It’s nice. Much different than how time with you is normally spent - working together to save someone from a pulmonary embolism, or naked between bedsheets - but this doesn’t feel wrong. It’s unexpected but pleasant, Frank thinks.

He tries not to think about how you feel about it, instead focusing on Penny chasing and kicking the soccer ball (sometimes in the wrong direction, but she’s four, so it’s cute).

When the final whistle blows, the swarm of four and five year olds erupts into excited shrieks. Penny and Holly spot the two of you at the same time and sprint over - Penny with her white tube socks stained green with grass and Holly with hair falling out of her pigtails.

Holly reaches you first, practically launching herself into your lap. “We won! We won! Did you see how far the ball went when I kicked it?”

“Of course I did,” you answer cheerfully. “You were amazing. I’m so proud of you. You did so great too, Penny.”

Before he has a chance to recover from the way the softness in your voice made his chest tighten, Penny starts jumping up and down, chanting daddy, daddy, daddy.

“Daddy, can Holly go with us to get ice cream?”

Oh. That’s right. He had promised his daughter ice cream after the game.

“Uh—” Frank hesitates, just for a second, glancing over at you. With your sunglasses now resting on the top of your head, he can see your wide, slightly panicked eyes. “We…we don’t know if Holly and her aunt already have plans, sweetie,” he says gently, not wanting to disappoint her but also giving you the out that he’s almost certain you’ll take.

But Holly is already looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Please, please, please can we go get ice cream?”

You let out a small laugh, eyes darting between Holly and Frank. He offers a small smile of his own, shrugging as if to say the ball’s in your court.

“Why not?” You sigh. “Sure. Ice cream sounds good to me.”

Frank might not show it in the same way that the girls do - with wild cheers and shrieks of laughter - but he’s just as pleased that you said yes.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

More and more often, you find yourself wishing that you met Frank Langdon when you were younger.

Not because you wish you met him before he got married or before he had children or before he fell into addiction. None of that deters you, actually.

Maybe it should. It probably should. But it doesn’t.

No, you wish you met him when you were still an optimist. When you still welcomed love with open arms and wore your heart on your sleeve and believed that everyone you met had as good of intentions as you do.

You wish you met him before your past tainted the mere idea of relationships and romance and trust.

You know it’s irrational. Things are the way that they are for a reason. If you had met him in med school, you probably would’ve thought he’s such a douche that you never would have even entertained the idea of kissing him.

But sometimes you still can’t help but wonder…

If you had met him at a different time, would there be more days like today? Early morning sunshine and soccer games and ice cream instead of late night booty calls that turn into mornings where you still wake up all alone, breathing in the scent he leaves behind on your pillow?

It’s fun to imagine that things could be different.

Then you remember the hurt and the heartbreak that comes with loving, and you shut those thoughts down. Back to sporadic, unplanned hook-ups and the illusion of control that they give you.

You suppose you can still allow yourself to sniff the scent of him that lingers after he leaves your bed, though.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

There’s a gradual shift in your and Frank’s dynamic over the weeks following Holly and Penny’s soccer game and the subsequent ice cream date that somehow ended in you and Frank sharing a chocolate soft serve.

It’s so subtle that at first, the changes don’t register as out of the ordinary.

You’re a little more reluctant to put your clothes back on and leave his place after sex. You stop ignoring each other at work, even exchanging jokes at the nurse’s station. He compliments you openly when you do something impressive with a case, not caring who might overhear the praise. When it’s his day off, you’ll randomly text him to tell him about something crazy that he missed at work. He starts opening up more - about his recovery, about his divorce, about his children. Not all at once. Just little pieces of his life bit by bit that you weren’t privy to before.

And you open up to him, too. Without realizing it. Without even meaning to.

It slips out by accident. You can’t even recall exactly what you’d been talking about at the time, but you tell him that he’s the first person you’ve slept with since your ex.

Your ex that you broke up with nearly two years ago.

He’d looked surprised when you revealed that. But he didn’t laugh, or say anything to tease you. He just turned to lie on his side, propped his head in his hand, looked down at you lying beside him, and asked you the same question that you’ve asked yourself on more than one question but have never answered.

“Why me, then? If you waited that long to…be with someone again. What made you kiss me in the parking garage that night?”

You stare up at him for a moment before answering, your fingers teasing his chest hair. “I’m not really sure,” you answer honestly. “Maybe I thought you were having as shitty of a day as I was, and that you looked like you needed someone as badly as I did. Maybe I thought it would be a good thing for both of us.” You pause. “Or maybe I just thought you looked like you’d be good in bed.”

He exhales a shaky laugh. One hand rests on your hip, fingers drawing lazy circles across your skin. It’s too dark to tell with only the moonlight from your open curtains illuminating the room, but if you had to guess, you would say that he’s blushing. It takes practically nothing to make him blush, a fact that you often take full advantage of because you think he looks pretty when he blushes.

“And were you right?”

“About which part?” You murmur, your hand stilling against his chest.

He gives a half shrug, hesitating just long enough for you to know exactly what he’s asking without him saying it. “The part about me being good in bed,” he says instead, with no trace of his normal humor in his voice.

“Frank.” You cup his face in your hand, swallowing down the answer to the question he won’t ask. “You know you are.”

It wasn’t a lie. He’s more than good. He’s the best you’ve ever had, and that’s exactly why you’re blind to the most damning way the lines begin to blur.

What started as stress relief, as a coping mechanism for a shit day, turned into something that started to feel less like an escape from reality and more like something that feels terrifyingly like love.

Just coworkers with benefits turned friends with benefits don’t stare into each other’s eyes during sex like they’re trying to see into each other’s souls. They don’t touch you, hold you, and kiss you like you’re their lifeline. Like you’re the air they need to breathe.

They definitely don’t call you baby when they’re telling you to come for them.

But then Frank goes and does just that.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank’s hips slam into yours, repeatedly hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that makes you croon his name against the sweat-slicked skin of his throat.

You weren’t supposed to come over tonight. He had come to your place last night, and the two of you have never hooked up two nights in a row before.

You’ve also never hooked up when his children are sleeping in their bedrooms just down the hallway.

But he called you, right as you were leaving the hospital, and told you that he wants to see you. That he misses you. He even said please in a low, sleepy voice that made heat bloom down your spine.

And you pictured him - skin flushed and dewy from his shower and dark gray sweats hanging low on his hips - and then next thing you knew, you were driving the route to his apartment that has become as familiar as the route to your own.

He noticed you were tired as soon as you walked in. Laid you down in his bed, undressed you, and kissed down your body until stopping between your thighs, where he spent even more time than he usually does - so much time, in fact, that your legs were shaking around his head when you pulled him up to you by the tops of his arms and all but begged him to fuck you.

And he did. Is.

Sounds of flesh on flesh and his bed frame creaking fill the room as your nails scrape down the skin of his back and his teeth dig into the meat of your shoulder, the familiar fiery coil in your core dangerously close to snapping again.

“Frank,” you breathe, voice unrecognizable. “Fuck, I’m close. I need - I’m gonna—”

He gently shushes your incoherent babbling, slanting his lips over yours with a sloppy, open mouth kiss that makes you cry into his mouth.

“I know,” he grunts low and breathless when he pulls away. Skilled, slender fingers find the swollen bundle between your folds, coaxing you to climax. “I can feel it. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. You’re so close, just let go for me, baby.”

The foreign pet name falls from his lips so effortlessly that it sends you over the edge - warms you from head to toe, white-hot pleasure coursing through you as he fucks you through your orgasm and his own.

Baby, baby, baby.

You barely register the fact that he pulls out and collapses beside you on his mattress, his thigh brushing against yours.

Every nerve in your body vibrates with the typical post-coital blend of oxytocin and serotonin but the bliss is background noise to the word he’d murmured so pretty against your skin.

It flashes in your mind like a neon sign. Baby.

Suddenly, everything leading up to this moment begins to play like a highlight reel.

The touches that linger for a split-second too long, the random texts throughout the day, the just because kisses that don’t necessarily lead to sex, your favorite vending machine snack randomly appearing on your desk at work when you’re having a hard day, how you know his go-to take-out order by heart, baby, baby, baby—

You bolt upright, cutting Frank off in the middle of a sentence that you hadn’t registered a single syllable of. You throw your legs over the side of the bed, reaching down to pick your underwear and scrubs up off the floor.

“Uh—” He lets out a soft, confused laugh. “You okay?”

You pull your shirt over your head, unable to bring yourself to look at him. “Yeah,” you say, your voice unnaturally high. “It’s just late. I’ve got work in the morning, so I should get going.”

“O…kay,” he draws the word out, obviously unconvinced. “You sure that’s all it is?”

You jump up, yanking your pants into place. “Yep. Just tired.”

He’s silent for a moment, as if trying to gauge the sudden shift in your demeanor. Then, he clears his throat. “I mean, if you’re tired, you can sleep here. Probably shouldn’t drive—”

“What the hell are we doing, Frank?”

He pushes himself up on one elbow, eyebrows knitting together. “What are we doing?” He repeats. “Same thing we’ve been doing for the last few months, I thought.”

You’re shaking your head before he can finish the sentence.

“It’s not the same. It’s not the same and you know it.”

He sits up straighter, blue eyes boring into you like he’s trying to read your mind. It feels like an eternity before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is low and restrained. “Where is this coming from?”

You make a vague, exasperated gesture with your hands. “It’s coming from…all of it. You call two nights in a row and I come running. People at work are starting to talk because we barely even try to hide it. Your kids are sleeping right down the hall and you’re offering to let me spend the night—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupts gently. He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay. You’re right,” he admits. “Things aren’t exactly the same. Haven’t been for a while now.” He pauses, the intensity of his stare keeping you glued to the spot where you stand next to his bed. “I just don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”

Your chest constricts at the way he doesn’t try to argue. Doesn’t get defensive, just wants to understand.

“Because it was never supposed to be…this.” Your gaze drops to the floor. “It was supposed to be casual. No strings attached. No feelings. But now?” You look back up to find him still staring at you, jaw clenched. You mentally will your voice to stay level, but emotion still slips through. “Cuddling all night then having breakfast with your children in the morning? Calling me baby like I’m yours? That’s not casual, Frank. That’s—”

He cuts you off with an incredulous laugh. “That’s what this is about?” He pushes the covers off of him, grabbing his underwear as he jumps out of bed to yank them on. “Me calling you baby?”

You’re silent as he walks over to you, stopping when his still bare chest is just inches from yours. He looks at you, unblinking, as he waits for you to answer.

You stare up at him, offering a small shrug. “Tell me it didn’t mean anything. Tell me it just slipped out and meant nothing and I’ll let this go.”

He lets out a breathy, humorless laugh and shakes his head. “I’m not going to lie so you can stay in your comfort zone,” he says, voice dangerously low. “It wasn’t just a slip. I called you baby because that’s what you are to me. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but at least be honest with yourself about why it upsets you.”

His words hit you square in the chest, knocking the air from your lungs and causing you to take a small, involuntary step back. “And why exactly do you think it upsets me?”

He leans in slightly, his eyes darkening. “Let me ask you this. Are you really that pissed off that I called you baby? Or are you upset that me calling you baby made you come harder than I’ve ever felt you come?”

You laugh at that. Cackle, really. Louder than you probably should at this hour when his children are sleeping with only walls in between you.

“Wow,” you exhale. “Okay.” You nod. “You’re a dick, and I am leaving.”

You don’t wait for a response before you’re grabbing your tennis shoes and bag off of his floor, not even bothering to put the shoes on your feet before storming out of the bedroom and making a beeline for the front door.

You’re aware of footsteps trailing after you, of Frank calling your name in a desperate whisper-shout, but you don’t stop. You aren’t thinking, you aren’t processing what just transpired, you just want to go back to your place, scream into a pillow, and hope that when you wake up in the morning, your heart is no longer doing gymnastics in your fucking ribcage.

“Please,” he breathes, his hand blanketing yours over the doorknob when you go to turn it. “Hear me out for just a second, okay?”

You don’t look up. His palm feels like wildfire against your skin and your brain is screaming at you to yank your hand away but you’re frozen in place.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he starts, voice a notch above a whisper. “If you want to leave, you can leave. But I can’t let you walk out of here thinking that this is still just sex to me. It was at first. I don’t know exactly when that changed for me, but it did. And I think it did for you, too.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. All of the words that you know you should probably say pile up in your throat.

I can’t be what you want me to be. I don’t know how.

I’m scared of hurting you. I’m scared of getting hurt.

It’s easier for me to shut down than to admit how I really feel.

I don’t remember how to let someone in. I wish I could.

For you, I wish I could.

You swallow them all down.

But you don’t tell him he’s wrong, either.

“I’ll see you at work, Frank.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Though the cravings have yet to subside, Frank is now a month sober from the exact thing his therapist had warned him about in the earliest days of his recovery.

Unlike when he got clean from benzos, this specific brand of newfound sobriety isn’t his choice. It’s yours.

He would never choose this for himself.

But still, he has surprised himself. Hasn’t reached out, no matter how much he has wanted to. Hasn’t texted you, no matter how many drafts he’s typed and deleted. Hasn’t called, even though it has killed him inside to watch your name get lower and lower in his call history. He’s given you space at work and has only talked to you when it pertains directly to a case.

He’s hated every fucking second of it, but he can officially say that he is thirty days clean. If the past thirty days have taught him anything, though, it’s this: he’d happily fall back into old habits, if only you’d give him the chance.

Because it isn’t the sex that he misses most. The sex doesn’t even crack the top ten things he thinks about when he’s trying to fall asleep at night.

It’s the way you’d occasionally forget a hair clip or chapstick on his bedside table and he’d find little pieces of you when you weren’t around and smile. It’s the way he’d get a text from you when he least expected it. It’s the way you’d ask about his children, and make a point to celebrate his recovery milestones even when he didn’t.

And now he’s here, thirty days without you, and one thing has become abundantly clear to him: he didn’t fall back into addiction, he fell in love.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The news comes on a random Tuesday.

Temple University Hospital. Philadelphia. An internal medicine based fellowship you had impulsively applied for the night after you slept with Frank for the last time.

You had already made peace with the fact you weren’t going to get it. Didn’t think you even stood a chance, really, and you were okay with that. You had already been offered a pediatrics fellowship here in Pittsburgh, anyway.

Then the email appears in your inbox on a random Tuesday morning while you’re at work.

Suddenly, you have what most doctors approaching the end of their residencies don’t have: options.

And because you can’t talk to the one person you most (selfishly) want to talk to about it all, you talk to Cassie, instead.

“Wait. Temple?” She exclaims. “As in Philadelphia? I didn’t even know you had applied! What happened to pediatrics here in Pittsburgh?”

You sigh, taking a seat on the concrete curb in the ambulance bay. “It was really last minute. I didn’t say anything because I really didn’t think I’d get it. And as for the peds fellowship…” You shrug. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, sitting down beside you. “That’s amazing. Do you know how hard it is to get into that program? They’re crazy selective.”

You force a smile. “I know.”

Cassie’s smile falters into concern. “Why does it seem like you aren’t thrilled about this?”

“I am,” you answer way too quickly, hugging your knees. “I’m just…surprised, that’s all. It’s big news.”

She stares at you as if you’re a patient who’s lying to her about how much pain they’re in. “You sure that’s all?”

Before you can bullshit a response, the automatic doors to the hospital slide open, and the very reason that you find it impossible to jump for joy right now steps outside.

He’s saying something to an EMS worker, completely oblivious to you watching him from across the bay, but the mere sight of him makes your heartbeat stutter and palms go clammy.

“I’m sure,” you force out, your eyes still glued to Frank. “It’s just…”

“Just…?” Cassie prompts, then follows your gaze. A few seconds of heavy silence pass between you before the pieces click into place. “Oh.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightening. “Yeah. Oh.”

She clicks her tongue. “So that’s why you submitted a last minute application for a fellowship in Philly.”

You can’t deny it. Not when you know she’s right. Not when you’re staring right at him with every feeling you’ve been trying to bury since the very first time you kissed him bubbling to the surface.

“I really fucked things up, Cass.”

You finally look away from him, your eyes burning with the threat of all of the unshed tears that you’ve refused to let spill for the last month.

“Between you and Langdon?” She asks gently.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I completely shut down the second things started to get real. He told me how he felt and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I feel the same. I just ran like I always do and…”

“And now you’re thinking about running to Philadelphia.”

Again, you can’t even deny it. Not in any way that would be halfway convincing.

“Temple would be a great opportunity,” you mumble instead, looking down at your shoe.

Cassie purses her lips. “It would be,” she agrees. “But moving five hours away isn’t going to magically erase your feelings. You have great opportunities here, too. And I don’t just mean peds.”

She nods in Frank’s direction. You glance back over to where he still stands chatting with the EMS worker. At the same moment, he looks up and his blue eyes meet yours.

You exhale, hoping that he doesn’t have a hidden talent for reading lips. “I don’t know if he even wants to talk to me at this point.”

She snorts. “Please. If the way he’s been moping around like a dejected puppy for the last month means anything, then you have nothing to worry about.” She pauses. “Look, if you really want to go to Philly, then I’ll help you pack. But if you’re gonna go, go for the right reasons. Not because facing your feelings scares you more than the thought of moving three hundred miles away.”

You hate that she’s right. But not as much as you hate the fact that you know she’s right, and still might take the easy way out, anyway.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

What hurts Frank more than anything is that he doesn’t hear the news directly from you.

He isn’t supposed to hear it at all, actually. He only finds out because he happens to be standing a few feet away at the nurse’s station, and Victoria’s voice carries.

“I heard about your fellowship offer from Temple,” Victoria practically sings. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you. Internal medicine, right?”

Frank doesn’t even look up from his tablet at first. He isn’t sure who Victoria is talking to, but he has no reason to believe it’s you. You didn’t apply to any fellowships in internal medicine. You’ve always been interested in going into emergency pediatrics—

“Oh—” Your nervous laugh causes Frank’s eyes to shoot up. Your back is to him, so he can’t see your facial expression. “Yeah, thanks,” you tell Victoria, your voice an octave higher than it typically is.

He doesn’t register the rest of the conversation because of a shrill ringing in his ears that makes him bolt to the restroom.

It’s been one month since his last legitimate conversation with you, and now you’re moving to Philadelphia? For a fellowship in internal medicine, which you’ve never expressed interest in during all the years you’ve worked together or months you slept together?

And you didn’t even tell him yourself. He heard it from Victoria talking so loudly that patients in fucking triage probably heard the news.

Not that you owe him anything. Of course you don’t have to run your life decisions by him. He was just blindsided is all.

Blindsided, and more devastated than he probably has any right to be.

He wishes he could be as happy for you as Victoria is. But no matter how much Frank works on himself, no matter how much time he spends in therapy or how many self-help books he reads, he’s always been a selfish man when he’s in love.

But you aren’t his to be selfish over. He knows this. He’s painfully aware of it every time he sees you at work and every time he feels your absence when he’s alone at night.

So when he sees you walking to your car in the parking garage after work that night, he tries to do the right thing even though it feels wrong.

“So, Philly?”

You come to a halt beside your car, slowly turning around to face him. You purse your lips in the way that Frank knows that you normally do when you’re nervous, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

“You heard about that, huh?”

Frank stops a couple feet away from you, one hand on the strap of his backpack and one crammed in his pants pocket. “Yeah, Javadi doesn’t exactly whisper.”

“Ah,” you breathe. Then, with a small laugh, “No, I suppose she doesn’t.”

An awkward beat of silence passes between you as it dawns on Frank that this is damn near exactly where he stood months ago when you first kissed him. The realization makes his gaze flash to your lips.

God, what the hell is he doing?

He clears his throat and starts to take a step back. “Well, I just wanted to say congratulations. Temple will be really lucky to have you—”

“I haven’t decided anything yet,” you interject quickly, the words nearly running together. “I just found out yesterday so I…I don’t really know what I’m going to do yet.”

Frank hopes that his face doesn’t show the sudden relief he feels to hear of your indecision.

“But I’m sorry you found out that way,” you add in a smaller voice, not meeting his eye. “I was going to tell you, once I made a decision.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says softly. “You don’t owe me anything. I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not here.” He pauses and adds the words that taste like bile when they leave his mouth. “Even if it’s not with me.”

But goddamn, do I wish it was, he thinks.

A storm of different emotions flicker across your face in the span of about two seconds. For one of them, Frank thinks you might step toward him.

But it’s just wishful thinking, or maybe the shitty parking garage lighting.

“Thank you, Frank.”

Anything else he could possibly say would be solely for his own benefit, so he nods.

And he doesn’t want to risk ruining the moment, knowing there’s a chance that he may not have many more with you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The words on the screens in front of you bleed together.

The email you received yesterday morning from Temple University Hospital is open on your laptop screen. The iPad in your hands displays UPMC Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh’s website.

You’ve scanned and scrolled as if the answer you’re searching for will appear in bold letters across one of the screens, but since you got home from work a few hours ago, the only decision you’ve succeeded in making is chamomile over peppermint tea.

You thought taking a hot shower might help you clear your mind. All that resulted in was remembering all of the times that you ended up at Frank’s or he ended up at yours after work and you’d shower together, washing off the long day with your hands and lips on each other the entire time.

After cutting your shower short, you figured eating something other than a protein bar would help you gain at least a little mental clarity - but then you opened your fridge to see leftover takeout from the Italian place down the road that you know Frank likes, and completely lost your appetite.

The following hours weren’t much different.

Put on body lotion - remembered how much Frank loved the smell of it. Turned on music - the first fucking song that played on shuffle was by an artist that Frank introduced you to. Searched through a pile of laundry for a cardigan - found a t-shirt Frank accidentally left at your place over a month ago that you can’t bring yourself to give back to him.

He’s still everywhere. It’s been a month and he’s still occupying spaces that he hasn’t been in weeks. In your apartment and in your brain and in your heart.

And to top it all off, the words that he had said to you in the parking garage tonight won’t stop replaying in your head.

I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not here. Even if it’s not with me.

But what if it is? What if it is here? What if it is with him?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes, but it does little to improve the quality of the words on the screens in front of you. Maybe, if you put on your reading glasses, everything will become clear to—

Your hand freezes on a piece of paper in your bedside table drawer as you’re searching for your glasses.

A bright blue, wrinkled sticky note. You don’t even have to flip it over to remember what it says but you do, anyway.

Stop overthinking. You made the right call. You always do.

Also, stop scowling.

Frank’s handwriting. He’d scribbled the words, crumpled the paper up, and flicked it at you across your desks while charting after a particularly brutal trauma that he knew you were beating yourself up over.

It had been the first thing to make you smile that whole day. It was a reminder that you desperately needed at that moment. And it was from Frank. Of course you kept it.

And now here it is. At the exact moment you so desperately need that reminder once again.

Stop overthinking.

So that’s exactly what you do. You stop overthinking, and do what you should have done a long time ago.

He’s probably already asleep, but you put on your shoes.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you that you’re probably too late, but you grab your car keys and make the short drive to his place.

And there’s a tight ball of anxiety in the pit of your stomach that begs you to turn around, but you raise your hand and knock on his front door.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank is convinced that he must be dreaming.

He didn’t actually hear a knock and open his front door to you standing outside at midnight.

There’s no way this isn’t his subconscious playing some cruel joke on him. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve appeared in his dreams, but it is by far the most realistic he’s had. He can feel the chill of the night wind as it blows the familiar scent of your body lotion in his direction and it is all so, so lifelike.

It doesn’t register that he is very much awake and you are very much here until you speak.

“Shit.”

It’s the first word out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you huff. “Are the kids here right now? I hope I didn’t wake them up. I didn’t really think this through. I just got in my car and drove here before I could chicken out because I’m tired of chickening out and—”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, stepping over the threshold of his doorway. He almost reaches out and touches you, but stops himself at the last second.

You’re here. You’re actually fucking here right now. It’s the middle of the night and you’re in your pajamas and slippers and he has no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re here.

“What’s going on?” He asks gently, unable to keep obvious concern from his tone. “It’s…after midnight. Is everything okay?”

You nod. “Everything is fine. I’m sorry to freak you out. I just…I told you that I was going to tell you whenever I came to a decision.”

Frank stares at you, his mouth slightly agape. You did say that…approximately five hours ago.

The shock and the hope he had initially felt upon realizing that you’re standing on his front porch is quickly replaced with dread at what you might say next.

He swallows, his voice rough. “So…you made a decision, then? About Philadelphia?”

Another nod, followed by a smile that he can’t quite read. “Philly sounds great. I mean…the Eagles, the Liberty Bell…cheesesteaks.” Your shoulders lift in a small shrug. “And the internal medicine program at Temple would be a really great opportunity.”

Frank drops your gaze, bracing for what surely comes next.

“But Philadelphia does not have the guy that I love.”

His eyes shoot back up. You’re staring at him, eyes wide and closer to tears than he thinks he’s ever seen from you. Before he can speak, you take a step closer and he forgets how to breathe.

“It doesn’t have you.”

Frank knows it defies all science and logic, but he swears the entire city freezes around you two right then and there.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt before his brain has a chance to catch up. “Frank, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have walked out on you like I did. I shouldn’t have shut you out, I shouldn’t have taken this long to get my head out of my ass—”

“Hey—” he tries gently, but you’re on a roll now.

“—and I should have told you that you were right. It wasn’t just sex to me, either. I don’t think it ever really was. And I get it if I’m too late. I get it if you can’t give me another chance. But I’m not going anywhere, I’m done running away from what I feel, and if I have to prove every day that I love—”

That’s it. He won’t listen to another word.

Not that he doesn’t love the sound of them coming from your lips because goddamn, he does. Every word, every apology, every promise you’re willing to give, Frank will take.

But he can’t just stand here and watch the way your hands are starting to shake and listen to your voice begin to tremble when every part of him that has missed you for the last month screams at him to pull you close, so that’s exactly what he does.

It only takes a fraction of a second for you to process that his lips are moving against yours.

Your hands fly to his hair, his own dropping from your face to your waist to pull you flush against him. You gasp into his mouth, a pretty noise that Frank is happy to swallow down. It takes no time at all for the kiss to turn fervent, a clash of tongue and teeth that makes him grateful that it’s the dead of night and all of his neighbors are asleep.

“—you,” you finish when you reluctantly break apart, your breath warm against his lips. “I love you.”

The three words are everything he’s been waiting to hear since the first night you kissed him. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“I love you, too, baby,” he murmurs low. A smirk forms on his kiss-swollen lips. “It is okay that I call you that now, right?”

You let out a sound that is half laugh, half sob at the words. You grab his face in your hands and pull him down again for one more kiss, this one shorter but just as sweet.

“Please,” you sigh, smiling up at him. “Because you weren’t wrong about the effect it has on me.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

thank you so much for reading. if you comment/reblog i love you forever n ever 💗💗💗

[shadeofpeach]

Sweet return

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon Warnings: fluff, comfort, mention of rehab. Summary: Frank always makes sure you never run out of energy. Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.

The shift had been a relentless, non-stop from the second you stepped onto the floor.

But despite the chaotic pace, a pattern kept repeating itself.

Every time you returned to your usual workstation to sign off on a patient’s chart or update a note, a piece of candy was sitting right beside the keyboard.

First, a strawberry hard candy.

Later, a mini chocolate bar.

Then, a honey caramel.

You stared down at the caramel, a familiar warmth knotting in your chest.

Before he went away, before the sudden leave of absence, the rehab, the heavy silence that had hung over the ER in his absence, Frank had made a habit of doing exactly this.

He’d slip you sweets between heavy cases, a quiet, unspoken way of keeping your energy up and reminding you to take care of yourself without making a scene in front of the rest of the staff.

But you hadn’t seen him.

You weren't assigned to the trauma bays today, and as far as you knew, Dr. Langdon wasn't even back on the schedule yet.

"Hey," Robby said, cutting through your thoughts as he nudged a chart into your hands. "I need you to consult on a complex laceration down in bed 6. I practically had to drag Frank over there myself to take the case, he’s trying to ease back in, but we're drowning today and he's being totally stupid by doubting himself."

You froze, the chart hovering mid air.

"W-what do you mean? Frank? He's back?"

Robby paused, looking at you like you’d missed a flare going off in the middle of the hallway. "Langdon. He came in this morning. HR sign off, official return, the whole deal. Though honestly, he’s spent half his shift dodging the main floor." Robby gave a quick wave of his hand, already moving toward another bay. "Anyway, go give him a hand before he tries to escape the case."

Your heart took a hard thud. You clutched the chart to your chest and walked toward bed 6, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Eyes fixed on the patient's vitals on the top clipboard page, you rounded the curtain, talking fast to cover the sudden flutter in your stomach. "Dr. Robinavitch said you needed a second look at-"

You stopped mid sentence.

Standing at the bedside was Frank.

He looked rested, sharp, and unmistakably him.

He paused mid glove snap, turning his head as his eyes locked onto yours. A subtle smile tugged at the corner of his lips, carrying all the familiar warmth you’d missed for months.

A breath escaped you, half laugh and half disbelief.

"I knew you were here," you said, a bright smile breaking across your face as you reached into your pocket and held up the little wrapped caramel.

Frank chuckled, his eyes turning tender. "I couldn't let my favorite resident run out of energy on my first day back, could I?" You smiled, then pouted slightly, tilting your head.

"Hi." You'd missed him terribly.

"Hi, you." he answered, smiling sweetly at your expression.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[heavensentwhore]

"supply closet sex with frank" this, "sneaking off into an empty exam room with frank" that

no...i raise you... sneaking off into a supply closet for 2 minutes of silence and hug w hands under his scrub shirt because that man needs peace and emotional regulation thrice a day

[castiwls]

mdni

Frank Langdon who has the most insane breeding kink. He just loveeesss knowing that you’re carrying his child. That after all that’s happened with the drugs and rehab there’s still someone who trusts and loves him enough to let him get you pregnant.

He’s so sweet about it to. Laying you out against your bed, his lips grazing your neck as words of praise flow out of him like a waterfall, settling over you in a warm haze as you tug on his hair until his lips meet yours.

Him taking his time. “Gotta get nice and deep baby hm?” His thrusts hitting that spot that makes you see stars, pleasure warm and gentle swirling in your stomach compared to how he can sometimes be. He’s rambling the whole time about how great of a mum you’ll be. How perfect you are. How much he loves you for trusting him like this.

Frank insisting after he’s finished that he can’t pull out just yet. His hips staying pressed against yours even when you whine from the overstimulation. Your hand weakly shoving at his shoulder until he gathers them both up in one of his own, pressing them above your head as he leans down to silence your whines with a kiss.

“Few more minutes kay? Just gotta make sure it sticks. Make sure there’s a baby.” You nod your brain fuzzy enough that you’d let him do anything.

He finds a way to do this every night until one day he comes home from work to you teary eyed holding the positive test and suddenly something feels right again.

[its-feminine-intuition]

It’s Getting To Me, Embarrassingly - Frank Langdon x Robinavitch!Reader

Warnings: perv!frank, male masturbation (Frank jerks off to your photos), also angst? because frank is a dick and yells at reader. nothing else i can think of but lmk if i missed anything!

Synopsis: everyone in the pitt seems to coddle you, and frank can’t figure out why. jealousy leads him to snap at you, and a late night stalk gives him answers he never expected.

Word count: 2.3k

Truthfully, Frank hadn't meant to take issue with you. If anyone doubted that, they could rig him up to a lie detector for all he cared.

You were a relatively new addition to the Emergency Department; clever, attentive, kind - the sort of person that anyone would be grateful to have training under them. Frank knew this, and he knew that it was unfair for him to dislike you.

In fact, the first hour of your shared shift had been fine - enjoyable even. You both cracked jokes, sharing stories about peculiar mentors that you had encountered in the past. Frank even offered you some of his hard-earned wisdom; things that he wished he had known as an MS3.

Then he had led you into various operating rooms, detailing the cases and procedures to you with a hand on the small of your back. It made your skin flush, but he didn't notice, taking your silence for rapt attention - something that was rare in students these days.

Throughout his residency, Frank had met countless students that were simply jumping hoops and leaping hurdles, just going through the motions to reach that fabled paycheck at the end of their placements. (He took small pleasure in knowing that the wages would most likely disappoint them; residents were always the ones to get underpaid.) Hell, he had even seen doctors that were entirely the same: only in it for the money.

However, it was quickly apparent that you were different.

There was something in the way you spoke to patients, how you advocated for their best interests. It was clear that you had a passion for helping people, and that you were seeking fulfilment from this career, rather than a hefty sum of money. Frank thought it was an admirable quality, but in spite of this, he still found himself at his wit's end by midday - barely able to tolerate you.

As reflected by hundreds of studies, it has been proven that asking questions is an important part of the learning process. However, it would seem that none of these researchers had ever met you, with your endless stream of inquiries. Seriously, Frank felt like he was being interrogated.

He would be elbow-deep in someone's body cavity and you would pipe up from beside him, sickly sweet voice asking something about the technique he was using. They weren't even stupid questions, too, that's what really bothered him.

The first time, Frank had foolishly tried to offer a response. You watched as his incisors sank deep into his lower lip, gaze never faltering as he struggled to conjure an answer. He had stammered uselessly until Robby stepped in to (semi)-end his suffering, heckling him from the corner of the room, "Focus on the patient Langdon - there'll be plenty of time to look confused later."

There had been a resounding laughter at that remark, so Frank decided it was best to ignore your queries from there on out to avoid any further humiliation. Still, he couldn't understand what was causing these vacancies in his mind. It could possibly be attributed to the focus that each procedure demanded from him, or the way that you stood too close, letting your perfume dizzy him.

Nonetheless, you continue asking questions. It shouldn't bother him, (you're here to learn, after all) but it does, because now you direct them at Robby instead.

Robby, who explains concepts to you with a lot more warmth and patience than he ever had with Frank - or anyone for that matter. Despite his best efforts to shake off any lingering jealousy, he couldn't help but wonder why you received such special treatment.

That wasn't his breaking point, though.

No, that came about two weeks in.

In Frank's defence, it had already been an exhausting day: the shift was running over by at least an hour; he hadn't found an opportunity to eat since that morning; and you had just decided to revive an annoying habit that Frank thought you had finally moved past.

Evidently not, as you begin every contribution to the case with a “Well, my dad said that…” or a “My dad showed me a journal that said…”

It wasn't to say that he doubted your dad's knowledge - whoever he was - but Frank wanted to hear from you. He wasn’t just asking these questions because he felt like it, he genuinely wanted your input. Although it wasn’t something he would admit easily, you had offered him a different perspective on more than one occasion. Your advice was valuable to him.

So maybe, just maybe, when you opened your mouth to say, “I think I remember my dad telling me about this,” he snapped, looking up at you from where he stood bent over the patient.

“If I wanted your dad’s opinion, don’t you think I would be asking him instead?” he begins, leaning towards you on his forearms. You tried to hold his gaze, not letting him intimidate you as his eyes darkened, becoming more pointed and accusatory as his voice rose, “All day you’ve been leaning on him like a crutch. I don’t know who he is - fuck, I don’t even care - but if you want to be a doctor, you have to think for yourself.”

The nurses had immediately gone silent, busying themselves with trivial distractions. You could hear Princess fiddling with her gloves from across the room, and Langdon’s ragged breath breaking through the silence. You thought he was finished, but a vein fired off in his neck as if to prove you wrong.

“Have you ever heard a resident quoting their dad as a source of medical information?” he paused, watching as you shook your head, letting his hair fall into his eyes as he mimicked your movement, “No, of course you haven’t. We’ve spent years attending lectures and studying medical journals, you know, the reliable, legitimate resources?”

Frank sucked in a deep breath as he prepared to continue, but the vitals monitor began to beep, interrupting him. Instead, he just threw you a look, one that said ‘do better,’ before turning his attention back to the patient.

Fortunately, this altercation hadn’t been mentioned again. He still felt guilty about it, taking a bad day and pent up desire out on you. The divorce hadn’t been easy, especially when you were tormenting him every day; you must have been the only person to look so good in scrubs.

The thought had been weighing on Frank's mind - a constant thrum since you were assigned to his watchful eye. 

Who were you? What was it that seemed to make everyone fawn around you?

He had seen it on multiple occasions: Dana insisting you take a lunch break, even when the ER was hectic and you were decidedly not hungry; Perlah bringing back all sorts of souvenirs for you whenever she went abroad; but most obviously, the way Robby nurtured you. It was shameless favouritism, and Frank wanted to know what was causing it.

So, one night when sleep refused to find him, he turned to Instagram. 

Truthfully, he was shocked that he fought the urge for so long. A little impressed, actually. Nonetheless, he has always been an inquisitive soul, and the curiosity mixed with the jealousy (although Frank wouldn't call it that - perhaps just a healthy bit of competitive spirt among peers?) had become too much to bear.

The mattress squealed as he rolled to face his end table, arm reaching out and guided to his phone by the moonlight. It laid in a bed of its own - one of those electromagnetic chargers, a useless purchase born from a 20% discount - but it was in a far deeper slumber than Frank had any hope of finding. It was selfish, but if Frank couldn’t sleep, then neither could his phone. He yanked it from the bay and shuffled up against his pillows.

His touch woke the device, a photo of his dog coming to fill the screen, and the brightness filling his room. He winced, hurriedly stabbing at the control centre to dim the display. 

God, this would wreak havoc on his eyes.

After he gave himself a moment to push away the optical static, he headed straight to Instagram. The home page showed a woman wielding a giant bowl of salad, the subtitles flaunting her nutritious recipe. He stared aimlessly as she began chopping up various vegetables, unsure of where to begin his search. 

Look, cyber stalking - or any type of stalking - was new territory for him. Besides, Frank had really boxed himself into a corner here. 

For the entirety of your placement, he had deliberately avoided any small talk with you. It was a strange form of self-preservation, because Frank hated nothing more than being wrong. He knew that if he spoke to you, his dislike would quickly feel unjustified, and that was something he just couldn’t handle. The logic was primitive, but it had served him fairly well until then, as he realised that he didn’t know your surname.

Nonetheless, he remained hopeful and decided to start his search in the most obvious place, fingers typing your name into the search bar. The results began appearing, but a quick skim told him that he would need to wisen up, as the list only showed him a handful of random influencers who happened to share your name.

He readjusted himself on his bed, bringing the screen closer to his face as he pondered his next move. He felt like a detective as he compiled a mental web of everyone you know, plotting a route to your account.

Frank also felt like a total creep.

Well, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, he reasoned, exiling the guilt like had so many thoughts over the past month. Some of them - like how he wondered what your mouth might feel like - were persistent, and he had to pushing them away in some strange Sisyphean feat. 

He shook his head, resetting himself. Then he was back into action, fingers taking him to his profile and sifting through his followers to find Mel. He recognised her account immediately, the colorful profile picture of her and Becca catching his eye. Clicking on it, a strange sort of flow seemed to consume him, and he suddenly found himself on a roll. Frank scrolled through her page to find Whitaker, and from there, Trinity – your close friend.

Whenever he saw the two of you whispering at work, it felt like a conspiracy against him. He was always worried that he would open his locker to find rotting food in there, or gum plastered to the inside, but deep down he knew you were too nice to do something like that. He couldn’t fathom why, but even after he had shouted at you, you remained friendly with him. Everyone knew that he couldn’t say the same for Trinity.

Ready to continue the search, a digit remained hovering over the screen, but it instinctively tucked itself away as he found what he needed: a photo of the pair of you on a girls’ night out. You’re both leant on a sticky bar giggling to one another, and even Frank could admit that it was a cute photo - he wasn’t blind.

So, he sent out a silent prayer that you were tagged, then pressed tentatively on the thumbnail. 

It almost felt like fate as the little grey widget popped up, and he didn’t even read your username, thumb eclipsing it as he pressed with desperate haste. If there was a God, he was looking down on Frank kindly because by some miracle, your account was public - dumb, but convenient, Frank mused.

From there, it was like someone had released the hounds. He wasted no time scrolling through your extensive post history: a trip to the Maldives, some photos of your various meals, and a photo dump of you almost exclusively in bikinis.

Look, he knew he shouldn’t.

But his free hand was already pushing into his boxers, and his dick was already half hard.

Besides, if he had already exercised all of his worst impulses, what was one more? It wasn’t like you would find out.

That was all the convincing he needed, fingers coming to wrap around the shaft as he groaned. He had denied himself this for too long.

Then, he continued his exploration - cock in one hand, phone in the other. He flicked through the slideshows, smearing his precum around the tip as he looked at your lips, shiny and pouting. God, what would they feel like wrapped around his dick? A question for the ages.

He was stroking the shaft when the next slide took him by surprise: a photo of you from behind, bikini practically wedged between your cheeks. His hand sped up, that sound of skin against skin filling the room as he raced to match the thoughts that were speeding through his mind. Your skin looked so soft, and God - your ass was perfect. How had he not done this sooner?

Frank began to lose himself in the pleasure, imagining the way you would sound beneath him, sweet and encouraging. Breathless as he would bend your knees over his shoulders, pace harsh and unforgiving - punishment for the way you had embarrassed him.

What really finished him off, though, was thinking about how you would sound as you came, all coos and whimpers, drunk on his cock. It was almost instantaneous, Frank cumming alongside the imaginary you he created, his load spurting onto his phone.

In the midst of his orgasm, he scrolls one more post, searching for something to ride out his high to. He thought he had struck gold, only to end eye-to-eye with his boss, who was now coated in a sheen of Frank’s cum.

Post-coitus had never been so short, as Frank leapt from the bed and waddled to the bathroom, wiping his screen clean with a towel. It was only then that he noticed your username, and that he had accidentally hit the follow button.

@yn_robinavitch2003

Fuck.

thank you so much for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed!!! my asks are shamelessly open, so please send in any requests!

A/N: based on this gorgeous ask, sorry it took so long but thank you so much for the request, i hope this isn’t dull or ooc! part two is coming and it won’t take so long this time i promise 💕 also i haven’t proofread, i’ll do that in the morning!

dividers are by @pixopix

[bluetimeombre]

YOU KNOW HOW TO BALL

— Young Jack! x reader

SynopsisJack is a party boy, but above all he is a you boy and his affection only grows when he sees you punch the notorious camp dick (request) (4.5K words)

Warningsyoung Jack! Kind of cocky young Jack but he's just flirty. Language. American high school/collage stereotype. TW. Mentions of sexual assault, a guy wants to have sex with a drunk girl, reader punches him, violence, alcohol.

Authornote gif to @kaizsche. i don't know if I've made Jack a little OC in this, I kinda just made him a very bubbly and confident young man because I can see that for him, before war and hospital stuff. I also know nothing about how american schooling system works except from what I know form tv so this is probably cringe

the pitt masterlist. another Jack fic!

When Jack Abbot - med student extraordinaire- threw a party, everyone knew about it.

Strictly speaking, they weren't his parties. They were usually his housemate Derran's. Jack wasn't allowed to have a say in when the party was, how long it lasted or what drinks were available.

He did, however, get first pick at the guest list. They were frat parties, of course, but sophisticated enough to have a guest list. And top of his list was always one name: yours. Which seemed an odd choice to his housemates as you never turned up.

“Party tonight, you know the place,” said Jack, pushing himself up from the wall that was his. His because he waited there for you every Friday. Waited to follow you, pestering you all the way down corridors and halls, up and down stairwells.

“I know the place, loud, rowdy,” you listed, a heavy looking book tucked under your arm. “I'll be sure to avoid it.”

“No, the open door means come on in, not hurry by.”

“I must have missed that class.”

“You? Miss a class? Nah.”

It was routine for Jack to do this: get the details of the latest party from Derran, run to whatever class you were still stuck in and wait for you to come out to invite you to the party.

The party where he'll linger by the door and let everyone think he was being a diligent owner, welcoming them in, handing them off to the kitchen were drinks were being downed already. Really, he lingered and waited for you. One day you would turn up and he'd back away into the crowd, making his way over all nonchalantly and bump into you, saying some practised line like “Oh, you came!”

“Speaking of class, you were later than usual coming out,” he noted, hands in his jersey jacket pocket.

“Do you ever hear yourself and think how creepy you sound?” you pondered.

“No, not really. I do catch myself in the reflection though and think, woah, you're a good looking guy.”

“Before it cracks right?”

Jack grinned. It was his favourite part of his days, when he got to see you and have this one on one. You bit back to his words and a lot of girls blushed at his teasing, tucking back hair in hopes Jack would catch the drift and do it himself.

He didn't know what it was about you that had you not falling for him. It drove him mad. He loved it. He was crazy, thought his friends, you clearly weren't interested, they were trying to get it through to him. And still, he persisted. Because when he saw you one day, narrowly missed getting hit the face with a soccer ball and instead of slick by you proceeded to yell at every player, and since he couldn't stop seeing you in crowds, finding you in libraries.

When he got talking to you and found you could keep up with him- well, he was smitten.

“What's the book today?” he asked, gesturing to the brick that was tucked under your arm. “Some Latin, some Greek.”

“An old Greek classic. It's in English, I just don't think you can read.”

Jack chuckled and followed you onto into the fields, where the sun beamed down. “Looks heavy, you want me to carry it for you?”

“No, I want you to stop stalking me.”

“I'm not stalking,” he denied, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by, I swear.”

“You seem to pass by every Friday, which is odd because you don't have classes over here on Fridays.”

Jack's hand darted out. He stopped you with a grin. “Now who's the stalker?”

You frowned, a roll to your eyes like you just couldn't be bothered with him. Yet he knew if that was fact you'd have already avoided him. You liked the bite as much as he did. “What?”

“How do you know my class schedule, huh?” he teased, tongue poking out and running over the bottom of his lip. “Unless someone's been looking.”

There was a stutter on your lips and he stood there, giddy.

“No. I-I just, I mean, my room mate has a friend who's studying medicine and he's not here on Friday's,” you argued.

Jack nodded along with you, rocking slightly back and forward on his heels. “Oh yeah? What's his name?”

You shook your head. “You wouldn't know him.”

Jack doubted, he doubted this guy was even real. It lightened him up to have you wanting to know things about him. That maybe you'd asked around to know his schedule, looked it up, actually spared moments out of your day to think about him while trying to act like you weren't.

Quickly, he followed after you as you took the long way around the pitch.

“Is this guy coming to the party?” he asked, just to entertain the conversation a little longer. “Maybe you can third wheel your roommate and him.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fun.”

“Well I'll be there to keep you company, don't worry.”

“Oh good, I feel assured.”

“C'mon,” he said, taking a jog to keep up with your long strides. “What's one night of relaxing, huh?”

You chuckled, dryly. “You and I clearly have a very different idea on what relaxing is.”

“You're a more book and a bath kinda person, am I right?” Jack asked.

You glanced at him, a small frown between your brows like you were trying to figure out how he knew. “There's nothing wrong with that,” you said, almost defensively.

“I didn't say there was. I enjoy a bath myself.”

“With the walls shaking? With all the noises and company? Not a moment's peace?”

Jack smirked, leaning in closer to you. “Just what kind of baths do you think I have?”

Your lips parted, a fresh sheen of gloss over the pink of them. Your tongue clicked as you shook your head, tucking it down but he still caught the corners of your lips tilting up that you tried to hide. One day you might just admit you found him funny, that you thought about him outside of your little coincidental meetings.

“Jesus,” you breathed out, turning from him and taking a path back to your dorm.

“That's what they all say!”

You were making your way down the path hurriedly.

“Think about it!” Jack's hands cupped over his mouth as he yelled after you.

You yelled back. “I've thought about it!”

Jack watched you until your form became a blur and he had pretty good eye sight so he must have been watching you a while. By the time he tore his gaze away from the long way you'd gone he saw jocks on the field, girls preening at them and looking at him with bitten back smiles.

All he thought was how you'd never bitten back a smile. Maybe you tried to hide your smiles around him but he'd seen you grin big before, when you were unabashed and un-afraid to be seen.

He wanted that smile to be his, one day.

The party was already in full swing by the time Jack abandoned his post at the door, trying to make peace with the fact you clearly weren't coming. It was going on midnight and he'd been keeping his spot in the entryway since well before the sun set, wearing a patch into the carpet that would definitely need looking at with sober eyes.

Jack allowed himself a flicker of disappointment before he replaced it with resolve. Next time, maybe he'd even just invite you out somewhere, try to get you on a date instead of carrying on the pointless crusade of dragging you to a party you clearly weren't interested in.

Girls lifted up their plastic red cups to him as he passed, guys clapped him on the shoulder yet none of it felt as rewarding as it should of.

“Jackie, boy!” yelled Derran from his own post of guarding the beers.

“Derran!” he called back with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Derran spotted his glum look and empty side. “Better luck next time, bro!”

Jack nodded and continued on his venture.

Was it just him you didn't like? He'd seen you at a party before, Stacey M from psychology. He'd caught sight of you, little black dress, taking to someone he didn't know but wanted to if they were stealing your attention. He'd spotted you across the room and hadn't said anything because he didn't want to scare you away. He didn't think you'd seen him.

So, you could party. It must have been Jack you were trying to avoid.

He was thinking as much when he saw Kev.

Kev was Derran's buddy but even that was too generous a statement. He was more like a pestering fly you just couldn't get rid of and Jack spotted him buzzing around someone, animatedly.

“Geez, lighten up!”

“Lighten up? You were about to take a girl who could hardly stand upstairs!”

“She was literally begging for it an hour ago.”

“And now she can hardly string a sentence together!”

The crowd dispersed around the shouting, looking back and to each other with pulled faces. They were hoping for a fight. Someone always was. As they parted, Jack could finally make out who Kev was talking to.

You stood across from Kev, in a dress that demanded Jack's attention, your cheeks flushed and arms crossed over your chest. You were there, at his party, arguing with a guy notorious for being a huge dick.

“What the hell is it to you, anyway?” said Kev.

Jack shouldered past everyone, falling into the conversation. “Hey,” he said to you.

Your eyes moved from Kev's to his and softened. “Hey, Jack.”

Jack. He liked hearing it from your lips, instead of stalker.

“Jack, hey pal,” greeted Kev in a stony voice typical for him. “Get a hold of your fucking girl, would you?”

You scoffed as Jack took a step in front of you. “Excuse me?”

“She's not my girl, man,” said Jack. “And she's right. If a girl's too drunk to keep her eyes open she's way to drunk to commit to anything.”

“She wants it, bro! I can tell!”

“I guarantee you, she does not.” Jack watched Kev roll his eyes and guessed he wasn't a guy that took being told no easily.

“Whatever man,” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive sort of gesture as he turned. “Just get this bitch out of my face.”

Kev tried to go but Jack was hot on his heels. You were hot on his.

“What did you just say?” snapped Jack, yelling over the noise of the music that rattled in his bones and his own heartbeat he could hear pounding in his ears.

“You heard me!”

“Yeah, and I'm really hoping I fucking didn't!” Jack grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He was taller than Jack, bigger than Jack and heavier than Jack. But Jack was willing to bet he had only a tiny dick. “Say you're sorry.”

“Jack-” you interjected behind him.

“Apologise,” he ordered, standing his ground, ignoring the forming crowd.

“Fuck off, man. What the fuck is your problem anyway? Your girl not giving you any pussy so you have to go and ruin mine?”

Jack froze.

He didn't know how it happened. One minute, Kev was running his mouth, the next, your fist flew past Jack and a sickening crack sounded.

Kev was on the floor, cradling his broken and bleeding nose with a whine.

You brought back your fist, shaking it off. “Shit-” you seethed.

Jack was back at your side, quickly. “Ooh- are you okay?” Gently, he took your trembling hand, cradeling it in his as he would a hurt bird. There was a redness spreading along your knuckles, blood blooming at the tiny cuts.

Around the two of you, the party crowd that had formed and watched it all happen started to applaud.

“Let's go!”

“Whoop-whoop!”

“Dude, Kev just got knocked out by a girl!”

If Jack were anybody else he might have cheered to. He might have been apart of the crowd, clapping. But he was only himself. He was only focused on you and your had still held in his.

Your cheeks were flushed with spring time pink as you tucked your head low, leaving him to lower his own closer to hear you. “Is... is there... is there somewhere...”

It took Jack just a moment to realise what you were trying to ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, c'mon.” Jack kept a hold of your wrist as he dragged you past Kev still rolling around on the floor and moaning in pain. He pushed through the crowd that were meandering back to their drinking and dancing. He led you through and up the crowded stairs.

You were silent till Jack stopped the two of you in front of a locked door.

He fished the key out his pocket. “It's my bedroom.”

You stiffened under him.

Jack's eyes widened. “Oh! Oh no, I- it's ensuite. I'd take you to the other bathroom but I can promise you do not want to see what's going on in there. I just want to take a look at your hand, is that okay?”

Your lips pursed and you nodded.

Jack waited. “Words, please.”

“Yes, Jack, you can take a look at my hand,” you said, cheeks still red.

His room was organised, trophies from several sport competitions standing high and polished on shelves. Whenever his parents came around they made sure to keep them clean and straighten them up. On his desk there was a tall pile of medical textbooks, thick enough to act like building blocks and his half finished mug of coffee was left there next to them.

He flicked the lights on and finally let go of your wrist. “You can, sit, make yourself comfortable.”

Jack rushed into his bathroom that was a little less tidy, kicking towels on the floor and dirty boxers into a pile behind the door and reached under his sink to find his first aid kit.

You were stood at the end of his bed, looking around at the walls, at the posters of bands on the wall that he put up when he first moved in and didn't tear off. Your eyes scanned over sheets of paper he had stuck up, post-it notes full of medical terms that were like a different language if you didn't know how to read it.

Jack lingered and watched you study everything that made him, him. Suddenly he was very aware he didn't really listen to any of the bands plastered up on his walls, that his wardrobe doors were hutting open from a draw not closed properly.

“You used to play soccer?” you asked when he appeared again.

Jack eyed the trophies you stared at. “Er, yeah.”

“I didn't know that.”

Jack smirked. “There's a lot you don't know about me.” He held out his hand to his bed, inviting you to sit on the edge as he sat on his desk chair, switching on the lap and moving the neck till the gold glow was on your hand. He was lucky his room was small enough to accommodate the two of you close together.

You splayed out your hand.

“Nice throw,” said Jack as he took a cotton swab and dabbed lightly at the beads of blood.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Where'd you learn to punch like that?”

“Self defence classes,” you told him. “When I thought about coming to your party I figured I best take another one, might come in handy.”

“Glad to know it wasn't me you were planning on punching the day lights out of,” he said.

“I'd have gone easy on you,” you shrugged. “Oh my god, I assaulted him!”

Jack chuckled at the sudden dawn of realisation on your face. “He had it coming. He's a dick anyway.”

The two of you fell silent again as Jack gently looked around your knuckles, checking for any injuries that he could see as if he was already a qualified doctor.

“It's probably the nasal bones you hit,” said Jack. “Might have fractured it.”

“Is it gonna harm is breathing?” you panicked.

“No. His nose will just be bruised for a while. Might have given him a free nose job, too.”

Your other hand combed back your hair. “He could report me for assault.”

Jack shook his head, glancing up through his lashes at you. “He won't. He'd have to explain how the fight began, how he wanted to have sex with a girl that couldn't say no, let alone yes. And besides, Kev wouldn't admit he was hit by a woman.”

“Some company you keep at these things,” you mumbled.

Jack swallowed away guilt. “I'm sorry, Kev just turns up to these things. Usually the parties aren't so bad,” he explained. “This is still going down as one of the best, in my books.”

“Because Kev got punched?”

“Because you showed up.”

Your gaze was hard on his, not un-kind but just watching him to try to catch out the lie. There was none. He was waiting to tell you.

“How come you changed your mind anyway?” he tried to distract you as he ran an anti-septic wipe over the small cuts.

Your hand still tensed and curled up. “Ow- Jesus!”

“Sorry,” he cringed.

You shuffled on the edge of his bed, pulling the hem of your dress back down. Not that he was looking. “My roommate was going, thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. And that way I didn't have to drive.”

“Where's your roommate now?” he asked.

“She and a couple other girls went to take the other drunk girl home, make sure she gets back safe and is okay.”

Jack smiled down at your hand.

“So much for sticking together,” you sighed with a little huff of laughter.

“You need a ride home?” asked Jack, perking up.

You raised your brows. “Haven't you been drinking?”

He shook his head. He'd never been happier to not be a big drinker. “I'm a med student. You think I can get drunk and the next day dissect a rat.”

Your lips pulled into a frown. “I thought dissecting rats in class was band in the fifties?”

“Who said anything about being in class?”

You laughed and Jack wished he could go back in time, make the joke again and savour it anew. He wanted to know what else he could say to make you laugh. What else made you smile. He wanted to know everything that made you happy and be apart of it.

He ditched the wipe on the side and went back to holding your hand. His eyes scanned over the expanse of the back of your hand as if he was trying to find factures or bruising when he just wanted to have an excuse to hold your hand a little longer and try to remember what it felt like.

“So, am I gonna live, doc?” you whispered, head ducking low and closer to his.

Jack raised a brow. “It's doc now, not stalker?”

“I guess I'm the one in your bedroom, I feel like the stalker now.”

“I really didn't have another agenda to this,” said Jack, stony at once at the implication he came up to his room with you for another reason. “You can leave at any time, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don't.”

It was perhaps the longest conversation you'd had together without you walking off and him wondering if he'd see you again. This was different. You were sitting, letting him touch you and look after you in a room that surmised him.

“Your hand should be okay,” said Jack. “You might want to ice it when you get home. Or I can get you a bag now?”

“Will I make it if I wait till I get back?”

Jack tilted his head to the side, holding your hand in his and leaning back. “I dunno. Let's see-”

Studying your hand side to side, Jack slowly brought it up to him, making sure to leave you enough time to retreat. You didn't. He kept his eyes lowered as he brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently. It was just a press of his lips, not a brush or a bite. He just held himself there and felt your pulse under his fingertips race.

He was enjoying this medical training thing more when he could use what he learnt on you.

“You'll make it,” he said, letting your hand down onto your lap.

You shivered and held the hand he'd just kissed in the other. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Thank you for punching Kev and putting him in his place,” he said. “Think you can stick around till three and get everyone out of here?”

“Three is a little after my bedtime.”

“Bath and a book?” Jack asked. He found his voice naturally lifting in his flirting sort of way but there was genuine curiosity underneath it. He wanted to see you room and not in a creepy way. He wanted to know what posters were up on your walls, or what colour they were painted. He wanted to know the photos you had framed and books you had stacked on your bookcase.

You glanced at him, a degree of shock that he'd remembered. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Jack figured you'd be surprised to know he remembers your favourite sweater you wore when the weather was cold, the Margaret Atwood book you carried with you more than any other. The fact you preferred the south corridors because there was a breeze in the north. That you wore one colour more than any other.

If he admitted it you might just tease him again.

He could live with it though.

“I can give you a lift back, if my cars not blocked up,” said Jack, spinning his keys around his finger.

“Oh no,” you said, standing up with him. “I can't ask you to do that.”

“You didn't ask,” he pointed out. “I'm asking you.”

You looked around his room again, trying to find an excuse.

“C'mon,” said Jack, nudging you. “If I were to let you get home some other way I'd only be worried, I'd get no sleep, then how would I study the next day?”

“At least the rats would be safe.”

Jack waited still, holding his hands behind his back and rocking.

You sighed. “Sure, fine, if your cars not blocked in.”

Jack was willing to ram into any car he needed to to get you home.

And so Jack took you home that night and for the rest of the week thought about you more than usual. After all, now he knew how soft your hands were, fingers slightly rough from the constant turning of your pages. He knew what your hair smelt like closer up and how your body relaxed with the vibrations of a car. He knew so much and so little but Jack was on a mission to know everything.

Decades later and Jack had memorised the touch of your skin when trailed by his own fingertips. How warm it felt in the morning sun and the slight tremble when it was night. He'd seen shades of your hair through the years and the lengths you changed but he always remembered how it looked in the gleam of the afternoon sun. He knew- when he could once only dream of knowing- every secret dent and tint of your body, knew your curves like it was a road he took down every day.

You knew where Jack was starting to grey, when his leg hurt him more than usual. You knew the roundness of his stomach and kissed down it when he realised he wasn't as lean as he was when he was younger. You could map every freckle on his body and join them dot-to-dot with your eyes closed. It was the sort of knowing one only got from years of dedication.

That was why Jack knew he needed you to run into the ED when he'd only been there for an hour.

“Jack?” you were wind-swept, coming in through the ambulance bay doors that had seen you come in and out almost more than it saw emergencies.

He would ask you to come in to share some crappy dinner he'd prepped the night before, wonder if you were driving by in the morning to your own job at teaching English just so he could steal a kiss and taste your morning coffee on your lips. Any excuse, Jack was asking for you.

You were always happy to deliver.

He smiled as you stepped up to him and he grabbed your hips, bringing you closer and kissing him.

“You're so in love, I hate it,” said Nurse Vivi from Lena's side.

“You're adorable,” cooed Lana.

Jack pulled back, brushing your hair and framing your face. He peeked with a smug smile at Lena. “Thank you very much.”

“What's going on?” you asked. “You said it was an emergency?”

“I didn't want you to miss this-” he took your hand, the one branded with the two rings he'd slid on there and dragged you to an exam room.

You knew the floor planning almost as well as Jack did. He'd given you a tour of the place after only a week of working, introducing you to Dana and Lena, showing you off to Robby who couldn't believe Jack's wife was... well, you... that he'd stared, mouth agape for at least ten seconds.

The both of you like to tease him about it now.

“Miss what?”

Like he was showing you a show he'd rehearsed, Jack held out his arms to the glass windows of nine.

Two young women, alike in look and stature, stood over a bed. They were talking down with anger between their brows to a man slouched in the bed, a crooked nose and black eye, beard long and ill-kept-

Jack watched your eyes widen and brows raise. He grinned.

“No,” you gasped.

He nodded and chuckled to himself. He tried to keep his back straight, holding onto the reigns of composure he kept for his night shifts. Yet, with the dazzle of amusement in your eyes he couldn't stop himself from the boyish grin only you ever brought out.

“Is that- is that Kev?”

Jack nodded. “He's here for a conference. That-” he pointed to the woman on his right. “- is the conference and that is his girlfriend.” He gestured to the other.

“Some people don't change,” you chuckled.

“No they do not.”

He let you study Kev. The length of the beard was one thing, the scraggle of it another. The hospital gown in white and grey did nothing to flatter him, nor did the black eye and crook in his nose. He was balding at the top and reseeding on the sides.

“Wait, isn't this a breach of some patient confidentiality?” you asked, a hand on his bicep.

Jack pulled his lips down and shook his head. “I don't think he'll say anything.”

Kev's eyes flickered from the girls (because they were very much younger than he was) and found you and Jack standing there on the other side. He shrunk back in his bed and rubbed over the crook in the bridge of his nose.

No, he wouldn't say anything.

taglist (if you want to be added or took off just say the word!): @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu, @mismwaa, @annabethpotter221b, @elizamoe133, @delicatedragonflower, @mysatnin, @cherbicdollie, @macbaetwo, @cod-guys-slvt, @rach2602, @beebeechaos, @generation-zero, @sofianotvergara, @berrybisous, @pinkpantheris

[0-n-1-x]

i cant wait for the fanfic rise that will inevitably come with doomsday

[filmjules]

𓏲⋆ HELPING BEAU WASH HIS NEW PUPPY TURNS INTO SOGGY CLOTHES AND NEEDING A SHOWER ⋮

“Hold her! Oh my god.” you squealed when the baby golden retriever tried to jump out of the tub full of water. The movement causing a splash that soaked your tank top.

Beau barely caught her in time to keep her in the bathtub, his hearty laugh ringing through the bathroom.

He didn’t seem to be one bit bothered by the fact that he was covered in soapy, dirty water.

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckled, but his attention was barely on you. His baby voice was quickly back as he muttered, “Y’gotta stay in the tub, girl. You’re still all dirty.”

It was both annoying and adorable.

Since Beau got the dog, his attention was split even more. You, her, school, and football.

While you were still at the top of his priorities (according to him), he was extra busy with taking care of her, training her, bathing her, exercising her, etc. You didn’t mind, but you missed the calm moments you could no longer get with her being around.

It was like you had a child already and you weren’t even out of college.

The dirt was starting to come off as Beau scrubbed her with dog shampoo, turning the water into an even darker muddy color. “Ew. She’s so gross,” you whined, rinsing her with water.

Beau just laughed and replied, “Be nice, she’s still just a baby.”

“Whatever. She’s lucky she’s cute,” you grumbled.

He turned off the water, holding her still in the tub while he asked, “Can you grab the towel? I left it on the counter.”

When your eyes followed his gaze to the counter, you found a very familiar pink towel. “She’s stealing my towel too?”

Your boyfriend just laughed and waited, his eyes falling over your body as you grabbed the towel with attitude. “First my boyfriend, then my towel. What’s next? My job?”

“Baby.” Beau’s voice was warm and trying to be serious and gentle, but you could see through it. “It’s your old towel, you don’t use it anymore. Can she have it?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile on your face. “Fine. But I want my boyfriend back for a little bit tonight.”

Before Beau could even process what you meant, the dog jumped out of the tub and ran straight for you. Quickly, you wrapped the towel around her and tried to dry her off before she could shake the water everywhere.

“God, you’re so full of energy. Stop moving,” you talked to the dog, petting her and forgetting Beau was even in the room.

The hot water running down your back was a great feeling after being stuck in damp clothing for half an hour. Beau was behind you, rubbing your body with body wash and humming along to the song blasting from his speaker.

You let the sweet scented soap wash off your body as you lathered shampoo in his hair.

“Did you use your shampoo?” he asked as he turned to face you, a cheeky smile on his face. “It smells like you.”

You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, mumbling against them, “Don’t act like you don’t use it every time anyway. You always smell like it after you shower.”

He let out a fake scoff, muttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Yeah, yeah. Just let me wash your hair.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up. He pressed a slow kiss to your lips, deeper than last time. Pressing you against the tile, his hands slid down your body and gripped at your hips.

You pulled away just enough to say, “We’re not having sex in the shower right now.”

Beau nodded but moved his kisses to your neck, your fingers in his soapy hair. He groaned against your skin dramatically when you moved the shower head to rinse out his hair, forcing him to pull away to not get soapy water in his eyes and mouth.

“You hate me,” he pouted, his eyes relaxing closed at the feeling of you gently scratching his scalp.

“Would I be doing this if I hated you?”

“Maybe.” The warm water ran down your back as you swapped places under the stream. “You’re softening me up.”

You grinned, giving him another quick kiss. “Or I just love you.”

“See? Distracting me with your love,” he paused when you gave him a look. “I love you too, baby.”

“Good. Now let’s finish up so we can go watch our show and cuddle with the dog.” You turned the water off, adding, “Oh, and you’re doing the laundry. Your baby got our clothes wet.”

masterlist

note ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 short one but i saw the dog picture on pinterest and thought it would be a cute idea 🥹

[dearwalker]

ok but how funny would it be if when johnny has a kid they're totally obsessed with spiderman. spiderman cups, spiderman toys, spiderman pajamas, spiderman shoes— everything is all spiderman. johnny's super confused as to why his child is so obsessed with his web-slinging uncle when his dad can literally light himself on fire😭

Omg 🤣 it’s giving Chris Pratt’s son’s favorite superhero being Captain America haha. Have a little piece about this bc I love me some spideytorch and dad!johnny 🤍

The other favorite superhero 🕸️

At first it wasn’t that weird for Johnny, because fair, the kid’s inner circle is full of superheroes, so it’s only normal he likes one outside the family. It’s okay if he wants a few things, everyone likes uncle spidey. But then…it turns into Spiderman EVERYTHING.

Toys? Fine. Shoes? They light up, so they’re fun. Fine. Toothbrush? Weird flex but okay. Pajamas? Johnny liked the F4 ones more to be honest but fine. Human torch lunchbox replaced for a spidey one? Ouch. Now the bedsheets too?? When is it gonna end???

But do you want to know where Johnny draws the line? The moment you show him the invitations for your son’s birthday.

SWING BY MY BIRTHDAY PARTY 🕸️🕷️

The absolute look of betrayal he gives you is everything.

“What have you done??”

“It’s what he wanted, Johnny,” you chuckle.

“Absolutely not. Swing by? Seriously?”

“We can’t keep making human torch themed ones every year.”

“He asked for them!”

“Well now he asked for this.” You gather the invitations and pat them to his chest. “Now would you be a sunshine and go deliver these? Since you fly and everything…”

Johnny looks down at the invitations pressed to him and takes them with theatrical disgust, knowing damn well he was going to do everything you say anyways.

“What’s the point of flying if your son doesn’t care,” he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes. “Please tell me he’s still going to wear his fantastic suit? He loves to wear it on his birthday.”

You sigh, cupping his cheeks. It only makes his pout worse.

“He’s going to be wearing the Spiderman one so he can match the entertainer.”

The moment the word “entertainer” leaves your lips, you would think you told Johnny you were dying. The four stages of grief go through his face in seconds. Don’t mind the fifth, cause there’s no way he’s accepting this.

“You hired a man to wear a Spiderman costume and entertain MY child’s birthday party?”

“Our child,” you correct. “And uhh…it’s actually Peter. He agreed to it.”

“Oh fantastic!” Not.

He steps back from you dramatically, looking into the distance. You don’t like that look. You don’t like the way his eyes light up with an idea.

“You know what? I’m hiring myself,” he deadpans.

“What? Johnny–“

“Yeah yeah. Wait until they see me land on the yard, after I write spidey on the sky with fire. That’ll show them.”

“Show them? It’s a bunch of five year olds!!” you laugh, but it doesn’t phase him at all.

“That’s the demographic, yes,” he smiles shamelessly, walking over to you and planting a loud kiss on your cheek. “Gotta deliver these so I can plan my entrance,” he shakes the invitations in his hand and winks, taking off before you can knock some sense into him.

Eventually you do.

Johnny lets his son have his “dream birthday party” (a little bit exaggerated to call it that if you ask him, but he’ll allow it) without disrupting the entertainment.

Seeing his kid so happy is more than enough. Even if it is because Peter Parker is simply too good with kids. Pft. It’s just a phase anyways. (Right?)

His moment to shine comes when you pull out the red/blue birthday cake, and your son takes off his Spiderman mask to make puppy eyes at Johnny, tugging at the fabric of his beige pants.

“Daddy, daddy, wight the candles pwease!!”

That’s all it takes for Johnny Storm to melt.

“Of course, buddy,” he says softly, picking him up with the brightest smile, tickling his little belly.

The child giggles in his arms, kicking weakly at him. Johnny only stops when you settle next to him, settling the boy on one arm, and lighting the five candles with his index finger.

“See? Still got it?” He whispers on your ear, making you chuckle, his free arm wrapping around your waist as you all sing happy birthday to the little bug.

[rienxangl]

intern reader x perv abbot

synopsis: intern reader being anxious and nervous because dr jack abbot is the only one with a problem with her. she wonders did she do something wrong but no, jack just wants to fuck her!

cw: perv abbot! (with a conscience) dubious consent! (very tame compared to the rest of my fics) inappropriate age gap (20 & 50), kissing and fingering in the workplace!

a/n: yall im sorry it took so long for me to post a new fic. i’m employed now 🥳🥳 so yeah i no longer have all the hours in the world. and i’m getting straight for college so enjoy this! might not get one for a another few weeks lol

it’s your first fucking day, at pittsburgh trauma medical center— the pitt is what everyone calls it, but whatever. all you are thinking about is how your nerves are already tight— you’re trying to find the right person to speak to, but who’d known you had already caught someone’s eye from afar.

as you wondered around aimlessly for two minutes you finally found dana, the day shift charge nurse. you were basically a mentee to her so you tried your hardest to follow her instructions and listen to her rules as she shows you around the hospital. you can hear the strictness in her voice as she discusses the guidelines and violations of the hospital, almost like she’s lived through what happens when people decide to ignore the rules. so, you listen carefully and thoughtfully until she finishes. after she’s done with the rules— she begins to talk about introductions, and that’s what makes you panic a little. dana sees you physically stiff up when she mentions the word and it makes her chuckle a little. so, she reassures you.

“listen, sweetie— don’t be nervous, almost everyone on the day shift is nice.” you raise a brow at that. “huh? almost everyone?” you ask curiously. dana chuckles. “yeah sometimes robby’s an asshole and sometimes he’s an angel.. so you just gotta bother him on the right day.” she speaks like you already know who they are, so you just make a mental note about that in your head.

“-and dr. abbot will be here sometimes, he’s apart of the night shift. he might be a bit standoffish since you’re new, but, he’ll warm up to you baby, don’t worry.” that’s when she guides you the right up the two men as she spoke about, after greeting yourself to everyone else.

as she introduced you to the two attendings— dr. michael robinavitch and dr. jack abbot, they both looked simultaneously at you. you immediately shrank down a bit, feeling nervous and intimidated all over again.

which was weird, because you didn’t have a problem with anyone else! you really liked javadi considering you two were the same age, so you lowkey wanted to get her number after work. you liked mel, she was sweet, just in a really awkward way. but you don’t mind it. and you definitely loved mckay, considering she gave you the sweetest advice and wishing you a good look on your nursing journey— and she’s knows how brutal the healthcare industry can be, so she tells you to always speak up for yourself, no matter what. you take that advice seriously.

so back to abbot and robby, it was more like you and dana interrupted their secret conversation and when you both walk up to the two men. dana speaks for you first.

“these are the two idiots i warned you about.” dana teasingly jokes. their eyes then move away from you to her. their faces showing shock and faux offense at her comment. they all jump into a very calm dynamic as they joke with each other. you feel awkward.

but as they introduce themselves to you, you notice something.

he's looking at you. as dr. robby gives dana a smart reply back to her statement, abbot is staring at you. he’s staring at you a lot. — like not a lot but hard enough to know that a man as old as him shouldn't be staring at someone so hard he just met today? let alone a cute little girl like you? fuck, no, sorry.. a strong, independent woman like you. especially since you’re a brand new nurse intern, and you’ll be alternating shifts— so you might be with him one night! you even mentioned that to him and this is how he replies—

“yeah, excited to see you.” his face is deadpan straight as he continues to look your way, mouth quirking up in slight annoyance. your small smile quickly descended. even dr. robinavitch, (you found out that’s who ‘robby’ was) was nicer to you. with a short introduction of his name and handshake before dismissing himself to finish his duties.

“hey. be easy on her.” dana quips. you're sure you and abbot are both ready with this interaction to be over, so you and dana both quickly dismiss yourselves, wanting to start your basic training effective immediately. you look back and see dr. abbot taking his blue latex gloves off— not before giving a glance back at you. you obviously swivel your head back to the front so quick, embarrassed that you were caught. you're more than sure that you've made a horrible first impression of yourself. you can't imagine what dr. abbot is thinking of you right now.

but as he’s leaving his shift, he’s walking a bit quicker, hopefully hiding the fact that his dick is slowly getting hard.

as the next few days pass, you see abbot here and there, but every time you do it’s an intense death-stare showdown. what did you do?? did you miss someones vitals? did a patient say something about you?? you are truly and utterly confused on why he is giving you these weird looks. and you know you have a twelve hour night shift with him coming up.

but what you didn’t know is abbot was trying his hardest to not cross any lines with you, the (cute) new curious intern. he can’t tell he’s being completely standoffish with you, because everytime he lays his eyes on you, he imagines the most vile things to do you. like slamming you again a wall and forcing his tounge down your mouth, pushing your hands up above— thinking about how you wouldn’t resist up under him, pushing his hard middle up against your clothed cunt. god, imagines you’re so soft and wet and tight down there too.. he thinks every part of your body is probably soft and perfect, young like thing like you. perfect for him, perfect for his co—

“hey! doctor abbot!, we need you!” he quickly snapped out his thoughts once heard that— jumping back into work mode. but when he looks around and doesn’t see you, his brows frown down grumpily. ugh, he’s not even supposed to be here.. it’s his day off.

when you see him again, it’s the beginning of your night shift.

you really wanted a moment to talk with him, just to know what you did wrong so you can correct yourself! you hate feeling like you messed up, especially to an attending like doctor abbot. you got along with everyone else besides him— you have some weird desire to prove yourself to him, secretly wanting his validation. so, you’ll prove yourself to him tonight, during your shift.

your original plan was to just make sure you’re on your best behavior around him, hoping he will appreciate your hard work. but when you see him approaching the hospital, right as you’re about to enter too, you can't help but to walk up to him.

when you stop yourself awkwardly right in front of him, his eyebrows raise in surprise. you freeze for a second before speaking— you’re a little shocked that you did this before thinking. you can tell abbot is waiting for you to say something, so you begin talking.

“hi, dr abbot, sir. is sir okay? just making sure you’re comfortable. not that i’m making you uncomfortable, i’m just saying. oh god— am i? if i am, i’m so sorry, i just—”

“kid, calm down. you’re not making anyone uncomfortable but yourself.” god, he wants to kiss your worries away. he wonders how quickly would it take for you to relax under his touch. you’re pretty, but definitely a tense little thing. when he puts his large hand on your shoulder. he instantly regrets it. fuck, you’re so warm.

“well i-i just wanted to make sure that you and i were on the same page and on good terms. but i-i just wanted to know, did i do something? did a paitent say something? i- just wanted to know so i can apolog—”

he then rests his other hand on your other shoulder, trying to stabilize you. or your nerves really.

but the touch doesn’t go past you. you feel yourself tingle with more than just embarrassment when he holds your shoulders. you know it’s been a while since someone so.. warm and masculine touched you.

“whoa, kiddo, where’d you get the idea that we weren’t on good terms?” his face is taut with annoyance and irritation, and you think you see a little confustion too. so, you explain yourself quickly, trying to ignore the fact you feel overwhelmingly hot over the petname.

“well, cause sir, i-i see you giving me weird looks. i can’t exactly quite pinpoint what it is, but i’ve gone with disapproval. so, i just want to know what i’ve done.”

awe.. you’re such a cute little intern. jack doesn’t hate you. he hates himself for the fact whenever he looks at you, he thinks about doing filthy things to you. it’s not like how he is with anyone else— normal. calm. when he thinks about you, all he can think about is pleasuring you to no end, giving you extreme bliss. like now, you’re wringing your little hands out of nervousness because of him, and all he imagines is eating your warm pussy. he wonders how you taste. how you’d leak for him, all of over his tounge as you moan and whine for him, tugging on his silver curls. fuck, look at him getting caught up again. he has to end this silly conversation and get away from you now before he starts getting hard again.

“listen. i’m not givin you any looks, and even if i did— they certainly weren't in disapproval. you’re a good nurse, you’ve done nothing wrong. don’t let silly things like that get you distracted. now, if you excuse me, we both have work to do.”

you open your mouth and close it again before nodding. you don’t say anything else after that. knowing that was his silent way of ending this awkward encounter.

the next time you see him again, it's the same night actually. you’re on your one hour break, so you decided to spend it in the on call room, fighting a tiny bit of exhaustion. you’re used to sleeping at night, not being awake.

as you’re about to close your eyes and enter a light slumber, you hear the door open. you open your eyes immediately and see the one person who you wish wasn't on your mind— dr. abbot.

you sit up immediately, not wanting your superior to see you like this. you know you've done nothing wrong but you can’t help but to feel highly inappropriate. but you’re not gonna blame it on the fact you’re a little damp between your thighs. when he speaks, you honestly consider if you’re dreaming for a second.

“oh! dr abbot, sir! d-did you um, need someth-”

“jack.” your brows turn up in confusion.

“call me jack.” huh? you know you shouldn’t call him by his first name out of respect, but who are you to talk back to your superior?

“o-okay, jack.. did you need something?”

he grabs your face softly, thumb brushing across your cheek and just below your lip. his hand is so hot across your cheekbone as he tilts your face up to look right up at him. you are trying so hard so ignore your wet center, but it’s becoming harder and harder.

“just wanted to make sure you were alright. saw you looking a bit tense as you came in here..” it sounded like he had more to say but kept himself silent anyway.

he knows he shouldn’t be in here. bothering you— touching you. but when he saw you walk in here it’s just his like leg (& prosthetic) had a mind of it’s own. so, as he stands above you as you look at him expectantly, he wants nothing more than to take you. right here. right now in the middle of this on call room. but he doesn’t do that. he just continues brushing his thumb against your lips.. softly kneading your face, trying to see how you react. you don’t push him off, and that’s all that matters.

“s-sir—” jack grumbles. “j-jack i mean… why’re you doing this?” you’re trying so hard to not take his thumb in your mouth, knowing it would be so wrong.

“can’t help myself.. you just look so fucking cute walking around here.. looking all nervous hoping you’re doing the right thing.” jacks growing hard by the second. he should’ve known he couldn’t come in here and be normal with you. you look so pliant and needy as he rubs your bottom lip, soothing it gently.

jack sees your internal conflict so he just pushes his heavy thumb past your plush lips, loving the warmth that engulfs his digit immediately. your eyes widen immediately at the intrusion and he feels his cock thicken. god, he can only imagine how your hole feels wrapped around him. he expects you to reject him, to maybe jerk away, or bite him— so when you accept his digit into your mouth so easily and then moan around it, jack feels like he’s in heaven for a second.

as you lick and suck on his big thumb, you feel yourself slowly become light headed and dizzy. you need to tell him to stop, to go away, but it never comes out of your mouth, instead you continue to drool around his digit, feeling so content in the way your mouth is warm and full. but jack wants to know how your plush lips taste.

“nod if you want me to kiss you, baby.” when you move your head so fast around his digit, he gives you a teasing chuckle.

when he finally kisses you, it’s slow. sensual— he feels twenty years younger again. your face is so soft against his, and he knows his is probably a bit harsh on yours because of his stubble— he’s internally sorry for that. as he leans over your frame, you reciprocate to his to kiss, pushing up into his mouth, arching your body against his. with the tiny little whimpers coming from you and the harsh rough groans that come from jack, and the the sound of your mouths and tounges clashing together. it sounds so filthy— and if anyone were to come in right now, jack would lose his job, and you’d probably lose your internship. he needs to stop this now, to get off of you, and go back to his work— he knows people are looking for him too. but he can’t bring himself to go, so instead he says this—

“god, you taste so sweet. just like how i imagined.” when your eyes widen comically at him— he wants to dive back into your sweet lips. “you've thought a-about us like this before?” hell, you don’t even know the half off it. “all the fucking time, bunny.”

when he sits himself next to you on the thin bed, you dive back into his rough lips, as he grabs you by the hips and places you on his good leg, you’re licking into his mouth, eager to feel his tongue on yours again.

jack needs you so bad, he can’t believe you’re sitting on his lap, needy and falling apart over his touch. just like he’s dreamed of constantly. he doesn’t care that you’re so much younger than him, (though, a dark part of his mind loves it) you’re just such a pretty little thing prancing around here helping everyone who needs it. now, jack wants to help you— to reward you.

“tell me, please tell me that you don’t want me. tell me you don’t want my cock inside you, stuffing your cunt to the brim.”

but you do, you want it so bad, you don’t even feel like waiting for his cock— you fumble and grab for his free hand and you press it against your hot needy cunt. you feel your hole gushing even more. when you moan against his lips from the friction, he finally gives you what you want. he quickly goes past your scrub pants and underwear before pressing two thick fingers into your sopping hole, filling you completely. your eyes roll to the back of your head when he does that— jack chuckles at the sight.

“yeah, you like that? you like how my fingers feel inside you? hey. hey. none of that, kid. eyes on me.”

when you contrast and gush another fresh coat of hot slick around his fingers, he takes that a yes. he smirks against your lips.

as he creates a steady rhythm of his fingers in and out of your pussy. your hole is squelching and throbbing uncontrollably around him. jack loves it. if you’re falling apart like this on his fingers, just imagine how you’ll feel when he’s pressing his cock inside of you for the first time.

just as you’re about to tell him you’re gonna come all of his fingers, your orgasm washes over you, body arching in his hold as you climax. jack angles his fingers and thrusts them in and out of your squirting hole. he kisses you deep and long so your moans aren’t too loud. fuck, he wants nothing more than to be inside of you right now.

“oh yeahh, that’s it. you like this old man touching you so much don’t you?” you can’t even reply to him, riding out your orgasm— but your sensitive whimpers to his touch make the answer so desperately obvious.

when he pulls his soggy fingers out of you, he doesn’t hesitate to lap up your extra slick with his tongue. your eyes widen comically again, honestly shocked that all of this is happening.

“after this shift is over, you’re coming home with me. i'm gonna fuck you, play with your body for a little bit— then maybe we can have some coffee after. you okay with that baby?” you nod expectantly. jack didn’t think you’d say no anyway.

“but be quiet, can’t have anyone knowing about this. don’t want anyone runnin their mouths to HR, do you?” you shake your head no so eagerly it makes him laugh. god, he’s gonna have so much fun playing with you. “good, girl.” he gives you one last sloppy kiss before stepping out of on-call room, knowing he shouldn’t be gone away from everyone else too much longer. but all you’re thinking about is what just happened—

you’re very much excited for the end of your shift.

a/n: i hope yall liked it! feedback is ALWAYS appreciated! <3

[ceruleanheaven]

religion is so fucking funny the world is just too beautiful there must be a higher entity behind all this. lets oppress women