Kay. She/her. 23. Brazil. “Never be cruel. Never be cowardly. Remember, hate is always foolish and love is always wise. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind.”
“People should pass a test before being allowed to have kids.” “Isn’t it scary how white people have this inborn capacity for evil?” “I’ll never pass because males and females have different skull shapes.” “Autistic people have a stronger sense of justice than anyone else.” “I don’t want AMABs in my space because they’re dangerous.” “You shouldn’t have access to hormones if you dress like THAT.” “Anyone who does something that awful isn’t human.” “Some people really shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”
This is eugenics. This is phrenology. THIS IS NAZI SHIT, YOU ARE A LEFTIST BUYING INTO NAZI SHIT. YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO NAZI SHIT.
you have to be in a certain specific mood to listen to classic rock because sometimes a guy is playing his guitar and you're just like shut the fuck up man
"You're not always nice but you're kind. And you're not perfect but you're good,"
Supergirl 2026 CHANGED me, please don't listen to assholes online who tell you not to see it. Especially if you're a girl or a young woman- this movie is for you.
I like that Supergirl says it’s okay to kill someone’s abuser so long as you don’t let the thirteen year old do it and I like that Supergirl says vengeance will not solve things but neither will allowing a cycle of violence to continue
washing dishes is evil because you go "oh fuck there's so many dishes this is gonna take foreverrr" and then you enter the dish abyss and emerge with your abdomen somehow covered in water and your hands all wrinky and then you look at the clock and what felt like half an hour was actually 10 minutes
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when fear sends you rushing to Brendon, and he drops everything the moment he hears your voice.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
No one could really blame you for panicking; it was your first time pregnant, after all.
The shift had been normal up until that point, busy, but manageable. The ED was buzzing around in its usual controlled chaos. Monitors chimed, nurses exchanged quick updates at the desk, and the faint antiseptic smell clung to everything.
It grounded you.
It was familiar.
Until it wasn’t.
It was a sudden, sharp movement that made you stop mid-step.
The strange, unfamiliar sensation had your hands flying to your stomach, fingers pressing instinctively like you could hold whatever it was in place.
Then it happened again, and stronger this time. For a moment, it felt like you forgot how to breathe.
Something was wrong.
Seriously wrong.
Your mind races through all of the worst possibilities faster than you could stop it.
You needed him.
You needed to get Brendon.
He was here- you’d seen him earlier, stepping out of the elevator, giving you that easy wink like everything was fine. It was fine.
You needed him now.
This thought alone sent you rushing down the hall, your pace uneven, one arm wrapped protectively around your stomach as you checked trauma room after trauma room. But you couldn’t seem to find him, and your panic was getting worse.
It wasn't until you reached Room One that you finally saw him, blue scrubs through the glass.
Brendon.
Dr. Park.
The doors slid open, and you hovered at the entranceway, suddenly unsure how to interrupt.
Inside was chaos.
A full trauma team moved around the bed with urgency, blood-stained gauze piling up, voices overlapping as they worked. It was intense, but it was routine for a trauma case.
Normally, you’d step in without hesitation.
Right now, you couldn’t move. You were here for one person, and it wasn’t the patient.
He didn’t see you yet, clearly too busy examining the leg resting on a bed of ice.
Robby did.
“We got it handled in here,” he started automatically, but the words died the second he really looked at you.
Your posture was rigid, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like you were trying to hold everything together, tears sitting at your waterline, pain written all over your face.
A resident followed Robby’s gaze and stepped toward you. “Hey, are you okay—”
The movement only made you shrink back further.
Your eyes never left Brendon.
“I need Dr. Park,” you whispered.
The resident frowned, confused, turning slightly. “Dr. Park?”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Brendon snapped, not even looking up as he worked.
“Brendon…”
It was soft. Barely there.
But it cut through everything for him.
His hands stilled instantly, still holding the detached leg mid-exam, his grip steady out of pure habit, but everything else about him froze.
Then his head snapped up.
Fast.
His eyes locked onto you through the chaos, and just like that, something small shifted in his expression. The clinical focus, the distance he kept during cases, vanished, replaced by concern and fear.
“Page Garcia,” he said sharply, already moving, carefully setting the leg back down onto the ice without a second glance. “Prep for surgery, she can handle this.”
The room barely had time to react.
He was already stepping away, tearing his gloves off with a quick, practiced motion, his gaze never leaving you, as if he was making sure you were still there.
A resident blinked, completely thrown. “Wait, what the hell—?”
“Robby’s got it,” Brendon cut in, not even turning back.
It wasn’t up for discussion.
Robby jumped right in, because the look on Park the Shark's face said more than enough; only one thing ever outranked a patient on the table.
And for him, it was standing in the doorway.
His grip on your hand was firm, steady, as he pulled you down the hall, one hand braced at your back, making you stayed with him.
“Brendon-” your voice broke, panic still spilling over, your steps uneven as you tried to keep up.
“I got you, sweetheart,”
He brings you into the nearest empty room, guiding you inside before the door swings shut behind you, cutting off the chaos of the ED in one swift motion.
The quiet hit instantly.
It was too quiet with your racing thoughts.
Your breathing, that seemed to settle when you first saw him, picked up again, your grip tightening on his scrubs as the panic rushed back in.
“Hey-hey,” Brendon said, cupping your face gently. “Look at me.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed. “Something’s wrong. I felt something, Brendon, I swear, it didn't feel right-”
“Hey.” His voice dropped, stricter now. “Eyes on me.”
It took you a moment before you fully looked at him, your breathing now starting to slow down. The tension in your chest was starting to ease.
“Tell me,” he said gently. “What happened?”
You swallowed hard. “I was just walking to a patient, and I felt this sharp movement, and then it happened again, and I just–” your voice wavered, “-panicked. I thought that something might be wrong with the baby.”
The stone-cold Shark assessed you like prey: reading, calculating, missing nothing.
And then something in him gave.
A small, almost fond smile tugged at his lip.
“Sweetheart…” he said quietly, one hand sliding down to rest over yours where it was still pressed to your stomach. He stilled for a second, feeling it. “That’s the baby.”
You blinked, still catching your breath. “What?”
“That’s the baby kicking,” he said gently, warmth settling into his voice. “First time, it can feel a little intense.”
You stared at him, trying to process the information when it happened again.
Your body tensed, breath skipping, but Brendon just let out a laugh, his hand pressing more securely over yours.
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again. “That.”
“That’s… the baby?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he nodded, voice warm and steady. “That’s our baby.”
The words settled differently this time.
Our baby.
Your grip on him changed, not desperate, just holding on.
A shaky laugh slipped out of you. And you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his chest as refleaf flooded you.
“I just thought... something was really wrong,” you admitted quietly.
“I know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you close. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
His hand moved gently over your stomach again, slower now, like he was feeling it with you.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a second, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “I pulled you out of a trauma-”
“Hey,” he cut in softly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him. “Don’t.”
Your eyes met his.
“I’d rather you come get me a hundred times over nothing,” he said quietly, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, “than stay out there when something might be wrong.”
His expression softened even more.
“I need to know you’re okay,” he added, gentler now. “Both of you.”
Your breath caught slightly at that.
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment.
“Always come get me,” he murmured.
For a second, you just stayed there, tucked into him, arms loosely around his waist, letting yourself settle, letting the last of the panic melt away in his warmth.
Then, quieter now, almost thoughtful, you said, “You know… You still have time to make it up to surgery.”
He pulled back slightly, brows lifting just a bit. “You sure?”
You nodded, a small smile finally forming. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Another small movement hit, and this time you didn’t flinch, just glanced down briefly before looking back up at him.
“Go,” you added, softer but teasing now. “Go save a leg.”
That earned a quiet huff of a laugh from him.
“Yeah?” he said, studying you for one more second, like he was making absolutely sure.
“Yeah,” you reassured, nudging him lightly. “Go kick some ass, Dr. Park.”
He smirked at that, something warm and proud in it.
“Well,” he said, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to your forehead, “at least we know where the baby gets it from.”
You let out a soft laugh as he stepped back, already shifting back into surgeon mode.
And as he reached the door, he glanced back at you once more.
Just to be sure.
You smiled at him, resting your hand over your stomach, feeling the soft movement again, but this time with nothing but quiet awe.
I saw this on insta and someone commented asking her how she knew they were in there and she said that she saw the mama duck with only one duckling and thought it was suspicious so she stopped to check and hear them quacking down there... :') <3
Description: Alexa, play ‘manchild’ by Sabrina. Or, 3 times Jack notices the incompetency of your new boyfriend and gets annoyed, and 1 time he does something about it.
Tags/warnings: big age gap (r is in 20's and abbot is 50), "ive got tattoos older than you" gets said, yes he has tats bcos i said so, size diff, mentions of concussion, medical inaccuracies (idk shit), (1) allusion to reader having a choking kink (💀), r has a used to have a massive crush on him, made ellis a lesbian bcos ofc, abbot life's goal is to make fun of r's bf, flirting (so much), bit of yearner!jack & dom!jack vibes, gets dialogue heavy at the end, angsty fights & confessions, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos, i use loads of em dashes (dont even compare me to chatgpt bcos im better), pet names: kid, kiddo, sweetheart
Note: tysm for the love on my first ff, it means the world to me. Writing something longer made me lose all objectivity, and I genuinely cannot tell if it's good or great or whatever. Please give me feedback (PERSONALLY). Again, I tried to keep r neutral but you might see mentions of r having hair.
Enjoy. This is for the ones with a competency kink. And for the ones who def wanted him to call you “kid.” and the ones who love silver foxes (get checked) (ur girl incl)
1
“I told him not to take me here,” you mutter to Jack, who's checking for tenderness in your neck, his thick fingers pressing against the side, while you try not to think of his hands on your neck in a very different context.
“Let him. Something the boy can do right, hm?”
After checking for initial symptoms — making you walk in a straight line, and balancing yourself on a single foot, you're subjugated to the very hands-on physical examination. You're suddenly wondering how other patients remain composed when Dr. Abbot touches them like this.
Well, usually, attending physicians don't do a history check or a physical exam, but this one does. For you. Probably because you're his staff.
Focus.
You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”
“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.
Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.
“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”
Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”
You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.
God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.
Handsome. Not rugged.
Competent. Doubtful.
Caring. Well, caring enough.
“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.
“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?”
The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —
“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.
He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”
His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat.
Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”
“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?
“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost.
“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.
“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.
Jack huffs. “Just go.”
You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.
Well.
Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.
As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.
“Penlight. Incoming.”
You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.
You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.
The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.
“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.
“Nick seems like a good guy.”
“Noah.”
“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”
You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.
“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”
“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”
A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.
“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.
“Yes, you just sai —”
“Only care about yours.”
That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.
Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.
You quickly regain your senses to retort.
“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.
“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.
The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”
You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.
Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”
"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."
"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.
"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.
"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."
He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”
“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after.
“She prefers lattes, by the way.”
2
Bzzzzzzz
“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”
Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.
Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today.
“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.
“Yolanda, you listen to music?”
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”
Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second.
“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”
Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.
“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.
“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.
“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”
Huh, Strange.
***
The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —
Bzzzzzzzzz.
You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”
The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.
You hate loud. So much.
You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.
Look at you being fiscally responsible.
“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you.
Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.
“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys.
“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.
“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks.
In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.
You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.
Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”
“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”
Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”
“Only women?”
“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”
“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush.
In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face.
You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."
“Oh, I tried.”
You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”
“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —
“Did he forget his Roblox password?”
You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.
“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.
Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”
You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.
You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.
You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.
You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.
Does he want you to hold…?
“Your phone, nurse.”
Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.
“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”
His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.
“You're not a teenager.”
“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.
Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.
Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.
“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.
He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”
With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.
Kid.
You need a chair.
3
“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.
“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.
Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.
You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.
“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.
Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”
“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.
Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.
“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”
You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.
“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.
“How much is a while?”
This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.
“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.
“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.
It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.
You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left.
“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.
“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.
You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear.
Is nobody watching this?
You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.
His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.
“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair.
Oh. Oh. OH.
“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.
You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.
***
You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.
“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.
“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”
“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.
Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.
“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”
“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”
“Thanks, sir.”
A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”
“Hm?”
“Where he took you. Nick.”
“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.
“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”
“What?”
He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.
“I'm an anything person, really.”
Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.
“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.
Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.
“I know.”
He says your name.
Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.
Please say my name again.
“I know, kid.”
“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another.
You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.
You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.
By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.
“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”
Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.
You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though.
Desperation.
You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.
+1
“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.
You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.
The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”
“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.
Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.
Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.”
For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.
No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.
You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier.
Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.
Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?
As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.
Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”
The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.
9 missed calls from Noah.
“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.
“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.
“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”
“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.
“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”
You take a deep breath.
“What do you want?”
“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”
“No.”
“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”
That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.
“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears.
When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.
You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”
“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.
You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.
This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!
Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.
You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”
The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.
“Jesus, Jack.”
“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.
Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.
“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.
“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”
“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”
“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.
“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.
“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.
In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.
“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”
He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.
“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.
“I know that. Do you?”
“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.
“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.
Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.
Nurse, there's people that are dying.
“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.
“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”
Sweetheart.
“You're killing me.”
“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders.
A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.
“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”
You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.
The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.
“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.
Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.
“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.
Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.
“I asked you something, kid.”
You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes.
And, oh.
His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.
He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.
“You can continue yelling at me now.”
In and out. Deep breath.
“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.
“As I said —”
“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.
A pause.
“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.
“Jac —”
“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”
His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.
“Me? What about me?”
He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”
You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip.
He thinks that?
Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.
“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.
He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.
“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.
“What? You're my senior, you're older —”
He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.
“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."
You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.
You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.
You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.
“Why haven't you sent it?”
“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”
Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.
“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”
With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.
His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”
Deep breath. In and out.
You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow.
Send.
You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him.
You did that. You.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.
He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.
But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”
“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.
“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.
“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”
You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.
Fuck.
Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.
Just as you try to move your lips against his —
“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle.
“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.
His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt.
“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.
“That's a lot.”
“What can I say? I like paying for things.”
His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.
Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later.
“One hand, wow.”
“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”
He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.
He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.
You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.
“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.
“Yes, doctor.”
He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his.
“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.
“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.
“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.
“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.
“Yes, doctor”
“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.
Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.
I enjoyed writing this sm, and i hope you lovely people do too. again, feel free to glaze me in asks, comments, and dms. likes and reblogs appreciated much <3 i also need to know if yall blushed reading this, if yes, WHEN
superman? what a groundbreaking discovery - clark kent
⋆☀︎. summary: of course. of course, you develop a crush on superman. a crush on superman? you're really pushing boundaries...what are you gonna tell clark? (he is never going to let you live this down)
⋆☀︎. wc: 2,205 | m.list
⋆☀︎. tags: gn!reader, dramatic!reader, smug!clark, reader has a lot of word vomit, crack, fluff, established relationship, identity shenanigans, swearing, mentions of infidelity (doesn't happen), jokes about walking off a roof, reader implied to be on the aro spectrum (demi) so they're really confused, just a tiny, tiny dig on avatar (2009)
⋆☀︎. inspo taken from this post!!!!!
a/n: happy one year anniversary to the movie that literally changed my life!!!!!!! so much has happened because of this movie, i made so many friends and become apart of such an amazing community and i just wanted to celebrate that with a fic about me being mad that im attracted to david corenswet!!! its insane how ive been insane about him for my entire legal adult life (exactly a year), cannot wait to be this insane for the rest of my life!
The feeling of queasiness and overall sense of dread seemed to be course through you no matter how much you try to clamp it down.
Your lips now raw from the constant picking at the dry barrier formed around them as you continue to pace atop the Daily Planet, the city under you still alive as ever. The sun had only begun to set over Metropolis, the only signal that the busy news room had cleared out already and evidence that you've been up there way too long. It's been hours since you talked to Kal and right now?
Oh, you were pissed off.
Absolutely livid.
"Hey."
You can already envision the dopey smile spread across his face, his eyes twinkling in a way that always seems to send your knees wobbling every time he catches your eye.
Even though the sudden appearance of your lovely boyfriend was a comfort you needed right now, the idea of Clark only spread more guilt throughout your body. Your pace only seemed speed up at the sound of his voice, you can only imagine the look on his face right now as you try to control your breathing with shaky inhales.
All this was supposed to be an amicable relationship, a comfort to when you couldn't seem to stay asleep at ungodly hours of the night —unwilling to wake up Clark from his slumber for something so little— and companionship to the hero of Metropolis when the night was slow and lonely. That's all it was supposed to be. Especially, when the sweet, dorky, and absolutely perfect farm boy was already yours.
God, how did this happen.
How could you do this to Clark?
Something pulls your hand away from your mouth, just before you could rip another piece off. Your brain seems to clear as you feel a hand side onto your waist, stopping you from wearing down a path on the roof even more.
The haze of anger, confusion, and guilt that seemed to surround you almost completely disappears as you feel a warm, stable beat of the heart you've devoted so much time learning and memorizing the song of under the pads of your fingers. Your heart begins to match its rhythm as Clark wraps around you, shielding the rest of the world.
The low timbre of his voice fills the space as he hums a small tune, if only to center your brain on him and not whatever is on your mind.
"What's going on in that beautiful brain of yours?" Clark softly asks as a smile grows across his face with a tilt of his head, "I know it's not nothing."
Anger flares up again, fanning the flames at a particular man of steel as warm, gentle hands move to cradle your head. Blue eyes seem to soften the burn as they crinkle with concern.
"C'mon, you know you can tell me ."
Nevermind, guilt is also back on the table.
"It's genuinely nothing," you muffle as you tuck yourself deeper into his chest. Hands creating wrinkles as you take fistfuls of his crisp shirt, just to avoid those same eyes.
Your jaw starts to clench as more thoughts seems to zoom across your mind. Of fucking course, it's fucking Superman. His name is literally fucking Super. Man. How cliche of you. Is bread the best thing you've ever tasted? Oh, you're attracted to a man with big muscles, a kind smile, and the symbol of all that is good in the world? Call the press because you've got a groundbreaking story right here.
And the cherry on top of all of that, your boyfriend seems to be the only reporter in the city that has a rapport with him, someone that he trusts.
"You really think I believe that?"
"Can you just believe it for now?"
"Nope."
You pull away with a drawn out groan, his laugh lingering in the background as you restart your route around the area.
Ok, it's not like you have to see him everyday, well in person that is. This is what you were training for, you can just avoid Kal. All this will go away if you just stay in your bedroom and not venture out when you can't sleep, simple, succinct. You'll never need to address the familiar feelings that usually only sprout with Clark that are now starting to grow when you're with him as well. Nor will you need to address the confusing feeling that started to grow into another thing when he decided to absentmindedly and softly kiss you when he had to leave last night. Which obviously made you like this now, so now you never need to address it! Great! Then you can just live your wonderful life with your wonderful boyfriend who you love and adore and the two of you'll go off and-
"Honey, I can hear your thoughts from over here," Clark chuckled, now settled next to the bags you carelessly tossed to the floor in a haste to try and stop your racing heart, "I promise you it can't be that-"
You fold under absolutely no pressure.
"I have a stupid crush on Superman, ok?!"
You huff, pretty much throwing yourself to the ground next to Clark, "It's ruining my life."
The silence from the man next to you sends nausea rolling throughout your stomach as you breath through your hands, trying not to freak out.
A silence that lasted way too long for someone like Clark.
You peak through your hands, only to see Clark looking away with puffed cheeks, very obviously trying not to laugh. It's only till he turns back to look at you does a snort escape from him.
"Clark," you whine, "I'm being serious."
"I am too!"
You start to get back on your feet, "That's it, I'm walking off the roof."
"No, come back here," he very easily pulls you back down with a laugh, only for you tuck yourself into his arm, trying to hide your embarrassment.
You can practically hear the smug look on his face, "Now. Superman, you say."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Ok. So, let's talk this through, what about him do you like so much," Clark smiles down at you, "From personal experience, I know your head isn't turned so easily."
Your face could burn a hole into Clark's shirt with how hot you feel as Clark just keeps on pestering you about your life changing discovery.
"I'm not telling my boyfriend about a crush I have on another man," you grumble.
"Humor me."
You peak back up to Clark. No anger, disgust, or even jealousy is evident in his face, only the same face you fell in love with greets you, eyes still bright as it was before. Sure, an annoying smirk is splashed across his face —you have no idea why that's there—, but the same old Clark is staring back at you.
"You like his muscles, don't you?"
"I'm actually going to jump off this building," you pull away from him with fake annoyance, sitting up straight yet still pressed into his side.
Clark snickers besides you, "Oh, so that Superman can hold you in his big, muscular arms."
"No," you snort.
Metropolis starts to fade as you zero into Clark, only Clark. What does Superman have over the kind, bumbling dork you call yours. Powers? A Cape? Nothing can truly compare to what you have right now.
You soften, "Not when you're right here next to me."
A breeze starts to pick up as you lean up and press a small kiss into the corner of his smile. A secret kind of quietness fills the space as the two of you look over the city. Pressed into each others side, you're happy that you chose the man beside you.
"Speaking of Superman…"
You groan, "I thought we dropped it."
"I know, I know, it's just," Clark inhales, "I've been thinking about this for a while, now that you bring him up that is."
"What, you have a crush on the man of steel too? I mean, you might spend more time with him the most besides me, interviews and all."
"Honey, are you having an affair with Superman?"
Oh fuck, "NO, NO, I am NOT. Sometimes I just can't fall asleep and he gets lonely and we just end up talking. Oh my god, Clark, Ipromisenothingisgoingon-"
Clark interrupts, "I know, Honey. Don't worry, I would know if you were having an affair with Superman."
"I mean, yeah, he doesn't seem like someone who would do something like that, I mean I saw him save a squirrel before. You talk to him and there's no way that he would hit on a colleague's partner especia- NOT THAT I WOULD CHEAT ON YOU."
"I know you wouldn't," his voice stopping you from spiraling even further.
"Im just telling that I would know," Clark smiles and with a final exhale, "because I'm Superman."
Pulling off his glasses, the rug is pulled under you as you just blink at him. The haze seemed to be lifted as your brain starts to fill in the blanks and finally connects the final pieces needed for you to catch up.
You fell for Clark. Superman.
Twice.
What the fuck.
Silence seemed to build and you can feel the nervous energy rolling off of Clark. Suddenly springing up from your seat, you return to the route burned into the top of the Daily planet and Clark springs up right behind you almost immediately.
"If you need more evidence, I am more than willing to-"
"You have got to be kidding me."
Clark starts to shrink into himself, "I know you're mad I kept this from you, but you've got to understand, I have a lot of people who want to hurt me and I couldn't drag you int-"
"So you're telling…I fell in love with the poster boy for attractiveness? Not once but twice???"
Clark stops, "What."
"Oh my god, is vanilla my favorite flavor of ice cream? Is Avatar my favorite movie? I fell in love with the symbol for all that is good in the world, twice. Oh my god, call Perry because this is a news worthy story-"
"I don't know whether to be flattered or…"
"The definition of easy on the eyes. I'm over here falling in love with Mr. six-foot-four, chiseled-abs, biceps the size of my head-"
"Good to know that I was right about the muscles thing."
"Has everyone in the world drooling over him, twice. God, I can't believe I fell for the fucking trap, multiple times-"
You pause.
Slowly you turn, marching right up to Clark's stupid, dumb, unbelievably charming face.
"This is un-fucking-believable. You hear me, Smallville? You can't just go and kiss someone when they're sleep deprived and don't know that their boyfriend is Superman."
Flashes of realizations rush across his face that soon settle into understanding. A red flush covers his face as he pulls a hand to rub the back of his neck, "Oh, right that."
"You…"
A small shift in his step makes his nervousness more evident to you, "Are you still mad at me?"
A large sigh escapes you, your hands already reaching up to cup his face. With the sun fully set, only the lights of the buildings around you illuminate the roof. Almost automatically, Clark leans lower, chasing your hold as the two of you perfectly fit against each other, his hands already resting on your waist.
Your eyes flicker over his features, now fully revealed to you. Your hand starts trace through the small differences, the ones that set apart the two lives he was living. His nose a bit sharper, his eyes a little brighter. While your brain was catching up, trying to piece together the two pieces to fit, of course your heart recognized him, how could it not.
Superman may forever belong to the world, but Clark Kent, your Clark, belonged to you.
Your hands settle at the nape of his neck, "No, I'm not. Not really."
A soft hum comes out of his lips as he leans down to rest his forehead on yours. You can't help but laugh as he makes it a point to lock his eyes onto yours.
"You know, I didn't know you had a type."
You can't help but groan.
"Am I really that irresistible to you?" God, you're never going to hear the end of this, "what was it about having biceps the size of your head?"
"I don't want to talk to you right now."
Heat started to run across your body as he continued, "Poster boy for attractiveness, was it you said? Or, or was it the definition of easy on the eyes…"
His voice started to fade as he leaned closer, just to close the gap between the two of you. Right as the gap was about to close, your hand pushes against his chest, just enough to stop him in his tracks.
"Wait a second, I told Superman about your birthday present."
"What's that? Oh no! I can hear a cat stuck in a tree, I guess that's my cue!"
