Thinking about Eddie being so not jealous, it’s annoying...
He’s just incredibly confident in his relationship with you, and it's made him physically incapable of feeling jealousy—much to your chagrin.
Sometimes a girl just wants to feel desired! Sometimes being claimed so publicly is sexy!
Though, it’s not that he doesn’t proudly claim you. He talks about you all day long—everyone he’s ever met knows your name.
Really, the issue is that he doesn’t step in when a guy talks to you at the bar.
Of course, he’ll do so if you’re clearly uncomfortable, but for the most part, he looks at every guy walking up to you as just another person making idle chit-chat.
You asked him, before, why he doesn’t get all huffy, even when they’re clearly hitting on you. His response was a lazy shrug and, “I mean, I can’t blame ‘em. I think you’re really hot, too.”
One time, at a house party, Eddie was talking to a few buddies he knew from high school. He introduced you, but he could tell you weren’t the most interested in hearing about the audible difference between steel guitar strings and nylon, so he let you step out of the small circle.
The conversation was flowing, you were people-watching, and he was keeping you in his peripheral vision—just in case you wanted him back.
Then his ears perked up when a guy introduced himself to you, and his grin widened at every stilted response you gave.
The guy was trying so hard, it almost made him feel bad. He knew it could be daunting to talk to women, but he also knew body language was learned. So he let it run its course.
When he finally surrendered, opting to leave you alone after many attempts to pique your interest, Eddie gave him a not-so-gentle pat on the back as he passed by, calling out a smug, “Better luck next time, bud.”
You almost thought he was actually jealous, but when you brought it up later, he scoffed.
"Oh, please! Like stumbling up to you at a party and complimenting your top is what’s gonna get you," he snorted, chuckling at the idea of the drunk guy's pitiful excuse for game actually managing to turn your head.
You smirked, thrilled to finally get some semblance of a reaction from him. "I don't know, Eddie, he was kind of sweet..."
"No, don't even lie, you're not that easy," he said, shaking his head, a warning finger pointed your way. "I had to work for this shit! You had me dancing around like a fucking court jester just to get a second of your attention! Sweetheart, I was like a male bird flaunting everything I got, and nothing! Zip! Nada! You were unshakable."
"Aw, Eds—"
He threw his hands up. "Then, one day, you just snapped your fingers and my clothes were off—"
A shocked laugh escaped your parted lips. "That’s so not how our relationship started!"
a/n: so i have this scenario in my head but idk if i love it or hate it, it’s up to you at this point 😭 sorry for any misspellings, english is not my first language
pairing: jack abbot x f!pediatrician!reader
summary: jack abbot is a possessive man and we love that
warnings: dr abbot being hot, myrna being inconvenient as always, medical inaccuracies, let me know if i missed something (gif not mine i just find it here)
Possessive is a word referred to ownership or a relationship of belonging between one thing and another.
Is the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
Jack Abbot was a possessive man.
Not an inconvenient possessive man. He was subtle. One hand at the end of your back. Picking you up at the end of your shift when he isn’t working. Talking to you with the softest voice. Sharing coffee or a granola bar he had in his pocket for you. The glances to other men when you’re walking by.
He had nothing to fear with you. You sleep and wake up with him every day. He knew exactly how to show someone that you belonged to him without saying a word. He hasn't put a ring on your finger and yet everybody in the ED understands you’re his girl and nobody was crazy to question him.
It was supposed to be your day off. You already made plans with Emery and Parker to go out for dinner and have some drinks like you do every month. That’s your way of gossiping and keeping the bond stronger, especially working at male dominated fields. Keeping the girls together makes the job easier and better. You were even planning to invite Samara to the next dinner.
The best thing about the trio was initially to piss Jack off and because you worked so well together and a friendship naturally bloomed - and thank god it did. The funniest, dirtiest and best conversations came out so easily between you that it was impossible to keep track of the actual dialogue topic when you combined.
Unfortunately your phone vibrated in your purse during dinner with a message from Robby letting you know there was an emergency of a child that fell and the parents were asking for you. These things were pretty normal in your routine when you work with pediatrics emergencies. In less than fifteen minutes you were walking towards the ED entrance like you weren't just discussing panties over drinks.
Worst part of it? You had no time to change your clothes. So you were standing at the nursing station with the most expensive Valentino dress –Jack bought you after you commented once about it, brand new shoes and your favorite coat to protect you from the cold.
The scrubs were a protocol when you’re working and you were not. You hated to work without them and hated even more that your backup scrubs were not in your car. Jack must’ve taken them to wash and didn’t put them back.
Jack didn’t see you coming and he had no idea of the dress you chose for your girls night. Bridget was already laughing when you entered, holding you something to cover up until you have to leave again. She quickly took your overcoat and gave you a white coat, which helped a little but not too much because of your heels clicking at the floor.
“Wow doc, didn’t know you could look that hot.” You heard Garcia teased and shook your head laughing. “You should show up like this more often, as an experiment of course.”
“I appreciate your words Yoyo. Maybe next time I'll show up with your favorite color.” She blew you a kiss and walked away laughing.
“He’s going to need to be sedated when he hears you’re in his ED looking like this” Robby chuckled when he found at the nursing station. “Sorry I've called you, they insisted on being you. They are barely letting Mel work there.’
“It’s fine, Robby. I don’t like my day off anyway.” You winked and went straight to the room they were in.
The child parents came running to you the moment you entered their plain sight. Dr. King was accompanying them before you arrived, describing the situation in detail and how she dealt with them. And for her face you knew how those parents weren’t easy to deal with.
“Dr (Y/L/N), this is Jamie, 10 month old, previously healthy, fell from the crib around 9 p.m.. According to the mother, he tried to pull himself up using the crib rails, lost his balance, and fell over the side of the crib, landing directly on the floor. He cried immediately for about fifteen minutes, with no loss of consciousness and no vomiting. The mother noted only mild bruises in the right frontotemporal region, with no other signs of trauma. He remained active, fed normally, and showed no changes in consciousness or behavior. “ You heard Mel's words with attention while examining the child.
“You ordered any exams, doctor King?” She nodded and passed you the chart to look at.”
“A CT, x-ray and some labs just to make sure everything is perfectly fine.” You nodded, shaking your head.
“Excellent.” You smiled at her and turned your attention to the parents.
“Does he cry when he moves? Has he had any seizures? Allergies or something we need to know?” They kept denying. “Why don’t you bring him early? It’s almost one in the morning.” The parents kept their silence and you shrugged your shoulders, looking at them. “Alright then. Doctor King will accompany you to the CT and the x-ray.”
Something you loved about yourself was the way you’re pretty centered and rigid about your job, especially working around and with children. Fighting with parents? You do every shift. Making the little ones laugh? You did it too. You were tough and nice but at the same time the children absolutely loved you. The most common thing to see was you holding a child mid shift and laughing about it with the nurses.
He was waiting for you at the nursing station. Coffee in hand. Jaws tighten when his eyes land on you. Eyebrows raised while he analyzed your shoes. You leaned closer to him, enough to look professional and only a little mischievous so he could smell your new perfume - the one he bought you.
“Hi there, doctor Abbot.” You touched his arm and smiled, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “Peds emergency, they have to call the best.”
“This is not workplace clothing.” His hand reached yours, quickly brushing your finger.
“I had a nice time at dinner, thanks for asking, by the way.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go home when his exams are finished. I won’t even leave this spot.” You sit in the vague chair and cross your arms.
“Nice coat, actually.” Dr. Jack Abbot. It was his coat. “You should work with this more often since you don’t want to change your last name.”
Before you can even replied you heard Myrna screaming at the other side of the room.
“Nice ass, MacDreamy.” She pointed at you.
“Been working out lately, Myrna. Do you like it?” You teased her and she giggled.
“Watch out or I’ll steal your girl, Abbot. I killed a man before and I can do it again.”
When you turned to look at Jack again, he was serious. His forehead was tense and his knuckles white from holding his coffee mug. His hair was a little messy and there was some blood in his scrubs.
Hot. Really hot.
He didn’t care when your friends, female friends, flirted with you because he knew you flirted back joking. He respected your boundaries and you respected him too. You still find it pretty amusing how he gets all possessive over small things, lucky you he didn’t see the dress you were wearing underneath the white coat.
Vintage Valentino, sheer black chiffon, off-the-shoulder neckline with the fabric draped down the arms, creating a dramatic, sophisticated look. At the bust, a large central bow, asymmetrical and flowing skirt, with soft, layered fabric and a high front slit that reveals the left leg. Jack never complained or talked badly about your clothing, he actually enjoyed seeing you wearing the clothes you liked - he enjoyed taking off more. He describes being an extension of your personality.
“Want to talk about that dress?” He lifted up the white coat a little. “Showing legs and neck like crazy, hm?”
“Nope, we’re not doing this here. You’re working.”
“Why not? I thought you like showing off a little too much.” He crossed his arms and you sigh.
“Oh my God, is this foreplay?” His eyes locked on yours. “Fuck it, I’m into it.”
“Just stay here until the boy it’s back.” He stared at you for a few seconds and you tried to control your smile.
“Are you jealous, Abbot?” You heard Shen comment and buried your face in your hands. He just gave him the nastiest look you’ve ever seen in your life and you can tell he already gave you some looks at you in the bedroom.
The exams took a while to get ready and when they returned to the emergency room, you met them again holding a tablet to explain the situation to them. Immediately the little boy was already in your arms, resting his head over your shoulder.
“The CT and the x-ray both came normal, no injury or other systemic trauma. He’s safe and sound. If you notice something is different, bring him immediately.” You hold his little hand and smile brightly. “You’re lucky to be here today, Jamie.”
The parents asked a few questions about the exams and the therapy you chose for him and after they left you stayed inside the empty room for a while before you left to grab the rest of your stuff.
Jack was talking something with Robby when you approached them, taking off the white coat that belonged to your man and putting on your warm and cozy overcoat. His eyes went straight to your almost bare chest, he had to scan the room pretty quickly for perverts watching you. One drunk guy screamed that he wanted you to talk to him, Myrna said something about your ass again and this time Mel came in complementing your legs.
“You should be grateful you weren’t there when Emery and Parker saw me, you probably be in jail now.” He helped you close the buttons of your coat.
“Remind me to put a goddamn ring on your finger.” He whispered closer to you, making you burst out laughing.
“What a romantic proposal. I’m really emotional.” Jack rolled his eyes, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“I already heard some jerks talking about you and I didn’t appreciate their tone.” You passed your arms around his shoulder - ignoring the PDA rule you established for work.
“Yeah, I’m still sleeping in your bed tho.” He agreed, laughing softly. “Gotta go now. Emery is waiting for me at Five Guys and I could kill for a burger now.”
“Be careful, beautiful.”
“Try to go home in one piece.” You squeezed his shoulder and winked before walking away.
When you arrived for your next shift there was a big diamond on your finger and the biggest smirk on Jack's face when people started to talk about it.
Request- Clark is different. Different from your ex he can't stop thinking about, different from the men who couldn't make you cum.
Clark Kent x Reader
Word count: 8K
Content: MDNI (18+) Contains smut. Oral (fem!recieving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV. Clark is dealing with retroactive jealousy, reader is his first real gf! Reader has been cheated on. Off campus mention!
A/N: Hello!! I am back with this piece I really enjoyed and took some time with. I am trying to distract myself on election day so I posted early. The sweetener story is 100% true lol and I took some more inspo from my actual life. Thank you to the two lovely anons who requested these topics and I hope I did them justice. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, I really appreciate it. Love always, Mani.
divider creds!
The realization arrived after you came out of the shower. It was the first night Clark had stayed over, and the first time you two had been intimate. In Clark’s opinion, it was great. It wasn’t awkward, didn’t last three seconds or three hours, you seemed happy and content and he got the opportunity to see you sweaty and teary eyed and mumbling at the feeling of him prodding into your insides. You stood up soon after to pee and shower, left him in your bedroom as he looked around it, how everything said something about you and how particular and amazing you were. How lucky he was to be able to be here with you, make you feel good and worthy.
He had fawned over you for months, his desk facing yours in the office where you always met him with warm smiles and sweet treats. He thought you were just kind. You thought his words of encouragement and running to help you whenever you needed him was just him being nice. Clark eventually asked you out after Jimmy pointed out that you were definitely not as kind to everyone else. You said yes, and kept saying yes to every date, every small meeting on the roof top to kiss and whisper promises of love and tenderness. When you first referred to him as your boyfriend, to a guy at a coffee shop trying to get your number, Clark almost passed out. He told you his secret that afternoon. You’d been suspicious either way, about his late-night adventures and absolute lack of communication for hours on end. You thought he was seeing someone else; it had happened before to you. It was something way different though. After a few minutes of confusion because you hadn’t noticed before, you accepted it. Of course he was Superman. Who else? Just thinking about it made him giddy and even a little hot, so he distracted himself by brewing you some tea and putting it on your bedside for when you came out.
“How was your shower?” He asked as you stepped out, already sporting your pajamas and braiding your hair for the night.
“It was nice.” You responded as you sat on your bed, watching Clark reach over to you to pull you closer. He made you straddle him; you looked down at him so warm it flipped his stomach upside down.
“You’re so pretty. Looked so pretty when you-“ Clark cut himself off because he got so distracted with his own orgasm and you fucking back at him like you needed him to cum, he didn’t particularly pay attention to if you came.
“Did you finish?”
“Finish what?” You teased, laughing as you wrapped one hand over his neck and tickled at the hairs at the nape, all curly and slightly humid from the sex still.
“Like, did you cum? Orgasm?” Your smile dropped a little, like you didn’t expect him to actually ask or notice that you didn’t. Or care.
“I- uhm, I don’t wanna lie to you. So, no, not really.” You accepted it, you wouldn’t lie to make him feel better. Clark’s expression dropped to confusion and offense, at himself for being so stupid and selfish. How could he not make you cum? On your first time together? This wasn’t only the time to prove how serious he was about you, but to keep you coming back for more. To make you feel like you made him feel.
“But- it’s not like, a big deal. You were great, it was great, you were so nice and considerate, baby. It was wonderful.” Clark shook his head, his eyes dropping between the two of you when he realized he hadn’t even gotten you fully naked, you wore an oversized sweater that covered everything from the hips up. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or assume you needed to give him full nudity to be with him. Now it just feels like he wasn’t thorough enough, special enough. Like letting you take the lead wasn’t about your comfort but about him not doing much.
“How could I- if I didn’t-“
“Clark, people don’t make me cum. It’s just not something that like- happens. I don’t know why but it’s still fine and I want the intimacy more than I want release, y’know? I don’t want you to feel bad, because it’s honestly not you. I don’t want you to overthink it or feel like you’re not enough.” You explained, a little scared that we would not believe you or think you were too complicated or weird. Or that you were lying to make him feel better. Clark sighed but nodded, dropping his hands from your arms and letting you climb off him. He didn’t deserve you being on his lap if he couldn’t make you cum.
“We okay?” You asked low and soft, like you were afraid it had turned him off you or made him mad.
“Yeah, of course, darling. You’re- I believe you. Don’t wanna push or make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Promise?” Oh God, now he made you feel bad about the fact that he couldn’t make you cum. Who let him near you? He sucked.
“Yes, swear to God, honey. Come here.” He said as you got under the covers and he did too, pulling you closer to him as he wrapped one arm around you waist and kissed your cheek. He passed you your tea and you rested it in his firm chest knowing he wouldn’t even feel the heat.
“Can we keep watching my silly romance hockey show?” You asked and Clark smiled and nodded, handing you the remote so you could play the young adult romance novel turned into a tv show everyone was talking about online. He wasn’t going to lie, it was a weirdly interesting and captivating. So he didn’t mind it as a bed time show to get his mind thinking about anything else that was pure and utter embarrassment for himself and his lacking in the sexual department.
Turns out, it did not help. You fell asleep probably fifteen minutes in, he took your cup, covered your back and held you tight as you drifted with your mouth pressed against the bare skin of his sides. The show took a turn, some healthy talks about consent being represented much to Clark’s surprise. But he was mostly impacted about the conversation that seemed to tease at his situation, even if your lack of orgasm didn’t stem from the same thing. She needs to be comfortable. Note taken.
“Cat, can I ask for some advice?” Clark said as he grabbed a chair and sat next to her, Cat putting down her nail file and sitting up straight. Clark never asked her for advice. It was always you, then Lois, sometimes Jimmy and he’d call his parents. So, this was about something he could talk about with any of them.
“Sure, what about?”
“So, you know I’ve been dating-“
“Yes, oh my goodness. Cute! I love her, look at her.” You were sat up straight having a conversation with Steve about something sports related. Clark looked at you and smiled too, because you were cute. He was glad other people saw it too.
“Yeah, thanks. Well, I just have been wondering how true it is- or like- we uhm, were intimate and it was great! But it seems like it was only great for me.” Clark didn’t know how to explain this, he wasn’t one to talk about his sex life, especially with co-workers. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it and google was no help, Cat wrote a relationship advice column. Surely, she was the one to ask.
“Oh- okay. Did you like- try?” Cat’s lips pressed together.
“Yes! Obviously! I just let her take the lead and she kind of focused on me so- I don’t know. She looked like she was enjoying it. And she said she did! She said it was good.” Clark was now flustered and loosening his tie a little.
“Then what was the problem?”
“She didn’t finish.”
“Clark, are you just bad in bed?” She asked in a whisper and looked at him with pity, lips pouting as if she actually felt bad for him.
“Who’s bad in bed?” Lois said as she came near them, a couple pages shuffling in her hands as she glanced at the pair.
“Clark.”
“What? No! I’m not- I don’t think that’s the issue.” Lois laughed at his red cheeks and silly defensive words, he looked around to check if there was someone else maybe listening too.
“Well, what did she say?”
“God, please don’t- I don’t want to break her trust.” He hesitated on his words, looking between the two girls and he put his hands up in a prayer.
“What? That she doesn’t cum? We know.” Lois said with a confused look, like she didn’t know why he was acting like it was something that needed government clearance to know.
“What? You know?”
“Yeah. We talked about it like three months ago at lunch. I was telling them about a night with the finance guy where I came like-“
“Please, don’t, Cat.” Clark squeezed his eyes shut like it would somehow help him not know the intimacies of Cat’s rendezvous. She rolled her eyes, Lois sat against the desk and grabbed an open packet of peanuts, leaving her documents aside.
“Fine. Whatever. She told us- we said maybe she hadn’t met the right guy. She said it wasn’t that.”
“Right, that’s what she said to me. But I don’t know if it’s true or not. She said it was good and she did it for the intimacy, not the pleasure.” Lois laughed and almost coughed up the peanuts that were in her mouth.
“Smallville, she’s too good for you.” Lois said as she shook her head amused.
“I know.” He said with a sigh. It was his first real relationship after all.
Clark had been… a late bloomer for love. He thought he’d find the girl in high school, they’d be together forever and that’d be that. No more first dates, rejections, no more feeling used. It wasn’t like that, though. His kryptonian DNA had been more of a problem than he’d anticipated. It was hard to keep secrets but even harder to know who he could trust with them. It was hard to explain his physique and his sudden need to go help someone on the other edge of town. Clark found himself without a serious relationship when most people already had 3.
That’s when you came in. When he met you, time shifted. Clark was late to meeting you and you just gave him an understanding smile and shrugged it off. You were a simple girl by all means, liked long walks and petting dogs. Liked having girls nights with wine and gossip and liked when he put his hand on the small of your back to guide you somewhere. You were always so normal, in the middle. Never the best, never the worst. Never caught too much attention or too shy.
Clark thinking the world of you was a big surprise to you, you never thought he’d pay attention to you. Lois was smarter, Cat was classier. Jenna from the reception was nicer and his blonde neighbor was better at flirting. Everyone was prettier too. Clark couldn’t see much of that, though. He appreciated women, of course, but you were a warm light. He felt like a lizard under a warm lamp every time you looked at him. Like your attention was giving him a reason to be better, try harder, make you smile. It was making him stronger; just like the sun did.
“Poor girl. She’s so noble, she thinks she’s the problem. She thinks her pleasure isn’t important and she’s not worth the trouble.” Cat said as she looked at you with a pout, Lois and Clark turning to set their eyesight on you too and you felt the attention redden your ears, both you and Steve turning to them. They all waved innocently and Steve waved back, flattered. You didn’t even consider they were looking at you.
“Do you think she was lying to me? Is it my fault?” Clark said as he turned back around and Cat sighed, clicking her heels onto the ground as she found the right words.
“I don’t think she’s lying. I don’t know- Lois, is he good in bed?” Lois choked on her snack once again, Clark couldn’t be redder. They had a one month fling- slept together twice before they both realized the attraction was mostly out of respect for each other’s work and great writing chemistry, not physical or emotional. Lois gulped and looked at you, as if she felt guilty about having even kissed Clark when you were such a better match. If only you had gotten here earlier. She looked back at Clark and saw him fiddling and nervous. She knew how much he liked you, she probably knew before he even did. He wanted help, that took guts to ask.
“Jesus- I mean, yeah. Sure. I finished. You were nice. And she likes you much more than I ever did, that helps. I don’t think it’s particularly you.” Clark nodded like he was thankful for the answer, knowing one of the only other three woman he had slept with had faked it would have done irreparable damage to his confidence.
“Good! So it’s not you.”
“Maybe she’s not comfortable with me- or with herself. Maybe it’s that.” He repeated the speech he heard on your show last night.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s true- doesn’t mean you can’t try though. Try, pull out all the tricks, focus on her. Ask her. She’s an over sharer; she’ll love that shit.”
“Yeah, do everything. Do all the things.” He whispered to himself, both girls frowning at his weird self assurance.
“Honey bee, can I ask you something?” Clark asked the following day, over lunch on the roof of the daily planet as you tried to shovel your spaghetti into your mouth without making a mess.
“That one’s new.” You said at the nickname, smiling at him and nodding for him to go on.
“It’s about you, you know- what you said about not being able to cum.” You shrunk your eyes at him as you chewed, like you were upset he was bringing it up.
“Clark, I told you it’s not your fault-“
“I know! I know, I get that. It’s just- like, never?” He asked, one hand coming to your knee as he sat in front of you and you rolled your eyes.
“Not never. Sometimes, when I’m on top. Or when I masturbate. That’s why I said no one can make me cum, I can make myself cum.” Good, so there was hope. You had finished during sex, even if it was from your own doing.
“And do you think it’s because you’re not comfortable enough?” Clark said and you seemed to actually thinking about it, putting your fork inside your tupperware.
“No. I was with my ex, my first boyfriend, for almost four years, I’d think I was pretty comfortable with him.”
“Well, I didn’t know that. Four years? Wow.” He mumbled the last part. You had two relationships before Clark, you said. A long one and shorter one, the most recent that ended with cheating after 4 months. He never thought to ask about the first one. You were with some asshole who couldn’t make you cum for four years. He had convinced you it was definitely a you problem- meaning surely he was very convincing or you had tried many, many times. Who was this dude? Batman? Wait. What if he actually was?
“And he did try. Sometimes. And you made me feel good, I felt safe and loved and wanted, Clark. I’m not lying to you.” You pleaded, feeling a scared that you were honestly hurting his confidence or taking too much of his head space with this.
“And have you ever squirted?”
“What’s that?” You feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes at him to get him to turn into a nervous mess.
“It’s when you, um- when women-“
“I was kidding, Clark. I know what it is. I don’t know? Maybe? I think so but maybe it was just pee.” Clark laughed finally, head falling down as he heard you laugh too and put your hand over his, squeezing it.
“I’m still gonna try, though.” Clark admitted as he looked back up at you and you smiled, blushing when you thought about it.
“Sure, Superman.”
He was being creepy, of course he was. He was jealous and obsessed. Whatever. He just wanted to know. Know more about your past, who you were before you two met and the people who had stolen your heart before he got the chance. He knew the last one, some sleazy dude named Michael that was in a band and had been cheating on you for most of the time. You got over him fast and deleted his contact the same day. He wasn’t the object of his obsession. It was the first one.
That’s why Clark opened the yearbook that was in your bookshelf. You only had two, the first and the last one and he wouldn’t be able to tell anything from the first one. He knew you were together from 17 to 20 and you met at school. So, he had to be there, right? Clark looked through the pictures that would have you in them, and there you were, a closed lipped smile that wasn’t like the one he saw nowadays, teethy and real. You were still so precious. He flipped through the pages of the graduating class as he tried to identify the culprit, but there were no compromising pictures. Nothing that told him anything. He finally he went through the personal pages, where each person had a space to put any pictures and dedications they wanted. He found you in some, people complimenting your sense of humor and kindness. He’d wholeheartedly agree.
Finally, he reached what he was looking for. Some dude, Dean (not Batman), admittedly good looking, had a picture with you where he was kissing your cheek. You weren’t smiling, Clark knew you hated those types of pictures that looked planned and with people all over you. He would never make you pose like that. Point for Clark. Clark browsed fast to look for your name in his words, and there he found it. The words that followed were sickeningly sweet; about how much he appreciated you and how he’d never regret you being the first woman he loved. Oh, point for Dean. Well, sort of. You were definitely the first woman he felt this strongly for, an actual requited and real love. Not his longing for girls who never worked out. But Clark wasn’t the first man you loved. It was Dean. Dean who made typos like they paid him for it. Dean who had you for so long, not him. He quickly flipped through pages, skimming the messages until he found your page. It was so you, organized and sweet. Funny when you could, touching all the time. You had no pictures with Dean, just your friends and family. Smart.
“Hey, did you find the recipe?” You asked as you walked out of your room, having changed out of your work attire and into a big shirt and shorts. You looked at was in his hands and smiled nervously.
“Ah, you pulled out the big guns.” You said and walked over to Clark, who led you to his lap and you let your legs hang beside his perpendicular, looking down at the page. His arm immediately went to your waist to keep you steady, the other still holding the heavy book that contained the glimpses of your life before Clark.
“Oh, gosh. Cringe. Ew, ew.” Clark laughed, shaking his head and kissing your cheek.
“No, it’s so sweet. You look so pretty, baby. I looked like a mess as a senior, barely into my body. You look like you.” He said and watched your expression change, opening your eyes and looking at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah. And you have such a way with words, look at this one. So beautiful.” He pointed at the words you had dedicated to Dean, poetic and not too romantic. You laughed a little, glancing at Clark who you know wanted to see how you’d react. To see if there was still emotion there.
“I’d love to take credit for that, but I didn’t come up with that. That’s an Ariana Grande song. I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life, it’d be so sour. I’m hoping that everybody can experience what we have.” You sang along to the rythmn of the song, Clark’s smile growing.
“Cheeky. That would be a journalistic crime.” He shook you in his legs, making you gasp and hug him closer. He saw your hair fall besides your face and frame it perfectly, practically making him moan and put the yearbook aside because it didn’t matter once you were here.
“I just didn’t know what to write, nothing was coming up but it felt too mean to not say anything so… I just quoted Sweetener. People cooed and said I was so nice. Nobody noticed.” You confessed between laughs, wrapping your hands around his face cheeks and pulling him closer.
“Secret’s safe with me.” He whispered before pressing his lips to yours, kissing you and bringing the bitter taste of seeing your past self to a halt. You kissed for a couple of minutes, nothing but the slow sounds of Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together. You finally put an end to it when you ran out of breath, licking your lips to get every single drop of his love. You looked to your library and located the recipe book you were searching for.
“Aha! Get ready for the best nachos of your life.” You said and picked it up, leaving his lap and leading him to the kitchen.
“So… how’s the whole orgasm situation been?” Lois asked as she leaned next to Clark, a beer in hand and at the bar as she took a break from flirting with the bartender for free drinks. Clark looked around the crowded room, as if someone was hearing what he felt was a difficult situation.
“Not really going. Tried once last week and it’s like she got bored after a while, I don’t think she finds sex… fun. And I’ve been really busy with patrols this week.”
“Yeah, she said it was ‘okay’, like she just liked watching the other person feel good and that was enough.” Lois responded, making Clark turn to look at her with an open mouth.
“What? She’s an over-sharer, add a glass of wine and bam! I know the details of her first period. It’s a really funny story, actually, it was Halloween and-“
“I know that story. I’ve been with her drunk and she just told me she thought my hair smelled like lavender and she liked my calfs.” Was he not asking the right questions? He knew it would be more complicated to talk about it with him than with her, though.
“Jeez, she really likes you. You smell like… boy. Sweat and ego.” Clark rolled his eyes, tired of this pointless conversation with his coworker that honestly just made him feel worse. The bar wasn’t too crowded; they went for drinks today because Perry decided to give everyone half day on Friday because he needed to go do ‘something’. Creepy. It was barely 7 pm now, just gotten in and he’d left with you a kiss while you were talking to Cat about something you wanted to do with your hair and he accompanied Jimmy to get another drink. They stood side by side as the music changed and Jimmy came up to them with Cat.
“Brother, someone is all up in your turf.” Jimmy slapped Clark’s back, pointing to the furthest part of the bar where you were standing while someone talked to you. You looked a little overwhelmed, he could tell as you chipped at your nail polish and barely looked up.
“Yeah, I think they know each other. There’s some weird tension.” Cat added, her fruity drink in her hands as Clark shrunk his eyes and noticed your heart was beating fast and your hands were shaking a bit. This wasn’t someone you wanted to see. The man raised his hand, and you glanced at it, heart skipping a beat.
“Wow- you’re getting married?” You asked, interrupting him. He nodded and Clark took it as his cue to reach you, squeezing between the people before finally getting to you, your eyes seemingly softer and relieved as you saw him.
“Clark! Hi.” You said and the man turned to look at him, eyebrows slightly raised at shear statue and build of him. Clark put on hand on your hips, squeezing comfortably and he immediately felt your body relax, no more shaking or discomfort. He finally looked up at the man and even if he had changed throughout the years, he knew who it was. Oh, Clark knew exactly who he was. It was the doomed ex. The long term relationship you had while Clark couldn’t do a second date.
“Uhm, Clark, this is Dean. We know each other from- way back.” You said and Dean nodded, also seemingly uncomfortable now that Clark was intimidating him without even trying.
“High school and college. Well, we went to school together since Pre-K.” Your whole life, basically. Jesus. Point for Dean.
“Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” Clark offered his free hand and Dean took it, shocked at the force of his shake.
“Oh, Clark Kent. You’re the one who interviews Superman. Yeah, I’ve read them. Really good.” Dean said, impressed as if he never thought he’d meet someone who’s words he has read, someone who knows Superman and is somehow in proximity to his high school sweetheart who went crazy after he left her.
“Thanks, dude.” He mumbles, glancing down at you while you seemingly had went into a shell of yourself again. Like he made you feel small and invisible just by being here.
“Is he cool? I’d think he was a little intimidating, right?”
“What do you think, honey? Is he intimidating?” Clark asked and you looked up, like you didn’t expect to be included in the conversation.
“Uh- not really. He’s tall and strong and all but his underwear makes him less… almighty.” Clark chuckled, he would agree. Dean laughed in shock, he’d never imagine you would know a superhero.
“Would you look at that, the girl who wouldn’t go with me to parties because she was intimidated by everyone now hangs out with Superman. Has writer friends. You’ve changed.” You bit on your tongue, you refused to let Clark see how easy it was for him to get a rise out of you, even after all these years. He was being catty, maybe even baiting Clark to see the real you. The insecure girl who’d avoid him for days when you saw him texting some other girl.
“Whatever, Dean. Nice to see you. I wish you the best with Ellie. You two are meant to be.” You said, sure and certain that would not win this time. He couldn’t keep winning.
“I don’t think you mean that.” He said with a smirk, like he knew it still bothered you. Clark was concerned to say the least. This man had you for 4 years? Your formative years? In college, where people slept around and had fun, you were in bed crying about this sleaze? How was he worthy of all your firsts, of all your tears and your devotion? Why couldn’t you meet Clark first? How did this dumbass convince you of your inability to enjoy sex?
“Right, we have to go back to our friends. C’mon, baby.” Clark cut the tension and pulled you closer to him, Dean’s face dropping like it had occurred to him you were dating.
“Nice to meet you, Clark.” He said, Clark looking down at the man and saying nothing as he led you away from him, the hand on your hip traveling down to your ass as you walked away. You smiled, looking up at him when that gesture made you giddy and warm, like it meant something that he wanted to claim you. He smiled back down to you, one kiss on your forehead.
“Hey, pretty lady. All good? You seemed upset.” Lois said, reaching out a hand to you and hugging you into her chest.
“Fine, just someone I didn’t want to see.” You mumbled against Lois and her really fancy smelling perfume, happy to be back here. Point for Clark. To have found people who seem to like you no matter what, to have a big hunk of a man, a Super man nonetheless, who cares so much about you.
“Okay! New bar?”
You and Clark decided to finish the night early, 11 pm and you were heading to his apartment hand in hand while the streets were still alive and windy. The cold wind had made your cheeks warmer in color and your nose was frozen, making you scrunch it every so often to feel it back to life. Clark would have gotten a cab so you wouldn’t be cold, but you’d said many times you loved the cold breeze
“Do you- do you wanna talk about it?” You said as you waited at a traffic light, looking up at him with a wandering eyes. You knew Clark was very interested in your dating life, particularly since he had little to none and that made him feel nervous. Like he still had so much to learn and experience when you already had. You had assured him it didn’t matter, you felt lucky to be there for him while he figured it out and promised eternal patience and understanding. That’s the thing though, he wanted to get it right. He didn’t want you to be forgiving and teach him, he wanted to be the man you needed.
“Uh- I mean, if you want to.”
“Yeah. Do you want to… know like the story?”
“Yes.” You nodded and crossed the street, squeezing his hand tighter as you looked down.
“Uh- so we started dating junior year. It was a little on and off. A couple of friends told me they had seen him with a girl over the summer, which was fine because there wasn’t anything going on with us. I asked him and he said it was nothing, just friends. And then we became official and it was good, mostly.” Clark nodded, following your tracks and how you were being honest and detailed as always. You kept walking, steps in sync.
“Went to college, same one. He kept being friends with that girl. Never met her or anything but I started noticing he was weird about it sometimes and we had a couple fights about her. And then things just… started to go bad for me. I just became like this really insecure person and … a mess. He didn’t help. We kept trying to make it work but eventually he broke up with me. We ended on good terms but the following week, he was already dating her. I was really mad that I was right, y’know? Either way, they are still together and getting married, apparently.” Clark nodded again, not saying anything like he was waiting for her to say anything else
“But I’ve gotten over it, I’ve changed! Like, you spend more time with Lois than me at work and I don’t say anything!” Well, now you did. You physically cringed, mouth shut close like you had just seen a horribly accident unfold. Clark cleared his throat; he had been so absorbed in his own jealousy that he hadn’t even considered you may feel similar seeing him with Lois every day.
“Oh, honey. I never judged you. I’m just- gosh. I am sad we didn’t meet earlier.” Clark said as he stopped by the front door of the building where his apartment was. You laughed, leaning towards him as he grabbed you by the waist and hugged you.
“Whatever. It led me to you.” You responded, muffled by his jacket and how you rested against his neck. Clark could feel the burden alleviate, of feeling intimidated by your past lovers and his lack of. It was as if every wrong turn and pain led you guys to each other. Clark leaned down to kiss you, you responded with ease, at first soft and loving before it turned hungrier, too much saliva and smacking sounds for being outside. He wouldn’t forget the image of you being surprised that he wasn’t leaving you out, ignoring you. He was different and he had all the eagerness to show you.
“Mmm, let’s go inside, baby.” You breathed out when he finally let you go, mouth placing hot, wet kisses along your jaw like there was a magnetic pull from his face to yours. He nodded and let you go for a minute, guiding you inside the building and leaving you alone for a whole two seconds in the elevator before pouncing on you again like a rubber band. You giggled, letting him pin you to the walls and thread his hands from your ass all the way down your thighs, squeezing your knees as his body basically twisted over you, head looking up, asking you without words to wrap your legs around him and let him carry you. You didn’t, stayed on with your legs straight like it didn’t even occur to you. That’s when Clark saw it. No one had ever swept you off your feet, let you be the receiver, the taker. You were always in control, and you thought it was your duty to give and give. That changed tonight.
“Honey girl, I want you to just let me… do everything today, okay?”
“Why? I like taking care of you. I said I’d make us hot chocolate.” Clark sighed, smiling at your sweet disposition.
“Because you always take care of me. I wanna take care of you, in every way. Okay?” You gulped, Clark never didn’t talk to you like you were the boss, like you had him at your disposal. Because he was, he was weak under your mouth and even the mention of your name, like a little kid getting told Santa Claus would know what he did wrong. But sometimes he needed to be a little firmer with you to get you let loose, and fuck, he already had you needing him all night. This was making you into a fountain.
“Yeah, okay.” The elevator opened and walked out with his hands around you as if you’d fall without him and honestly, you might just melt into the ground if he lets you go. He was quick to open the door around you, guiding you inside before picking you up with an arm under your knees and the other around your back, making you laugh. You dropped your purse and kicked off your shoes on the way, helping him start to get you undressed. He dropped you down with a thud that would have made you afraid if it wasn’t into his expensive mattress that felt like a cloud. He fixed himself on top of you, combing away the hair that fell on your face before kissing you again, like you tasted like honey and he wanted to discover if you tasted like this everywhere. Your lipstick had long faded against his face and your clothes suddenly felt heavy, too heavy on your body and you wanted your jeans off, your blouse was useless when it made a barrier between you and him.
“You were so hot back there.” You looked at him out of breath when your mouths separated as he worked on kicking his shoes off.
“When?”
“When you were mean to Dean. I’ve never seen you be mean.” He smiled as he kissed down your neck, smiling against your skin as his hands travelled below your blouse. He was really a multitasker.
“He was being mean to you.” He said like it was a fact that he would not stand for that. And you knew.
“Didn’t really care, I was kind of just working on not jumping your bones.” As soon as Clark looked down at you like he knew you didn’t want to be there and he wanted to make it clear you were his, Dean’s offensive goodbye faded.
“I wouldn’t have minded.” Clark responded, making you smirk. Clothes quickly started flying off, carefully taken off your body in between kisses and rugged hands making soft touches. You were so winded from his attention, there was no reaction other than basically purring in delight.
Your bra was being pulled from your chest when you reacted again, Clark groaning at the sight even if he had already seen them a couple of times. His hands were squeezing them like it was his duty, softly needing before ending at the tip, rolling your nipples between his fingers. His tongue quickly followed, swirling around your sensitive buds and biting it, your back arching against him begging for more.
“Fuck.” You breathed, mostly to yourself.
“Good?”
“Yeah.” You said as he switched to the other, licking like he was testing his tongue was working right. It really fucking was.
“Honey, are you comfortable?” Like it was checklist, Clark was going to get it right. You shrunk your eyes, nodding.
“Obviously.”
“Not nervous or anything?”
“I mean, a little now.” Clark shook his head, mumbling 'sorry' as you tried not to giggle at him.
“Do you want to try like touching yourself? You can cum like that so-“
“Clark, are you Off Campus-ing me?” His mouth dropped, confused since you’d been asleep when all that happened and he thought you wouldn’t know.
“You were asleep.” You finally giggled, hands wrapped around his arms that had stayed still at the sides of your hips, ready to get rid of your underwear.
“I caught up. It’s sweet, baby, but I think I’d be too self aware.” He nodded, you reached his face to be able to kiss his neck, distracting him for a second as you nibbled on his skin.
“Okay. Can I- can I try again? With my mouth this time?” Clark asked, the last time he had tried with only his fingers where he thought you’d get the most stimulation and even though you withered and got his hand soaking, after a while you asked to stop and just have sex, which again didn’t make you cum.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” You gave him a small smile, like you didn’t mind but weren’t convinced it would work.
“Get naked first. Wanna see you.” He stepped away fast, stumbling on his own shoes as he tried to get rid of his t-shirt and got stuck with the fabric over his arms.
“Jesus- are you okay?” You laughed, sitting up as you watched him struggle to get it off and keep his balance. He finally stood up straight and got it off, jeans flying off and his underwear fell with relief. He had been straining since downstairs, his cock jumped up against his stomach and it distracted you as you saw it twitch begging for attention. You lifted a hand as he came back close, but he smacked it away and kneeled on the bed, pushing you against the headrest and opening your legs. His mouth basically watered at the sight, saliva threatening to spill from his mouth as he lifted your thighs and gave himself a better look, all the folds and skin between your legs being perfect and begging him to come closer.
“If you get tired or anything, don’t worry about it.” You said, resting on your forearms as you looked at him and gave the most forgiving look you could as if you were expecting it.
“I won’t."
“But if you do.” He licked his lips and glanced up at you with a squint, warning you to stop underestimating him.
“I won’t. Just relax and tell me what feels good.” You were going to respond before he dipped his head at the apex of your legs and used his thumbs to spread you apart, blowing ice cold on your wetness.
“You’re so wet. This all for me?”
“I told you it was hot, you were hot all day. When you licked ketchup off your thumb at lunch I almost fanned myself.” He laughed, looking at you cheeky smirk and shaking his head. His thumb rubbed sure circles on your clit, gaining a shudder. Your wetness was dripping from you, you smelled like pheromones and delight to the point it was making him dizzy. He licked up from below your opening up to your clit, collecting everything he could and let it dance on his tongue before removing his thumb and replacing it.
He licked soft at first, rhythmic, firm strokes. Up and down, left and right, in circles. He tried it all on your puffy bundle of nerves, enjoying the pressure the stiffness brought to his muscle. You hummed, head falling back and tried to focus on the feeling and relax. On contrary to popular belief, you did want someone to make you orgasm. You were just resentful and carried low expectations to avoid being let down. And if anyone deserved it, it would be Clark and his complete devotion to making you swoon. He liked you. He loved you. He wanted you.
“Feels good, but I think I need more.” Clark smiled, nodding. It was good that you were helping him instead of being too inactive to give feedback. He once again pressed your lips open, looking at your pulsating pussy begging for his attention. He rubbed your hole, spreading the wetness before shoving the thumb inside and twisting it upwards to press into the spongy spot inside you which he could do because his fingers were huge. You nodded in encouragement, lifting your hips to meet his movements and rolling them back and forth.
“So pretty, baby. That’s it. Take what you need. We’ll get there.” It was we now. This was about you two, not a you problem. Hot. Really fucking hot. He took your labia into his mouth, playing with it and pulling on it softly, making the stretch of the skin show how excited you were for him to prove you wrong. Clark wrapped his lips around your clit, licking up with tiny strokes before he sucked on it real sweet. You let out a surprised gasp, looking down at him like he preforming some sort of Kryptonian sorcery you never thought was possible. Oh sweet, innocent princess. Seems like you had also saved some firsts for him.
"Oh, shit. That-" You squeezed your eyes in shock as the waves of pleasure flowed through your body, the dual stimulation making your hands clench in fists. Clark glanced up at you every so often, hungry for your reactions and moans. It was making you feel like never before, so on the edge and relaxed at the same time you were almost becoming sure Clark was going to land his goal. His mouth became a machine for you, sucking hard in intervals where he flicked quickly with the tip of his tongue. You whined and clenched on his thumb, that pressed upwards when he could.
"Baby, I think it's working. It's almost there- there, there. Fuck, don't stop." You encouraged, opening your eyes to see your boy giving you the dirtiest, most lovesick look. He was hoping for reward and compliments, telling him he was doing good by you. He was making his girl doubt her own beliefs with his skills and love.
"Fuck, Clark, yes, please- Gonna-" Your mouth fell open and a low moan spilled at the orgasm overtook you. It was fast, came without much warning as the band snapped in your belly and it flooded your senses with the most indescribable release. Clark kept going with his fingers, replacing with mouth in a millisecond to breathe out praises.
"So sweet, baby. Good girl, you're so good. There we go, I knew you could do it." His fingers gave no rest as they pet you inside and out, your clit being stimulated without hesitance to drag out the orgasm.
"Clark, I think it's gonna happen again. I feel- it's so much. God, what is that?" You clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer to you and holding him desperately like you didn't know what was happening and needed shelter. He laughed in delight against your cheek, switching his fingers inside you to put the longest ones inside you and fuck against your g-spot with no mercy, thumb replacing the flicking of your clit.
"That's it, hun. Make a mess, show me how good you are for me. Show me I'm different from the others. I can make you scream." And scream you did. It was high pitched and wretched, your body betraying what you thought you knew about yourself. Your nails pushed into the skin on his back as your exhilarated pussy gushed around his hand. Clark dropped his head to look at the meeting of your bodies and how his hand was working restlessly to pull every drop, every moan, every smile from you. You looked like a dream cumming on him, face so blissed out it was lost and your pussy clenching, legs twitching in reaction.
"That's so beautiful, you're gorgeous. So creamy and wet." His words were ridiculous in your mind; you couldn't look good right now moving like you're possessed. You tapped out when the second high finally started to fade, Clark pulling fully away and starting to kiss your face with delight. You were trying to catch your breath when he led you onto your back to regain forces, chest going up and down. His hands, both wet and not, caressed your still shaking thighs with velvety touches.
"I didn't think my body could do that." Clark laughed, so in love with the moment and you. At how you were discovering new things about yourself because he helped you.
"See? Wait till you cum on my cock too." He teased, making you look down at how he was still rock hard, even harder than before, and dripping like it would take him three strokes inside you to spill.
"Yeah? Show me." Clark didn't need further instructions when he spread your legs again and led himself into your wet, relaxed walls. It was heaven, a groan leaving him mouth with how much your body was agreeing with him. Like you were made for each other.
"Sweetheart, you're so perfect. I love you."
"I love you." He started moving with ease, hips synchronized with his heartbeat. The squelch of the wetness, the heat from your pussy. The sheer smell of sex, fluids and sweat, his sheets drenched and filled with you. Your soft whines as you grabbed onto his arms and whispered 'I love you's. It was all creating the perfect moment in his mind. It would replace the insecurities, the past life and the other man he thought he couldn't compete with. Because it wasn't a competition, fuck a point system. It was about love and lust and helping each other come into the perfect pair.
"I didn't think I'd ever know this comfort, this love. It's divine." You were already feeling close again, the fullness of his dick was so unbelievably wonderful you forgot about everything else. He smiled, leaning down to kiss you and picking up his pace with his mouth against yours, tasting yourself on his tongue. You were melting into one, you thought. You could never part from this moment. You would, because there was work and he needed to save the world and you needed to feed the squirrel from the tree outside your apartment. But right now, the moment was infinite and celestial.
synopsis jack really wants to take care of you, you're really not used to that feeling, but when an accident has you in harms way and rattles jack more than you, you have little choice but to accept how he feels about you. (I want to take care of you- it's rotten work- not to me, not if its you) type.
warnings, fluff and angst but with a happy ending. guns. insecure reader. reader is described with hair long enough to braid. insecure reader. angst with happy ending . younger reader though not a massive plot point. miscommunication/misunderstanding
authorsnote uncle pee-paw i'm growing very fond of you. sometimes i get so in my head about how things preform on tumblr and i completely forget that fanfic is so self indulgent so as long as i'm happy with it but i'm so happy with the love these pitt fics are getting they really do mean a lot
Pitt masterlist. Jack Abbot fic!
“ You need a ride? ”
When you'd called Jack to tell him you were going to be late into your night shift because the buses you relied so heavily on to get you to and from work weren't running due to some strikes or something, you really were only calling to let him know you'd be late. Not to subtly ask for him to give you a ride.
“No- no. I just didn't want you to think I was not turning up, I'll be there.”
“ What's your address again? ”
“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.
Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.
“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.
Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”
“ Your address. ”
“How do you have my address?”
He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”
Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.
“Right, yes. You should delete that.”
“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”
There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.
Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.
It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.
He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.
You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.
There was nothing wrong with his affection.
You just didn't know what to do with it.
The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.
Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.
You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).
His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.
“Hi,” you greeted.
You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.
Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”
You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”
“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”
There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.
“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”
Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”
Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.
“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.
“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”
“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.
Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”
It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.
“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.
“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”
Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.
Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”
“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.
“It's on my way,” he shrugged.
“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.
You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.
“Just take the lift.”
“Thank you.”
“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.
You groaned.
There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.
Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.
“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”
She smirked. “Nice of him.”
“I've told him not to do it again.”
“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”
He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.
“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.
“That he is.”
“You deserve someone like him.”
You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.
And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.
You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”
“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“Night.”
You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.
“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.
“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”
He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”
“I listen to your advice-”
He levelled his gaze onto yours.
“- I try to.”
His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”
You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.
Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”
He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.
Your silence was an answer.
“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”
He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.
“Will we?”
“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”
You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.
You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.
“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.
This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.
“No, I guess I didn't.”
“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”
“I'm sure I'll manage.”
Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.
“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.
“Helping you.”
“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”
Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”
His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.
Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.
You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.
Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.
“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.
Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”
You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.
Though you hadn't technically asked.
“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.
“Nothing more important right now.”
Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.
Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.
“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.
Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”
His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”
You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.
Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.
He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.
“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.
The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.
The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.
“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.
“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.
“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.
You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”
“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”
The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.
“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.
That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.
There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.
Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.
Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.
But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.
“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.
“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.
“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”
Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”
“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.
“I like running fast,” she said.
Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.
You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”
You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.
So you supposed there was a double meaning.
Jack's gaze was heavy.
“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.
“Rude,” Jack mumbled.
It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.
The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.
“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.
You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.
“Why not singing?” asked the girl.
“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked
You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”
Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.
Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.
A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.
Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”
“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.
“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”
The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”
Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.
Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.
You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.
“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.
“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.
“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.
You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”
Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”
“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”
Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.
You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.
It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.
“You cooking for me now?”
Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”
You took a careful spoon.
Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.
“You like it?”
“It tastes... kind of...”
“Healthy?”
You looked at him, feigned aghast.
Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”
“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.
“I like to take care of you.”
He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.
“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.
“Why what?” he asked.
Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.
You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.
Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.
“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”
At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”
You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.
Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”
“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”
“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”
You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”
“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”
Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.
So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.
“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.
Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”
His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.
You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.
“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”
“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”
Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”
“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.
“But-”
“- a minute!”
You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”
“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”
You waited.
There was nothing.
Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.
One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.
“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”
Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.
The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.
You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.
There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.
“I need you, GSW to the chest!”
The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.
It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.
“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”
The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.
“Three... two... one- move!”
All together you lifted her over.
There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.
You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.
Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.
“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.
Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.
Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.
“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.
Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.
“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.
“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.
“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”
You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.
“Clear!”
The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.
You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.
“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.
“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.
Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”
Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”
Two units were hooked up.
“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”
It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.
“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”
“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.
Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”
Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”
You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.
Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.
“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.
“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”
“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”
Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”
It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.
Five minutes later she was stable.
Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.
But there was life.
And that was the most rewarding part of the job.
“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”
“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.
Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.
Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”
You stared at him.
It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.
Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.
Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.
You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.
Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.
As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.
“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”
You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.
“Can you tell me your name?”
You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.
The doors to the trauma room pushed open.
A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.
“Is she alive?” she asked.
Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.
“Do you know her?” you asked.
“She's my sister.”
“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”
You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.
Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.
“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.
Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.
Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.
“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”
“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”
Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.
Everyone ducked.
People screamed.
Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.
Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.
They came from behind him.
From the room he'd just left.
“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.
Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”
You.
“No!”
The two of them took off toward the room.
A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.
She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.
“Gun!” someone screamed.
Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.
There were three shots.
He knew three shots were enough to kill.
Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”
The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”
“Oh god-”
“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.
You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?
It was already gone.
“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.
The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.
Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.
The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.
“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.
There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.
Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”
Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”
Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.
“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”
“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.
There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.
When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.
Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”
You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.
He heard retching as the door closed.
Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.
“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”
He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.
The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.
One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.
Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.
Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.
Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.
What kind of doctor did that?
The cowardly type- you.
“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.
Jack.
His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.
“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.
“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”
You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.
He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”
If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.
You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”
You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.
Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”
You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”
“Yeah.... it always does.”
You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.
This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.
“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.
“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”
“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”
“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”
You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”
“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”
Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.
“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”
It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.
“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”
He sniffed.
“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?
He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”
His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.
Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.
Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.
“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”
I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.
“I'm sorry.”
His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”
“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”
“- you weren't horrible, no-”
“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”
“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”
“- I don't know why you put up with me-”
“- well, it helps that I love you-”
If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.
You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.
“What?” you asked.
Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”
Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.
“Oh.”
“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”
It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.
“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.
Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.
You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”
He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”
You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”
Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”
Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.
Alright, let’s do this one last time! My name is Jae, I was tagged by my incredible Tumblr moots, and for the past two weeks, I’ve been hoarding a few of these games. I’m pretty sure you know the rest.
(I'm so sorry how late I got to these. I promise I saw them, I read them, and I loved getting to know everyone better!)
divider by @cafekitsune
np tags: @clarknsun @thceseus @rh1nestcned @poofieblogs @lovee-potions @bucksplum @st4rfckerz +🫵🏻 you. Yes, you, the one reading this. you're it.
✨10 SONGS ON REPEAT
tagged by @fictionalfloozy & @winteryn
Explode! - Mother Mother // Girls - The Dare // honeybee - Olivia Rodrigo // Two of Hearts - Stacey Q // Summer Night City - ABBA // Celebrity Skin - Hole // BLACKOUT - Turnstile // Ribs - Lorde // Night Shift - Lucy Dacus // Imagination - Foster The People
✨10 PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW
thank you @novatheory , @snoopysupe , @clarkkentsbiceps, @twentytomidnight
LAST SONG &Run - Sir Sly
CURRENTLY WATCHING New Girl
CURRENT OBSESSION I'm not answering this
CURRENTLY READING my FMLA forms
CURRENTLY WORKING ON Sex On The Beach, Moxie, Loves Me/Loves Me Not WIPS
CURRENTLY WEARING A My Chemical Romance T-shirt that says 'Michael Romance'
LAST GOOGLE SEARCH JJK SEASON 4 TRAILER
FAVOURITE FLOWER peonies
✨FAVORITE TROPES
thank you @ultimatewolverine . Your taste is valid and elite
slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high-school romance or middle-age romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane
✨FIVE THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY
Thank you @steelandvibranium for tagging me! What video game are you playing right now? or recommend?
David Corenswet
Clark Kent
Superman
Actually having the flowstate to write
Attention and validation
✨HOW SPOTIFY SEES MY INTERNET BEDROOM
tagged by @satellite-evans! Yours looked so cute, and then here's mine LOL I don't even drink pop.
If you want to see how your room looks, you can check out madeonverse
Sinopsis: After years of believing something was wrong with her, you finally confess your deepest insecurity to Clark Kent. Instead of judgment, he offers patience, understanding, and a chance to discover that the people who hurt you may have been wrong all along.
Warnings: Mature content, explicit sexual scenes, oral sex, penetrative sex, strong sexual language.
WC: 4,400 words approx.
When did that "problem" happen? When did that problem decay into the fact that you were actually that problem?
Talking about "it" was uncomfortable. You couldn't tell your mother or your friends. Because how would you just come out and say? You know what? In my two relationships, never, never once did I have an orgasm. And the worst part is that both men told me I was the problem. No, just thinking about it would make you sink with shame. You would want to disappear, to never have opened your mouth. Even worse when you heard everyone saying they had an orgasm with their boyfriend. They commented on it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if it were something that always happened. And even though you knew that men only seek their own satisfaction, not yours, you also knew very well, maybe the problem was you. Because two different men repeating it to you, over and over again, had to mean something, right?
"Ah, of course it's not me, you must have problems," one said when you had confessed that you only felt a little warmth, but an orgasm, nothing. He lay there calmly, lying back on the bed, not even looking at you. As if what you had just told him was an annoyance, your own mistake that he didn't have to fix.
"Now you want everything to be dedicated to you, please, you must have a problem," said the other, looking at you with those eyes that you used to like and that now only made you feel small. "I have made thousands of women come," he boasted, crossing his arms as if he were a prize. As if you were the only one who didn't work right.
So you stopped trying. Maybe it was work stress, maybe the nerves of being with someone new, maybe the discomfort of seeing how a man could finish in bed with you, ejaculate and that's it. No more work, no more caresses, no more nothing. Because he had already gotten his part. And you stayed there, looking at the ceiling, wondering what was wrong with you.
But now the fear had returned. You had been two years without a boyfriend, two years without having to worry about this. And when you started dating Clark, you didn't mention it to him. Of course, you were just going on dates, it wasn't anything formal. Besides, he didn't seem like the man who takes you to bed on the first date. He was slow, everything about him was slow: his way of speaking, his way of looking at you, his way of getting close to you. And that slowness also made your heart race. You didn't want him to get annoyed and end up leaving your life like the other two.
Clark was cute. Too cute, even for your taste. You had always said your type were serious men, with few friends, who looked like a block of ice and were intelligent. But you ended up with an intelligent man, yes, but with the prettiest shyness you had ever seen and the loveliest smile anyone had ever given you. A man so tall and so big that to you, who wasn't small, he made you feel protected. You loved holding his hand everywhere, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours. You loved it when he pushed the stray locks of hair behind your ear and smiled at you as if you were the prettiest thing he had seen all day.
But you knew the next step was coming. Or maybe you only thought it one day, while he laughed at something silly you had said. Clark was a gentleman, truly. He wouldn't continue doing something if you told him you felt uncomfortable. Never. That was clear. But interrupting him mid-kiss was awkward. You would make him feel uncomfortable. And he would pull away. Like the others. Or worse, he would stay out of pity.
It wasn't planned. You had only agreed to eat at your apartment, but nothing more. It was after the movie. You kissed him first, almost without thinking, and from there you had been kissing for almost thirty minutes. Your lips were swollen, your breathing uncontrolled, your hands on his chest feeling his heart beat. His curls tangled between your fingers. He was squeezing your waist slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. But then that thought returned. You pulled away to breathe more air. He leaned in as if wanting to let you know he wanted to keep kissing you, but not finding your lips, he buried his face in your neck. You sighed, caressing his curls. You longed to feel him so much, but your fear invaded you. Should you fake an orgasm again? You remembered how ridiculous you felt doing that, those fake moans, that lie that only served to make him finish faster.
"Do you want to stop?" Clark whispered in your ear when he saw that you were only touching his curls without saying anything.
He looked at you. His cheeks were red, but his blue eyes were dilated, dark. Lips swollen like yours. You pressed your lips together. If you were the problem, you repeated to yourself, you'll ruin it. Again.
"No," you said. But you lowered your gaze to his shirt, playing with his button.
Clark tilted his head. He waited for your answer. You knew he didn't want a kiss to continue. He didn't want you to just keep going as if nothing was wrong. He wanted to know why you were nervous. And it wasn't normal nerves, he noticed it. There was something behind your trembling hands, behind the way you avoided his eyes.
"It's just that… I… have a problem," you whispered. And you felt your cheeks burn with shame.
"Problem?" said Clark. He moved on the couch to see you properly. Very carefully, he moved the lock of hair that covered your face and put it behind your ear. "Is it serious?" he asked, and his voice sounded genuinely worried.
"No… no… nothing like that," you said quickly, shaking your head. "It's just… well… I have problems with… that." You made a vague gesture with your hand, not daring to look at him.
Clark frowned, confused.
"I… never… well…," you tried to say, but the words got tangled.
"Hey, pretty, it's okay," he said, and his voice was soft, calm. He caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers. "Do you want to tell me? Go ahead. If you don't feel ready, nothing will happen." There was no anger in his eyes, no contempt. It was just Clark smiling with those dimples that appeared on his cheeks.
"I've never had an orgasm," you finally said.
You watched him blush. He nodded without saying anything. And your heart sank. You thought he would start to hate you. You thought you should have kept quiet and just faked it like you had done so many times before. The silence grew long, too long.
"No… but it's my problem," you blurted out, the words coming out fast, barely breathing. "I really enjoy it, it's just that… I won't reach that point. But we can keep going, don't worry about me." You said all that with the intention of making him forget, of him kissing you again and that's it.
Clark looked at you fixedly. "Not worry about you?" he asked, as if he hadn't understood correctly.
He guided you onto his lap gently. You sat on him. The friction was evident, noticeable, but he was focused on you, not on himself. His hands remained still on your hip, not squeezing, just resting.
"It's not just your problem," he said slowly. "Is it a problem? I mean… why do you say it's a problem? Did a gynecologist tell you that?" he asked, and he said it wanting to understand, not to judge.
"No," you played with his shirt again, not looking at him. "It was the… people I was with before," you said, and the word people tasted ugly in your mouth.
"Or they were the problem," Clark said simply.
You looked at him. How could he say it like that, so easily, as if it were obvious?
"But it's two people saying the same thing," you said, and you felt your throat close up. "Two, Clark. It's not a coincidence."
Clark nodded. He had left his glasses on the table an hour ago, since he started kissing you. Now his blue eyes looked at you without a filter.
"We can try it right now," he said simply, like someone says let's have a drink or let's watch another movie. He looked at you with that calm that only he had. "And we'll check if it's true or if you just had two people with low resistance next to you." He smiled a little. "You know I'm very resistant, don't you?" Clark asked.
And you, despite the fear, despite the shame, smiled blushing.
And then you kissed him.
You didn't think anymore. You didn't give yourself time to think. You just leaned your face in and your lips found his again. Clark made a small sound, a low moan that was lost between you two. Your hands went up to his neck. You felt his hot skin, his rapid pulse under your fingers. His hands were on your hip at first, still, as if he was afraid of squeezing too hard. But then they went down to your thighs and there they did squeeze, with desire. He went back to your neck, stopped kissing your mouth to go down to that soft spot right under your ear. He stayed there for a while. Just kissing, just sucking a little, just breathing against your skin. You felt him so good that you moaned uncontrollably. It wasn't a low or subtle moan. It was a moan that came from deep within, without you being able to do anything to stop it.
"Oh, Clark!" you said. And your hands clenched his curls tightly, as if you were about to fall and he was the only thing holding you up.
You took off his shirt. It wasn't easy because he wouldn't stop kissing you, but you managed. The fabric went up his back and he let go of your lips just long enough to take it off completely. Then you took off yours with his help. His hands were large and trembled a little as they unbuttoned the buttons. You didn't know if it was nerves or desire, maybe both. When your shirt fell to the floor, Clark looked at you for a second. Just a second. His blue eyes ran over your face, your neck, your shoulders. And then he kissed you again as if he had been waiting for days to do it.
Clark took your waist and sat you on the couch. But he didn't sit next to you. He did something strange. He crouched down, lowered his body in front of you. A movement you didn't understand. What did he intend to do? He pulled away from your lips, very slowly, as if it cost him effort. He kissed your neck again. Then went lower. He kissed your chest, the top part, right where the heart beats strongest. Then lower down. He kissed your abdomen, right in the center, and you felt your skin pucker from how soft it was. You looked at him. The living room lamp let you see little, just shadows and glints. But the sighs came out of you as soon as you felt him remove your pants. He unbuttoned them, lowered them slowly, looking at you as he did so. Then he took off your panties. Also slowly. His fingers hooked the fabric and lowered it down your legs. Your hands were trembling. Everything was trembling.
His huge hands parted your legs. Gently but firmly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. You opened your legs more for him, without thinking. Your pupils were so dilated you could barely see. But when you looked at his face, he was looking directly at your center. You threw your head back. You couldn't look. You were embarrassed and yet you didn't want to stop looking.
"Clark," you moaned. His name came out broken, like a long sigh.
He leaned in. He kissed your vaginal lips as if they were your regular lips. With the same softness, the same calm. Your mouth fell open. You couldn't believe what he was doing. No one had kissed you there before. No one had taken that time. You felt his tongue lick your line, that little opening you had been so afraid to show. Then he opened it more with his tongue, carefully, and even penetrated you a little with it. The sounds coming from below were wet, lewd, shameful. But you didn't want him to stop. Everything was different. Everything was so strange and so good at the same time. Your hands tangled in his curls again. Your hips lifted on their own, as if your body came to life and wanted more from Clark. More of his mouth, more of his tongue, more of everything.
"Do you like it?" you heard him say. His voice came out hoarse, low, and he was still between your legs. "My pretty girlfriend, you taste so good," he said. Then he pulled away slightly. You looked down and saw a line of saliva hanging from his lips to you. You smiled, blushing, and thrust your hip towards him. He understood. He didn't protest. Oh, he never would. Clark found that exquisite, you could see it in his eyes. To see how his mouth could melt you. He just thought how you must have felt when they pointed out that you didn't have orgasms. When they told you that you were the problem. Surely they were the problem, Clark thought. And he set out to do it the second you told him the reason for that fear. He would show you. He would show you they were wrong.
"Oh, Clark!" you said again. But this time it wasn't just pleasure. It was something else. A strange tremor ran through your body, started in your belly and went up your back. Your legs contracted on their own. Your hands in his curls pushed his face further against you, even though he didn't need you to push him. "God, I… no… Clark," you said. And then it happened.
A strange sensation ran through your entire body. It wasn't like anything you had felt before. It was as if something inside you broke but in a good way. As if you let go of something you had been holding onto for years. Slow spasms, undulations that went up and down your legs, your belly, your chest. You breathed as soon as you could, but it was hard. The air didn't come in well because your whole body was shaking. Clark approached slowly. He kissed your thigh, then your abdomen, then your neck. He kissed softly, very softly, while your body still shook a little.
"My beautiful girlfriend was treated so badly," he said. He gave you kisses on your neck, one after another, while you recovered from the previous wave. You didn't have the strength to even speak. Then he kissed you on the mouth. His saliva and your juices mixed with your own saliva and you didn't care. Nothing mattered more than continuing to feel what you had just felt.
Clark pulled away just enough to take off his pants. He lowered them quickly, this time without calm, and kicked them off completely. He looked at you. His eyes were dark, almost black with desire.
"I don't have a condom," he whispered. And his voice sounded almost apologetic.
You shook your head. "It's okay," you nodded. You said it so fast you barely thought about it. You were lost. Needy for him. Not just anyone. For him.
Clark smiled looking at you. "Good," he whispered. But nothing happened. Not at first.
Until you felt something enter you. You moaned, brushing your lips against Clark's. It wasn't what you thought. It wasn't him. It was his two fingers. He inserted them slowly, one first, then another. He needed to stretch you a little more so you would adjust to him later. But the simple position had already warmed you up more than you thought. His swollen lips close to yours. His hand working below, inside, moving with a rhythm you didn't know. His other hand on your waist, squeezing gently. Your hands on his shoulders, clinging to him. The closeness of his face, the warm air coming from his mouth mixing with yours. The dilated pupils of both of you, so large you could barely see the color of his eyes.
You opened your lips to say something but no words came out. He moved closer, their teeth clashed a little, and he kissed you. It was a messy kiss, wet, with both of them breathing poorly. They moaned between kisses. His fingers entering and exiting you, faster each time. Your tongue playing with his. A third finger entered and you felt everything stretch down there. You closed your eyes tightly. You pulled away from his mouth just to breathe, just to not suffocate. He took your neck with his free hand, very gently, and pulled you close again. And then…
"Damn it… again," you said. Your voice trembled. Everything trembled. "I… oh," you said. You couldn't finish the sentence.
Your body shook entirely. A new wave, stronger than the first, shook you from head to toe. Your hands squeezed Clark's shoulders as if you were sinking. Your legs trembled uncontrollably. Clark held you tight, pressed his chest to yours and held you while you shook. You breathed with difficulty, your face buried in his neck. He didn't move. He just held you. With one hand he massaged your leg with fingers stained with you, and that soft caress helped you come back. Little by little. Very little by little.
And then he carried you.
You didn't even have time to say anything. Clark put his arms under your body, one behind your back and the other behind your knees, and lifted you as if you weighed nothing. Your arms circled his neck by reflex, and you pressed your face against his shoulder. You felt his hot skin, his smell, his agitated breathing. He walked towards your room. He knew the way. He had learned every step of your house when he came to visit you and helped you leave something in your room. A jacket, a bag, a book. He always noticed everything, even if you didn't realize it. He knew where the bed was, where the door was, where the lamp was. When they arrived, he entered without bumping into anything. He placed you on the bed gently, as if you were something fragile. The sheet was cold against your back and that contrasted with the heat of his body on top of you.
You felt his member brush against your entrance. Barely touching you. Just a graze. And you, without thinking, lifted your hip towards him. Your body moved on its own. You were no longer afraid. You no longer wanted to hide. You just wanted to feel him inside you.
"That's it," Clark said, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. His member became stained with your juices as he rubbed against you, barely entering and exiting, just the tip. You moaned every time he brushed against that place that needed him so much. "We're going to show them who the real problem was," he said. And then he gave you a kiss on the jaw, right where your face ends and your neck begins. That kiss was soft, but he said it with a certainty that made you believe him. That was enough for him to insert himself into you. Not all at once. It was slow. Very slow. You felt him fill you little by little, centimeter by centimeter. You opened your mouth but no sound came out. Just air.
Then the thrusts began. Slow at first. Very slow. Every time he entered, your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his movement. They went up and down like small waves. Clark's lips went straight to them. He kissed the tip of your nipple, which was already hard, very hard. He kissed it softly, with closed lips, then with his tongue. His mouth was hot and wet. Your hand tangled in his curls again, squeezing gently, pulling a little. His hot breath lingered on your skin every time he parted his lips to breathe.
"Oh, Clark," you said. Your voice came out choppy, broken by moans. "You feel so good," you admitted. It wasn't a lie. You had never felt anything like it. He filled every empty space you had inside.
"No," Clark said, shaking his head while continuing to move inside you. "You are the one who feels so good." He bit your nipple carefully, barely a pinch with his teeth. "So adapted to me," he said, and then he took your entire nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, playing with his tongue around it.
You stayed underneath him on your back for a good while. Then he turned you over gently and you were face down. He penetrated you again and again, from behind, and you buried your head in the pillow to keep from screaming too loudly. Clark's fingers dug gently into your hip, guiding you, moving you to his rhythm. Then he took you and arranged you on top of him. You sat on his stomach and he looked up at you from below. You set the pace yourself. Your hands trembled as they rested on his chest. You bent down from time to time to kiss him, and he took that moment to grab your buttocks with his large hands. He gently spread them to sink deeper into you. That made you moan louder. But you kept your rhythm. Your hips made slow circles. Your breasts moved in a back-and-forth sway, left and right. Clark squeezed them with his hands, massaged them while you moved on top of him. You moaned, but this time it wasn't just any moan. You were almost singing to him, letting your voice out with each rise and each fall. You felt so close. Clark noticed it because your rhythm began to get slower, clumsier. You were tired but you didn't want to stop.
"I… Clark, help me," you whispered. Your voice was barely audible.
He didn't need you to repeat it. You leaned on his shoulders and he lifted your body with force. Clark began to penetrate by lifting and lowering his hips. He led the rhythm now. Both moaned together, at the same time, as if their bodies were one. They were both so close. Clark grabbed your bottom with one hand, with the other he grabbed your hip, and penetrated deeper. Your eyes became moist. You didn't know if it was from pleasure or something else. You looked at him blurry, because the tears hadn't fallen but they fogged everything up. Clark's senses heated up seeing you like that. You breathed so fast you almost felt dizzy. And then you trembled. In the last thrust, your body contracted entirely. You trembled like a leaf in the wind. And you felt Clark fill you, hot, inside. Enough for you to fall onto his chest without strength. Still trembling. Still shuddering when Clark's arms hugged you tight.
He didn't let you go. He didn't push you away. He didn't turn his face to the wall like the others did. Clark kept you on his chest, with an arm around your back and the other hand caressing you gently. He waited for your breathing to normalize. He didn't speak. There was no need. He just held you. And you sank into his chest tired, happy, calm. Hugging him too. With your eyes closed. With a smile he couldn't see but surely felt.
"Confirmed," Clark said after a while, his voice still hoarse but with a laugh hidden in the words. "You are not the problem."
You laughed. A small, trembling laugh, but real. He felt your laugh on his chest, the vibrations of your throat against his skin. And he also laughed. His laugh was low, soft, like everything about him.
You pulled away slightly, just enough to look at him. You gave him a short, quick kiss on the lips. And then you hugged him again, burying your nose in his neck.
"I really like you, Clark," you admitted. Your voice came out small, as if you were still embarrassed to say it.
Clark blushed. You felt him get warm under your lips. "I am in love with you," he said. He paused, as if thinking the word embarrassed him too. "A lot," he added, so there was no doubt.
You hugged him tighter, not looking at his smile, but you knew it was there. You felt it in how his chest moved as he breathed.
"Let's clean ourselves up," Clark whispered after a while, running a hand through your messy hair. "We'll take a shower."
Clark did it. He got out of bed, took your hand and led you to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water tap and waited for the temperature to be right. Then they got in together. You curled up against his chest, stuck to him as if it were the safest place in the world. He soaped your hair first, carefully, undoing the knots with his fingers. Then he soaped your body, slowly, running the sponge over your back, your shoulders, your arms, your legs. There was no hurry. The water fell over both of them and the bathroom filled with steam. Then he soaped himself, with your eyes watching him. In the end they dried off with a large towel that Clark ran over your body first before running it over his. Then they went back to bed, still with damp skin and the smell of soap.
Clark already had his purpose for every night. He wouldn't let you think again that you were a problem. He would show you whenever necessary. With kisses. With caresses. With patience. With that very way of his of looking at you as if you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. That night, when he turned off the light and hugged you from behind, with his nose buried in your nape and his arm crossed over your waist, you knew you weren't alone. That you would never have to pretend again. That Clark would stay. And you, for the first time in a long time, closed your eyes and felt calm.
Adrian Chase with a girlfriend who matches his freak a little too hard <3
Paring: Adrian chase x reader
Warnings: very toxic relationship dynamics, he’s right where he wants to be.
None of the team has met you much, except Chris who prefers not to stay in your company too long, the reason for which evades both Adebayo and Emilia, since you seem like a very nice, sane girl.
Sometimes after Adrian gets a bit too drunk at bars, you walk in dressed up like a woman who definitely doesn’t belong in a small town in Washington, and way too polite.
So, when Chris insists that you’re absolutely bat shit insane and your behaviour puts Adrian to shame, they can’t believe any of it, brushing it off as him being the usual asshole because his sidekick has a girlfriend and he does not.
All of those are put to rest when Adrian comes into work late, driving a brand new car into the parking lot. When he’s pressed about it, he gives them a little smile, almost as if he’s remembering a fond moment.
“Y/n lit my car on fire, so I had to buy a new one,” he says, his tone is so joyful that they’re a contrast to his words.
“What?” The whole team looks at him, eyes wide and Chris almost screams out an ‘I told you so’.
“Yeah, she saw me talking to a girl and said I was cheating on her, so she lit my car on fire. Isn’t that cool? I would totally do the same, but I’d probably cry first.” He turns to his table, chuckling to himself about his ‘loving girlfriend,’ who is definitely not crazy.
Note I love Clark Kent so much and I still have no idea why I only have one fic about him here, that's gonna change from now. Anyways, I am sorry if this is a tiny bit angsty but I swear there's fluff and smut and you're gonna be nauseous because these two love each other way too much. Like a lot.
Clark’s night had been a particular kind of hell. He didn't remember landing on your terrace.
One moment he was standing in the cratered ruin of what used to be a warehouse district on the outskirts of Metropolis, his hands still trembling from the echo of kryptonian fists meeting flesh, and the next he was here—boots silent on the weathered tile, the city sprawling beneath him like a circuit board of light and shadow.
The villain had called himself Pavor. A meta-human with the unsettling ability to weaponize fear, to reach into the deepest, most vulnerable parts of a person's mind and pull out their nightmares made manifest. Clark had faced worse. He'd faced world-enders and reality-benders, creatures from the Phantom Zone and gods from distant pantheons. But Pavor had done something that none of the others had managed.
He'd made Clark watch you die.
Not just once. A hundred times. A thousand. Each death more intimate and horrible than the last. A car accident on a rain-slicked street where Clark was too slow, too far away, his super-hearing catching your final breath across seven city blocks. A terminal illness that ate through your beautiful, laughing body while Clark held your hand and felt the life drain out of you, powerless to stop it because even he couldn't cure the incurable. An explosion in your apartment building that he arrived at two minutes too late, your favorite mug still warm on the kitchen counter, your scent still lingering in the hallway.
The worst one—the one that still had his hands shaking even now—was the simplest. You'd been walking home from the grocery store, a bag of oranges in your arms, and a man with a gun had wanted your wallet. In the vision, Clark had been standing right there. Right. There. And he'd still been too slow. The bullet had entered your chest before he could move, and you'd looked at him with such confusion, such betrayal, as if to say why didn't you save me? when you didn't even know he was there at all.
The villain was neutralized now. Sedated in a meta-human containment cell, his fear-dust swept up by biohazard teams. But the images lingered, burned into Clark's brain like afterimages from a nuclear blast.
He needed to see you.
The thought was urgent, desperate, clawing at his chest with something that felt dangerously close to panic. He needed to see your face, to hear your heartbeat, to feel you—warm and solid and alive—under his hands. The rational part of his mind, the part that had been doing this for almost two years, told him to go home first. Change out of the suit. Put on the glasses and the flannel shirt and the carefully constructed persona of Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter. That was the agreement, wasn't it? Not a formal one, not something you'd ever demanded, but something he'd built between you anyway. With you, he got to be just Clark. Not Superman. Not the symbol, the icon, the guy who caught planes and deflected asteroids. Just the man who burned his toast in the morning and left his socks on the bathroom floor and kissed the back of your neck while you were trying to make coffee.
But tonight, the thought of putting on that mask felt unbearable. Like another layer of separation between him and the thing he needed most.
So here he was. Boots on your terrace. The cape heavy on his shoulders, the House of El crest emblazoned across his chest. He'd never shown up like this before. Not once. You knew who he was—he'd told you, three months into the relationship, sitting on this very terrace with his heart in his throat and the words “I'm Superman” tasting like broken glass in his mouth—but you'd never seen him like this. The suit had always been something that happened somewhere else, in a different part of his life, the part he tried so hard to keep separate from the quiet sanctuary he'd found with you.
The sliding door was unlocked. It was always unlocked when he visited, a small act of faith that still made something in his chest ache. He could see you through the glass, curled on the couch with a book in your lap and a mug of tea steaming on the side table. You were wearing his university sweatshirt—the one he'd almost thrown away a dozen times because it was faded and threadbare, but you'd fished it out of the donation bag and claimed it as your own. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, still slightly damp from a shower, and you were absently chewing on your lower lip the way you did when you were concentrating.
His knees nearly buckled.
He'd watched you die tonight. He'd watched your eyes go dark and your heart stop and your blood pool on pavement, on tile, on the pristine white sheets of a hospital bed. He'd screamed your name in a dozen different nightmares, had reached for you a thousand times and come up empty. And here you were, reading one of your favorite books with your feet tucked under you, completely unaware that somewhere across the city, a so called God had been weeping over your corpse.
Clark slid the door open and you looked up immediately, a smile already forming on your lips—and then froze. Your eyes went wide, traveling from his face down the length of his body, taking in the suit and the cape and the way he was standing there like a man who'd just survived something he couldn't name.
“Clark?” Your voice was soft, uncertain, already tinged with concern. You set the book aside and rose from the couch, moving toward him slowly, carefully, the way you might approach a wounded animal. “Baby, what's wrong?”
He tried to speak. Tried to form words, to explain, to apologize for showing up like this without warning. But the sound that came out of his mouth was closer to a sob, raw and broken, and suddenly he was crossing the room in two strides and pulling you into his arms.
The contact nearly undid him.
You were warm. So impossibly, achingly warm, your body fitting against his like you'd been made to be there. Your heartbeat thrummed against his chest, steady and strong and alive, and Clark buried his face in your hair and breathed you in. Lavender shampoo. The faint trace of the tea you'd been drinking. Something underneath that was just you, the scent he'd committed to memory months ago, the one that meant home.
“Clark.” Your hands came up to cup his face, gentle but insistent, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your thumbs swept across his cheekbones, catching tears he hadn't realized he'd been shedding. “Talk to me. Please.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “There was a man tonight,” he said, and his voice came out rough, scraped raw. “He could—he could show people their fears. Make them real, somehow. In their minds.” He swallowed hard, and the next words came out on a shudder. “He showed me you. Dying. Over and over again. I watched you die so many times, and every time—every single time—I couldn't save you.”
Your breath caught. He felt it, felt the slight hitch in your chest, the way your fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his jaw.
“Clark,” you whispered.
“I know it wasn't real.” The words came faster now, tumbling out of him like water through a broken dam. “I know that. I've dealt with fear-manipulators before, I know how it works, I know none of it actually happened. But I couldn't—I couldn't shake it. I couldn't stop seeing your face, couldn't stop hearing—” His voice cracked. “I needed to see you. I needed to hold you. And I couldn't go home and change first, I couldn't put on the glasses and pretend to be someone else for one more second, because I'm not—I'm not someone else, not with you, I've never been someone else with you, and I just—”
The words were coming too fast now, tripping over each other, spiraling. Clark could feel it building in his chest—that familiar, terrible pressure, the one he'd learned to recognize over years of burying things too deep. His heart was hammering, which was ridiculous because his heart didn't do that anymore, hadn't done that since he was a teenager learning to control his powers, but here it was, pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. His breathing was too quick, too shallow, and he couldn't seem to get enough air even though he didn't technically need to breathe at all, not really, not the way you did, but his body didn't seem to care about technicalities right now.
She's dead. She's dead and you're hallucinating and any second now you're going to blink and she's going to be gone and you're going to be back in that warehouse with her blood on your hands and—
“Clark.”
Your voice cut through the spiral like a blade through silk. Not loud. Not demanding. Just there, steady and warm and impossibly, impossibly present.
“Clark, look at me.”
He couldn't. He couldn't look at you because if he looked at you, he'd see the bullet hole or the sickness or the closed eyes or one of the thousand other ways he'd watched you die tonight, and he couldn't—he couldn't—
Your hands moved from his face to his shoulders, and then you were guiding him, gently but firmly, until his back hit the wall beside the sliding door. Not hard—you didn't have the strength to move him if he didn't want to be moved—but he went willingly, bonelessly, because some deep part of him recognized that you were trying to anchor him, and he needed an anchor more than he needed air.
“There you go,” you murmured, and your hands were on his chest now, right over the S-shield, and he could feel the warmth of your palms even through the suit. “I've got you. I'm right here. Feel my hands, Clark. Can you feel them?”
He nodded, a jerky, desperate motion. Your hands. He could feel your hands. Smaller than his and soft and warm, pressed against the symbol of his house, against the place where his heart should have been beating out of control but was instead starting, slowly, to calm.
“Good.” You stepped closer, and now your body was pressed against his, not in a way that was sexual but in a way that was grounding, solid and real and undeniable. You were warm all along his front, from his chest to his thighs, and he could feel every point of contact like a lifeline. “Now breathe with me, okay? Just breathe. In...” He felt your chest expand against his. “...and out.”
He tried. He really tried. But the images were still there, flickering behind his eyelids every time he blinked, and his breath came out in a shuddering gasp instead of anything resembling controlled.
“That's okay,” you said, and your voice was so soft, so impossibly gentle, like you were soothing a spooked horse rather than the most powerful being on the planet. “That's okay, baby. Just try again. In...”
This time, he followed. His chest rose against yours, and he felt the way you smiled—felt the curve of your lips against his collarbone where you'd pressed your face.
“Good. So good. Now out...”
He exhaled, and some of the pressure in his chest went with it.
“That's it.” Your hands started moving on his chest, slow circles over the fabric of his suit, soothing and repetitive. “You're doing so well, Clark. Just keep breathing with me. In...”
She's warm. She's warm and she's solid and she's here.
“...and out.”
Her heart is beating. I can hear it. I can feel it.
“In...”
It's not the vision. The vision was cold. She was cold in the vision.
“...and out.”
She's not cold. She's never been cold. She's the warmest thing I've ever known.
“In...”
She's alive.
“...and out.”
She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.
Clark's eyes opened. He hadn't realized he'd closed them. And there you were—your face tilted up to his, your eyes soft and patient and full of so much love it made something in his chest crack open all over again. But this time, it wasn't the bad kind of cracking. This was the kind that let light in.
“Hi,” you said softly, and there was the barest hint of a smile playing at your lips.
“Hi,” he managed, and his voice was wrecked, scraped raw, but it was his again.
Your hands slid up from his chest to his face, cradling his jaw, your thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. You were so gentle with him, so careful, like he was something precious rather than something dangerous. He didn't understand how you did it. Didn't understand how you looked at him—at the suit, at the symbol, at the man who'd just fallen apart in your arms—and saw something worth holding.
“I'm here,” you said, and it wasn't the first time you'd said it tonight, but somehow it felt different now. Slower. More deliberate. Like you were pressing the words into his skin, making sure they stuck. “I'm here, Clark. I'm not a vision. I'm not a hallucination. I'm not going to disappear.”
He opened his mouth—to apologize, probably, because apologizing was what he did, was what he'd been training himself to do since he was old enough to understand that his existence was complicated—but you shook your head slightly, your thumbs pressing gently against his lips.
“No,” you said. “Don't. Don't apologize for needing me. Don't apologize for falling apart. You're allowed to fall apart, Clark. You're allowed to be scared and tired and overwhelmed and human, even if you're not—even if you're more than that. Especially because you're more than that. You carry so much. All the time. You never stop. You never let yourself just... be.”
Your hands moved from his face to his hair, pushing back the dark waves that had escaped the gel, your fingers carding through the strands with a tenderness that made his eyes sting.
“So here's what's going to happen,” you continued, and your voice was still soft but there was something underneath it now, something fierce and protective and utterly, utterly sure. “You're going to stand here with me for as long as you need to. And I'm going to hold you. And you're going to feel me—every part of me—and you're going to let yourself believe that I'm real.”
You took one of his hands—his stupid, heavy, dangerous hands, the hands that could punch through steel and crush diamonds—and pressed it flat against your chest, right over your heart.
“Feel that?” you asked.
He felt it. Of course he felt it. He could feel the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his palm, could feel the expansion of your lungs with every breath, could feel the warmth of your blood moving through your veins. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever felt.
“That's me,” you said. “That's my heart. It's beating because I'm alive, Clark. I'm alive, and I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not for a very, very long time, if I have anything to say about it.”
“But you can't promise that,” he whispered, and the words came out broken, aching, almost childish and he didn’t stop himself. “I can't protect you from everything. I couldn't in the visions. I tried, and I couldn't, and what if—what if one day—”
“Then we'll deal with that day if it comes.” Your voice was firm, unyielding, nothing like the soft, soothing tone from before. This was the voice you used when you were drawing a line in the sand, when you were refusing to let him spiral any further. “But it's not today, Clark. Today, I'm here. Right now, I'm here. And you're here. And we're together, and we're alive, and we love each other, and that's enough. That has to be enough, because it's all we have.”
You lifted his hand from your chest and pressed a kiss to his palm, right in the center, your lips warm and soft against his skin. Then you turned his hand over and kissed his knuckles, one by one, a slow and deliberate ritual.
“These hands,” you said between kisses. “These hands have caught airplanes. These hands have held up buildings. These hands have saved the world more times than I can count.” You looked up at him, and your eyes were shining. “But do you know what my favorite thing about these hands is?”
He shook his head, not trusting his voice.
“They hold me,” you said simply. “They hold me when I'm sad. They hold me when I'm scared. They hold me when I'm happy and when I'm angry and when I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open. They hold me like I'm something precious, something worth protecting. And every time you hold me, I feel safe. Not because you're Superman. Because you're you. Because you're the man who loves me.”
A tear slipped down his cheek. You caught it with your thumb, wiping it away like it was nothing, like it didn't matter that he was crying in front of you for the second time tonight.
“I love you,” you said, and the words were so simple, so small, and yet they filled every empty space in his chest. “I love you, Clark Kent. I love the reporter and the hero and the farm boy from Kansas. I love the man who burns toast and leaves socks on the floor and cries at dog commercials. I love the man who showed up on my terrace tonight in his Superman suit because he was scared and he needed me. I love all of you. Every broken, beautiful piece.”
Clark let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours. The tension in his shoulders—the tension he hadn't even realized was there until this moment—began to ease. The images were still lurking at the edges of his mind, but they seemed dimmer now, less urgent, like nightmares fading in the light of morning.
You stepped back just enough to look at him properly, your hands sliding down to rest on his hips. Your eyes traveled over him—the suit, the cape, the S-shield—and instead of fear or uncertainty, he saw something else. Something that looked like wonder. Like acceptance. Like love, pure and simple and absolute.
"You know," you said, and your voice was lighter now, teasing at the edges, “I've always wondered what this suit would feel like. Before meeting you, of course.”
Despite everything—despite the nightmares and the panic and the tears—Clark felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Your fingers traced the edge of the S-shield, following the curve of the symbol. “It's softer than I expected. I always imagined it would be... I don't know. Hard. Impenetrable.”
“It is,” he said. “Impenetrable, I mean. Mostly.”
“Hmm.” You looked up at him through your lashes, and there was something in your expression now that made his breath catch for an entirely different reason. “And yet I can still feel you through it. Still feel how warm you are. Still feel your heart beating.” Your palm pressed flat against his chest, right over the symbol. “Still feel how much you love me.”
Clark's hands came up to cover yours, pressing them more firmly against his chest. “I don't know how to explain how much I love you,” he said, and his voice was raw but steady now. “I don't have words big enough. I don't have gestures grand enough. I just... I love you. I love you in ways I didn't know I could love someone. I love you in ways that scare me, because it's so much, and if I ever lost it—if I ever lost you—”
“You won't,” you said, and it wasn't a promise—not really, not one either of you could guarantee—but it was close enough. It was hope, and sometimes hope was all anyone had.
You rose up on your toes and kissed him, soft and slow and sweet. It wasn't the desperate, frantic kiss you always have. This was something else. Something that felt like a vow. Like a benediction. Like you were trying to pour every ounce of love you felt into him through the simple press of your lips.
When you pulled back, your eyes were bright, and your smile was the one he fell in love with—the one that crinkled the corners of your eyes and made him feel like he'd come home.
You kissed him again.
But now, it wasn't a gentle kiss, not the soft, sweet kind you usually shared over morning coffee or lazy Sunday afternoons. This was urgent, desperate, your mouth slanting over his like you were trying to pull the pain out of him through sheer proximity. Your fingers tangled in his hair, not caring that the gel he used to keep it tamed was probably leaving residue on your palms, and you kissed him until he forgot how to breathe.
When you finally pulled back, your eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I'm here,” you said, fierce and quiet all at once. “I'm right here, Clark. I'm not going anywhere.”
He made a sound—something broken, something grateful—and kissed you again. And again. And again, each kiss softer than the last, until he was just pressing his lips to your forehead, your temples, the corner of your mouth, the pulse point at your throat where your heartbeat still sang its steady, beautiful rhythm against his skin.
“I love you,” he said against your neck. The words felt too small for the enormity of what he felt, but they were all he had. “God, I love you so much.” He murmurs, nipping at your neck. “Can I take you to bed?,” he said softly, and his voice had shifted into something lower now, something that made his stomach tighten. “Please. I need—I need to feel you. All of you.” All you did was nod and that, besides that look in your eyes, was all he needed.
He started to lift you—one arm under your knees, the other around your back, the way he always did because he could and because you made that delighted sound every single time—but you pressed a hand to his chest and stopped him.
“No,” you said, and there was a new edge to your voice. Something determined. Something that made him pause, his hands stilling on your hips. “No, Clark. Tonight, I was going to—I was going to take care of you.” Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, right over where his heart was hammering. “When I saw you standing there, in the suit, looking like you'd seen a ghost—I thought, “okay. I've got this. I'm going to hold him. I'm going to love him. I'm going to make him forget every single terrible thing he saw tonight”.”
His throat tightened. “Sweetheart—”
“But then you kissed me.” Your voice softened, your thumbs tracing small circles against his chest. “And I felt how much you needed this. Needed me. Not in a way that I could fix by being on top, or by taking control. You needed to hold me. You needed to feel me underneath you, alive and warm and yours.” You looked up at him, and your eyes were so full of love that it almost hurt to meet them. “So I'm not going to fight you for it. But I am going to get this suit off you first.”
Clark blinked. “What?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth—the first real smile he'd seen from you since he'd arrived, and god, it was like watching the sun come out after months of rain. “You heard me, Kent.” Your hands moved to the clasp of his cape, fingers working with a determination he'd only ever seen you apply to stubborn jar lids and particularly difficult crossword puzzles. “I love you. I love that you showed up here like this, that you trusted me enough to come to me when you were falling apart. But I am not having sex with you while you're wearing enough spandex to make a 1980s rock band jealous.”
A surprised laugh escaped him—shaky, wet, still caught somewhere between a sob and actual humor. “It's not spandex. It's a Kryptonian combat weave—”
“I don't care if it's woven from the beard hairs of Zeus himself,” you interrupted, finally managing to unhook the cape and letting it pool to the floor in a dramatic puddle of red. “It's coming off.”
And just like that, something in his chest loosened. Just a little. Just enough for him to remember that this was you, that you'd never once treated him like a symbol or a savior, that you'd always been more interested in the man beneath the armor than the armor itself.
“Help me with the boots,” you said, already reaching for the zipper on the side of his right boot, and Clark found himself sinking onto the edge of the couch, letting you kneel in front of him and pull each boot off with a kind of focused intensity that made his heart ache.
You worked in silence for a moment, the only sounds the soft rasp of fabric and your steady breathing. When both boots were off—thrown unceremoniously into the corner, where they landed with two heavy thuds—you looked up at him, and your hands came to rest on his knees.
“Stand up,” you said softly.
He stood and you rose with him, your hands sliding up his thighs to hook your fingers into the waistband of the suit. “Arms up,” you murmured, once you saw it was a two piece suit and he obeyed, lifting his arms above his head as you peeled the top half of the suit off him in one smooth motion. The Kryptonian fabric whispered against his skin, and then he was standing in front of you in nothing but the blue undersuit and you paused, your hands flat against his chest.
“There he is,” you whispered, and your voice cracked just slightly on the last word. “There's my Clark.”
He couldn't speak. Couldn't form words around the lump in his throat. He just stood there, trembling under your touch as your hands explored the landscape of his chest—the scars you'd memorized months ago, the hard planes of muscle, the places where his heartbeat pulsed warm against your palm.
“Let me see all of you,” you said, and it wasn't a demand. It was a question, soft and open, and Clark nodded because he couldn't say no to you. Not tonight. Not ever.
You peeled the undersuit off him slowly, almost reverently, your knuckles brushing against his stomach, his hips, the sensitive skin at his sides. When it pooled at his feet and he stepped out of it, leaving him in nothing but his briefs—black, plain, the kind he bought in multipacks from the department store because who was going to see them anyway—you made a sound low in your throat that made his cock twitch.
“Beautiful,” you breathed, and your hands were on him again, tracing the lines of his hips, the jut of his hipbones, the soft trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his briefs. “You're so beautiful, Clark.”
“Sweetheart, mmhm I—” His voice came out strangled.
“Shh.” You pressed a finger to his lips, then replaced it with your mouth, kissing him slow and deep. “You said you needed to take care of me tonight. So take me to bed. But I want you naked when you do it. I want to feel you—all of you—nothing between us.”
He lifted you then—finally, finally—and you wrapped your legs around his waist with a quiet moan, your center pressing against the thin fabric of his briefs, and he could feel how warm you were, how ready, and it took every ounce of his considerable self-control not to just take you against the wall right there.
The walk to your bedroom was short but eternal. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, fast and steady, and your mouth was on his neck, your teeth scraping against the sensitive skin just below his jaw, and by the time he laid you down on the bed, he was so hard it was almost painful.
You reached for the hem of his sweatshirt—the one you were wearing, the one that still smelled faintly of him underneath your shampoo—and pulled it over your head in one fluid motion. You weren't wearing anything underneath, and Clark made a sound like a wounded animal at the sight of you, bare and beautiful and spread out on the sheets like an offering.
“Clark.” Your voice was soft but steady. "”our briefs. Off. Now.”
He couldn't help the broken laugh that escaped him. “Bossy tonight.”
“You almost died in a who knows where and then watched me die a thousand times in your head,” you said, and your eyes were serious now, deep and unwavering. “I think I'm allowed to be bossy.” A pause. “Besides, you're the one who wanted to take care of me. Can't do that if you're not even undressed yet.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down, his cock springing free, hard and flushed and already leaking against his stomach. Your eyes dropped to it, and your lips parted, and Clark felt a surge of heat so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet.
“Come here,” you said, reaching for him. “Come here, I need you, honey.”
He crawled onto the bed, settling over you, his weight braced on his forearms so he wouldn't crush you. The contact was overwhelming—skin to skin, chest to chest, his cock pressing against your thigh—and you both groaned at the same time.
“I kept hearing your heartbeat stop,” he admitted, the words spilling out of him in a whisper as he pressed his forehead to yours. “In the visions. It would just... stop. And I would scream, and it wouldn't start again, and I couldn't—” He pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in. “You have to understand. I've heard things. Seen things. In all my years doing this, I've witnessed horrors that would break most people. But nothing—nothing—has ever hurt like watching you die.”
Your hands slid down his back, fingers digging into the muscles there, pulling him closer. “I'm here,” you said, and your voice was steady even though your eyes were wet. “Feel my heartbeat, Clark. Feel it.”
He did. He pressed his ear to your chest, right over your heart, and listened. thrum-thrum, thump-thump. Steady and strong and real. Your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, and he felt the vibration of your voice through your ribcage as you spoke.
“I love you,” you said into the quiet. “I love you, I love you, I love you. That heartbeat is yours. It's always been yours. Every single beat, from the moment we met until the moment I die—and I'm not dying tonight, Clark, I'm not dying anytime soon—every single one of them is for you.”
He kissed his way down your body. Slowly. Deliberately. Each kiss a confirmation, a reassurance, a tiny prayer of gratitude. He kissed the spot where your pulse beat at the base of your throat. He kissed the hollow between your collarbones. He kissed the swell of your breasts, took one nipple into his mouth, and you arched beneath him with a cry that went straight to his cock.
“Clark, mmhm oh fuck”
He sucked gently, then harder when your fingers tightened in his hair, and your other hand scrabbled at the sheets like you were trying to anchor yourself. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and your hips were rolling against his, your wetness slick against his stomach.
“Please,” you gasped. “Please, Clark, I need you inside me—”
He lifted his head, looking down at you. Your eyes were dark, your lips parted, your chest heaving. You were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he'd seen galaxies born and die.
“Not yet,” he said, and his voice was rough but steady now. “I'm not done taking care of you.”
He kissed lower, trailing his mouth down your sternum, your stomach, the soft curve of your belly. When he reached the waistband of your pajama shorts—the tiny cotton ones you wore to bed, the ones with the little strawberries on them that made him smile every single time—he hooked his fingers into them and pulled them down your legs along with your underwear, tossing them somewhere behind him.
And then you were bare beneath him, open and wanting, and Clark settled between your thighs like he was coming home.
He kissed the inside of your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher, and higher, until his breath was hot against your center and you were shaking, your hands fisting in the sheets.
“Clark—”
“Shh,” he murmured, and then he licked you—one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—and the sound you made was enough to bring him to his knees if he hadn't already been there.
You tasted like heaven. Like home. Like everything he'd been desperate for since the first nightmare had taken hold. He buried his face between your thighs and worshipped you, his tongue drawing patterns on your clit, his fingers sliding inside you and curling just so, and you were crying out his name, your hips bucking against his mouth. He loves spending his time with you, licking, sucking and sometimes his teeth are involved.
“That's it,” he murmured against you, and the vibration made you whimper. “Let me hear you, my love. Let me feel you. I need to know you're real, sweetheart, I need to feel you come apart for me—”
You came with a shattered cry, your whole body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his head, and Clark didn't stop. He licked you through it, gentler now, softer, until you were pushing at his shoulders with trembling hands.
“Too much,” you gasped. “Too much, honey, I can't handle more.”
He crawled back up your body, kissing you so you could taste yourself on his lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and he could feel your heart hammering against his chest.
“I love you,”he said, and it came out like a prayer. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much, baby.”
“Then fuck me,” you said, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “Please, Clark, I need to feel you deep inside.”
He reached between you, positioning himself at your entrance, and paused. Looked down at you. Your eyes were wet, your face flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses. You looked utterly wrecked, and utterly here, and something in his chest cracked open and healed all at once.
“Talk to me,” he said, and his voice was raw. “While I'm inside you. I need to hear your voice. I need to know you're with me.”
“I'm with you,” you said, and your hands cupped his face, pulling him down until your foreheads touched. “I'm always with you, Clark. Now please—”
He pushed inside you. Slowly. So slowly. Inch by agonizing inch, watching your face the whole time—the way your eyes fluttered shut, the way your lips parted, the way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered how to say. When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt inside your heat, he stopped. Just held there, letting you both adjust, letting himself feel every pulse and flutter of your body around him.
“Gosh,” he breathed. “Oh Gosh, you feel so good, my love.”
“I know.” Your voice was wrecked. “I know. Move, Clark. Please.”
He pulled back and thrust forward, and the sound you made was obscene, perfect, the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. He set a rhythm—slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust a reaffirmation that you were here, you were alive, you were his.
“I watched you die,” he said, and the words came out between thrusts, ragged and raw. “I watched you die in a hospital bed. I watched you die in a car crash. I watched you die in something that could be our shared home.” His voice broke, and he thrust deeper, and you moaned. “I watched a man shoot you in the chest while I was standing right there, and I couldn't—I couldn't, oh damn.”
“Clark.” Your hands were everywhere—his face, his shoulders, his back, pulling him closer, holding him like you could keep him from flying apart. “I'm here. I'm here. Feel me—feel me, honey.”
He did. He felt the way you clenched around him, the way your nails dug into his shoulders, the way your heels pressed into the backs of his thighs, urging him deeper. He felt your heartbeat thrumming against his chest, faster now, matching the rhythm of his hips. He felt the wetness on his cheeks—tears, his or yours, he couldn't tell anymore—and the warmth of your breath against his neck.
“You're so beautiful,” he said, and he was crying now, actually crying, the tears falling onto your face and mixing with yours. “You're so beautiful and I can't lose you, I can't—”
“You won't.” You kissed his tears, your mouth soft and desperate against his cheeks, his eyelids, the corner of his lips. “You won't lose me, Clark. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'm right here, I'm right here, I'm always here.”
Your words became a chant, a mantra, a prayer, and Clark fucked you through it, hard and deep and desperate, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles.
“Come for me,” he said, and it wasn't a request. “Come for me, sweetheart, I need to feel you—I need to know you're real, that you’re here, that you’re mine.”
You shattered. Came apart around him with a cry that was almost a scream, your body convulsing, your inner walls clenching around him like a vice, and Clark followed you over the edge with a groan that was torn from somewhere deep in his chest. He spilled inside you, wave after wave, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go.
For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing. Nothing but the sound of your hearts—his steady and strong, yours fast and fluttering—and the rustle of sheets as you both trembled through the aftershocks.
Clark collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, your head tucked under his chin and your legs tangled with his. He could feel your tears on his chest, could hear the little hitches in your breath as you cried, and he held you tighter, his lips pressed to the top of your head.
“I'm sorry,” he said after a long moment, his voice muffled by your hair. “For showing up like this. For—for dumping all of that on you. You didn't sign up for all this mess, baby.”
“Stop.” Your hand pressed flat against his chest, right over his heart. “Don't you dare apologize. Not for this. Not for needing me.” You tilted your head back to look at him, and your eyes were red-rimmed but fierce. “I signed up for all of you, Clark Kent. The good days and the bad ones. The nightmares and the morning coffee. The cape and the glasses. You don't get to hide parts of yourself from me just because you think they're inconvenient or scary or too much.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. “I love you,” he said, because the words were inadequate but they were all he had. “I love you more than I know how to say.”
You smiled—that soft, devastating smile that had undone him from the very first moment he'd seen it—and snuggled closer, your ear pressed over his heart.
“Then show me,” you said quietly. “Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Clark looked down at you—at the tear tracks on your cheeks, the love in your eyes, the way your body was pressed against his like you were trying to crawl inside his skin and stay there—and he felt something shift. Something settle. Something that felt like hope.
“I will,” he said, and his voice was steady now. Certain. “Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Outside, the city hummed its endless night-song. Inside, wrapped in each other and the quiet aftermath of love, Clark Kent let himself believe that everything might just be okay.
He had you, after all. And that was enough. That was everything. You are his everything.
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
