Sorry That I’m, Like, Your Dream Bride

Fanfiction Enthusiast (18)

[ssunflowerghosts]

M A S T E R L I S T

Hi! This is my masterlist! Here you can find all my works. I will take requests, so go ahead and send them! If you enjoy them, please reblog, share, or like! Thank you for reading!

John Carter (ER 1994)

A Slight Misunderstanding

~Summary: John hears that you slept with one of the biggest jerks he knows, Dave Malucci. You’re not sure why he cares so much, he’s the one who told you it was just casual. Will a confrontation in the lounge and a ride home fix things between you two?

A Moment Alone

~Summary: you and John Carter are secretly dating. You both have fallen into a domestic routine together, but after being separated all day, you can’t keep your hands off each other. A new bra, an interruption, a little (big) problem, and some teasing.

[darthmurdock]

listen, i really try hard not to kink shame bc i have a few brain cells and i understand that fantasies≠reality and all that but i swear, yall are really testing me with this fauxcest/incest shit. i swear every other post is filtered on my end.

don’t get me wrong, i like a good daddy kink bc it’s more of the protection/safety aspect of it but when reader is calling the MMC “dad” and he’s infantilizing/“parenting” them?????

blocked and reported

[drhobby]

ex!husband robby masterlist

in chronological order. f!reader. No y/n, no descriptions of the reader. Requests are open (add a "please" if you don't mind!!) fics of the week are in pink request queue: 17 main masterlist

the chasing (3.2k) - where you introduced yourself to one of your peers, having heard all the rumors about him. he is obsessed with asking you out. (fluff, pre-marriage)

power move (1.6k) - where you see your ex husband flirting and decide to pull a power move to stop it (fluff)

the intervention (1.4k) NEW ! - the pittlings arrange an intervention when they think robby is harassing you (fluff)

the warning (1k) - where you warn your ex husband to stop flirting around (fluff)

the reminder (1.2k) - where one of your kids ends up in the er and robby reminds you why you divorced (angst + comfort)

the vacancy (1k) - where robby finds out you haven't been dating since your divorce (fluff)

nightcall (1.2k) - where after an incident next door, you call robby and ask him to come home (fluff + angst)

the smirk (1.3 k) - where robby finds out you like someone else (angst)

the realization (3.6k) - where robby realizes you are dating someone new (angst)

instagram stories - your ig stories when you start dating

myths (500) - where robby hears all the myths about your boyfriend

the plan (1.5k) - where you realize both your kids are playing matchmaking (fluff)

the anesthesia (2k) - where you end up in the er and confess a thing or two under anesthesia (fluff + angst)

the crush (300) - where you diagnose one of the pittlings to have a crush with the chief

the sabbatical (3.8k) - self explanatory really (fluff + angst)

out of office (500) - where you call robby on day 2 of his sabbatical to ask about a case (fluff)

the "emergency" (1.8k) - where you receive a call from the er saying your kids are there (fluff)

dental evidence (500) - where robby left his dental evidence on your neck (fluff)

playing nice (500) - where you pretend to be great at co-parenting at your daughter's birthday party (fluff)

the old habits (1k) - where you go out with your friends (fluff + smuttish)

the test (1.3k) - where you and robby have a pregnancy scare (angst + comfort)

the vasectomy (900) - NEW ! where you find out robby actually did what you asked him to. always has.

the interrogation (700) - where your kids find you asleep in the morning and interrogate you about your family (fluff)

the gala (800) - where you and robby are forced to attend a gala together (fluff)

big ideas (700) - where robby asks abbot and langdon dating advice (fluff)

the date (1.4k) - NEW ! you and robby go on a date and he asks a big question

the punch (1.2k) - NEW ! you’re assaulted at the ER and Robby tends to your injuries

the new intern (1.2k) - NEW ! where you have a new intern whose specially interested in robby

[drhobby]

the new intern

dr robby x exwife!reader /// the one where you get a new intern and she's specially interested in robby, unaware of your past wc: 1.2 warnings: ageism / the word "daddy" is used for robby make sure to check the masterlist for more toxic content <3

“Stacey, you’re with me,” you called out, heading toward the elevators.

Your new resident followed close behind. She had started only a few days ago, already making a name for herself as sharp and ambitious, with a full year of Ob-Gyn at Presby under her belt. She was a good doctor, undeniably smart, and—as you’d noticed—strikingly beautiful. You’d also witnessed the peculiar phenomenon of the Ortho-Gods suddenly finding reasons to do paperwork on the OB floor whenever she was on shift, a fact she seemed blissfully unaware of.

Once the elevator doors slid shut, you briefed her on the code you’d been called for. “It seems straightforward, but I want you to get a feel for the pitt.”

Stacey’s face lit up, her cheeks flushing pink. “I have to say something first.”

You braced yourself. You knew the drill: Yes, he’s my ex-husband. Yes, we have two kids. Yes, I still love him. But Stacey took the conversation in a direction you hadn't anticipated.

“I am like so excited for this. When I told my attending at Presby I was coming to PTMC, she said, ‘Lucky you, getting to learn emergency medicine from Daddy Robinavitch himself.’ And then, on my first day, I came downstairs and saw him, and... oh my god, he really is a daddy.” She spoke with a sudden, infectious confidence, looking at you with wide, excited eyes, treating you like a best friend sharing hot gossip.

But you weren’t her best friend. So you stared at her, your eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Stacey froze, her face draining of color. “Oh my god. I don’t know why I said that. That was so unprofessional—I’m sorry, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours—I—”

You scoffed, raising a palm to cut off her rambling as the elevator chimed. 

You stepped out into the chaotic hum of the central hub and led her straight to Trauma One. Inside, Robby and Langdon were already mid-discussion. Mel stepped back, allowing you to take the lead after a brief introduction to the patient.

“Can I take the lead?” Stacey asked, her eyes wide with eagerness.

You nodded with a small smile. She jumped into action, moving closer to the gurney to suggest courses of action and assessments (because those were definitely not orders).

“New kid on the block, huh?” Robby asked, his gaze shifting from the patient to you.

“Doctor Stacey Fox, meet the pitt. Pitt, meet Doctor Stacey Fox,” you introduced, unable to resist a little jab. “And this is Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Chief of Emergency Medicine. If you plan on sticking with emergency Ob-Gyn, he’ll be just as much your attending as I am.”

“Mom and Dad,” Langdon teased.

You ignored him, turning your focus back to the monitor. “Signs of pre-eclampsia?”

“No,” your student said, waving a hand. “But she’s forty-two. It’s a risky birth.”

“Why?” you pressed.

“Because she’s… old?”

You stared at her.

“...er?” she tried, grinning weakly.

Beside you, Robby let out a sharp, amused huff.

“Because she could have gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia, or placental complications,” you recited, your voice tight. “Any of those present?”

“None,” Dr. King added.

“Doctor Fox?” you prodded.

“No,” she said, her eyes darting nervously around the room.

Robby leaned in, his voice a low vibration against your ear. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ve got this.”

The glare you shot him could have scorched steel.

“There are other things I’d offer for your stress, but right now, a break’s my best,” he pushed, a teasing, lopsided smirk playing on his lips.

“Fine,” you snapped, taking a step back. “But I’m taking ER Ken.” You gestured with a single finger, and he quickly peeled away the extra layer of latex and scrubs on his way out.

Once you were safely out of the trauma room, Langdon leaned in. “Is Dad coming home soon, Mom?”

You reached the hub, frantically searching for a lollipop in the supply drawers. “Shut up!”

Langdon stepped into your path. “What’s up?”

“Did you know Presby calls him ‘Daddy Robinavitch’?” You gestured toward the room with your thumb once you’d finally unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it into your mouth.

Langdon cackled. “WHAT?”

Your skin crawled as you explained the elevator incident, and to your utter misfortune, he only laughed harder.

“Stop it!” You slapped his arm, though your heart wasn’t in it. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, you know exactly what to do,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes.

“Get back in there and smoooooch your husband.”

“Not funny,” you groaned.

“I’m dead serious!”

“So am I,” you muttered. “Daddy Robinavitch. I made him a daddy.”

Langdon’s expression softened, his gaze shifting to something behind you. “If it makes you feel any better, he only has eyes for you.”

You turned around and caught Robby watching you. His expression wasn't arrogant or teasing; it was raw, soulful, and heavy with a plea you knew too well. Your annoyance dissolved into a tender, involuntary smile.

You saw him turn back to the patient, supervising the procedure. Arms folded on his chest, shoulders squared. You noticed the difference when he looked at you and when he looked at the patient. He went from being your husband; a warm, soft, loving man. To the chief of Emergency Medicine.

When you returned, the room was filled with the thin, piercing wail of a newborn. A healthy baby boy was crying his lungs out, and Robby was carefully handing him to the mother.

“Great job, everyone,” you said, your voice warm.

Stacey beamed at you, her eyes sparkling.

“You taught me well,” Robby said, his voice quiet, his hand finding the small of your back.

Stacey’s eyes darted between you both, and as if on cue, her mouth opened to speak.

“We’re taking these two upstairs,” you said, overriding her before she could say another word. You instructed the nursing staff on the room number and follow-up care.

Robby signaled for you to wait a moment and your head turned to his side, granting you minimal privacy under the gawking eyes of the entire pitt.

“What got you so worked up?” he whispered into your ear.

You looked up at him, your gaze daring and sharp. “I’ll tell you later.”

One of his brows arched. A challenge.

You walked back toward the elevators with your student, the silence between you thick with tension.

“That was a great job,” you complimented her, softening your tone. “But you need to work on your bedside manner.”

“I know. That was awful. I’ve already apologized to the patient.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry to you, too.” Her entire face was red, “The whole… the ‘daddy’ thing. It won’t happen again.”

The elevator dinged, announcing your floor. You looked at her and smiled, the lingering heat from your interaction with Robby still buzzing beneath your skin.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said lightly. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”

“Really?”

The elevator doors opened.

“No,” you said, a flash of confidence firing through you. “My kids call him Daddy, too.”

tag list (tysm!!): @wonwoosthetic @thesandbeneathmytoes @missmillivanilli @honeytii @naked-hyacinth @barnes70stark @ficcyyfics @cafekitchen

[bluetimeombre]

John, Oh John!

synopsisyou and john have always been cut from the same cloth, close in the way only you two could be working in the ER. but what john doesn't know- your deep love for him- can't hurt him. only you. but if you have to hear him love a girl that isn't you one more time, your heart might not make it.

warningsheavy angst, language, sex allusions

authornotei've been binge watching ER, I'm obsessed, my god its so good and of course, I love John Carter. i don't know if anyone else will care but i have to write for this man

“John! Oh John!”

John. Oh John. It was a mantra prayed upon next door to your room. It was religious, almost every other night the calling for his name.

It was damn right sinful.

When John had invited you to move in with him almost six months ago you thought all your problems were solved. You would no longer lose rent on a stuffy apartment you didn't even like, being kept up by frat parties that seemed to run all night. You'd share with Carter, be able to study together as you had since starting as med students together, be able to help each other out and share the rent.

“Oh my god, John!”

You hadn't thought about the noise. The moaning, the thudding of beds, the awkward greeting of the new girl of the week in the mornings where all you wanted to do was drink coffee and get ready for the day in peace.

Your bed was next to Carters, a wall separating the two of you.

This girl was blonde, slim, not from the hospital from what you could tell. They'd stumbled in at eleven and you'd heard him jingle at the door so you hid yourself away, running from the living room you paid rent for to offer them privacy and peace that they never offered you.

“John...” the girl had whined, you imagined her hands crawling up his chest, peeling off his coat and scarf, dragging her lips over his neck.

“Wait, wait, wait-” you heard John, probably making sure the coast was clear before he took her on the sofa. The sofa you'd paid for! He'd called your name, checking where you were. Gathering you'd hidden yourself away he carried on.

It wasn't the first night the sound of fucking next door had kept you up, in fact you'd lost count of the many of women John preferred to you. Slowly your patience was failing. Sleep as an intern in the ER was precious- like a gem stone. You shouldn't have been losing it in your own apartment.

You heard the mumble of medical procedures and thought you were in a nightmare.

“John, what are you doing?” the girl asked.

You knew what he was doing. To make himself last and drag on the night he thought about medical notes, the books you studied piled on the coffee table.

“Making it last,” you heard him say.

You wished he wouldn't.

When the low moaning started again you couldn't take it.

It was somewhere past four but you'd never known Mark Greene to turn away help.

“What are you doing here? You're not on till seven,” said Carol as you threw on your doctors coat, swinging on the stethoscope.

Outside it was dark, starting to rain and you'd drank two coffees on the way in. You weren't feeling awake but the hustle of the ER and the calls of trauma were better to hear than the moaning and slams of bed.

“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd get in early, early bird catches the.... something,” you said, eyeing the board. Abdominal pains, sores, vision blurs, the usual. There were plenty not taken up with a doctor.

“Couldn't sleep huh?” Carol asked, as familiar with the drill as you were.

“Nop.”

“And what was her name this time?”

“I didn't catch it.”

You didn't know if it was a head nurse thing or just a Hathaway thing but Carol had caught the feelings you had for John maybe even before you had.

She'd watch the two of you come in as fresh faced med students aiming for two different things. The two of you worked well on cases. You learnt how to take a more direct approach through Carters determination in surgery and John learnt to take closer care with his patients with your attentiveness in a pedes rotation.

“God, men are pigs,” said Carol.

“What have I done now?” asked Ross as he passed, leaving and picking up a chart. “You're in early,” he observed.

“I'm dedicated.”

“Wanna check out a cough in five?”

“I'll be there.”

You didn't need to stare to see Carol and Doug share a look. As you'd taken an interest in pedes work in the ER you'd been brought under Dough Ross's rather large wings. And if you were around Ross by proximity you were around Carol. And if you were around them Carter wasn't far.

It was a chain of terrible love stories.

“Eventually you'll get written up for overtime,” said Carol.

“A hospital that hates over-achievers, damn.”

“You should just talk to him.”

You turn to her, leaning on the counter. “And tell him what? I hate him having sex?”

“Well if he could be a little quieter,” she suggested.

“It's not him, it's the women.”

Carol was silent as you distracted yourself with the charts. You knew what she would say next, you knew what you would say after that and it would continue as it had for months. “You should tell him how you-”

“-no.”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

“He says he doesn't feel the same way, tells everyone, I'm left embarrassed, I lose my apartment, need I go on?”

Her eyes rolled. “No I get it.”

“Hey!” Ross called out. “Cough! Five! Let's go!”

You followed him on and used what you'd come to the Er to get: distractions. You followed Ross around from patient to patient, got called in on a trauma and even had time to change the the filters in the coffee machine before you were faced with John.

He was bright eyed, smiling with his dimples. Heck, you were even convinced his eyes lit up seeing you, with your coat hanging off, hair already falling out of its hold and he'd just left some blonde babe. Maybe she'd dropped him off at the hospital and he'd beg a lift back with you. Or he'd told her to let herself out the apartment.

Carter had no right to look at you like that.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You get in early? I thought you started at seven with me?”

“Oh yeah... I was paged in early.”

“Trauma?”

“Cough.”

He laughed. “You were paged in for a cough.”

“I know can you believe it,” you had tried to make it sarcastic, wanted it to seem like a passing comment but your lips didn't move into a smile and it fell weak into your stomach.

John leant next to you at the counter, tilting his body in a way to try to look at you. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Something's up, what?”

Maybe it was how close you’d worked, going from students to interns. Or it was your living together which made you both understand each other with small looks.

Clearly you didn’t know each other well enough, otherwise he’d note the bags under your eyes or the way your body didn’t lean into his like you used to.

John jutted his hip against yours with a chuckle. “Talk to me, c’mon.”

“I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You admitted.

How stupid could men be?

John didn’t even catch on to what you were laying down. “How about we do something tonight? Catch a movie? Get some dinner?”

You and John used to do that sort of thing often. When you'd first moved in together it was all watching films with take out, taking it in turns to order your favourites. You could hardly recall what the films were about because the two of you spoke throughout them. It took a month then you knew everything there was to know about him.

But that was almost two years ago and things were different.

You were in love with him.

He had no idea.

Instead he had love for hours a night and that seemed to do him fine.

John was still waiting for an answer. “Dinner? Movie?”

You looked at him. Over his shoulder you spotted Carol, shaking her head. “Dinner sounds great.”

John's face broke out into a smile. “Yes!” he cheered. His lips pressed to your head quick, gone before you could get a feel of him.

“Carter!” Benton called.

Benton's ordering and bossing around of Carter had grated on his nerves for months but you'd never seen him smile so wide and all but skip to him.

Maybe things weren't being so bad.

“Why would you agree to go to dinner?” asked Carol.

Why would you? Because even if he wasn't your lover, he was still your friend. You'd take that. “Was I supposed to say no?”

“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said.

But sadly you had hope, which was probably the only thing keeping you in the state you were in.

“It's just dinner with a friend,” you said, picking up a patients chart, any chart.

Carol clocked her head at you. “It's not though is it?”

“To him it is.”

John appeared at your side, hands bracing your arms as he leant over you. For a moment you panicked, imagining that he heard it all. His grin said different. “I'll book us Nona's, your favourite Italian, I'll get it for eight.”

He disappeared, rushing around the corner. You got a last look at his scrubs and gown.

When you turned back to Carol she'd gone too.

“And so I said to him, that's not his Appendix, that's his Kidney.”

Johns laughter bounced around the restaurant. As promised he’d booked your favourite Italian, a table in the window lit by a candle and golden lights around you.

There was an empty plate from a tiramisu you’d shared and several empty glasses of wine dotted around from the evening you’d shared, lipstick of your stained glasses you’d had.

John had entertained you all night, telling jokes, talking about work. His eyes had been lit up since you both sat down, talking animated and never letting a moment of quiet. He’d even dressed up, supporting a suit as if this was some kind of date.

With the lights down low and dragging your fingers over your glass of wine, you almost imagined it was.

The waiter came by and John waved him down.

“Another bottle of white,” he ordered, sharing the last dregs of the bottle between your two glasses.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” you joked.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he laughed. “I’ve missed you. It’s just nice that we get to do this, I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in bed when I got home.”

Home. Home with his date.

“We’ve been… busy,” you said.

Johns smile broke but only a fraction, some sort of disappointment floating by and marring his expression. “Yeah, I-I guess we have.”

There was a flicker of silence, the first sort there’d been in the night.

The wine was delivered.

“We should do this once a week,” suggested John, alight with the idea.

You laughed. “What, with our schedule?”

“Okay.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Once a month, surely we can manage that, right? We’re capable people, capable doctors.”

There was more laughter, dulling the ache you’d been carrying.

At some point Johns hand had come down and touched yours.

You’d expected him to pay your hand friendly, move it away and make another crack at a joke.

His hand lingered. Stayed, his fingers stayed slowly moving against the back of your hand.

John watched as his fingers drew lazy circles over your skin. There was a smile playing on his lips.

You didn’t have it in you to move away. You chuckled lightly. “What are you doing?”

John looked at you, his other hand coming up to cup his chin as he rested there. “I’ve missed you.”

It was sincere, almost loving.

You laughed it away. “You’ve said that already.”

“What? A guy can’t say it again?”

“A guy can’t say but you…” you trailed off.

“I what?” asked John pointedly, tilting his head to get a better look of you.

It was almost cruel how unaware he was, or maybe acted he was. The thought that he knew your feelings that were oh so obvious to some and were using them against you made you feel sick.

You slipped your hand out of his and took a sip of your wine. “Nothing.”

“No, what?” he asked, nudging himself closer to the table. “What were you gonna say?”

You drained the glass of wine and picked up the bottle, pouring yourself more while John watched and waited. You laughed, doing your best to brush it off. “I dunno what I was gonna say, slipped by me.”

You could tell he didn't believe you. He seemed to like to chose when he wanted to believe you.

“I-” He'd just started to speak when his gaze drifted over your shoulder and widened at the door. “Oh god, don't turn around, don't look- don't look!”

Frowning you did just what he said not to do, wine still in hand.

Carter was busy slouching in his chair, trying to hide.

A girl walked in with two of her friends, peeling off their coats and handing them to the staff at the door. They were all large smiles and tanned skin, dresses that hugged perfectly and hands manicured. They were alight with life and not drowned in exhaustion like you.

You looked back to John and didn't even have to guess and why he was hiding from them. Your brows rose at him.

“I went to school with her,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “She has a massive crush on me.”

“Does she?” at least you weren't the only fool to love him.

John nodded, the front of his hair moving as he did.

You looked again and as if she sensed you, the girl turned.

“No... no... no....” chanted John as she seemed to recognise him, even half swallowed by the table as he was trying to be.

“John Carter!” the girl greeted with her arms out and her wide smile.

John was polite in standing and hugging her.

You were polite in occupying yourself with the wine.

“Oh my god, look at you it's been so long!” she said, pulling away. Her hand smoothed the jacket of his suit. “God when I last saw you you were winning horses races on... oh, what was your horses name, again?”

“Marigold,” said John.

“Marigold, that's right!” she laughed, hand slapping at his bicep and lingering.

You snorted at the obvious affection she was laying on. At least (you hoped) you were slightly more incredulous.

They both looked to you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she apologised.

John went to speak but you spoke before he had the chance.

“You didn't, actually, join us if you like,” you invited.

John's face fell. “What?”

“Oh, I mean I'm here with friends but, hey, what's one drink between old friends?” she pulled up a chair effortlessly, setting it between you and Carter.

Carter himself lingered up on his feet, pulling his jacket close and slotting a button in. He looked at you, almost with some betrayed ideas in his eyes. He sat down, deflated but his old friend from school - Samantha- was already taking his wine glass and filling it. She was already talking about the first time she met John.

You didn't know why you'd decided to interrupt your own night with him. Just as you didn't know why John seemed to perturbed that you had.

Two days later he was at it again.

“John! Oh, John!”

You didn't even get a glance at this one, you had no idea who it was. The old friend from the restaurants or a friend of hers that had joined you later in the night. Maybe it was patient or a friend or family of patients. It could've even been the new intern that had started. You didn't know.

They were all blending into one.

“John! John! John!”

You'd tried putting on headphone from you walk man. You'd tried smothering yourself with your cushion. You'd tried every trick under the sun but it was as if the sounds of pleasure had buried itself in your bones. Even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there and it was enough in your bones to have you tossing and turning.

“H, stands for hemolysis, the- the break down of red blood cells-”

You threw your covers off. It was nearing three a.m. The ER could always use an extra pair of hands. That's what you told yourself as you pulled on clothes in the dark, desperate to get out the apartment before you crawl out of your skin.

Perhaps turning on the light would have been beneficial.

You pulled up your pants, jumping to do so but sliding on a lose sock. You fell, hurtling to the ground and trying to catch yourself on the desk had only resulted in banging your head on the side.

For a moment, lying in the dark of your room with a new ache in your head you thought maybe you were concussed because there was suddenly no noise. No nothing.

“John-”

“- wait, shh, shh-”

Nope, still there.

You finally got your pants on without any more injury and left your room.

There were to empty beer bottles at the kitchen counter. You noticed them as you pulled kitchen roll onto your head, pulling it back you pulled open the fridge to check in the light. A little blood.

All the more reason to get to the ER.

You were just fetching your bag from the side when the squeak of a door behind you alerted you.

“Hey, what's going on?” John spoke up.

You didn't dare turn around. You knew if you did you'd find a recently fucked-out Carter, maybe his friend hanging off his arm like his other friends had two nights before at Nona's.

He called out your name.

“Nothing, John,” you dismissed, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going, it's like, three am?”

You didn't answer.

“Did the hospital call?”

“Just go back to bed, Carter.”

It could have been the head split, the fact you were running on little sleep as it was or that John was so insisting he cared when the noise of you falling had clearly broken him out of his blissed state.

You never called him Carter. If you did, it was a bad sign.

“Wait- wait- jus' a second, hold on-”

You turned, catching a glimpse of him retreating back in his room.

You dabbed at your cut again, seething at the pain it brought.

You doubted stitches were needed but maybe some glue. Heck, maybe you could find an on-call room and sleep off the wound.

John's door opened again and he was rushing out, tugging a shirt on with joggers already pulled up. He flicked the light on and you watched his eyes widen at the cut as if you'd been shot. “Woah-woah, hey-hey-”

“Leave it, John.”

“What happened? What'd you do?” he rushed to you, sliding on the floor as he cupped your cheeks, checking the cut in the light.

His clothes hung limp on him and you didn't even have to look close to see the blue and purple bruises at his neck, still fresh, a thin trail of kisses not yet settled. There was no slouch in him like you knew there to be in you. He was alert. The kind of attention sex required.

He was using all that energy- the energy he was stealing from you- to asses your wound.

“What were you doing, jumping-jacks?” he tried to joke.

You didn't feel like laughing. “Can you leave it, please?”

The crinkle at his eyes at his own teasing dropped. He became as dull as you felt.

“No, no I- I can't leave it,” he said, serious. “You're bleeding, you're hurt, what happened?”

You sighed. “I was dressing in the dark, I'm a clutz.”

He shook his head. “Why were you dressing at three am?”

“Because I'm going into work.”

“We're not on nights.”

“Then I'm going in for fun.”

“Like the other night when you were paged in for a cough that didn't exists?” he said. “Mark told me, so what's going on?”

You had hoped Mark Greene- your mentor- wouldn't be noticing the slow falling apart of your love life. No such luck there. “Nothing,” you told him. “Nothing is going on.”

“You running off in the night is something, in my books at least,” said John, stern. His arms fell to his side. “So, you want to tell me?”

You'd just done a thirty-six hour shift and was only reward with two hours sleep. You didn't have it in you to be kind to him while your own chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “No, I don't.”

John scoffed. “Well, I've got all night, I can wait.”

“No, you don't.”

He frowned.

At that moment his latest peeked out of the room. She'd had the decency to wrap herself up in his thin white sheet at least. Her hair was a mess, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She genuinely seemed sorry to be interrupting but clearly wanted to get back to the high she was chasing.

“Hey, John, is everything okay?”

She was so un-like you. She was everything you weren't. You didn't even know who she was but she wasn't you and seeing her coming out of John's room, wrapped up in his sheet and smell and faint marks of him you were reminded of that.

You didn't know why she- an odd number in his list of conquests- broke your heart. But it did.

You chocked on a sob, turning away from them both.

John's neck snapped to you at the noise. “Hey, hey-” his hands were soft on your forearms but you shrugged him off.

“John?” asked the girl again, a lazy drawl of her voice piercing your heart.

“Just, go back in, I'll- I'll be a second,” he said, dismissively.

It some how made it all the much worse because he didn't care for the other girls feelings. It was nothing serious to him, it never was. If it was serious, if he brought a girl back and took painstaking effort to introduce the two of you maybe you could pull on a brave face, pretend to be happy for him.

But he was constantly throwing it all in your face.

“John?” the girl asked again.

“Meg, seriously, I just need to sort this out-”

Sort it out? Like you were something on a check list?

You'd managed to make it to the front door before John caught you.

“Hey, wait! No- jus'-” his hand slammed down over you on the door, closing it before you could escape. “You're scaring me now, what's going on?”

“Nothing,” your own voice betrayed you, cracking as tears escaped you.

You rushed to wipe them away but John beat you to it.

“Hey, hey.” His thumb swept at the tears, voice laced in worry and pain. “Why are you crying? What's happened?”

You knew yourself well enough from the years of stress of medical school, from losing patients that were making promising progress and dying, from months of hearing John love on a girl that wasn't you to know when you couldn't trust your voice. All you could do was duck your head and sniff.

John was still close enough for you to smell the other girls perfume on him. “Why- why don't we sit down? I'll make you some tea.”

“I don't want tea,” you chuckled dryly.

John seemed startled. Tea was always what you offered him after the hard days. “Coffee?”

“I just want to go,” you admitted.

“Go? Go where?” he asked, voice almost as broken as yours. “You want to leave, you want to get out of here?”

He asked like he was almost understanding where you were coming from.

You nodded.

“Can I come with you?”

You shook your head.

John nodded with tight lips, like his own heart was breaking. “Okay them, I- I can't let you go. Not alone.”

You cried. “John-”

“It's three am it's dark out, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone-”

“John-”

“And frankly you're scaring me right now, I can't stand seeing you like this-”

“- I just don't want to be near you right now.”

The confession hung between the two of you like a hook caught in your hearts and tearing you both down. It was one thing you hurting because of John's actions but it wasn't like you'd told him how you felt. So really, you were hurting him for nothing.

“Okay, okay,” he said calmly. Turing for a second to gather himself up, patting the back of his hair down. “Okay you don't have to be anywhere near me but can you at least stay? So I know you're safe. I'll- I'll hide in my room or something. Out there, it's-it's not and I know you hate me right now but you will give me a heart attack if you go-”

“- I don't hate you,” you uttered.

“Well you just said you don't want to be near me,” he pointed out, the first angry notes in his voice. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, his hands clenched in together. John bent a little in the knees to get a look at you. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He hadn't. Nothing he'd done had been with you in mind.

John laughed at himself. “It's me, for Christ sake, I'd never do anything to hurt you, okay? You've got to believe me. You know me.... you know me!”

The door to his room opened again and in the dim light the both of you saw his girl- Meg- wander out. She was in one of his old grey shirts, flaunting herself with jutted out hips. She threw herself down on the sofa and watched, waiting.

You wiped your tears away, telling yourself to get a grip. “Can we just- can we do this later, John, please?”

You'd thought the tears and begging would have been enough but John looked at you, studying all over you. He took in a deep breath like he was getting his confidence from somewhere.

He shook his head, staring at you. “No. Okay, wait- just wait for for a second, one second.”

You did. You waited one second and watched as he returned to Meg, crouching at the sofa and talking low to her. He even put his hand on hers and spoke very calmly and clearly.

Whatever he was saying Meg seemed to not like, or really understand, her eyes flickered back up to yours accusingly.

That's when you slipped out the door and hailed down a taxi to take you to the ER.

Carol had offered to help but you said no, so did Lydia, practically following you down with the right kit to take care of the cut on your head. Genie had offered with a kind understanding smile but you'd hidden yourself away on an empty bed with a mirror.

Mark was the only one you'd let stay in the room, even then you weren't letting him get close enough to help. “We should get a CT, at least.”

“Geez, it's just a small cut,” you chuckled, putting the thin strips of tape over it to help bring it together. It was the sort of thing that wasn't even medical. Just common sense.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said.

“And do you want to be the one to tell Wheever you ordered un-neccary tests and wasted hospital rescourse and money?”

You'd thought that would have been enough to deter him but instead Mark leaned forward.

“Yes.”

Damn.

“As chief resident I don't have to have you working till you get the all cleared.”

You huffed. You could always find an on-call room to catch up on sleep but you feared you'd re-play John's heartbreak over again if you did. “Fine, book me the CT,” you said, slinging your stephscope back around your neck and pocketing your pocket mirror.

“Thank you,” said Mark and with one last look of conserved worry, he left.

But the door swung open a second later and Carter waltzed in, hands in the pocket of his lab coat. He paused and looked at you, as if you were a patient of his.

It was going on four. He'd followed you in.

You opened your mouth to say something. A sorry, maybe. An apology for ruining his sex time and for crying.

John beat you to it. “I know you said you didn't want to be around me but I'm sorry, I-” he laughed at the very idea that was true. He knew you too well for that. “I don't believe you.”

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“I want you to talk to me.” John grabbed the stool close and sat on it, pushing himself close in front of you like any attentive doctor would. He grabbed your hands. “Talk to me.”

You wondered what you should have told him first. That out of desperation for your well-being Chuni had offered up her spare room at her place till you could get a place of your own. That Mark was willing to move around the schedule and face Wheever's wrath in doing so. That you couldn't take one more night of not being the one John chose.

“I'm sorry for being mad earlier, at the apartment,” you said first, looking down to where he held your hands. His knuckles were bleached white from the tightness he held onto you to. “I'm not- I'm not mad at you.”

His body sagged in relief. “You're not?”

“No.”

“Oh - thank god.” His body curved over yours, breath fanning the envelope of your hands.

“It's just me, it's just stuff,” you dismissed.

“No, it's not just stuff,” he said, equally as dismissive. “If it's getting you up in the middle of the night, ending in you being hurt- I mean... we can sort it.”

His thumb was a delicate tough as he brushed over your cut.

It didn't feel as painful when he did.

John's gaze lingered on your cut before looking back at your eyes. There was nothing to indicate he knew what this was really about, only a small hurting sorrow that he didn't know how to help you.

It was enough to hurt you all over again.

But maybe pulling the band off at once was better than a slow, agonising pull.

You squeezed his hands. “John, I'm moving out.”

The words were like heavy stones sinking in the bottom of a lake. You saw his expression blanked, his hands release yours slowly and his face pale as if the world was ending. His eyes searched yours trying to detect a hint of amusement.

He found nothing.

Mark popped his head back in, saving you. “CT's ready for you.”

“Thanks Mark,” you said as he nodded once and left again.

John hadn't moved, frozen in place. He stared past your body.

“I'll um... I've got to go...” it was the cowards way out but the way you saw it you'd been tough a long time, lying in bed and crying yourself to sleep. Letting yourself feel pathetic for doing so when you had so much more in life to give it meaning. If you could just get away enough, create some distance so you didn't feel trapped you could at least keep his hand in friendship. At least still have the privilege of looking in his eyes everyday and know, just for a second, you once had a chance for it all with him.

When you got back to the door and looked back, John was still on the stool, eyes watering.

Three hours later your shift officially started but you were already four patients deep, a case in pedes with Ross, a trauma that had gone up to the OR, an elderly man with a nasty fall to his hip and possible schizophrenia. Your last was a young girl, complaining of stomach craps. You suspected pregnancy and was thinking as much when you glanced out the door to the front desk.

John was staring through the door at you, Carol at his side trying to talk to him also staring in at you.

It wasn't a good sign in any case, not when Carol knew everything and John knew so little. It didn't help he looked wrecked. Tie askew, hair sticking up in the way that indicated hands running through it in stress.

Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

“Leanne, have you been sexually active recently?”

“With my boyfriend.”

“And how long ago was your last period?”

“Two weeks.”

“Are you late?”

“Not yet.”

You jotted it all down on the chart. “Ok, we're gonna get some blood work, start you on an IV and get a urine sample in-”

The door swung open and you and Maleek who was helping on the case looked up.

John stood there, breathless like he'd ran the ten or so paces it took to get here.

“John?” you asked.

“You love me?”

The world stilled. There was suddenly nothing but you and him. Him looking at you astonished, like he couldn't believe it. At a loss of words from the very idea.

“I'm sorry- what?”

He took a heavy step forward, a deep inahle seething. “You love me.”

It wasn't an accusation the second time.

You looked back to the fifteen year old and Maleek who seemed as startled as you. “Can we not- I'm with a patient-”

“It's okay, I got this,” said Maleek, stepping in the way.

And John Carter was still standing there, catching his breath and staring at you.

You, with little other choice, barged past him.

You heard Carol calling out for you as you marched around trying to find a private corner to have the dreaded confrontation.

“I'm sorry!” she called.

John was hot on your heels. “Don't apologise, I deserved to know!”

Benton had joined the crew of on lookers at the desk. “Do I want to know?” you heard him ask.

“Probably not,” Mark replied.

Exam room two was empty and you held the door open for Carter. He marched in, hands running over his hair again as he mumbled to himself. You closed the door behind, locking it and closing the blinds because you knew everyone was going to try to listen to your world crumble.

You gave yourself a two second head start in catching your breath before turning to him.

John stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, waiting. His lip tucked under his teeth. “You love me.”

“Who told you?”

“Carol,” he said. “I was so worried about you I asked if she knew what was going on but turns out everyone did. You know, I could've asked Doug, Mark, Susan, Genie, basically everyone I mean- was I the last one to know?”

“There was nothing for you to know.”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“Yes!” you snapped. “It was my feelings, you didn't need to know them!”

“Yes, I did! I needed to know!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because- because it's me!”

You groaned, frustration ripping through the tears you had cried that morning. “What does it matter, John? You don't love me!”

“Of course I love you!”

“Not in the way I love you, not like that!”

“Yes I do!” he all but screamed.

The room fell silent. You could hear the labour of his breath and the wheels and running outside the room. A trauma was called in yet nobody was rescuing you or John.

He stood there, exposed.

Yes I do!

It was the heat of the argument, you told yourself, as you shook the idea out of you. For a second you almost believed him.

John deflated, watching as you hugged yourself, as you didn't rush to him or smile at his confession. “Do you... do you think I don't love you?”

You levelled your gaze on him.

As if he could see the break of your heart through the windows to your soul he shattered.

“Oh my god. You think I don't love you?”

You lifted your shoulders in a tired shrug. “Was I supposed to believe you did? You fuck a different girl every night while I'm on the other side of the damn wall.” The words come out bitten and finally the penny dropped for John.

The sleepless nights, the times he knew you were tired, the way you hid around every corner, in every room. Slowly he fit all the pieces together and he didn't like what he was seeing.

“That wasn't- they were- they were nothing,” he stuttered.

It was your turn to scoff. “Yeah, it never sounded like nothing-”

“You have to believe me, okay, you- you have to-” he begged, rushing in front of you. His hands took yours without your offer and he held it close to him, over his chest where you could feel his racing heart by the palm of your hand. “- you can't- you have to-”

He clenched his jaw.

You waited for more. “Can't what?”

John screwed his eyes shut, uttering a curse before opening his eyes. They pleaded onto you. “You can't think they meant anything over you. You can't,” he said so definitely you almost believed him. Almost.

“You're not making sense.”

“I know- I- I know,” he said, moving closer to you. He rested his head on your shoulder and you didn't have the strength to move. There was no smell of any other girl, only your shampoo he used in his hair. You could feel the tremble of his body. “This isn't how I wanted this to go.”

You were still, like you were a bunny in the jaws of a lion.

John pulled back and you were shocked at the redness of his eyes, at the tears threatening to spill. “When I dreamt about this I dreamt roses and a better declaration,” he chuckled at himself.

“I'm glad you find this really amusing, John, but I-”

“I don't- I don't,” he said at once. But he still chuckled dryly. “I just think I've messed up my whole life and I- I don't know how to fix this.”

You weren't sure what he was saying because he couldn't be talking about whatever was going on between the two of you. Frankly, you weren't sure what was going on. There was confessions hanging in the air like dirty laundry and tears from him that you didn't know what to do with. None of it made sense.

Your brain went to the only sense it could make.

“You've ruined your life?” you asked, full of concern for him. “What? Is one of the girls pregnant?”

John swiped his hands over his face, roughly. “No. No, I've just realised I fucked everything up with you.”

You stared at him and laughed. “And that's your entire life ruined?”

Carter nodded earnestly.

He loved you? He was insisting he did. Looking at you like he did.

A fist grabbed your heart and squeezed. You counted every girl you'd met through him and tried to add it up to love. It only made your head hurt and you knew it had nothing to do with the cut.

“I can't- I can't do this right now,” you said. “I have patients. So do you.”

“Can we talk? Tonight. Can we- can we talk? Please. Back home,” he begged, voice quiet like you'd never heard him before. “Please don't leave me.”

You wanted to argue there was nothing to leave. That even if you were going to go you still had a room of things to pack and sort. “Okay, fine, tonight.”

For the rest of the day you and John avoided each other, only working side by side on traumas. It was the only clue anyone got about the two of you. Nobody had dared ask what was going on but as you threw yourself into work and John got back on the floor after a thorough self-pity party they were all smart enough to guess it didn't go well.

“So, you're talking?” asked Carol at the end of your shift as you finished passing off your charts.

“Tonight, yeah.”

“That's good, isn't it?”

You huffed, finding your bag. “He says he loves me, Carol.”

She didn't know whether to smile or not. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“So what were the girls?”

“Distractions? A bit of fun? Men don't always have to make sense. Even if they are in love,” she told you, knowing all too well the the ins and outs of men and stupid choices through Doug Ross and their famous on and off relationship. “But give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

A chance.

You were tired. The kind that came from a long shift and little sleep. The kind you'd become accustom to that it didn't shock you when you felt it knocking on your door.

Were you too tired for a chance?

A throat cleared behind you and Carol disappeared from your side.

John stood in front of you, sheepish, with a bouquet in hand. They were your favourite flowers. “For you.”

Ignoring the audience that was trying (and failing) at being subtle, you took them.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, shy, in a way you hadn't seen him be since the both of you first started in the ER.

Nobody knew what to say next.

“Can I, um, can I take you home now?”

You could have been petty and told him you'd catch the subway back. Or that you'd hail a cab but you were both going the same way and you'd end up in your living room, talking, one way or another.

The car ride was quiet with John trying to find a radio station that didn't grate on him and ended up in silence.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment building he rushed out the car like it was on fire. He pulled open your door before you got the chance and helped you with your bag and bouquet.

In the apartment it was just as un-touched as it had been in the morning.

You didn't realise until you saw it so that you'd been expecting a lingering guest.

But there was only signs of you and John.

He was watching you while he set both your things down. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no thanks I think I should be sober for this,” you said. Amicable ground was trying to be found, keeping your voice neutral was the best you could do. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no.”

The silence was invasive. An un-wanted guest.

You would start it, as you had with all your messed up feelings. You could finish it even if it hurt. “If you love me what were all the girls?”

John seemed to leap at the chance to defend himself. “Nothing. They were nothing, they were-” he paused, taking time to think about his next words. “They were just distractions. Meaningless. To get you out of my mind.”

“Cheap, John.” It was almost word for word what Carol said.

“Nothing I say can defend myself, I'm not trying to defend myself I'm trying to tell you the truth. I need you, and if I've ruined this I'm not letting you go without fighting.”

He approached you, giving you space and time to step back or flinch away. You didn't.

“I've loved you since I met you. Ever since you came up to me thinking I was a doctor and knew where labs were, I knew it. Love at first sight- if you think that's bullshit- I don't care because I knew it. But you made it clear, very clear you were here to be the best doctor you could be and I wanted that for you, I still do- I always will,” he said.

You remembered John years ago, tailored white coat and hopeful. You'd gone up to him because you were supposed to meet Doctor Greene in labs and had no idea where that was and he was the first person in a white coat and clipboard you'd seen.

You did twelve hours next to him that day, competing on stitches and sutures.

“You know, I had an apartment when I heard you were looking to move in with someone, cheap rent and that,” he said, laughing at himself. “I moved out of that apartment and got another one within the week with a spare room just so I could ask you to move in.”

The apartment you were stood in.

“What?”

John nodded like he knew it was ridiculous. “It worked.”

You knew the Carter family was rich beyond imagination. You'd always wondered why John insisted on a room mate when he could afford to live comfortably without one.

“When you told me you were thinking of moving in with Anna god I had a heart attack, practically begged her to back off.”

John had helped you pack your old place, had carried your stuff with care into his apartment. It had looked so much like him, so lived in you wouldn't even think to wonder how long he'd lived there. You'd never have guessed only a week till you invaded with your stuff.

“It was the closest I could have you without having you.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?” you asked.

His face screwed up like he regretted it. He did, you guessed. “Because we both get tired. We get irritable. I hate failing patients and you take on so many that you can't give yourself a minute to think during the day.”

You weren't sure if it was a compliment or not.

“We work together, we live together, take patients together I figured we'd crash and burn if I told you how I felt,” he admitted. “And- god, help me- if I had to live only being your friend it was better than living without you at all.”

But you and John had never argued. The both of you had figured out how to silently read each other. How to know when he needed space or a hug and a shoulder to cry on. He knew when you needed an extra pair of hands or to just put a stupid movie on to fall asleep too.

The nights you'd fallen asleep in his arms on the sofa and woke in your bed. The mornings where you were on and he wasn't but he was still up to get you a coffee. The days you worked close together and ignored everyone else. It all meant something else now.

“The girls were to forget,” said John. “It didn't work, hardly. All I could think about was you. And I know- I know it's wrong. I had to recite medical facts to myself just to get the thought of you out my head.”

“I thought you did that to make it last for them,” you admitted, realising now how silly it's all been.

He shook his head. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hands than make you cry. And I've made you cry and hurt you so just get a knife and-” he made a chopping motion, chocking on a laugh.

John wiped his tears with the back of his hand and he looked at you. “If you want to leave then leave but I can't let you go. I'll be around, I'll be really hard to get rid of.”

The both of your rooms stood behind you. Both dark. Both separate cages for the two of you.

“All I could think about when I saw you with those girls was how much they were never like me,” you spoke, quietly. “I thought you'd never... you know... think of me that way.”

John's hands were firm on your cheeks, gaining your attention. “It was always about you. You didn't deserve that, you didn't, I wish I could take it all back and tell you. But why didn't you tell me?”

Why? Because you were afraid. Knowing what you knew now it didn't seem a strong enough argument.

You laughed. “Are we stupid?”

John grinned through his own tears. He nodded, caressing your cheeks. “I think we are, I think so.”

Your foreheads leaned against each other as you laughed.

Slowly, it faded as he pressed his forehead into yours harder.

“I'm so sorry, baby.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, hands coming to hold his face, feeling the rough stubble in your palms.

“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for, it's me, it's me,” he uttered, eyes closing. “If I've ruined this forever please tell me.”

You couldn't say he didn't have a point. Working long hours made you both difficult at times but never to each other. You couldn't say the girls wouldn't hurt you for some time more, that your insecurities weren't something you had to work on yourself.

Yet, you couldn't say you could manage without him.

“I don't think you have, no.”

John breathed out against you. “No?”

“No,” you shook your head against his. “I think if we love each other-”

“- we do, we do-”

“ -we should at least give it a try.”

“I'm not trying with you, I'm not trying- I'm doing,” John assured you, hands still moving along your cheeks, your hair, anything to hold you. “I'm not messing it up again, I'm not. I'd propose right now if you asked me to.”

You pulled back enough to stare at him seriously. “Don't.”

“Okay, okay, I won't,” he said. When he opened his eyes back at you he smirked, a twitch to his brows. “At least not today.”

There was laughter in place of tears and you knew that if you slept tonight there'd be no need to hurt. Maybe, instead, time to heal.

“Not for a long time,” you told him.

John nodded along, mockingly going along with you. “But eventually right?”

“Maybe you should kiss me before we get that far?”

The laughter died quietly. You were slowly brought into his arms as they wrapped around you, hands moving down your back without going further.

There was a gentle breeze of his warmth and the tips of his hair tickled you as he tilted his head, your own neck moving back to meet him.

It was soft and sweet. A small press of his lips like he was too scared to break you. It was your hands around his neck that brought him closer, it was his whimper that moved him on as his hands held your waist. You stayed pressing into each other, promising silent things as you did, until you both recognised the burn in your lungs for breath.

“I love you,” he said, slowly dragging his lips against yours again.

This time, you could admit to him without fear.

“I love you.”

[bluetimeombre]

EXTRA, EXTRA !

synopsisyou just wanted to be helpful, robby's helpful girl, you didn't realise that helping out might've exposed robby in an un-expected sort of way... (2.1k words)

warningssmutish, mention of sex, mention of big dick (it's robby, duh) condom, language

authornotei just absolutely was obsessed with this ask, i loved it so much. it's a big short, just a little thing, lowkey i think it's ass but it was fun. (gif credits to @timothyolyphant)

Pitt masterlist. Last Robby fic!

“I need a condom,”

It wasn't the typical greeting you were used to, really, it wasn't a usual sentence you heard in the ED. Especially not from Samira, flushed in the cheeks with her hair scraped back into a bun.

She'd rushed to you and Santos as you stood outside exam room three, discussing a patient when she joined the two of you, making the statement a little louder than she probably intended. Samira looked around the space behind her and besides you.

Trinity smirked, eyeing Samira up and down. “Okay, Mohan.”

“No, no, not for me, my patient,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Please, I wish it was for me.”

“Why do you need a condom for a patient?” you asked, amused almost. “Is he hot?”

“What? No? My patient, he's HIV but apparently very, very active and he doesn't have condoms. He says he-he prefers it without and I've explained everything to him but there's no condoms in the draw where we keep them!” explained Samira.

“We have a condom draw?” asked Trinity, taking only that as the necessary information from Mohan's ramble.

You handed her the chart. “You sleep with women.”

“What? So I'm not allowed in the condom draw?”

“It's for sex ed teachings, people who are young and having sex,” you shrugged. “Stuff like that. Come on, I can help you out.”

The nurses desk was practically vacant. Around you everyone busied themselves with greeting the nigh shift and getting them out, taking away patients like the changing of the guard. It was almost too early to be dealing with tough patients who wouldn't protect themselves.

You led the way around the counter, Mohan and Santos (who took an invitation for herself) followed you over to the desk as you reached down for Robby's bag, propping it up.

It was no surprise to them that you were reaching for his bag, reaching for his stuff like it was yours. What was Robby's was yours. The real surprise had been when Mel found the two of you eight months ago making out in the storage room, shrieking and dropping a bag of blood that then splashed all over you.

And obviously at the scream everyone ran over and found the two of you rather compromised and covered in blood. You still weren't really done living that down.

You fished around in Robby's bag, the owner somewhere not there to see as you brought out an opened box of condoms. “Here,” you said handing her a thick strip as Santos laughed.

Samira took them wearily, a small dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Won't you... miss these?”

“No,” you said, rocking on your heels, suddenly feeling the familiar creeping heat of embarrassment. “We have... more.”

Santos smirked. “Keeping Robby in shape, huh?”

Samira shuddered. “I really don't want to think about my boss like that, but thank you!” you said, waving the strip like it was a flag and rushing off before her patient could walk off. She was a good doctor, dedicated you knew and you were just happy to help her reach her potential.

Distracted by watching her leave you failed to notice Trinity sneak over to Robby's bag, peeking inside like a nosy cat.

“Hey!” you lectured, pulling the zipper shut on her hand.

“What? Just wanted to know what else you got in there? Does he keep a pair of panties? Vibrator if it gets quiet,” she teased.

You blushed, shaking your head and looking down to the bag. “You have no shame, that's your boss you're talking about.”

She made a pfft noise. “You're the one screwing him.”

Yes, you were. Proudly and happily.

Javadi slid up next to you, practically shoving you a tablet and asking for your advice. You were somewhere deep in your residency, one of the first they were introduced to on their hell of a first day. Not as scary as Robby, easier to talk to than Langdon. It was typical for the Pittlings and Mohan to come to you when they needed advice. You liked it really, as much as Santos teased you and as much as Mohan and Javadi doubted themselves.

“Hey Crash,” said Trinity, all but giddy with the new knowledge she had about Doctor Robby's contents in his bag. “You wanna know what's in this bag of secrets.”

“No,” you chastised.

Javadi's eyes lightened up. “Is that Doctor Robby's bag?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said, pushing it back down to your feet.

“Hey,” Samira joined the group of you again, handing you back the strip of condoms. “He said he can't take these.” The rest of the doctors and nurses hustled around the Pitt, un-knowing of the personal dilemmas being aired out.

You lifted your shoulders. “You needed condoms, those are condoms.”

“Yes but they're not the right size,” said Mohan. “He says they wouldn't fit, they're too big.”

Oh.

Perhaps at some point you'd been shocked at the size of Robby. Before you'd only had your imagination and hints of him beneath his scrubs. The times when he'd brush past you in the teasing beginning of your relationship and you'd feel something prod at you. The first time he'd dragged you to his bedroom, lips seething in heat and teeth nipping in want to only lay you out on his bed and drag his pants and underwear down to show all of him- then you'd been shocked. Mouth watering so.

Over the months the shock transformed to desire, reaching hands and an eager mouth that you stopped thinking about the size.

You didn't think anything of it when you handed Mohan a strip of five extra-large condoms.

Standing at the nurses station it may as well have been a deserted island and you stared down at the condoms like it was your first offering of food.

“Uh-”

Javadi snatched the condoms from Samira first, staring down at them with mouth agape. “Oh my god.”

“Javadi-”

“Holy shit!”

You looked back and Santos had pulled out Robby's bag again, pulling out the box and staring at the size stamped on the front. “Santos!”

“No wonder you walk in limping.”

“I do not- I do not walk in limping!”

“Well, there was that one time-” said Mohan.

“No, there wasn't!” you argued. “I'd bruised my ankle.”

Mohan chuckled to herself. “Sure.”

Trinity smirked. “Bruised something.”

Javadi was still staring at the strip of condoms in wonder. “How do they even get this big?”

You snatched them away from her the way you might have if a child found them. Quickly you stuffed them in the box, threw them back in Robby's bag and kept it behind your back.

“Wait, why do you have a box of condoms for work?” asked Javadi.

“Oh please,” said Santos with a groan. “They're always at it in work. Better safe than sorry.”

“We are not always at it at work,” you defended.

“The storage closet?” asked Mohan, apparently abandoning the venture of finding fitting condoms for her patient.

You held up a finger. “That was one time.”

“The toilets,” added Santos, sadly remembering the time you and Robby had hid yourselves in the bathroom for a break. A break that was only supposed to be comforting touched turned hot and reaching quickly.

“That one time in the exam room where we thought we were examining a broken hip for a Mrs Driscoll-” began Javadi.

“Okay! Okay, I get it!” you interrupted.

“I think it's nice,” Trinity quipped her lip, arms crossing over her chest. “Get some dick when you can right.” She patted your shoulder like a proud sister as she left the group of you, laughing quietly to herself.

Victoria and Samira followed suit, leaving you with the ramifications of your own embarrassment. So what your boyfriend was largely endowed, wasn't it a compliment? Weren't you the luckiest girl in the world to have Robby with soft and tender touches turned to almost hateful thrusts with how hard he loved you.

You made sure Robby's bag was tightly closed before sliding it back under the desk.

The day brought the same usual storm the ED always brought. Enough to distract you from the mornings events and the package sitting inside of Robby's bag. You were left with only a creeping heat crawling up your neck, the last dregs of your doctors eyes on you and their giddy smiles.

You'd only managed to make it to the staff lounge for a coffee by mid day, taking the mug that was yours, marked with an inside joke and given one secret Santa round.

“Hey.” Robby slipped into the room, leaning his back against the sink and standing next to you.

“Hey yourself.”

For a moment there was a silence where you poured coffee for the both of you, handing him his mug.

Robby's fingers grazed yours, the simplest touch sending shivers through your skin. “Can I ask you something?”

You hummed, head tucked away. He wouldn't have heard about the mornings teasing's, would he?

“Santos has been... off today,” he said.

He would.

You gulped, a feign of concern falling to you. “She has?”

“Keeps looking at me and smirking. She's doing this thing with her hands where she-” he demonstrated, spreading his hands to different distances, some small, some bigger. His hands wavered around the imaginary object between his hands.

You were left groaning.

Robby's head tilted toward you. “Do you know anything?”

In attempts of hiding away the story your head ducked and shook side to side.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you said.

Robby's fingers were slightly calloused but no less humble as he pinched your chin, realigning his gaze with yours. His brows rose, gaze pouring into yours. He didn't even have to ask you again.

You sighed. “This morning Mohan had a patient with HIV and she wanted to give him condoms but there was none where they usually are so I gave her some of ours. But they weren't exactly... the right size.”

There was a small furrow of confusion in his face as he waited for you to elaborate.

You turned your body into his, lowering your voice. “Not everybody can fit into an extra large, Robby.”

The furrow gave and a small grin split his cheeks as he glanced down to your shoes, a pink blooming under his beard and to his cheeks. It was different from your own embarrassment. He was more pleased with himself.

Robby straightened, hands wavering. “So how does... this connect to-”

“Santos was there this morning when Samira asked.”

He chuckled, tongue poking out into his cheek as he shook his head in amusement.

“It's not funny,” you said, nudging him.

He rocked on his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Your coffee was turning lukewarm in hand, the bitter taste suddenly too sweet as you made to walk away from him and stew in your own humiliation.

Robby's fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged, using you to pull himself in closer. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he teased, voice dropping into the low drag in his condescending way. The sort of voice he used to coax you down into bed with his darkening eyes and lustful approach. “Is my dick too big? Do I fuck you too good?” His hands grabbed at your hips, bringing you into him, tongue darting out to your neck.

Your body wriggled in his hold, trying to escape as his arms grew strong around you. “Stop!” You laughed.

“Make me.” He nipped at your neck, licking over the sting he caused.

The door was pushed open and Langdon stumbled in the doorway, catching sight of the two of you tangled in arms and laughter.

“Are you two doing it in the lounge now?” he asked.

You guessed you just should've been thankful Langdon wasn't there that morning, otherwise there would have been competitions between him and Santos on who could make the best jokes out of your misery.

Slowly, Robby moved away from you, pulling himself up straight and pulling at his hoodie before leading the way out the room.

McKay was wheeling a patient away to x-ray, Samira was giving aftercare instructions to an elderly couple and Mel was somewhere lurking in a corner talking to Dana.

Santos, however, was still being the most productive, sitting across from Javadi and still trying to make sense of some invisible size between her hands.

You watched, un-able to stop as Robby walked behind Santos and spread her hands apart just a little, enough to leave more than enough inches between her hands.

Robby walked away, satisfied.

taglist (if you want to be added or took off just say the word!): @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu, @mismwaa, @annabethpotter221b

[tw1sters]

Right to Love (Part Two)

Your secret, annual summer fling with your best friend’s brother was never meant to last — but when his mother catches you in his bed, everything changes. Cornered, he does the only thing he can think of: he tells her the two of you are engaged.

▸ PAIRING: Clark Kent x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, secret fwb to lovers, best friend's brother (kara is clark's sibling), fake engagement, hurt/comfort, fluff, semi-public sex (three smut scenes), thigh riding, so much miscommunication (guilty pleasure), insecurities on reader's part, jealousy, clark dirty talks, inaccurate portrayal of smallville (picturing super small town), reader has a shit ex ▸ WORD COUNT: 14K ▸ A/N: second and final part to my submission to @elixirfromthestars' arcade! thank you so much for the incredible response to the first. i hope this one lives up to your expectations sweats. thank you to every single person who sent me a message about the fic, i adore seeing your thoughts and it means the world to me that you took the time to talk to me about it!!!! <3 this one goes out to all of you

↤ main masterlist | part one

Once you’ve washed off all the grime, you plant yourself on Kara’s bed with a deep sigh.

“You know, you’ve been spending more time with Clark than me,” Kara points out. “I’m almost hurt.”

You turn to face her, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’d have to do that any longer.”

That has her squinting at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It means Clark probably already has feelings for someone else. His time of finding distraction in you is coming to an end, which means that whatever you and Clark have — this strange, unlabeled, annual thing — will also conclude.

The thought has your stomach twisting.

“Nothing. What should we do today? What’s fun around here?”

Kara gives you a look. “My idea of fun is getting drunk and it’s impossible to do on Earth. How about we take you somewhere else? A planet with a red sun?”

That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe then she can leave you there so you don’t have to ever face Clark ever again. Or your stupid feelings. This stupid crush.

Yes, in the time that it took you to bathe and reflect on your quote-unquote relationship with Clark, you’ve established that you may have formed some feelings for him. An unhealthy, unreasonable attachment. You see now that it’s impossible not to fall for Clark Kent; you’re just like all those other girls in college who threw themselves at his feet for even a chance.

Clark is perfect. Tall, smart, sweet. Thoughtful. He’s everything everyone could ever ask for wrapped up in a perfect little bow. The invisible cherry on top of him being Superman is a nice little addition that you feel territorial over.

No one else knows him like you do.

Except Lois — and how could you ever compete with Lois?

“When can we go?” You blurt out.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on with you? I’ve joked about that before and you always tell me that you’d rather go skydiving without a parachute than go to outer space.”

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” you mutter.

As if summoned by your own despair, Lois appears at the door. Her eyes look brighter, her smile wider. Your heart squeezes, wondering what’s brought about that expression.

You hate yourself for feeling this way — you should be happy for them; your two good friends finally finding each other after years of pining. Instead, that ugly green monster has reared its head and is now driving the ship of your emotions.

“What’re you two talking about?”

“She wants to go with me to a planet with a red sun,” Kara gasps. “We have to go before she changes her mind.”

Lois would absolutely love that. She’s an adventurer. A risk taker. A bold soul. Perfect for Clark.

She is also incredibly perceptive.

“You said you’d rather swallow hot coal before you ever let Kara do that. You doing okay?”

Why does everyone have such a good memory?

“I’m fine! Let’s not fret over a perfectly normal character development. I am still at an age where I want to experience new things.”

Kara looks at you incredulously. “I wouldn’t worry if you didn’t sound like you got lobotomized in the past few days. Did all that farmwork finally get to your head?”

“Or Clark’s dick,” Lois adds with a laugh.

“Gross!”

“Look at the three of you ladies.” The new voice has the three of you whipping your gazes to the door. Ma Kent stands at the door, hand on her chest as she stares at you all in awe. “I’m so happy my dear Kara has found such great friends.”

“Ma,” Kara groans.

“You should’ve seen her growing up. She was always getting into fights, would come home bleedin’ and all scratched up.” She shakes her head, which earns another protest from Kara. “Now, Pa and Clark are fixing up the roof, why don’t all four of us go into town for a little bit of shopping? I could use help picking out things for the house.”

“Just because we’re women doesn’t mean we want to go shop—”

“We’d love to, Mrs. Kent,” Lois intercepts with a smile.

She glows at Lois. “Please call me Martha.”

As the group of women fills the car, Clark is waving at all of you from the front porch. His eyes move towards you, then stay. It’s like he’s reading you and you feel as if all of that bitter jealousy is written all over your face. So you look away, missing the way his gaze cracks with your dismissal.

You’re keeping yourself sidetracked from all these stupid feelings by exploring the town. Ma Kent takes you on a full tour of the tiny village, which all of you cover in basically an hour. It doesn’t have much, but it’s cute. Homey. Everyone seems to know the Kents around here, much to Kara’s dismay as she gets her cheek pinched one too many times by people noting how she grew up so pretty.

Luckily, before Kara can direct her laser eyes at the latest woman to do just that, Ma Kent’s exclamation has all of you turning.

“Well, I’ll be darned.”

You look up to find that she’s stopped in front of a shop. That marvel in her eyes should be signal enough for you to run for the hills. She’s then grabbing your hand and pulling you in.

White. White is all you see.

Racks on racks of wedding dresses and all sorts of bridal wear. If you didn’t know any better, you were blinking away the glare of the sun in this shop. Kara snorts next to you. “Better get ready. Ma loves weddings.”

“Sweetheart, have you thought about what wedding dress you want? Are you and Clark going to do something small? Big? Should we go for something simpler? No matter, we should try on everything until you find the right one.”

You don’t have time to argue because then Ma Kent is now speaking to the shop owner.

The lie is quickly spreading with her now telling the shop owner that her dear son Clark is getting married. Gossip undoubtedly spreads quickly in a place like this and you’re already dreading the day Clark has to tell her and them that none of this is real — that this wedding will never happen.

“It’s fine, you should go try some on,” Lois says, nudging your shoulder with a reassuring smile.

“I can’t do this. I’m lying to that poor woman who’s gonna get her heart broken when Clark and I eventually break it off,” you add with air quotes and a wince.

Lois mumbles something that ends with not happening, but you don’t catch her actual words. Then you’re getting whisked into the dressing room, handed one dress after another. You squeeze into one with the help of the owner — Mrs. Mills as you now know — and step out.

It’s a more old-fashioned number taken probably from the Cold War. Puffy sleeves, extra heavy-duty lace, and a neckline that’s choking you. You look like an antique.

Ma Kent is immediately on her feet. “Oh, look at how wonderful you look. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Um,” you pause, gaze flying over to Kara and Lois for help.

Kara is too busy snickering but thankfully Lois has some sense. “She looks gorgeous but I don’t think this dress is her.”

So then you’re in and out of dresses until your limbs are aching from the weight of some of these gowns. You nearly give up hope — maybe you really aren’t meant to be a bride — until you find this next one.

They say that when you find the dress of your dreams, you just know. It’s like everything just clicks. You don’t need to look at another dress.

This is it.

This dress knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You’ve never once thought of yourself as a bride, but this one makes you feel like you could actually be one. You could picture yourself walking down the aisle, surrounded by family and friends. Bouquet in hand, big smiles all around.

At the end of that aisle — Clark.

You don’t even register the curtains being parted until you hear the gasps behind you. Then you turn and you swear you see Ma Kent shed a tear. She’s got a hand over her mouth, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Honey, oh, sweetheart. You look beautiful. You look positively perfect. The most beautiful bride-to-be.”

There’s thickness in your throat that you can’t seem to swallow down. Because you agree. You don’t think you’ve ever looked — or felt — prettier in your life.

Ma Kent puts her hands on your shoulders as she smiles at you. “You know, before you, I’ve never seen my boy with anyone like this. Sure, he’s had his crushes growing up, but the way he looks at you — like you carry the moon and the stars in your hands — it’s how pa looks at me too. I’m glad he met you. I’m glad that he brought you to us.”

The guilt hits you in full force, like a truck running over you. It’s a fresh wave of new emotions that tides over you, mixing in with the heartful words that strike you to your core. You can’t even find the right words to say as tears well up in your eyes.

“Gosh…”

You briskly wipe away your tears, clearing your throat as your eyes go to the door. The door where Clark stands.

He’s just… standing there. His blue eyes drag from the tip of your toes, up the curve of the dress, the bodice, and then your face. You watch as his throat moves when he swallows. For a moment, you think you also see his eyes glisten.

Then it’s as if it’s just you and him. The air sucked out of the room. You and Clark in a bubble shielded from the outside world. This distance makes it feel like you’re both standing on each end of the aisle. Suddenly, you can see all too clearly Clark in a custom fitted tux. You in this dress, your hair done up, face painted.

Just you and him, minutes away from forever.

Clark opens his mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, the illusion is shattered when Ma Kent shouts at him. “Clark! This is bad luck. You can’t see the dress — let alone the bride in the dress — before the day!”

He burns red to the tip of his ears as he flounders, focus bouncing between his mother and you. Mostly you. He can’t seem to stop staring at you, gaping at you. The more he looks at you, the redder he gets. “Sorry, sorry!” He flusters, “Mr. Morris told me you were here, I didn’t realize—” Ma Kent whacks him on the shoulder but he still can’t seem to decide whether to look away or keep staring at you. “You look—”

Jimmy beats him to it. “Whoa, you look good. You know for a prete—”

Clark interrupts him this time, slapping a hand over his mouth before he can finish the sentence. Then he looks at you again — awe and wonder and what you may mistake as adoration. “You look…” he swallows, “really good. Beautiful. Just so—”

This group seems to make a habit out of interrupting each other. Ma Kent takes her turn. “Out! Both of you!” She’s using all her might to push the two boys out of the store.

Still, the last thing Clark sees before he gets shoved out is you.

A night out is exactly what you need. One night of drinking and dancing to get your mind off the fact that you’re slowly falling in love — or maybe have been in love — with your best friend’s brother — your annual situationship. With Clark Kent.

A night of drinking yourself into oblivion in the one place you never thought you’d come to and the one place you least expected to fall in love.

Kara is flicking through her closet when she notes, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and my brother, but if he’s got you down, we’re going to change that tonight. He either needs to get his shit together or we’ll find you someone new.”

But then she pauses and she turns to you, an uncharacteristically soft look on her face. One that is both sympathetic towards you but also firm.

“But I also know my brother and he’s soft at heart — and I know you and the walls you’ve put up around yours — so I need you to also be sure before the rest of us are left here to pick up the pieces.”

You don’t know what that means. If anyone’s getting their heart broken, it would be you when Clark eventually turns you down for the girl of his dreams. You’re a blip in the grander scheme of his life, perhaps it’s time for you to learn your place.

You haven’t had a moment alone with him since this morning. Not that you want it. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye after the wedding dress incident.

The look in his eyes, the lines carved onto his face, when he saw you, is engraved in the back of your mind. It’s an expression that constantly flashes every time you close your eyes. Some silly part of you mistakes it as love. That foolish part of you thinks that there might be hope with Clark. Maybe he could feel the same way.

But that hope is dashed when your mind also reminds you of how he shifted away from you that morning, how he looked embarrassed next to you with Lois before him.

So perhaps Kara is right — either you find a middle ground with Clark or — you hate the thought — you find a rebound.

Kara puts you in a pair of cowboy boots and a sundress, topping it off with a Stetson to match. You look cute — a far cry from your usual corporate getup. A light touch of makeup, enough to make you look somewhat alive, and you’re good to go.

The plan is to go bar hopping tonight. One drink (or two) at each bar before you go to the next. You do that until you run out of bars to go to which is apparently a big fear out here when there are not too many around.

As you’re putting on the finishing touches, the engagement ring — the fake one — that Clark bought for you seems to taunt you from your dresser. You don’t have to put it on. Not tonight when his parents aren’t around. Not when you think you’re out to find someone to mend your Clark-shaped broken heart.

But you can’t resist and slide it onto your ring finger. It still glimmers just as bright.

When you finally step out of the room, your eyes first land on Clark. His focus previously on Jimmy immediately moves towards you, towards the sound of your thundering heartbeat. There’s a flicker in his eyes — a flame that lights as he assesses you from head to toe. The following movement in his throat is oddly reassuring.

He’s making his way towards you, long legs moving fast to make sure you can’t escape again — not like the last few times. Then you’re tilting your face up to look at him.

“You look… wow,” Clark breathes out, “uhm, it looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” you cough awkwardly.

Unfortunately for you, Clark has also gone full cowboy with his double denim look and a hat that pairs well with yours. Broad shoulders stretching out the light-wash blue of his shirt, the color that makes his eyes pop even more. You can practically see a button straining to keep his shirt together across his chest.

God truly isn’t fair, but you suppose you’re not sure what god created a specimen like Clark Kent.

“You look good too,” you murmur quietly.

Clark’s eyes shine with the compliment, his charming smile stretching an inch wider. “Thank you. Listen, about today, you—” he stops himself, teeth catching his bottom lip. “I’m sorry ma made you do that.”

That’s not the reaction you were hoping for. Your smile wobbles as you wait for him to continue.

“I’ll have a chat with her not to rush you into this. I know this is all… pretend,” he enunciates slowly, eyes gauging your response, but you don’t move an inch.

“Right, it’s all pretend,” you echo numbly.

You don’t know what you were expecting—

This is a lie. You knew exactly what you wanted to hear from Clark.

You wanted to hear a repeat of this afternoon. A confirmation.

You look beautiful. Perfect. I’m actually in love with you. Will you marry me for real?

Your rational brain slams onto the brakes of your imagination. You shouldn’t let your fantasies run amok, lest they get lost in bouts of insanity.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Clark says softly, “so if things get too far and you want to stop this, I completely understand. I put you in this situation and that’s unfair to you.”

“It’s okay. I get it. We’ll… figure it out,” you mutter.

“I—” he starts again but stops himself. You could see his eyes swirling with a thought, a conflicting one by the look on his face. Apparently, he decides against it and shakes his head, instead offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You nod and loop your arm through his.

The problem with Clark is that he can’t seem to say no — and that he doesn’t get drunk. So when others ask to drink with him, he tries to deny them politely, but then they only insist harder. It gets to a point where Clark just has to drink with them to get them to leave him alone. But once one succeeds, that means every girl in the damn bar is trying to get with him too.

All of this to say is that he is constantly being dragged away from you.

First bar, one girl approaches him as he’s getting drinks for the rest of the group. She keeps him preoccupied as he throws awkward glances seeking help in the group’s direction. Every attempt to save him is foiled by said girl who keeps him trapped there. So you throw back your first shot of the night.

Second bar, it’s one girl after another once Clark caves to the first drink. You didn’t know that the number of attractive bachelors in Smallville added up to one Clark Kent, so he seems to be the only desirable man in the entire place. For some reason, the women here are immune to Jimmy’s charms, much to his relief. You down two additional shots here, followed by a cocktail with double tequila. Then you dance with Lois and Kara.

Third bar, you’re the one getting approached. Kara gives you two thumbs up while Lois stares at him skeptically. Clark is being cornered by yet another woman. So you take that man’s hand and dance with him. When you chance a glance at Clark, he looks a little ticked off but he doesn’t do anything. He just sits there and glares. So you keep dancing. But then Clark gets up and offers his hand to Lois and that is when you choose to turn your back on him and accept this stranger’s offer for another drink.

Fourth bar, you’re sufficiently sloshed.

On the bright side, you’re definitely enjoying yourself and you’re definitely not paying attention to Clark getting flirted with for the thousandth time that night. He barely looks at you too, too busy trying to be nice and reject this onslaught of advances. Sometimes, you wish he could be more assertive, put his foot down when he has no interest.

Sometimes, you wish you had put a stupid label on your thing with Clark so you could freely stake your claim on him. But as it stands today, you have no right to be jealous. You have no right to deny him the pleasures of other people’s company.

Your irritation boils over into pettiness, which is a terrible shift when you hear an all too familiar voice calling your name in the crowd.

It’s a voice you haven’t heard in years but one that still sends chills down your spine. Not the good kind.

You’ve managed to avoid this man for most of your adult life; how is it that you managed to bump into your douchebag of an ex, who had you swearing off relationships forever, in this bumfuck town of all places?

“You look incredible,” Patrick beams, pearly white gleaming underneath the bar’s dim fluorescent lights.

“You look like you don’t belong here,” you deadpan, whirling around in search of your friends.

Patrick catches you by the elbow. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Aw, why are you being so cold to me? We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

You don’t care about him, you haven’t thought about him in years, but the audacity of this man to act like this when he was the one who dumped you through text with two words. “Seriously, piss off, Patrick.”

“One dance, then you can tell me to go to hell. Just one.”

“Patrick—”

He’s already taking your hand. You blanch and end up trapped in the crowd on the floor, Patrick’s palms on your waist as he begins to move his body. You feel your dinner coming back up at the touch of this man. You can’t believe this loser really had that much of an impact on you, enough for you to forsake any romantic relationships.

Every time you try to leave, Patrick’s twirling you around and bringing you back to him. At some point, he’s got his front pressed up against your back, arms wound tight around your body. His breath is warm on the back of your neck and you feel repugnance crawl up your throat.

Just as you’re about to try and make your fourth escape attempt, you’re wrenched out of his hold and into the hands of another. You tip your face up to see Clark.

He’s looking at you warily but you know better; there’s a hint of a flame in his gaze — anger. It’s not directed at you but you have a pretty good idea who it’s for.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you clear your throat, drawing yourself away from him too.

Despite being irrationally annoyed with him — somewhat reasonably considering he’s been practically ignoring you all night, you are thankful to see him. You slacken against him and he softens a tad as he wraps his arm around you.

“Clark, buddy! I haven’t seen you in a while too. You two a thing now?” Patrick taunts, words slurring together into a jumbled mess as he trips forward. Clark is quick to shove him away from you, hauling you closer towards him. “Oh, come on. We can share. She’d like that too.”

Your blood runs cold as you seethe at him. “Go to hell, Patrick.”

Clark doesn’t say a word but you can sense the rage roll off him in waves. He proceeds to use his massive frame to split the crowd and drag you off the dance floor and out of the bar. You’re about to stomp your way back inside when Clark catches your wrist and pulls you off to the side.

“Clark, let me go.”

“You’re drunk.”

Your irritation spikes. “So what?”

He grits his teeth and inhales deeply. “Why’d you let him touch you like that?”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” you snap, “I got stuck in there.”

“Because you weren’t being careful,” he snips.

You cross your arms over your chest. You roll your eyes. “Since when do you care?”

He narrows his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you have other women to entertain?”

Clark’s jaw shifts. “Are we really talking about this again? I thought I made it very clear to you that I only want you.”

“Sure didn’t seem like it,” you mutter, “whatever. You can do whatever you want. We’re not dating.”

A look flits across his eyes, too fast for you to decipher, but then his gaze hardens again. “So what do you want from me?”

One thing. There’s only one thing you can ask from him. One thing you have any right asking of him. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Really?” He laughs, “Out here?”

“Never stopped you before.”

Countless nights fucking outside beach houses and bars, or that bistro in New York, or the boardwalk in LA. You’ve ticked off a lot of places in your list of the most risky locations to have sex, so this shouldn’t be any different.

For some reason, it feels like it is.

Clark lets out one final grunt before he pounces on you. His mouth slants over yours, tasting of liquor and something syrupy in whatever cocktail girl number ten probably bought for him. The thought irritates you and you end up nipping on his bottom lip particularly hard. He yelps and jolts back.

“What was that?”

“Felt like it.”

He blinks at you, confused, annoyed for a moment, before he breaks into a chuckle. “You look cute in green.”

“I’m not wearing—” you stop yourself when the realization dawns on you. “Funny.”

“I try to be,” he grins, dimples carving onto his cheeks.

Clark doesn’t give you a chance to bite back another stupid retort before he’s kissing you again, deeper, harder. He presses you against the wooden walls as his mouth wanders south along the column of your neck, leaving wet welts in his path. His teeth nibble tiny constellations on your skin, like he’s mapping out the sky above you. The stars begin to blur when he tugs your sundress down to free your tits, nipples practically aching for attention.

“Missed me?” Clark teases.

“No,” you answer tersely, shoving his head back down to your chest. He doesn’t need to be asked twice before he’s giving you all the attention you need. His mouth is warm as it latches onto one nipple, hand overpowering as it palms your other breast. His knee nudges between your legs until his thigh is pressed up against your barely-covered pussy.

“No panties?”

“Thong.”

He curses under his breath. You smile to yourself. A rare occurrence. You always give yourself a mental pat on the back when he does.

“Remind me to kill Kara,” he grumbles into your chest.

“Can you not talk about your sister when you’re sucking my tits?”

“Fair point.” Clark pushes his thigh higher until he’s grinding his muscle between your legs.

A moan pours out of your lips at the friction — the firmness of his leg combined with the scrape of the denim against your pussy. Your underwear is practically buried in your cunt as his hand wanders to grab a handful of your ass.

“Perfect,” he mumbles, “you’re too perfect.”

Your heart melts with his words. How could he be so soft with you when he doesn’t even want more? You urge those selfish thoughts of your mind, instead focusing on the delicious heat building between your legs.

“Does my thigh feel good on her, honey?”

With your eyes closed, you nod. Your teeth catch your bottom lip to stop another moan from spilling out but you feel Clark’s hand on your cheek, his thumb on your chin to free it.

“I wanna hear you.”

“C-can’t be too loud,” you stutter when he bounces his thigh.

“No one’s going to hear. Everyone’s too busy inside,” he insists as he positions you atop his thigh. “Use my leg. Can you get yourself off for me?”

You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes at how intense the feeling is in the pit of your stomach. You’re already always so aroused with Clark around, but it’s amplified tenfold when you’ve got alcohol in your system, your inhibitions and guard completely lowered.

“Yes, you can,” he coos, squeezing your hips. “I know you can, honey. Just gotta grind on my thigh. Just like that. That’s a good girl.”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice. When Clark uses that voice on you, you know you’re a goner. You’ve started rutting yourself on his thigh, feeling pathetic and ashamed, at the same time completely empowered by how much this is affecting Clark. He’s watching you with those dark eyes, drinking in every inch of you as you grind your cunt down on his leg. You tug the gusset of your panties to the side so you have more of your skin rubbing directly on him, leaving a dark pool of your juices on his leg.

“‘M making a mess,” you whine quietly.

“It’s okay,” he soothes you, “keep going. I want you to make a mess on me, want you to mark me. Need you to know that I only want you, need everyone to know that I only want you.”

And it’s definitely the liquor that’s making you vulnerable because you’re then looking up at him, doe eyes pleading, when you ask him, “Promise?”

Clark’s eyes flutter at the expression on your face. “Promise, honey. I’m all yours.”

With that in mind, you begin to mindlessly grind your hips down on him. Every shift of your hips chases a friction that fuels the fire burning inside you. When you tilt your hips in a particular direction, his thigh bumps up against your sensitive clit. You end up leaning forward to get more and more of that feeling, adjusting yourself until Clark doesn’t try to smother your moans, instead he drinks in every little noise that leaves your lips.

He continues to bury his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and lapping at those marks he’s left behind. All the while you’re humping him pitifully, hips stuttering when you get a little too close. Clark’s hand buries in your hair, yanks your head back until you let out a cry.

“Let them hear you. Come on. Let yourself go for me. She likes my leg, doesn’t she? It feels good for her. Keep rubbing her on me.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you cum all over his leg. You nearly slide off his thigh but Clark moves faster to hoist you up against him, letting you ride out your orgasm scraping yourself against his thigh.

“Good girl,” he mutters, “my turn now. Can you take me?”

Your nod is weary but it’s enough for Clark to slowly ease you off his leg and turn you around, forcing you to plant your hands against the wall.

“Going to need you to hold yourself up. I’ll be here to catch you okay,” he reassures you, lips gentle against the back of your shoulder, before you hear the clink of his belt and the hiss of breath past his kissed teeth as he buries himself inside you. The stretch is mind-numbingly delicious, particularly as he grabs onto your hips and pushes your leg closed together.

His grip is bruising as he begins to piston in and out of you, blissfully ignorant of the muffled thumping music behind those walls. He doesn’t falter when the front door to the bar opens and chatter spills out with drunk guests exiting. The two of you are cloaked in the shadows as Clark continues to drive his cock deep inside your pulsing cunt.

However, the harder he fucks, the louder you get. At some point, one of the patrons does turn and your heart stops, thinking you’ve finally been caught.

But Clark slaps a hand over your mouth while the other grabs your breast as he fucks up into you in earnest. Every stroke feels intentional, every stroke feels like it’s designed specifically for you. He knows how to angle his hips just right to hit all those sensitive, electrifying spots inside of you.

“Perfect puffy pussy,” Clark groans. “You’re too good to me. I never want to be inside anyone else. I never want anyone else to be inside you. Will you promise me that?”

You blather your agreement, words barely coherent with the force of his thrusts and the hand covering your lips. Your fingers slip against the wall, you’re pretty sure the wall itself is rattling with how hard he’s jerking his hips forward.

“You’re perfect. Perfect for me. Pussy’s shaped to my cock now,” Clark moans. “Need to teach her who she belongs to. Whose cock she can take. I’m gonna make sure this pretty pussy knows every inch of me.”

His balls slap up against the back of your thighs as his length sinks over and over again inside you. Clark’s always had both length and girth, but this position has you feeling more of him. He treats you like a ragdoll, a fleshlight, for him to fuck and use. He gropes you all over, exploring every curve and dip on your body like he’s committing it to memory.

You bump your hips back as you grow impatient, that second flame scorching every one of your nerves as you try to stop your knees from buckling. Clark holds onto you tighter, presses you against him as he whispers promises into your ear.

I’m always going to catch you.

I’ve got you, you can let go.

I’m going to keep you full.

Clark’s body tenses and you know the telltale signs by now. You arch your back a bit more, enough for him to grab your hips again, thumbs digging into the swell of your ass as he plunges into you a few more times before he spills inside you.

Warmth coats your insides as Clark’s forehead presses against your shoulder blades, his hands trembling with the weight of his climax. It’s as if he’s been holding back, his cum filling you up and beginning to leak from where the two of you are connected. It’s thick and sticky and you feel it cling to your walls. Your breathing is labored as you try to regain your bearings, as you remember where you are.

“Shit,” you huff in a laugh.

“Got that right,” Clark chuckles behind you. “Are you okay?”

Always so careful.

“I’m fine, Clark. I’m not fragile.” You bump your ass backwards against him.

Clark grunts when he feels him push deeper inside you again, spurring his cum back in you. “I know, I just want to be sure.”

When he finally pulls out, the cum leaks down your legs and thankfully Clark has a few napkins handy. He drops to his knees and cleans you up, just enough to make you presentable. You slide the straps of your dress back onto your shoulders as you lean up against the wall.

“He didn’t tell you anything, did he?” Clark asks warily.

You cock an eyebrow. “Who? Patrick? What would he tell me?”

He searches your eyes for a second, swallowing thickly. “Nothing. I was hoping he wouldn’t say anything stupid to you.”

“Aside from forcing me to dance with him, I don’t think he can do anything dumber than that. For now,” you add casually.

Clark’s lips pinch together. “Stay close to me. I don’t want him catching you off guard again.”

“Okay, guard dog.”

His mouth finally quirks up into a smile, his hand reaching out to pinch your hip. “Should I bark for you?”

And you laugh.

When you return to the group, clearly much less presentable than you were earlier, Jimmy is the only one who points out the dark stain on Clark’s jeans.

“Must’ve spilled on myself.” Clark shrugs.

None of them looks like they believe it. 

“So,” Kara begins. Her eyes are avoiding you, which is never a good sign. “You and my brother.”

Flames lick up your neck again and you hide your embarrassment behind your cup of tea. Your head is still pounding with the aftermath of your mistakes last night. Everyone else is fast asleep, hoping the liquor wears off eventually. Clark is already up and running, nodding his head at you with a smile before he disappears into the barn. 

Kara is sulking because she still can’t feel the alcohol on this planet. So now, she’s taking that out on you. 

“Are you guys a thing now?”

The words you shared last night are a blur, your inebriated state amplified by you being absolutely cockdrunk, but your best friend doesn’t need to know that. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter honestly.

“Really? That stain on his jeans wasn’t you marking your territory?”

“Kara!” You snap, cheeks warm.

“Hey, there are things I wish I could unsee. If I had to see that, you have to have the tough conversations.”

Pursing your lips, you look down at your mug again. The tea ripples with your sigh. “I honestly don’t know, it’s a weird situation.”

“You’re both adults. You can talk.”

She’s not wrong, but you’ve never been good at dealing with emotions. Exhibit A: Clark. Exhibit B: the nearly permanent toll you took from your very minor breakup with Patrick. 

“I don’t know how to start. Also,” you pause, that familiar sinking feeling returning. 

You hate to call it insecurity, because the last thing you want to be worried about is a man. But you can’t help yourself when it comes to Clark — it’s easier to pretend you don’t care than face the possibility of him rejecting your feelings. Unless you’re a hundred percent certain he feels the same way, not even a shred of doubt, you can’t seem to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. 

Because if he’s in love with someone else, if he chooses someone else, then you don’t have to think of the alternative — that you are simply not good enough to love even after all this time. 

Kara peeks at you, eyebrow raising. 

“Nothing, never mind,” you clear your throat.

The corners of her lips tighten. “I’m your best friend, you know this, right? I’m your best friend first regardless of whatever you have going on with my brother. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you should be able to trust me with it.”

Your face softens as you slide an arm around her shoulder. “I know and I’m thankful for that.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, I’m just here to make sure you’ll be my sister-in-law someday. For real. Not some fake story Clark made up so ma still thinks he’s her golden boy.” 

Her name rolls off your tongue again in a scold. 

As if summoned, the front door creaks open and out pops her mother. “Just the person I’m looking for. Kara, I’m out of milk, can you run into town and grab some?” 

“What’s the point of having cows if we still have to buy milk?” Kara grumbles under her breath.

“You know you can’t drink raw milk,” she chides. 

“We can do that, Mrs. Kent,” you smile, elbowing your best friend. “Anything else you need?”

The older woman’s face practically melts and that guilt sucker punches you in the gut again, especially when she says — “You can call me Ma, we’re going to be family soon.”

Thankfully, before your conscience has you confessing the god-honest truth, Kara jumps in. “We’ll go now. See ya later, Ma.”

You shoot her an appreciative look. 

The two of you make a pit stop for a treat-yourself coffee in town. While you enjoy the Kents’ instant coffee, nothing beats a fresh cup doused in all sorts of syrups and creams (at least that’s what you tell yourself when you swipe your credit card for the overpriced beverage). 

Kara is telling you about her latest research project at the university where she’s completing her PhD. Neither of you expected her to go down this route, but she enjoys experimenting and torturing professors, so the two vices combined make for an interesting educational experience.

That’s when you hear your name again — and it’s not the barista.

Your blood runs cold the moment you register the voice. Twice in less than twenty-four hours after years of absence has to be some cosmic joke. 

Patrick sidles up to you, a little too close for comfort. Apparently, Clark’s warning does nothing to deter him from bothering you. 

“Fancy seeing you again,” he grins. 

You feel that expensive coffee coming back up. Kara immediately slides between the two of you, a glare set in the firmness of her eyes. “Didn’t know this place let dogs in.”

“You’re still funny, Kent,” Patrick muses, unfazed as he redirects his attention to you. “You disappeared last night.”

Clark’s face in the darkness flashes before your eyes, the press of his fingers in your hips. 

“What’re you even doing here?” You snap.

He seems to think about it for a moment. “Visiting a… friend,” he notes. Kara stiffens next to him. 

“Why don’t you go back to them then? I don’t think we need to see each other.”

“That’s cold,” he juts his bottom lip out.

You can’t believe you once found this man attractive. You can’t believe you banned all romantic relationships because of him. 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve acting like this when you’re the one who dumped me.”

His eyes spark with surprise. “Hey, that wasn’t my choice.”

Your glare only deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This guy is insane,” Kara mutters, latching onto your elbow. “Let’s just go.”

“Oh, come on, Kara, you were there too.”

Your confusion shifts to your best friend, who bares her teeth at Patrick. “What?”

“Kent told me to break up with you.”

Your heart stops. 

“Clark. Remember the guy who pulled you away from me last night? It makes sense now why he told me to end things with you. He wanted you for himself. Didn’t think he had it in him but I have to give him credit for that,” he whistles low with a chuckle.

You’re not laughing. You’re not even thinking. 

Your mind is reeling with a million thoughts, a million memories. Your young, stupid self crying for hours about Patrick ending things, your first relationship. Months you spent blaming yourself for unanswered questions. You cried with Kara — hell, you’ve cried in front of Clark. 

All this time— 

“You knew?” You whip around to face your best friend who now has guilt written all over her face.

“Look, he did it for a reason.”

“A reason you didn’t bother to tell me.”

“You should talk to him,” she winces.

“Hey, if you’re still interested, I wouldn’t mind reconnecting. We can pick up where we left off,” Patrick offers you that grimy smile.

You’re too nauseous to even process the ridiculous request. 

“Patrick!” 

The three of you look up and all color drains from his face when he sees the woman approaching him. She seems sweet. Her eyes glitter when she sees the two of you. 

“Hi! Are you Patrick’s friends? It’s so nice to meet you.”

It dawns on you then that this isn’t just a friend, not with the way she wraps her arms around Patrick’s bicep. Not with the way she leans in to peck him on the cheek.

You’re about to hurl.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you spit at him and turn to her with a sympathetic look. “You deserve better than him, trust me.”

Before any of them could respond, you’re already hightailing out of there.

Kara doesn’t breathe a word the entire ride home, but neither do you. You’re too busy fuming.

To think that your very first heartbreak was caused by Clark. It doesn’t even seem plausible. He would never do that; he’s not the type to. But you need to hear the words directly from his mouth. 

You’re on a path of rage when you stomp through the house looking for him. You call out his name over and over until he sticks his head out of the bathroom, hair wet sticking to his forehead and a befuddled expression.

He smiles only for a second before he sees the look on your face. His eyes dart to Kara behind you before flicking back to you.

“Uh, hi?”

“You told Patrick to break up with me sophomore year. Yes or no?”

Clark pales. His lips part and close.

“Clark,” you grit out.

“Yes.”

The disappointment hits you like a bullet train. You didn’t want to believe it but deep down, you knew the truth; Kara’s face said it all, you were just hoping that Clark would at least provide some sort of explanation. Rationalize why he did what he did. It isn’t the fact that he told Patrick to break up with you that upsets you, it’s the fact that he watched you despair over this man for months and never said a word — and to then start this with you, albeit unintentionally, and agree to your no-strings-attached conditions knowing full well where that condition is rooted — is what devastates you.

“That’s it?” You whisper, “You’re not going to tell me why you did it?”

Clark’s gaze merely shifts away. An abandonment of accountability.

“Clark, you’re not that type of guy. I just need to understand why you would do something like that.”

“He wasn’t good enough for you,” he quickly breathes out.

“That’s not your call,” you grit out.

“I was trying to protect you.”

That’s where he gets you. This supposed moral high ground. Clark has always been the good guy, the one who’s polite and sweet, the favorite. But saying this when he barely knew you? Saying this now? You can’t help the frustration that explodes in your chest.

“I don’t need you to protect me. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“So you’ve said,” he mutters under his breath.

“Jesus, Clark, we weren’t even doing anything back then and you felt it appropriate to intervene? Were you going to intervene with any guy you also deemed not good enough for me now too?” The words that come out of your mouth are hurtful; they have the intention to hurt. You see the impact you intend flicker across his eyes.

Your brain is telling you to stop but you’re no longer listening to that part of you. Instead, you cave into the demands of your fragile, wounded heart.

“You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to do these things if you’re not even in a relationship with me. At this point, I’m not even sure if you’re my friend.”

His blue eyes snap towards you — cold, faltering with the sting. “That’s not fair. I’ve always been your friend first — before all this.”

“A friend wouldn’t have done that without reason. Without telling me.”

He takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I should’ve told you. But it isn’t fair that you’re making all these assumptions about me based on what he said. You know me. You should know better.”

“Well, maybe I don’t.” Your voice fractures, betraying the sorrow simmering under all the anger. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

The moment you say it, you regret it.

Clark has never been a mistake, not to you. He’s one of the best decisions you’ve ever made — becoming his friend, starting this thing with him, falling in love with him. You don’t regret a single moment; if not for the memories you now hold close to your chest, then at least it reminds you that you are capable of love. That it is still possible for you.

But you know that you’ve crossed a line now with the expression etched onto his face. You look away.

“Ma’s just come in, we shouldn’t do this out here,” Kara coaxes gently, “come on.” She guides you to her room, where she proceeds to let you cry into her sheets.

It seems rather silly when you think about it — you started this with no commitments with Clark to avoid crying over a man, and yet here you are today, doing exactly that. Part of it is you mourning what you’ve just lost, this conversation has changed everything between the two of you. Part of it is remorse after the fact — words you can’t take back, words you don’t mean.

“I’m an idiot,” you rasp, rubbing your eyes furiously. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I was just upset.”

“He knows that,” Kara murmurs as she tugs you into a hug, your head instinctively fitting into the curve of her shoulder. “Clark understands. The two of you just need room to breathe and process all this.”

You draw away from her. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

She sighs your name in a way that does not reassure you. “It’s not my place.”

“You were there.”

“Clark made me swear and, as much as I love you, I also love my brother and I keep my word.”

Your eyes narrow at her and you can see her resolve crumbling in real time. It’s not visible to the naked eye but you’ve known Kara for far too long to see her giving in. “Kara…”

“Stop. Don’t give me that face.”

“Kara, I need to apologize to Clark. I need to have a reason to apologize to him.”

She groans, “You’re the worst. You know you’re the only one who can bully me into doing anything. Not even Lois can do it. I’ll bite her before she tries.”

“She would wear tactical gear before she does anything like that.”

“Right,” she grunts, “I hate you.”

“You absolutely love me.”

“I do,” she relents, “which is the only reason I’m telling you this.” 

You cock an eyebrow, waiting. 

“Alright, so, this was probably a month into the two of you dating. I never liked him by the way, but you were all starry-eyed because it was your first relationship and I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Please don’t remind me of my poor decisions, I have enough of them keeping me up at night.”

“Right, so I was hanging out with Clark in the library—” you give her an incredulous look, “—okay so Clark was in the library and I went to find him to figure out vacation plans. We were walking and that’s when we saw Patrick with that blonde girl from statistics making out against one of the shelves.”

Fucker. You should’ve known, especially after today. All those times you brushed off his constant need to hide his phone when you come into the room, or leaving you at night because he has to meet his friends, or constant excuses to go to the library when he barely passed any of his classes. The signs were there and you chose to put on blinders.

“Clark saw red. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move that fast. One second Patrick was there and the next he was up against a wall. Mind you, Clark wasn’t even into you back then — not like he is today. He’s always been protective of you, you know.”

It’s not surprising. With Kara practically adopting you as a sister, Clark always was thoughtful with you. When he thought of something for Kara, he would always consider you as well. It’s nice, particularly as you’ve never had a big brother protecting you.

But you suppose your attraction towards Clark was never a surprise either. You never considered him a real brother, not when he looked like that.

“Anyways, long story short, he basically told Patrick to break up with you, told him not to give any stupid excuses. Made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you either.”

“But why wouldn’t he tell me? It was Patrick’s own mistake!”

“You should’ve seen yourself back then. You acted like Patrick was the be-all end-all. You called that sleaze perfect once and I nearly gagged.”

“That’s all the more reason to tell me!”

Kara sighs and shrugs. “In Clark’s mind, he probably thought he was protecting you. He didn’t want you to think it was your fault. You have a way of taking responsibility for things that aren’t yours to stress over. He likely thought you were going to blame yourself.”

“Jokes on him, I did that anyway,” you mumble.

“Well, we thought that asshole would at least do it nicely. Didn’t think he would do it over text with two words.”

We’re done.

And then he didn’t pick up your calls or answer your devastated texts. You cringe thinking about how embarrassingly desperate you were back then to get answers. What a waste.

Knowing all this, you feel even worse. Clark was only trying to protect you; you had a feeling it was something along those lines. It’s Clark after all, he wouldn’t do such things for selfish reasons. He was thinking of you. He’s always thinking of you.

“I need to suck up my pride and apologize, don’t I?”

Kara’s lips twitch. “I think he would appreciate it. Though, I suppose he also does owe you an apology — knowing him, he’s probably already preparing a speech on what to say to you too.”

Clark disappears for the remainder of the day. In fact, he really only comes in for dinner. He looks worse for wear with the shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion that hangs heavy in his gaze. When he sees you, there is a brief moment when light enters his eyes, brightening his baby blues, but then they quickly dim again as he throws his face away.

Fuck. Have you really screwed this up beyond repair?

The meal is only awkward for those who know. Lois and Jimmy sense trouble in the air but, aside from some confused looks, they don’t voice their concerns — not publicly at least. Clark is quieter than usual and Lois, who sits next to him after you sat down next to Kara, nudges him subtly.

He softens for her.

The interaction across from you has your heart aching. After what you said to him, you have no right to be jealous. Clark deserves better than an emotionally unstable person like you who can’t even tell right from wrong, who can’t even apologize. He deserves someone good, someone strong. Someone he doesn’t need to constantly protect.

The realization sinks into your bones, integrating itself into your very being. That little voice inside your head that tells you to worry only grows louder. It tells you that there’s probably a reason why Patrick cheated on you, why Clark would prefer Lois or that girl from the carnival over you, and why love isn’t meant for you.

It’s irrational. It’s stupid but you can’t help it when your heart is already breaking.

After dinner, you offer to help with the dishes but Ma Kent tells you not to worry and to go wash up for bed. You do as you’re told, but, after you’re dressed in your pajamas, you go looking for Clark. You have to tell him now — apologize, beg for his forgiveness, and maybe, maybe tell him how you really feel. Rip off the band-aid now.

Unfortunately, by the time you find him, he’s chuckling with Lois next to him. They’re washing the dishes, making conversation over suds between their fingers. You don’t mean to eavesdrop; you just happened to be there when they were talking.

“Well, that’s because you’re the idiot who waited this long!” Lois laughs, the sound is affectionate. Delighted.

Your stomach twists.

“I can’t help it,” Clark grumbles, “I was too scared to ruin it.”

“Let’s be honest. You had nothing to worry about, Clark.”

The puzzle pieces slot together in your mind. They click into place. The conversation, their interactions, the smiles they share. You’ve always known that Clark admired Lois, it appears as if he’s finally made his feelings known.

And Lois feels the same way.

You had nothing to worry about.

I was too scared to ruin it.

Waited this long.

God, how could you be so silly? To think Clark Kent would love you. To think you had a chance with him.

You turn on your heel, ready to escape the scene before you can break, only to run headfirst into another solid, soft body. You look up to find Clark’s dad looking at you.

“Will you spare me a minute?”

This can’t come at a worse time.

But you nod and you follow him into the living room. His fingers run over the picture frames — family photos of the four of them, Clark and Kara, some individual photos. There are some photos of Clark you haven’t seen before, boyish smile at his elementary school graduation, pearly whites at his college graduation, sun-kissed skin of him in that field out back. Pa Kent smiles almost sorrowfully at the memories before he turns to you.

“I just want to say — I think you’re a good thing for Clark. He clearly loves you very much. I can see it in his eyes. He’s never been like this with anyone else.” Your throat tightens as you bite your lip to stop the tears from falling. “He’s always been a good kid, tried to do right by everyone. Definitely tried to be so good to us. Keeps threatening to come home,” he chuckles, “but I want to know that he’s in good hands. That you’ll take care of him.”

He chokes on his words, tears welling up in his eyes. You flail, unsure of what to do, searching the room for a napkin for him even as you feel the wetness on your cheeks.

“Oh, you silly, soft man,” another voice interrupts gently, and a tissue appears before him. Ma Kent pats her husband on the back as he sobs quietly into the cloth. “Don’t scare her away before she’s officially part of our family.” She smiles in teasing apology when she turns to you. “He’s all mush when it comes to Clark. The same thing will happen when Kara finds someone too. Clark may seem strong, but he’s also all heart like his dad here. It seems Earth has given him another weakness beyond Kryptonite.”

The knowing look she gives you nearly shatters you. The truth hangs on the tip of your tongue. You could tell them right now. Save them the suffering from the secret, but you can’t do that to them — and not to Clark. This is something he has to tell his parents. When he eventually breaks the news to them that this engagement has fallen apart, maybe he has his new, real relationship to show.

And they’ve met Lois, so naturally they would fall in love with her. They already adore her. It’s hard not to love someone as wonderful and smart as her, so you can’t blame them.

For now, all you can do is nod and smile. “He’s my weakness too.”

Your week with the Kents comes to an end much too soon. Kara’s preparing to jet off back to her city while you’re on the first flight out that day. You had switched to an earlier flight, save yourself the pain and the heartache of having to face Clark and his parents for a second longer.

When you come down that morning with your suitcase packed, everyone’s at the breakfast table. Your eyes land on Kara first who you informed of your flight change. She doesn’t look surprised, but the rest of them do.

“I thought you were going to fly back with us,” Lois frowns.

“I have, um, a work thing, so I booked an earlier flight. Don’t mind me though, you all enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to call a cab.”

Clark is quick on his feet to approach you. You haven’t really seen him the last couple of days. You spent most of it avoiding him after all. He doesn’t fight it; instead, he seems to be maintaining a respectable distance too. Probably out of consideration for his new, actual relationship.

You’ve moved back to your original plan to crash with Kara as Jimmy joins Clark and Lois takes the extra guest room. All of this you do after their parents are asleep to avoid suspicion.

The lines on his face deepen as he comes up to you. “Don’t be silly, I can drive you.”

“It’s a far drive, you really don’t have to. I don’t mind. I’ll take—”

“I want to,” he interrupts softly.

“Let him take you, sweetheart,” Ma Kent insists as she comes up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. “It’s been so nice to meet you. I’m happy I finally got the chance to see the woman who stole Clark’s heart.” Your smile wanes for a moment. “I’m sure Clark would want to take you to the airport and spend some quality time in the car.”

Crap, you didn’t even think about the extremely long drive to the airport. Whereas before you had plenty to distract you, this time, you’re left in the tense aftermath of your conversation — and your lack of apology.

You haven’t even agreed when Clark’s already throwing on a cap with the car keys jingling in his hands. He once again takes control of your suitcase. “I’ll put this in the truck while you say goodbye to everyone.”

Again, no room to protest.

Jimmy sends you off with a big smile and another teasing remark about you and Clark. “Maybe we’ll see you around Metropolis more often now.”

You doubt that.

Lois is the only one who flags your red-rimmed eyes. “Are you sure you want to leave so quickly? I’m sure work can wait. We’ll miss you around here.”

Again, you doubt that.

“It’s okay, I have to catch up, otherwise it’ll be a rough week for me. I’ll miss you guys too.”

“Clark and I are going to do a piece on elections in your city so maybe we’ll come visit you at some point?”

We. You didn’t think it would sting despite what you’ve already heard, and yet here you are kicking yourself once again. All you can do is nod and murmur an of course.

Pa Kent is next and he’s practically pouting at you. “I hope I didn’t scare you off last night. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, please,” you smile, “I thought it was very sweet. Thank you. I would stay if I could. I promise.”

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime, alright? With or without Clark.”

“Seconding that.” Ma Kent holds you at arm’s length again. “It’s been such a joy having you here, sweetheart. We can’t wait to see you again soon.”

You bite your tongue and nod just as Kara wrangles you into a headlock and ruffles your hair. A laugh bubbles up your throat. “You better come visit me before our annual pilgrimage next year. I expect lots of gifts.”

“You fly for free, mine involves torturing myself through TSA and paying for tiny seats. I think you should be visiting me.”

“Touché, I’ll see you in a month or so,” she grins, “also, I can come with you, so you know, it’s not awkward with Clark.”

You shake your head, giving her arm a squeeze. “Thanks, but it’ll be fine. I need to talk to him anyway.”

She doesn’t look appeased but nods.

By the time you step outside, Clark is leaning against the truck. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps stretching that t-shirt, strong brows puckered in a deep frown. Any other day, you’d ask him for a quick pit stop on the way to the airport, promising you have more than enough time to get through security. However, things are different now.

“Ready?” You ask, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He seems caught off guard that you’re already in front of him. That’s surprising, he usually hears you coming. Guess he’s stopped tuning in to the sound of your steps.

Clark clears his throat and swings open the passenger door for you, holding out a hand.

You slide your palm over his, a peace offering, before hopping into the seat.

The air is thick with tension you couldn’t cut through with a band saw. You have to roll down the windows to let some air in to cool your stiff shoulders and the heat up your neck. Time passes by quickly and slowly all at once. The world outside blurs before your eyes as Clark peels down the highway.

This is your chance. You can apologize now, keep things polite and concise. This can be an amicable end to this arrangement you have, so he can have a clean slate to start with Lois.

But the words are stuck in the caverns of your chest and it’s beginning to irritate you how cowardly you’re being. Perhaps there’s a piece of you that’s also dreading this conversation, knowing that this would finally end this years-long adventure you two have had. Even with the gaps in between, Clark has been a steady presence in your life.

“It’ll be a real awkward drive if you’re this quiet the entire way,” Clark breaks through the silence first. His smile is light, almost in jest.

You offer him a wry smile in return. “You’re right. We don’t have to make this weird.” With a deep breath, you begin. “I’m sorry. For all the things I said. That was unfair to you and you’re right, I do know you. I don’t think you’d do anything without reason. I was just hurt that you and Kara kept this from me all this time, you both knew how horrible that breakup was for me. Still, it’s no excuse for my words. You’re my friend and I love you immensely. I know you had my best interest in mind.”

Clark reaches over and squeezes your leg. It’s meant to be a comforting gesture but you can’t help the way your core pulses on instinct, years of trained response. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should’ve told you — I assume Kara did…” You nod. “I thought I was doing what was best, I didn’t want you to get hurt. It’s not your fault that he’s an absolutely terrible person. You deserve better than that. You always have.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, “for protecting me then and protecting me now.”

“You’ll always have me, I promise you that.”

A laugh of disbelief slips past your lips. “I was pretty stupid, falling for his charm like that. I should’ve known that he was too good to be true. He was always showing up with flowers and gifts and would say all these little lines that seemed so sweet at the time. So stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Clark corrects you, “you just… believed in love. You believed in a love that you deserve, because you do deserve all those good things. You deserve someone who means it when he tells you that you’re beautiful and wonderful and smart. You deserve someone who makes you a fresh cup of coffee every morning with an abysmal amount of additives and remembers your favorite treats and gets them for you just because. You deserve… good. A good, grand kind of love.”

Curse your silly little heart. Just when you think you’ve reached the bottom, you find new depths of your heart for you to fall into with your love for him.

Many say that if you love something, then you let it go. You should know when to let it go — and you love Clark and this is one of those moments. Despite what Clark said to you in the throes of passion — I only want you, his conversation with Lois that night has made it clear where you stand.

You were always meant to be a temporary distraction. Not someone’s forever. Not Clark’s.

While you make small talk the rest of the ride, you settle on a decision that both weighs heavily in your gut but frees your heart.

Clark guides you to the very last point before he has to leave you. He’s silent for a while and you can tell he’s deep in thought. However, before you can let yourself chicken out again, you finally muster up the courage to tell him.

“Hey, listen,” you swallow, “I don’t want things to be awkward. We have a great group of mutual friends, we have this trip we do every year. We had a good thing.”

His eyes squint, noting the use of past tense. He’s always been observant.

“But I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you blurt out, “like you said, we deserve love. Maybe it’s time for us to finally pursue it, right? We’re not getting any younger.” Your attempt at an awkward laugh is drowned out by the quiet hustle and bustle of the tiny airport.

Clark still isn’t saying anything. So you continue to ramble.

“And you know, same goes for you, you should be able to be with someone you love—” Lois’ face flashes in your mind, “—and you deserve someone who treats you right, who loves you, who understands you. And I just don’t think either of us can get there if we keep this up.”

“Is that really what you want?” Clark asks quietly.

It’s not, because all you want is him. But when you look at him, all you can see is the love he is capable of, the love he deserves — and you aren’t on the receiving end of it.

“Yes,” you simply say.

He searches your eyes for a moment then gives in. “Alright. If that’s what you want.” His arms draw you into a hug and you hide your quiet tears in his chest. You don’t know if he feels it dampening his t-shirt, but he doesn’t say a word. You never liked it when someone comforted your tears. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Safe flight. Let us know when you land.”

You nod and pull away from him, swiping away at your eyes before he can notice. “Thanks, Clark. For everything.”

With that, you turn and make your way further inside. You don’t look back once. 

Rain hasn’t stopped pouring since you came back from Smallville. Fall comes early. Everyday you look out the window from your tiny cubicle and watch the drops roll down the glass. Everyday you pop open an umbrella to grey skies and make your slow walk home. It’s like whoever is up there is mocking you for the very position you’ve put yourself in. Sad and alone.

You’re officially back to your humdrum life.

As promised, you text the group the moment you land safely. You get quick miss you’s from everyone and Clark reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You don’t know what to make of that. The group has been relatively quiet as everyone settles back into their daily routines. There are occasional pictures from Jimmy of the Daily Planet office and these are the only times you get glimpses of Clark.

There are, of course, photos of Clark and Lois — she did mention that they’re working together on a new piece, so that shouldn’t be surprising, but you put away your phone and instead turn on the television to the most depressing romance movie you know (if you didn’t think of Me Before You, then you’re wrong). You cry and cry and cry. At least you can blame it on something other than your fragile heart.

Your auto-generated playlists on the way to work reflect your mood — yearning, miserable, heartbroken. It doesn’t help so you’re quick to switch to AC/DC before your feet reach the office lobby. 

Your coworkers pepper you with questions about your vacation.

“Didn’t you say your best friend had that cute brother? How was he?” One of them teases.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, simply laughing and waving it off. He’s in love with someone else, you want to say.

After work, you join your colleagues for the occasional happy hour. It distracts your mind for a few hours until the buzz is the only company you have in the quiet of your apartment, then it only makes you spiral further. You close your eyes to sleep and you see Clark. You have wet dreams like a pubescent teenager, except they aren’t fantasies, they’re memories.

You wake up drenched in sweat before you splash your face with cold water and a good dose of reality.

All in all, life is the same — slightly worse, but, as they say, it’s always the darkest before the dawn.

You make the mistake of signing up for dating apps. Men with terrible pick-up lines, men with terrible mustaches, and terrible men in general are the only ones in your messages. It doesn’t help when you compare each one to Clark and none of them come close.

You agree to one date and, while he was pleasant, you can’t help but be preoccupied with your own self-pity.

The two of you thankfully part ways at the restaurant and you make your way home with your feet aching in your heels and your back sore from slouching in your own misery. You’re rummaging through your purse for your keys when you hear the sharp intake of breath.

A familiar breath.

Your head whips up to find Clark standing there. His eyes rake over you and something you mistake as awe descends on his face. He looks adorable, positively edible in a trench coat and a bright yellow umbrella next to him. He’s still in his suit which means he probably came straight from work; you wonder if he flew here.

“Clark, what are you doing here?”

“That’s a nice welcome,” he drawls sarcastically.

You give him a look but smile anyway. “You know what I mean.”

“Lois and I are in town for work. I, uh, came to give you this,” he pulls out a shirt from his satchel. It’s one you had left in Clark’s room in your hurry to leave one of those nights. “You left it at my parents’ place.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring it back. I would’ve seen Kara eventually.”

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs. Squirms.

“Well, thank you,” you breathe out, accepting the shirt from him.

Your fingers brush. Electricity zings through you like a warning.

You’re not sure what to say now. He’s not leaving but he’s also not saying anything more. He seems conflicted for a second, looking at you, at the floor, then at the elevator. He’s probably itching to leave to avoid how awkward this is.

“I should, uh, I should go,” Clark coughs.

You pause, hesitating. “Did you want to come in for coffee or something? It’s still pouring out.”

His tongue presses against his teeth, lips stretching out a bit wider on the brink of a yes, but then he stops. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, I’m inviting,” you smirk. He’s shuffling his feet like he’s nervous.

“Is this an invite for—” he stops himself, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

It wasn’t. However, now that he’s mentioned it, you can’t get the idea out of your head. One last time. One last night to relive the memories. One last night to act upon the dreams that have plagued you these past couple of weeks.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Clark croaks, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

You look down at your dress and your heels, splashes of rain dotting your stockings and shoes. “Oh, thank you.”

“Anyway, I shouldn’t bother you any longer, you must be busy.”

He turns. Your hand darts out, fingers catching his sleeve.

Clark turns back, eyes wide.

“Stay,” you find yourself saying.

His eyes look torn, blue flickering into something darker. Sadder. “You said you couldn’t do this anymore.”

“It’s still summer,” you try to reason — both with him and yourself, “maybe one last time for old time’s sake?”

Clark’s chest rises with the hitch of his breath.

The two of you are at a standstill.

With every passing second, embarrassment sinks deeper into your skin. It’s as if he’s prolonging the rejection, dragging out this moment to find a way to politely turn you down when—

“I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

Your hand drops, heart plummeting. You should’ve known better. Stupid, stupid.

“O-oh,” you stutter silently, wringing your fingers together on your purse handle. Perhaps he and Lois acted on their feelings already. More than the confession you overheard weeks ago. You can’t help yourself, you’re a glutton for punishment. “Is— is it because you’re in love?”

His eyes widen, surprise coloring his face. “How, wait, how’d you know?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” you force out a smile.

Be happy for him. Be happy for them. This is a good thing.

Clark groans, hand reaching up to run over his face furiously. He goes underneath his glasses before he looks sheepish, cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. “Am I really that transparent? Gosh, I’m sorry. I really wanted to tell you a different way.”

“No, god, no, it’s fine,” you cut him off, “I mean, it’s a good thing, right?”

He perks up, ears pinking. “Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m happy to hear it.”

Are you? Liar, liar. You will be eventually. You can’t wait for him to leave so then you can burrow yourself in bed in the pity party you’re throwing for yourself.

“Are you really?” Clark looks shy, his face alight.

Clearly, you’re not a very good liar because the smile wipes off his face quickly. You realize then that you don’t look like you mean what you’re saying. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line to stop your tears, your throat is dry like sandpaper.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” You busy yourself with zipping up your purse, anything to stop him from looking into your eyes. You may actually burst into tears on the spot.

“You look upset. Did you… not want it?”

“No, I just—” you gasp and you can’t stop it now. The dam has broken and you can feel the saltiness on your tongue. Clark looks very concerned, hands moving around like he’s trying to help but doesn’t know how. “I’m fine. I’m just fucking selfish, I guess, I’m glad you and Lois are together now and—”

Clark blanches. “What? Me and Lois? What are you talking about?”

Your cheeks are still wet when you tilt your head in puzzlement. “Aren’t you two… together now?”

He looks positively aghast, nearly gagging. “No, why would you think that?”

“Back at the farm, you two seemed really close.”

“We’re friends!”

“But I heard you talking,” you start and his face twists further, perplexed. “She said something about you waiting too long and that you shouldn’t have worried. You said you were scared to ruin it.”

Genuine confusion is all over his face before it melts into understanding. “Oh. Oh gosh. No, that wasn’t about— no, that wasn’t her. Lois is like the older sister I never had. That— the idea of it would be… gross. Not that there’s anything wrong with her! I just don’t see her that way.”

“Wait, so who were you talking about?”

Clark moans, doing a full turn in a pace. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” 

Your brows pinch. 

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

The gears in your brain stop turning. Your lungs stop working entirely. Your entire circulation is cut off. You’re trying hard to process this but you can’t seem to connect the dots.

He takes a step forward, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks. His umbrella falls with a thud somewhere in the back but you don’t even hear it. All you can hear is the thundering in your ears. “Thought you said it was pretty obvious,” he gives you a wry smile, “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“That’s not—” you choke, “that’s not possible. We’ve been fucking for years, sure, but you weren’t in love with me.”

“No, you weren’t in love with me,” Clark huffs out a laugh, “I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t completely head over heels for you.”

You balk when you look up at him, eyes shining. “So you let me sleep with you all these years because you were in love with me? And I just — what — used you for your body?”

He laughs again, brighter and louder this time. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did, because I’ll take you any way that I can get you. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it,” he grins, cheeks dimpling with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I did. Thoroughly. Each time.”

“You’re insane.”

“Is that what you really want to say to me?”

You shake your head, face aching and you realize you’ve been smiling so wide this entire time. “I love you. I love you so much. Love you so much that it hurts. I missed you.”

Clark groans and crashes his lips down on yours, tightening his grip around your face. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“You never said anything,” you whimper when he begins kissing along your jaw and down your neck.

“I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“Lois knew,” you mutter in realization.

“Lois has always known,” he makes his way back up to you, kissing your lips then your cheek then your eyes. “She knew the moment I met you, I was a goner. I couldn’t think of anyone else but you.”

“We met like five years ago, Clark.”

He grins unapologetically. “Then I’ve been in love with you for five years.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, embarrassed.

“No, I just love you. Now, will you let me in? I want to take care of you. Missed you too much. You left too fast.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. Your key is in your door and then it’s open and Clark’s toeing off his shoes quickly, messily, so unlike him in his rush to pin you up against the door. He intertwines your fingers together and presses them into the wall.

Then he pulls back, staring at your left hand. His lips pinch. “You’re not wearing it.”

You look at your bare hand. “Oh. I didn’t think I’d need it. I was— I need to also tell you I was on a date before this.”

Clark’s face sours before he settles on bitter understanding. “We weren’t… together, so it’s not like I have any right. I should’ve told you at the airport, should’ve stopped you the moment you told me you wanted to end this.”

“I was thinking of you the entire time, if that helps,” you add sheepishly. “I was trying to get over you. I’ve been moping for weeks, crying to myself.”

His expression thaws as he kisses you again, gentler this time. “I never want to be the reason you cry ever again. Only happy tears.”

“We were both silly.”

“Yes, yes, we were,” he murmurs against your lips. “Where’s the ring?”

“Um, that drawer.”

You’ve started keeping it in your kitchen because your desperate self, the one with zero self-control, tried it on every night before you go to sleep, tormenting yourself with what could’ve been until you finally shoved it under your extra kitchen towels.

Clark separates from you only briefly to dig through the pile and pull out the silver band. He practically flies back to you, taking your hand and slipping it on your finger. Right where it belongs. His lips twitch into a smile as he lifts your eyes to meet his.

“So everyone knows you’re mine,” Clark whispers, “until I can make it real.” 

Your lips tug into a smile. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

+ sam: aaaaah it's done!!!! thank you so much for tuning in. i really hope you've enjoyed this little journey with these two. i've grown so fond of them <3 if you liked it, i really do appreciate any reblogs / comments / likes!! and ofc my inbox is always open if you wanna come yap about them hehe

clark is saving (taglist): @houseofhyde @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @pinksplace @lunexiax @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @avgdestitute @natskisses @parker-barnes-af @kelbrave @steviebbboi @onecojg @clarknsun @kryptidfiles @wildflowersandvibranium @stegosaurussims @angelryex @mollymal @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @lynnidc @winnichu173 @zhaixiaowen @macbaetwo @rach2602 @garfieldhollander @my-drvidess @deeninadream @lillilam @fruitypebsworld @vivshome @ella-rowen @reenielane @smorgasbrods @jbennsquared @royaljewellerycurator @ruptureedspleen @yelanare @take-it-on-the-run @ghostgirlwrites @oidloid

+ add yourself to my taglists!

[tw1sters]

Right to Love (Part One)

Your secret, annual summer fling with your best friend’s brother was never meant to last — but when his mother catches you in his bed, everything changes. Cornered, he does the only thing he can think of: he tells her the two of you are engaged.

▸ PAIRING: Clark Kent x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, secret fwb to lovers, best friend's brother (kara is clark's sibling), fake engagement, hurt/comfort, fluff, semi-public sex (three smut scenes), thigh riding, so much miscommunication (guilty pleasure), insecurities on reader's part, jealousy, clark dirty talks, inaccurate portrayal of smallville (picturing super small town), reader has a shit ex ▸ WORD COUNT: 12.9K ▸ A/N: this fic was truly self-indulgent, all of my fave tropes in one place. this is part of @elixirfromthestars' arcade! i played elixir's hold 'em and ended up with a four of a kind (best friend's sibling, summer fling, sworn off relationships, and fake engagement). thanks for such a fun event mel <3 this is my longest work to date so splitting it into two parts - final one coming next week!! i love seeing your responses so any reblogs/comments/likes are always greatly appreciated mwah!!!

↤ main masterlist | part two ↦

Whoever thought it would be a good idea to spend a week of your precious and extremely limited paid time off in Smallville, of all places, should be pulverized. You could’ve been sipping margaritas in the Bahamas or traipsing around Miami Beach with a scrumptious cubano in hand. You could’ve been sitting at home in your perfectly comfortable couch with your perfectly comfortable air conditioning.

But no, you love your best friend Kara dearly, and she managed to convince you and a few of your friends to do the group’s annual trip in her hometown in Kansas. Oh, how you wish you could be Dorothy in that moment and find yourself on a yellow brick road rather than this sweltering airport.

Smallville in the summer is a far cry from your ideal vacation. The closest airport is two hours away and you’re greeted by the sight of a building that looks like it barely functions and hasn’t been upgraded since the Middle Ages. You had been cramped into a small airplane that you’re convinced does not have all of its nuts and bolts considering how much it rattled (you don’t want to think about the strange tilt of the wings). It takes you a full hour to get your suitcase from baggage claim that has no air conditioning; mind you, it’s because there is no overhead compartment, so they forced you to check your carry-on into cargo (an equally cramped space).

To make matters worse, Kara’s work forced her to delay her trip by one day which means you’re already locked in to arriving a full day earlier than everyone else, thinking that you’d get to spend some quality time with her after being separated for nearly an entire year (it’s been a rough year for both of you).

“How am I supposed to get to your house?” You had asked — more like whined after she told you the bad news.

She sounded even more upset than you. “Don’t worry, Clark will be there!”

Your heart had leapt to your throat at the thought.

Now, you’re faced with this incredibly difficult, exceedingly troubling situation. Said situation is basically being stuck in a car for two hours with Clark Kent.

Clark Kent stands at over six feet tall, sticking out like a sore — but stupidly delicious — thumb outside the airport. He’s in a pair of denim jeans and a t-shirt that appears to be fighting to keep its threads intact around his bicep. His long frame is leaning against a rusty red pickup truck.

The moment you push the doors open to step outside, his eyes spot you. Brilliant, bejeweled blue even from this distance. He covers that distance in no time with his ridiculously long legs, barely breathless as your name falls from his lips.

“It’s been a while,” he beams softly. His hand immediately commandeers your suitcase like the caveman-gentleman that he is. “How was your flight?”

You shudder at the sound of the tumbling cogs still echoing in your ear. “Terrifying,” you mutter, “how do you even fit in those tiny planes?”

The question sounds foolish now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Forget I asked.”

His smile is shy and sheepish as he blinks down at you. “Perks of the job, I guess.”

“I hardly think being an unpaid superhero should count as a job. Otherwise, I’d be reporting… someone to the Department of Labor for withheld wages.”

Then he laughs and the sound is buoyant and clear in this empty parking lot. You feel it spark warmth, tingling to your fingertips.

Girl, get a grip.

You fan yourself a little under the pretense of the disgusting heat. At least the air is cooler out here than inside that sauna. Your bare legs that stretch out from under your shorts certainly appreciate the kiss of the wind. You’re able to breathe a little easier despite the humidity.

An act that is short-lived when you notice how his gaze flickers to your exposed skin.

Clearing his throat, Clark stops when he reaches his truck. He carefully lifts your bag to the bed of his truck and straps it down. You eye it suspiciously.

His lips twitch with the threat of amusement. “It’s not going to fly out. Promise. Flat roads from here on out.”

“Don’t mean to be rude but might be faster if you just flew both of us back to your home,” you suggest with a raised eyebrow.

It would make it easier for you too to avoid being trapped with him for a full hundred and twenty minutes in a car with nowhere to go.

Clark chuckles as he swings open the passenger seat for you, even going as far as to offer you a hand to help you climb the height of the vehicle. You almost imagine the ghost of his hand pushing you up by your ass, but that’s just distasteful dreaming.

“I’d rather keep our mayor in the dark about how Superman had landed and was raised in Smallville. I don’t think that’s the kind of marketing the other guy would be interested in.”

“The other guy is really only popular in Metropolis so maybe he could use a bit of a boost from a bumfuck small town.”

He laughs again and you have to stomp on those ridiculous little flutters.

The drive is peaceful. With both hands on the wheel, Clark taps his finger against the leather to the rhythm of some pop song crackling through the speakers. He makes small talk to fill the silence. He asks you about life, about your job, about the tiny apartment you’ve been trying to furnish for the last few months. Cordial. Polite. Safe. All conversational topics that are reasonable for two friends.

That is, until he asks whether you’re seeing anyone.

It should be a normal question to ask a friend. Hell, even a stranger. But you know Clark better than that and you know the underlying curiosity underneath.

Heat creeps up your neck again. You feel as if you’re back in that cursed airport as you find your voice to respond to him. “No, not seeing anyone right now.”

He doesn’t even look at you when the corners of his lips tip up into a pleased smile. You knew what he was asking — and you basically gave him the green light. He takes your confirmation as permission.

His right hand slides off the wheel and lands on your thigh. His very large palm stretching across your leg.

You swallow thickly.

“This okay?” His voice is soft. Genuine worry laced into his question.

Instead of verbalizing your response, you only manage a nod as you prop an elbow on the door. Your face turns towards the deserted road outside to hide your embarrassment. To hide the racing of your heart. The anticipation bubbling beneath your veins.

It doesn’t take him long for his hand to slide higher and higher until you feel his fingers toying with the button on your pants. Deft fingers that pop it open easily. It’s terribly sexy how good he is at that.

He reaches down your pants, fingers skimming over the thin fabric of your panties until he finds your clothed slit. A delighted hum slips past the seam of his lips when he finds you already damp. His fingers trace along your sensitive lips, featherlight, but you’re eager enough that you find your hips jerking upwards in search of his touch.

Your chest rises and falls with the breath that hitches in your throat. “Are we really doing this already?” You rasp, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to prevent the moan from escaping.

You hate how responsive you are to him. How your body’s been trained to respond to him. That familiar touch eliciting those familiar sparks of electricity. No matter how many times he’s done this, how many times you’ve fallen apart in his hands, you’re no less receptive than the first time.

Clark chances a glance your way and simply murmurs, “Missed touching you.”

A whimper actually does crawl its way out of your throat this time. How are you supposed to say no to that? You let your legs fall open, hips lifting off the seat just enough so he can tug your pants a little lower, sneak his fingers in even deeper. He applies a little bit more pressure on your slit, you can feel your panties soaking up your juices.

“So wet already, honey,” he whispers.

Honey. The first time Clark used that pet name on you, you’d told him absolutely not. However, like everything else he’s done, you’ve grown used to it. Your insides turn gooey when he uses that sweet little nickname. Something so syrupy when he’s doing something oh so filthy.

“It’s been a while,” you mutter under your breath.

“Were you waiting for me?”

At that, you can’t help the defensive scoff that spits out of your mouth. “No.”

Maybe.

“When was the last time someone touched you?”

You don’t want to answer that. It’s an embarrassing answer — one that you fear will inflate his ego too much.

Unfortunately, your non-answer is answer enough.

“Been a while,” he echoes your earlier sentiment.

“Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Why? Didn’t find anyone you liked these past few months?”

You press your lips together. The day that you admit you can’t seem to finish with anyone else, not when you’ve already had a taste — or ten — of Clark, is the day this world comes to an end. Not even Superman can pry this information out of you.

“No,” you answer easily.

Clark’s thumb presses down on your clit and you immediately jolt forward with a groan. His fingers tug the gusset of your panties to the side as he slides his fingers easily along your slick folds. He moans when he finds how quickly you coat his fingers.

“Me too,” Clark admits. “Haven’t been — gosh, you’re dripping — haven’t been with anyone since, you know, last time.” Whether it’s to save you from your own confession or Clark is just being his honest self, you don’t know. Still, you appreciate the thought.

Your face warms again with his words and maybe any other time, you would have the self-control or decency to stop him. However, in that moment, when you’re pent up from your frustrating flight and months of reaching your orgasm only by your fingers alone, you can’t help but appreciate his fingers on you.

You slide down a little further on your seat, granting him access to finally push his fingers inside you. Thick, long fingers that curl that delicious flash of friction in your pulsing cunt.

It’s criminal how good he is at this. At sex in general, really. You know that it’s partly attributed to his superpowers. Clark knows the rhythm of your heartbeat like it’s his own. It’s how he knows exactly when whatever he’s doing is working on you. How he’s learned what your body loves, what makes it burn. He can hear how your heart rate skyrockets when he slides his fingers deeper, when he does a slow drag out to pull a moan from your chest. He knows when he’s doing a good job, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t enjoy hearing you admit how much you want him out loud anyway.

He takes some sick satisfaction in making you ask for it.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

“You know what.”

“I need you to use your words, honey.”

Curse whoever ever said Clark is the good boy next door, the one who buys you flowers and opens your door. He does all that and can be so sweetly condescending in the sexiest way possible. While you’re usually irritated by any form of male patronization, there’s something about the way Clark does it.

Like he’s doing it for you because he knows you like it.

“Fuck me with your fingers, Clark,” you gasp as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you.

Your vision of the road is a blurry mess, greens and browns melting together as your eyes roll to the back. Your head slams against the chair as your hands curl around his wrist. Clark doesn’t miss a beat, keeps stroking you with his fingers like it’s his purpose.

His eyes dart between the road and you, conflicted now that he’s started this game that he has to finish. He drinks you in, the sight of your neck stretching out as you tip your head back, as your hips lift to chase his fingers.

“I can’t— I’ll finish you when we get back. I need to drive—”

“Pull over.”

“What?” He balks.

“Pull over somewhere,” you pant, tightening your grip around his wrist to keep him there. You roll your hips to rut against his hand. The ball of his palm pressing against your clit as he finger fucks you until your brain is turned to mush. “Clark, please.”

You swear you hear him curse before he takes a turn down an abandoned dirt path. He uses his hand covered in your slick to put the car into park and, before he can utter anything, you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over to his seat, straddling his thick thighs.

Clark’s eyes widen, pupils blowing up as he looks at you. He groans almost painfully. “I’m so hard. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“All night?”

He eagerly nods as he helps you shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your drenched panties on top of him. “Knew Kara and the others were coming later. I couldn’t stop thinking about having you like this. Or at home. Wherever you’ll let me have you. Missed this pussy of yours.”

Your heart slams against your chest as your cunt traitorously throbs with the kind of desperation that would be concerning to feminism. “Yeah? Did you jerk yourself off thinking about me, Clark? Hope you kept your voice down so your parents wouldn’t hear you stroking this fat cock of yours to the thought of my cunt.”

“You—” he growls, “Sometimes I wish I could just slide myself down your throat to stop you from saying such filthy things.”

A smirk curls on your lips. “You like me filthy. You like me dripping all over you.”

Your fingers fumble with his pants this time, hurriedly yanking the fabric down to free his cock for your access. You’re quick to position yourself on top of him, tip hot red and angry dipping into your entrance. Your slick is already rolling down his length when Clark’s hand squeezes your hip.

“C-condom?” He asks. The reluctance in his voice is obvious. It’s not that he won’t fuck you without one. It’s that he doesn’t want to.

“I’m clean, are you?”

Clark nods and his expression morphs into parted lips and blue eyes blown wide as you sink on him. With your hands planted on his broad shoulders, you begin to ride him — slowly at first as you adjust to his size again.

He’s big. Too big sometimes. You’re lucky with how wet you are right now that the slide eases the burn of the stretch. His thick cock has your pussy tightening in resistance, but you keep going, all the way until he’s buried deep inside you.

“Feels so good,” he moans, “you’re always so tight, but you always make it fit, don’t you? You take my cock so well.”

Your pussy clamps down around him, your pace faltering with his words.

“Look at her. She’s swallowing me right up. She’s greedy, always taking me all the way in,” Clark coos as he watches his cock disappear into you over again, each time you burrow him deeper and deeper inside you. “My favorite pussy. She’s so pretty taking me in like this.”

You lean back and place your hands on his thighs as you roll your hips to drive him in deeper. “Fuck, Clark. Every time I see you, feels like you've gotten bigger.”

“No, honey, it’s just because your pussy tightens up,” he chuckles, fingers brushing your hips. “She just has to get used to me again. I’ll stretch you out, don’t worry. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.”

“Play with my tits,” you rasp. “Want your hands on my tits.”

You know what you’re doing. This is both for you and him. You’ve always loved seeing how big his hands are, how they cover your breasts entirely. How he can be both delicate and rough when he toys with your nipples.

His fingers unbutton your shirt slowly and, the more he does, the wider his eyes go.

Clark lets out a moan when he sees your nipples in the open air. “No bra?” He squeaks. “You went through TSA like this?”

Your lips tip up into a smirk. “Don’t worry, nobody gave me a pat down.”

“Better not have,” he growls low, “these are mine.”

Your pussy and heart flutter with his possessive declaration. You nearly bite out a snappy retort, asking him since when am I yours but the words fizzle out behind your ribs when Clark grabs your hips and begins to earnestly fuck up into you. He’s careful not to hurt you, but tests your limits with how hard he’s gripping you. You’re sure to bruise but these kinds of marks, he knows you don’t mind. You like when he stakes his claim.

His head dips to take one nipple into his mouth, one of his hands rising along your torso, thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he lifts it slightly. His tongue circles the peaked bud, hot and wet until you’re throwing your head back in ecstasy. He nibbles lightly on the sensitive skin, enough to draw out another whine from your throat.

“So pretty. You’re always so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Pussy feels like heaven. So tight around my cock, honey. All mine. Tell me your pussy is all mine.”

You gasp when Clark thrusts up particularly hard, keen eyes searching yours. Swallowing, you hold on to the last thread of your pride as you resist the urge to cave into him.

“Come on, tell me. I won’t let you cum if you don’t say it.”

“Clark,” you whimper, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean,” he murmurs, “just want you to tell me that this pussy is mine. That nobody else has touched it. That nobody else will ever touch it.”

It’s a terrifying admission, even in the heat of the moment. Deep in your gut, you know that no one else will ever feel as good as Clark. No one else will ever get you to finish the same way he does. Fireworks and heat streaking across your skin.

But you give in to him so he will give in to you.

“My pussy’s yours,” you cry out.

“Say it again.”

“My pussy’s yours. Only yours.”

“No one else can touch it. You’re always saving this pretty, tight pussy for me.”

“Fuck, it’s yours, Clark. Please, please, fuck— hnng, need to— I want to cum, please.”

Clark groans as he angles his hips just right so that he’s fucking into that delicious spot inside of you over and over again until you can’t find it in you to think or even breathe. The gasp is wrangled from your throat as he rips the orgasm straight from under you, your back arching as your fingers dig into his shoulders, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body shudders against him as you feel him spill inside you, warmth painting your walls as he jerks a few more times.

You slump forward, forehead against his shoulder as he continues to cum inside you. You can feel the cum leaking from where you’re joined, too much for you to keep inside yourself. It trickles down your thighs, dripping onto Clark’s jeans as evidence of your little tryst.

A giggle slips past your lips as you sigh against him.

His clean hand (he knows you have a thing against it otherwise) reaches up to stroke your head as he turns to press his lips on your temple. “What’re you laughing about?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Just— this. We really couldn’t wait to find a bed to fuck.”

His chest rumbles with his laugh. “Well, my ma and pa are home too so we wouldn’t have had a chance until tonight.” He pauses, then says, “And we both know you can’t keep your voice down.”

You launch yourself back with a glare, hand weakly swatting his chest. “Hey, speak for yourself. If I sucked your dick, you’d be crying and begging for me to stop because you can’t handle it.”

“That’s just because I want to cum inside you instead of your mouth.”

Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing. Traitor.

“You like that, don’t you?” He grins easily.

“Whatever,” you mutter. Wincing, you extract yourself from him and feel more of his cum leaking from between your puffy pussy.

Before you can move back to the passenger seat, Clark sits you down on his lap. His hand settles on your inner thigh, thumb pressing against your swollen pussy lips to open you up to him. He watches as his cum dribbles out of your cunt, before he uses his fingers to fuck them back into you.

“Don’t want to waste it,” he smiles boyishly.

This fucker.

“You’re the worst.”

“You won’t be saying that when I tell you I’ve figured out the many other stops we can have along the way — you know, if you wanted a second or third round.”

You’re warm to the tips of your ears. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s been a while,” he chuckles.

Clark’s parents greet you with a good dose of midwestern charm, followed by a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and Earl Grey tea. He regards you with mild amusement as you glance at him in alarm when his mother wraps you in a massive hug, telling you that she feels as if you’re one of her own.

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about you from Kara and Clark! It’s such a joy to finally meet you, honey. Come on in. Are you hungry? Did you want to clean up first? I’ve got some extra towels in Kara’s room for you. Clark, be a dear and show her around, will you? I just need to pull out the cinnamon loaf from the oven.”

It’s like a tornado, a whirlwind of movement all at once. A very pleasant tornado. Clark ends up giving you the comprehensive tour of the farmhouse. The Kent house looks fully lived in — well-worn vintage furniture with stitched florals, family photos dotting the walls and shelves to show any guest how loved the two Kent kids are, and touches of an old-fashioned home with typical cliché quotes hanging in frames or sewn onto throw pillows.

Clark blushes when you stare a little too long at the live, laugh, love painted onto a piece of wood above the toilet. “Ma loves that kind of thing. She buys a new one almost every time she goes into town.”

“Wish I had known, I could’ve gotten her another one for her collection,” you grin. “It’s sweet, Clark. Very charming.”

His smile softens slightly as he guides you to Kara’s room. “I’ll let you get settled in then. I have to help pa out with a few things, but let me know if you need anything. You have my number.”

Kara’s room is similar to the one she had in college. Posters of her favorite rock bands, pink wallpaper painted over with abstract murals that you find all too familiar. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room with frilly pink sheets that you doubt she picked herself. For the next hour, you unpack all your belongings, finding yourself dreading stepping outside and facing the music.

You had met Kara in college, freshman year, and the two of you were bonded for life. It started with a snooty remark from another student, and you and Kara had intervened at the same time, finding your sister-in-arms on day one. Two of you were similar in that you were both bull-headed, a little bit temperamental, but fiercely loyal. You loved her the moment you met her.

Sophomore year found the two of you unsurprisingly rooming together. The two of you were truly inseparable then. You thought you knew everything about her. That was until she said—

“My brother needs to come by,” she groans.

“You have a brother?”

That was when you were introduced to Clark Kent. Before you even met him, you had a strong inkling that you wouldn’t be a big fan of the guy. He was a year older than Kara but he was in a frat. Not that there’s anything wrong with participating in social activities on campus, but Greek life? Yes, you had formed your own preconceived notions about him.

So when Clark finally “swung by” to pick up one of his jackets while Kara was gone, you were caught off guard by the sight of this bumbling six-foot-four-mess who kept fidgeting with his thick-rimmed glasses. Clark, with his nervous smile and constant shifting, was a complete antithesis to Kara who had a permanent scowl and a sharp tongue.

Then you started seeing him everywhere on campus. You’ve seen him around before but now you can’t stop noticing him. He’s the mop of curls trying to shrink himself at the front of your English literature classroom, he’s the light laughter ringing across the dining hall, he’s the designated driver who physically gathered up the drunkards and piled them into the group’s car to send them home at the end of the night.

But he’s also the guy who’s always surrounded by some of the frattiest guys on campus and the guy who’s constantly swarmed by women grabbing at his biceps and running their hands down his chest.

“Your brother’s a bit of a player, huh?” You pointed out once to Kara, your eagle eyes focused across the room on Clark, who was humoring Bonnie from psychology as she yapped his ear off.

He didn’t seem to mind, laughing at whatever she was saying, which had her beaming.

Kara turned around, eyes following yours as you witnessed the atrocity that was Bonnie straight up flattening her manicured palm on his left tit. “Who? Clark?” She snorted, “The furthest. You can’t see it but that man is plotting the most polite escape route. Give it a second.”

Sure enough, the moment his eyes landed on you, they burned a brighter blue. He said something to Bonnie that had her pouting, turning to look at your table, before he made a beeline in your direction, sliding into the empty seat next to you.

“What happened with Bonnie?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“You know her?” Clark raised one right back. “She was, uh, talking about the frat’s winter gala thing.” His face distorted in a wince. “Asked me if I had a date.”

“Oh, while groping you?” Kara snickered.

Clark threw her a look. “Be nice. She meant well.”

“She meant she wanted your dick,” Kara noted then winced, “I don’t know why I just said that. I take it back. I don’t want to know about your sex life.”

His neck flushed a deep red as his eyes darted toward you for a brief second before he whipped his gaze away with a cough. “Anyways, I didn’t want to lead her on. So I told her I was already going with someone else.”

“Well, now you have to show up with a date,” Kara noted.

“Yeah.” Clark scratched the back of his ear then flicked his gaze towards you again. “Funny story.”

Dread sank into your gut. “Clark, no.”

“I’m sorry,” he flinched, “but she wanted to know who and I saw you and obviously I couldn’t say Kara so… here we are.”

“I have to go to your frat’s winter gala? Over my dead body.”

“It’ll be fun! Drinks and food. I’ll cover your ticket, obviously,” Clark pleaded. His blue eyes were shining in a way that made you melt. It was hard to say no to Clark Kent.

That was how you ended up as Clark’s date. That was how you ended up meeting your first ex in college. A fratboy of all people but he won you over with his sense of humor and charming smile. That was how you ended up with the most devastating heartbreak with a breakup that lasted all of one second over a text.

That was how you ended up swearing off relationships forever.

That was how you ended up in Clark Kent’s bed the summer you graduated college. One time turned to two turned to fucking on the kitchen counter while the others were asleep upstairs on your group’s annual trip. This “summer fling” became a recurring, annual rendezvous. As long as the two of you were single, you somehow always ended up in each other’s beds — or any other viable surfaces.

However, what was made very clear from the very beginning was that you were not looking for a serious relationship whatsoever. The last thing you needed was to get your heart broken again when you promised to focus on your career.

So this arrangement works.

You’re brought out of your reverie when a knock sounds on your door. Clark pops his head in, curls damp and glasses sliding down his nose again. He’s a little pink when he catches you midway through changing into a comfy t-shirt. A smirk curls on your lips. Even after seeing you naked all this time and talking like a fucking porn star during sex, Clark still blushes whenever he unintentionally catches you in a… compromising position.

“Um, ma wanted me to tell you to come down whenever you’re ready. We usually eat dinner as a family. If that’s okay with you.”

You finish shoving your arms through your shirt before bending down to reach for a pair of shorts. You hear the hitch of his breath behind you. Smirking, you slowly roll yourself back up. “Like what you see, Kent?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles under his breath. Your eyes fall to his sweats where he’s currently adjusting his not-so-little problem. “I can be quick. And quiet. If you want to.”

A laugh rises from your chest. “Keep it in your pants. I don’t want to be late for my first dinner with your parents.”

With a slightly disappointed sigh, he nods and guides you downstairs.

Dinner is as you expected — delicious food with a side of chaos. While Clark’s dad keeps mostly to himself, nodding along to whatever his wife is saying or whispering with Clark, his mother peppers you with endless questions about your life, your job, and your relationship with her children. “I’m so sorry we’re only meeting now! I hear so much about you from both of them. It’s such a shame.”

“I hope Kara only has good things to say,” you tease.

“Oh, Kara adores you but Clark also won’t stop talking about you.”

That catches you by surprise and you shift your attention to Clark with a curious look. “Is that so?”

There’s that pink again. Endearingly embarrassed. “Oh, yes,” his mom gushes, “tells me all the time what a sweetheart you are and how smart you are, how he enjoys watch—”

“Ma, how about some more mashed potatoes, hm?” Clark distracts her, offering a massive dollop of her potatoes. “How about you tell me what’s going on with the kitchen sink? Thought you wanted me to take a look.”

His mother is successfully distracted when she instead begins to fuss over everything wrong with the farmhouse. His father tries to reassure Clark that he’s got it under control and that he should just enjoy his vacation. Clark only nods along, partially listening. You know the look he has when part of his mind is far away from the conversation.

You can’t help but wonder what his mom was going to say.

After dinner, you insist that his parents get some rest while you and Clark do the dishes. It’s a back and forth for a bit, debating on whether guests should be doing chores, debating on whether you’re guests at all. Thankfully, you win when Clark manages to urge them out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Clark is the actual winner when he also pushes you out of there for you to get cleaned up

You do a full scrubdown, washing away all the grease from the flight. The water is warm on your skin, much needed after a long day. You almost slide yourself into Kara’s mattress to sleep when you realize Clark missed one part of his tour.

So you tiptoe down the hall, careful not to wake the Kents with the creaking beneath your footsteps as you sneak into Clark’s room, closing the door behind you.

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, chiseled, bare chest on full display, as he frowns at his phone. He looks up, fumbling with the device when he sees you. His arms quickly go to cover his stomach and his legs, as if he’s at risk of exposing an ankle to a Victorian lady.

You roll your eyes. He clears his throat. “What’re you doing here?”

“You never showed me your room, I wanted to see if you had anything embarrassing in here. Like Superman plushies or something. Or your old porn collection. Maybe a Playboy or two.”

“I don’t… have any of those,” Clark says, pink to his ears.

“Sure, you’re telling me if I look in that drawer over there that I won’t find a couple of risque magazines?” You begin drifting in that direction and Clark is immediately in your path. You’re face-to-face with his pecs.

“Take my word for it.”

Sighing, you cave and instead wander around the rest of the room. It’s a quaint room. Small bed that you’re not even sure would fit him. Two small bookshelves with some reference volumes and novels you’ve heard him talk about before. Giant poster of the Mighty Crabjoys who Clark insists is very punk rock. Then there are a few trophies for a spelling bee, debate club, and a science fair — none for his athleticism, because you know for sure Clark would never use his gifted powers for selfish purposes. His desk has an ancient monitor that looks like a stack of brick and more books — comic books, more novels, and CDs (no doubt of the Mighty Crabjoys).

It’s simple and sweet. Kind of like him.

While you’re busy absorbing every inch of his bedroom, Clark has crept up behind you. His arms wind around your waist, lips pasting on your neck. You instinctively tilt your head, a moan bubbling up your throat. “Clark, your parents are down the hall,” you murmur.

“I can be quiet. I’ll make sure you are too,” he whispers as his hands begin to wander. One to cover your mouth and the other going between your legs. “I’ll make you feel good, honey.”

And that he does.

Your second day in Smallville starts off early. And warm. Incredibly, horribly warm. Your eyes flutter open to the wide expanse of creamy skin. Creamy skin on a very, very wide chest. Grunting, you try to push against him, to get his hefty arm off you, but he doesn’t even budge.

Clark grumbles quietly, tucking you deeper into his chest. “Sleep.”

“Clark,” you whisper-yell, “come on. I gotta get back to the room.”

“You’re already in a room,” he mumbles.

You peek up only to find him still with his eyes closed. “Your parents—”

As if on cue, your worst nightmare plays out in real time. You hear the creak first. You try not to panic, praying that it’s someone walking away from the door rather than towards it. But then you hear the knob twist. You feel Clark stiffen in real time, his entire body going taut like a board as his eyes slam open. The two of you don’t move fast enough; in fact, your legs are still tangled together when the door swings inwards.

“Clark, honey—” his mom’s words die out, undoubtedly when her eyes land on not one but two bodies in the very tiny bed that barely fits her son. Clark holds you in closer, tugging the blanket higher to cover your bare back. Your shirt is abandoned somewhere in the room — along with your underwear that hopefully isn’t visible to his poor mother’s eyes. Thankfully, you’re not facing the door, so you don’t have to subject yourself to whatever disappointed face she’s making. “What in the—”

“Ma! Why didn’t you knock first?” Clark coughs, sliding up only to bury you deeper under the blanket.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to have company at this hour, Clark.” There’s a sternness to her words that sends shivers snaking up your spine.

Not even a full twenty-four hours and you’ve managed to ruin your entire reputation with his mom. But if you could just explain this, then maybe—

“We’re engaged, Ma. Alright. We’re engaged!”

What the ever-loving fuck—

“Engaged?” Her tone has shifted significantly, delight clinging to every letter. “Oh my, oh goodness, what wonderful news! I want to say I didn’t see it coming but I did! My boy did talk about you all the time so it’s not much of a surprise.”

“I do not, Ma,” Clark retorts quickly.

She barely pays him any mind. “I have to tell your pa. This is exciting news! My first son! Engaged!” Then she’s scampering out of the room and Clark can only call out, “I’m your only son, Ma!”

The moment she’s out of earshot, your hands immediately fly.

“Ow! Ow! Stop that! Come on, stop it!” Clark flinches as you continue to barrage him with smacks from all angles. Not that it actually hurts. His hands immediately whip out to pin you down, his body hovering over yours. Your chest rises with every heaving breath while Clark just frowns at you, probably concerned that you’ve hurt yourself in your fruitless attempt to hurt him. “Are you done?”

Even in this situation, you can feel that familiar heat stirring between your legs. Clark’s handsome face above you, his one hand pinning you down, the other one on your hip, his stupid, big, beefy chest in front of your face. You hate it.

Unfortunately, this means Clark picks up on your heartbeat, the way your blood rushes beneath your skin at the sight of him.

His lips tip up. “Good?”

“Why in the hell would you tell your mom that we’re engaged?”

“I love my ma. Wonderful woman. Loves everyone dearly. Love is love, she believes in. She’s all about love.”

“So you tell her we’re engaged?"

Clark sighs, “Even with all that, she is very much still an old-fashioned woman from the Midwest. She would not approve of me… bedding a woman outside of wedlock. She would never forgive me if she knew what I’ve been doing.”

Or who he’s been doing — you.

“Oh my god, Clark.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Because you don’t want your mom to know that you stick our dick inside girls before marriage, you drag me into this and act like we’re getting married?”

Clark frowns, lips pinching together disapprovingly. “Girl. One girl. You. And yes, I panicked, I’m sorry. It’ll just be for this trip, alright. We’ll… explain it all away after.”

Another protest sits on the tip of your tongue, but the look on his face reduces you into a puddle. A puddle that molds according to whatever container Clark pours you into. 

“Fine, okay, but what are we going to tell Kara? Or Lois and Jimmy when they arrive?”

He opens his mouth then promptly closes it. Thought so.

“We should think fast because I know for a fact Kara’s supposed to come in anytime now—”

Then you hear the screech, followed by the hurried footsteps, followed by the door once again banging open against the wall with the brute force of her strength. You’re surprised it’s still on its hinges.

And there she is.

“What the hell, dude? You’re engaged to him?”

Clark gives the two of you some space; that is, after he kicks Kara out long enough for the two of you to be decent.

This is the first time the two of you have ever woken up together.

In the years you’ve slept together, the countless nights you’ve spent in a pile of messy limbs, this is the first time.

The awkwardness that follows hangs heavy in the air.

“I’ll, um, I’ll give you time with Kara. I’m going to calm my parents down first, tell them not to overwhelm you. I’ll see you later?”

He says it like a question, like he isn’t sure if you would even see him again after this incident. And you know that it’s mainly his fault but you should’ve also been more careful. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you snuck in, you knew what you were looking for when you went to find him last night.

“Yes, Clark, I’ll see you later.”

Mild relief sinks into his features as he nods and exits the room.

It takes a bit of time to get Kara to stop hyperventilating or talking for even a second for you to get a word in. She’s still reeling at the fact that she saw her best friend and her brother in bed. Together. Naked. She may have also attempted to rinse her eyes with bleach.

After talking her off the ledge, you finally give her the basic answers.

“Yes, I’ve been fucking your brother.”

“No, we’re not dating.”

“No, Kara, how would we be actually engaged if we weren’t dating?”

Lois and Jimmy arrive shortly after and you thankfully get some reprieve from Clark when he goes to pick them up. Fortunately, Clark gives them the quick SparkNotes version of what transpired this morning. Unfortunately, you have to do the full run-down to once again emphasize that you are not actually engaged to Clark Kent. 

Dinner is only an awkward affair for the people in the know. Clark’s parents remain blissfully ignorant, instead focusing on gushing about how thrilled they are that Clark has found somebody.

“You’re the first girl he’s ever brought home. It’s only right that you’re his fiancée! Now, I want to hear it from both of you — when did this all start? How did you know you were in love?”

Kara chokes on her chicken. Lois and Jimmy share wary looks. You shoot her a dirty look. Clark coughs, eyes sliding over to you for a nanosecond before returning to his mom. “Love at first sight when I saw her that first time.” Clark should be an actor, he sounds terribly convincing.

All you can say is “same.”

Clark kicks you under the table and you have to swallow your yelp. A dirty glare his way does nothing to deter him when he gives you a look that insists you give his mom an “actual” answer. 

You wrack your brain. Beyond the good sex, Clark has mostly existed in your periphery. He’s Kara’s brother. Lois’ best friend. Jimmy’s partner in crime.

But he’s always been just Clark to you.

You just happened to be smart enough to put two and two together on him and Big Blue and, for some reason, that brought you closer. 

But if you were to pick a point in which you could were to fall for Clark Kent, it would be that.

“I think it was around the same time. A first year was struggling through orientation week. First week jitters. Clark was an orientation leader at the time. He didn’t have to but he stuck with that kid almost that entire week. Saw him invite the kid to join for lunches with his friends, encourage him to make friends. It was sweet.”

Mrs. Kent looks absolutely awed. She whispers about how endearing that is.

However, all you can feel is the weight of Clark’s gaze on you. Steady, heavy. You risk a glance up. 

His eyes are soft, a little misty if you squint. Lips with a slight up curve. 

“I don’t know if I remember you back then.”

Heat kisses your cheeks. “That was before we were introduced.”

“You knew me?”

“Hard for you to not stand out as a six-foot non-football player.” 

Clark chuckles.

“That’s so very romantic, dear. I’m so glad to hear,” his mom coos, “now all of you off to bed. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? So much good news! And you two should stay together — future newlyweds!”

You choke the same time Kara protests. “But she’s rooming with me!”

Needless to say, Kara doesn’t win this fight and, while Lois gives you a sympathetic look as she enters Kara’s room, you’re suddenly being shoved back into Clark’s room. The same room that got you into this mess to begin with. 

“Clark, we need to get our stories straight if we want to be convincing.” 

“Hmm, sure.”

“We need to talk about when we started dating and when you proposed — not to mention how you proposed! And the details matter, you know, so we should— are you even listening?”

Clark hums again, clearly not listening. “Sure, yeah. We should talk about it.”

He’s taking one step towards you then another and another until the back of your knees hit the bed. “Clark,” you warn, “talk.”

He ducks his head, brushing his lips against yours. His proximity is intoxicating. What were you saying again? Something about talking.

“Fell in love with me before you even knew me, huh? That’s cute,” he murmurs in a breath that you sharply inhale. 

You bite back your embarrassment. “It’s just a story.”

“But you—” kiss “—noticed—” kiss “—me.” 

“It was just, um, I was only, mmm, answering…” Your words trail off as Clark navigates his mouth south along your neck, laying you down on his bed, as he drops to his knees, hands parting your legs. “Clark, we need— ah.”

“Did so good today, honey,” Clark mutters, pressing wet kisses up your bare inner thigh. His teeth nip at your skin. “Now, let me take good care of you tonight.”

Your body is still sore and tingling when you wake up the next morning. When you stretch your hand over, you find the other side of the bed cool. 

You pad out through the creaky front door to find three of your friends enjoying the crisp, unpolluted air of Smallville with cups of coffee, ones that Lois doesn’t have to douse with a whole can of sugar. Clark is still nowhere to be seen. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Kara yawns. 

“Morning,” you mumble quietly. “Has anyone seen Clark?”

“He’s helping out at the barn,” Lois answers first, eyeing you with a strange twinkle in her eye. “Better yet, how about you tell us how long you and Clark plan on being engaged? Are we invited to the wedding?”

You give her a look. “If I ever get married, please know I’ve been kidnapped and cloned.”

“Is it really so bad?”

Cocking an eyebrow at her, you ask, “You of all people are saying that? Miss Independent?”

“Hey, I am voluntarily a solitary creature.”

“That’s because she bites the head off anyone who tries to approach her,” Jimmy chimes in, then turns back to you, “Clark’s not a bad pick. You know, if you were to get married.”

“No, he’s not,” you mutter — and it’s a truth that just slips out. 

When you look up, Kara’s got her eyes narrowed at you but Lois — she’s got a curious yet strangely warm look in her gaze. It’s not an expression that you expect to see from her. 

And Jimmy, well, he’s still half dizzy over the fact that you and Clark are fucking. 

“I need to talk to him, we need to get our stories straight,” you clear your throat, glance wandering over to the barn some distance away. 

“You guys still haven’t discussed that?”

“No, I tried talking to him last night but we got—” The ghost of Clark’s curls between your legs, soft strands tickling your inner thighs. The hot, wet drag of his tongue between your folds. His muffled moans, nose glistening.

“You taste like nectar from the gods.”

“I don’t wanna know!” Kara yelps, slapping her hands over her ears. “I see your face and I don’t wanna hear it. While I enjoy hearing about your sexual encounters, I don’t want to hear about my brother’s.”

You cough again, ignoring the warmth that’s flooded your cheeks. “Right, anyway, I’ll go look for him.” 

While you’ve never experienced country living, you imagine this is close to what it’s like. The unappetizing aroma of manure, the constant croaking of nature, and the sight of Clark Kent in overalls.

Nothing but overalls. 

Shining golden skin. Not a single drop of sweat. Curls mussed up only from the heat, but his breathing is stable even as he lifts bags of soil on his shoulder. Hundreds of pounds. Biceps flexing, veins taut. 

Fuck.

“You’re awake,” he brightens when he sees you, dropping the bags off to the side. “How’d you sleep?”

Your brain short-circuits when he dusts his hands off. Now that there are no bags in the way, you can see everything. Broad, round shoulders. The curves of his arms. Lines running down the length of his forearm, you can practically taste the texture on your tongue. When his overalls shift just right, you get a glimpse of his dusky nipple that you’re desperately needing to wrap your lips around. 

All you can picture is how good it would be to put your hands on his shoulders, bolstering you up while he presses up against you. 

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking.” 

Clark’s in front of you. His fingers curving around the back of your neck, thumb on your jaw to tilt your face up. His usually bright blue eyes are dark, pupils swallowing his irises. 

“We should—” your breath hitches as his thumb goes down, pressing down on your pulse point on your neck. It jumps. You know he feels it.

“I can hear your heart racing,” Clark murmurs. “I like hearing it. I like knowing what you like — and you like my hand on you.”

“Clark, please,” you rasp. 

“What do you need?” 

“You.”

“How do you want me?”

You swallow, the image so vivid in your mind, like it’s a memory. “Holding me up.” You barely get the words out when Clark wrangles your legs around him, holding you up firmly with one arm as his other hand touches your cheek. 

“What now?”

“I want you. Inside.”

“I can do that,” he smiles, leaning down to suckle lightly on your neck. “Anything else?”

“Must I tell you everything?” You grunt.

“I know what you want. I just like hearing you ask for it.”

With your lips pursed in defiance, you cross your arms over your chest. “If you ask me one more time—” 

A yelp is wrenched from your throat when he finally (finally) brushes his thumb over your sensitive nipple peaking through the thin cotton of your shirt.

He gropes you gently, somehow manhandling you in a way that makes you feel desirable rather than disgusting. His blue eyes are shadowed, drinking in the way you shiver with every tug, every pinch.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs to the wind. 

Clark tugs the shirt over your head, leaving you completely topless. Your arms immediately wind around your body in embarrassment, but he moves faster to extract them and deliver you a chiding look.

You’re sheepish when you tell him, “Someone might see us.”

“Mhmm, let them. I’m taking care of my fiancée.” His lips tug into an amused smirk when you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Please, you like brats.”

“You know me so well.”

He dives forward and takes your tits into your mouth, showering them with cautious but delicious attention. His tongue is hot on your skin. You throw your head back as he drags his lips across your neck. 

With swift hands, your shorts join your shirt in the pile of hay and Clark has unbuttoned his overalls to fall at his hips. His mouth stays on you the entire time — sweet and spicy at the same time. 

Greedy hands lift you slightly higher, only to position you right above his straining cock. The vein in his neck jumps as he grits his teeth.

Clark eases you onto his cock, moving you up and down along his length like a toy, like you’re his personal fleshlight. Your pussy stretches around him, soaking his cock until you’re a whining mess. 

“‘M gonna need you to keep it down,” he grunts quietly, neck flushed red as he bites down his own moan. 

On cue, and as if to prove a point, a moan crawls up your throat. Clark’s hand flies up to slap over your face. Large palm over your mouth, your eyes wide at him. A whimper slides up your throat at the stern, scolding expression on his face. 

“Honey, what did I just say?”

Your pussy clenches around him. His words are almost demeaning, but the gentleness with which they are delivered has you shivering and melting into his touch. “S-sorry,” you stutter pathetically, “I‘m sorry.”

“I know,” he whispers, “I know, but I need you to be quiet, okay. I don’t need my parents coming out and seeing us like this. They might make us marry on the spot.”

Heat spreads throughout every nerve in your body at his comment. It’s a joke, you know it is, but the idea of Clark claiming you as his with his cock buried inside you, painting you in bridal white inside out, has you tightening around him. 

“Is that what you want?” Clark murmurs softly, his blue eyes twinkle with the kind of mischief that has your fingers tingling. 

“No,” you scoff a little too quickly.

“Could put you in a dress. Marry you in this barn right now. Afterwards, I’ll take you outside against the walls while my family’s in here celebrating us. We’ll consummate our marriage.”

The image is painted so vividly in the back of your mind. You in a simple dress, hiked up, Clark fucking you into oblivion against the walls outside. Good god. 

“I can feel her tightening around me, honey,” Clark chuckles. “She likes the idea.”

“Stop being silly,” you clear your throat, “you gonna fuck me properly or what?”

He mutters something about your mouth before fucking you in earnest once more. His thrusts are sloppy but no less powerful, his desire leaks through his stuttered hips, the uneven staccato of his breaths. 

Pleasure builds and twists, coiling tight inside your stomach as Clark’s grip remains firm on you. Moans continue to pour from your lips like prayers to the god before you. He slides his hand up your throat again, squeezing gently, before bypassing it and covering your mouth once more. 

“Gonna need you to keep quiet, okay. I love hearing your pretty moans but I can’t share that with anyone else. Can’t have my parents coming out here and seeing you like this. I can’t have them thinking you’re a filthy little minx, spreading your legs for me anytime, anywhere.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as another groan chases your tongue. His name is muffled behind his hand and you gasp for breath when Clark gives you some room to inhale.

“She feels so good around me. So tight. She’s been waiting for me all morning. Greedy thing, isn’t she? Fed her so much last night and she still wants more.”

“C-Clark, please. Shit. Oh fuck.”

“So good to me. I have so much to give her, she knows that, doesn’t she? That’s why you came looking for me. Wanted one more time even after last night. Maybe I’ll taste myself on you later.”

Jesus Christ. This man has a way of making you picture the most deliciously repulsive images in your mind. Him cumming inside you, his face between your legs, licking you clean until there’s no trace of him left. Maybe even coming back up and kissing you. The taste of him tangled in your tongues.

Clark’s hands tighten. His grunts shorten. His pleas desperate.

Before long, you’re coming apart in his hands, Clark tightens his hold around your jaw to muffle the sound of your cries as he spills inside you. He buries his own moans into your neck as he presses you deeper against the wooden beam. With how hard he fucked you, you’re surprised this barn is still standing. You had felt the pillar rattling behind you.

He huffs a breath before leaning backwards. His hand reaches up to brush away the sweat-dampened strands of your hair from your face. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?”

Even after years of this arrangement, Clark is always so careful. You know he holds back his strength when he’s screwing your brains out. He could go a lot harder and sometimes you wonder what it would feel like for his patience to snap, for him to fuck you with no abandon. 

You don’t think you’ll survive that.

But you also think you would deliriously enjoy that. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Clark murmurs, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you swiftly say, “just— nothing.” Warmth floods your cheeks again. You’ve only just finished getting your brains turned to mush and here you are thinking about how much harder he could go. 

“You’re thinking about something.”

“I’m thinking how we should really get our stories straight.”

Clark regards you thoughtfully, a contemplative expression carved into the creases on his forehead. Then he presses into you more, cock pushing back in. You can hear the squish of his cum inside you, an indecent little sound in the quiet of the morning. 

“Okay, do you wanna talk now?”

“Clark,” you deadpan.

“What?”

Your cheeks are hot again. “Obviously not like this.” 

“Alright, later then.”

Clark doesn’t look the least bit remorseful, lips stretched into a wide grin. He’s much too gleeful for a man who’s foiled your plans to be responsible again — with his dick. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Instead of spending the day puttering around the farm and watching Clark do manual labor in nothing but overalls (which isn’t necessarily the worst way to kill time), the Kents propose going to the fair that’s in town.

Clark insists that his parents could use his help while he’s around.

They insist that he should spend time with his fiancée.

The five of you pile into Clark’s truck; to avoid suspicion, you ride up front with him, throwing his parents a tight smile as you wave at them as the car treks down the dirt path. The three of them are bickering about something related to agriculture in the backseat while you — you find yourself once again distracted by Clark who looks far too good driving.

Sometimes, you think you need to get your brain rewired for being too easily stimulated by the sight of him. It’s like your brain is wired to tune into him, to every little detail from the way his eyes crinkle, how his lips pucker when he whistles, or that one vein along his arm that jumps every time he turns the wheel.

Your plan backfires when you stare at him a little too long, trying to think of how you could get the two of you to talk to get your stories aligned, and Clark ends up noticing how your eyes never stray too far from him. The corners of his lips tip up, pleased, then his free hand slides over your thigh once more.

It doesn’t do anything. It just stays there. A grounding presence.

The back of your neck warms and you blame it on the mid-morning sun.

The fair is nothing too crazy, you didn’t expect anything grand from a small town near Smallville. It’s more like a community event, with faces familiar to the Kents dotting the crowd. A small market lines the entry area, selling all sorts of trinkets and knick-knacks. Clark bumps your shoulder with his arm as you walk down the path.

“Don’t you like those things? You wanna take a look?”

You cock an eyebrow. “I do like them, how do you know that?”

“I see them all over your apartment,” he shrugs, “especially the flowery-looking ones.” You’ve started collecting miniature toys and figurines with flowers on them. Since you can’t seem to keep plants alive, your little addiction to buying the most useless pieces of paperweight is fulfilled by the replacement of real live decor.

“Oh. Yes, well, I have too many now so I don’t think I should even look at them. Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to buy.”

Beyond that, the fair opens up to game booths — your classic ring toss, darts, and shooting a water ducky — and attractions like pony riding, a petting zoo, and so on and so forth. It’s cute. It’s quaint. Nothing like what you see in the big cities. In fact, big cities have no carnivals like these. So maybe you’re a teensy bit excited. 

“Wanna play?” Clark smiles at the obvious enthusiasm on your face. 

Before you can answer, a shrill voice calls out to Clark. Well, it’s not really shrill, it actually sounds rather sweet — like the tinkling of bells — but you see the source of that sound and you feel an irritating itch in your chest.

“Willow! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Oh, so he knows her. That ugly part inside of you wonders if he also has the same arrangement with her. But no, she seems nice. Like the girl next door. The kind of girl you marry — and not with a fake engagement. 

They chat for a little bit and you’re on the sidelines watching them. Kara nudges you by your side. “We’re going to try the dunk tank. Jimmy has agreed to be dunked as long as we can aim. Wanna come?”

Your gaze flicks over to Clark for a second but find that he’s still eagerly chatting with this girl, so you put on your biggest smile and turn back to your best friend. 

“Let’s do it.”

The four of you busy yourselves with the various games. Lois manages to dunk Jimmy four times. Jimmy then proceeds to win a free t-shirt to change into from the ring toss. Kara absolutely destroys Lois at basketball and you absolutely annihilate all of them at darts (pub nights are coming in handy after all). 

You’re having a great time — a wonderful time — until you realize that Clark still hasn’t caught up. Every time you look over in search of him, he’s there helping a new person. First, it’s the old lady with her bags of groceries. Then it’s the little boy with his cat in the tree. Next, it’s the farmer who needs to unload his van of dozens of boxes. 

And then it’s that girl — Willow, was it? — who is apparently a florist and is setting up the most beautiful little booth in the market. 

It’s thoughtful, it’s kind. That’s who Clark is. But then you see him laughing and smiling and just being Clark and all you can feel is pissed. He’s here for you — all of you — so why is he busying himself with others? It’s incredibly selfish and guilt gnaws at your chest. 

So you bite down that terrible feeling and instead focus on the others. You’re fine with this. It’s not as if you have anything with Clark, really. You’re friends who happen to fuck every summer. That’s all. 

Maybe Clark is simply looking for something more long-term.

Your eyes wander to Lois. You’ve always thought that they would be a thing. Two incredibly smart people who work together, who have great chemistry. You know that Clark respects and adores her deeply, as evidenced by how much he talks about her. It seemed to be a matter of time.

Your anger doesn’t ease. Instead, you channel that rage into this shooting game. Clark has only just shown up, standing next to Kara with his gaze on you, a dopey smile in place. 

You hit the target dead center again and again and again. 

“That’s the first time today! You’ve got quite the skills, miss.” The guy at the booth says, both impressed and terrified. “You can pick any prize you want from the top.”

Clark whistles with his fingers and grins. “Good job, that was incredible.”

You hate yourself for immediately blooming with excitement at the compliment, especially when he’s left this group to tend to other people. How pathetic can you be?

The next words out of your mouth are not your best moment. 

“Well, seeing as my fiancé is too busy to get me anything.”

You can see the moment your jab lands and the smile wipes off his face, replaced by a look of sheer surprise. You turn on your heel and make your way to the next game, teddy bear tucked safely in your arms.

It’s not that you’re immature. You’re not. You’re an adult. But it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a teensy bit petty.

Every time Clark tries to come close to you, you’re linking arms with Kara and traipsing off. When he calls your name, you pretend not to hear by cheering for Lois as she slams a hammer down on a strength-based game. 

It’s an exhausting endeavor and you’re this close to giving up. Plus, the heat isn’t exactly letting up and you’re starting to feel a little woozy. 

So when Clark approaches you again, you almost cave and lean on his broad frame for support.

“Hungry?” He asks carefully as his long legs finally catch up to you alone.

Your stubbornness nearly denies him once more but your stomach wins out when it growls. Loud. 

Clark doesn’t tease you; he simply takes your hand and whisks you away to the little makeshift food court. He sits you down and begins going from stall to stall, collecting one dish after another until you’ve got a spread in front of you.

It’s all your favorite things — or similar ones that he thinks you’ll enjoy; he would be right.

You’re too busy stuffing your face to notice Clark wringing his fingers in front of you, fidgeting as he tries to get your attention. 

“What?” You finally ask when you peer up after his nth time repositioning himself, shrinking so he would be in your line of sight. 

“Can you tell me why you’re sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

He gives you a look. 

“I’m not! I don’t care who you spend your time with.”

“Who?” Clark perks up, irises bright with curiosity.

Shit. You and your big mouth. Now you’ve gone ahead and given away too much, so you clamp your lips shut and shake your head. You shut down his every attempt to pry by focusing on eating instead.

He only seems to relent when he thinks he’s pushed hard enough, but, knowing Clark, he isn’t going to let the matter slide so easily. 

You continue your day unscathed for the most part. You cling close to Kara who doesn’t seem to mind that you’re sticking to her instead of her brother. Of course, she shoots you questioning looks but the shake of your head prevents her from pushing. 

You’re in the middle of cheering for Lois and Kara when a cloud of pink appears before you. You blink at it before you trace back the source of the dessert. Unsurprisingly, Clark stands at the other end of the cotton candy.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You mentioned once that you’ve always liked cotton candies. It’s all sugar, but that childish part in you relishes the way the fluffy treat melts on your tongue. 

“I do, thank you,” you confirm, ripping apart a piece before popping it in your mouth. The strands dissolve into syrup on your tongue.

Clark looks at you expectantly, a tinge of anxiety in the slight fold of his brows. “Good?”

“Good,” you smile at him.

Perhaps you’ve been too hard on him today. He’s being a good neighbor and you’re giving him shit for talking to someone else.

The two of you aren’t exclusive. That’s the whole point of this arrangement. If he happened to find someone that he wants to actually date seriously, then you’d let him go. 

Somehow, the thought makes your stomach churn. 

“I got you something else.”

You look up at him and he digs around in his shirt pocket and pulls out a thin silver band. A crystal sits in the middle of it, sparkling no less brightly than a diamond. It’s simple, it’s sweet. It’s characteristically you. 

“It’s nothing extravagant but you wear silver jewelry, right? I think this should fit.” Then Clark is taking your left hand and sliding the promise over your ring finger. The band sits perfectly snug. The crystal catches light and twinkles like it’s winking at you. 

For all your pouting, Clark seems to know the perfect remedy. 

“Just, you know, until the trip is over,” he adds nervously. “If that’s okay with you.”

You bring your hand up, watching as the ring glimmers underneath the afternoon sun. Your lips tip up in a small smile. 

“Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“And, if it’s any reassurance,” Clark adds, quieter, low enough that the others can’t hear — eyes trained solely on you, sharp and honest, “I only have eyes for you.”

Your heart beats against your ribs. Heat frames your face at the same time he smiles softly at you. 

You don’t respond, but that’s answer enough.

The chill beneath your fingertips rouses you from sleep. When your eyes flutter open, Clark’s big, warm body is nowhere to be found. You remember falling asleep cuddled up to a living, breathing heater and now you’re shivering as you tug on an extra sweater. Your footsteps are quiet as you pad out into the hallway in search of him, navigating through the darkness until your eyes land on him, bathed in the moonlight on the bench outside.

Clark turns before the door even swings open. He must’ve heard you.

“You’re up early — or late,” he notes.

“So are you, what’re you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t really sleep, you?”

“Must’ve been all the cotton candy,” you say as you slide into the seat next to him.

The midnight air in Smallville is brisk, you’re beginning to regret not throwing on an extra layer. Clark senses your shivers and immediately scooches closer towards you, draping his flannel over your shoulders and tucking you in close. The draw of his warmth is too tempting to resist and you end up nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Could’ve stayed inside,” you flag quietly.

“The fresh air helps me think. Plus, it’s nice to take advantage of this away from Metropolis. Breathing in fumes doesn’t seem conducive to my health.”

“Good thing your only weakness is extinct,” you tease, bumping shoulders gently.

Clark smiles at you, soft and knowing. “It’s not my only weakness.”

You raise an eyebrow but he doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t press. Instead, you ask him what’s plaguing his mind.

“My parents,” he begins, “I worry about them. They’re getting older, things with the farm aren’t easy and we’re not in a position to hire any extra hands.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m thinking if I should move back.”

Your heart plummets, all amusement evaporating. You don’t know why you’re so disappointed by the thought. Although you don’t live in Metropolis, although you don’t see Clark very often, you’re only a city away, and even then, he still feels light-years away. “Move back?”

“Here to Smallville. I’m not sure yet.”

Your throat is tight when you attempt a joke, “What? And leave your fiancée behind?”

Clark’s lips curl. “Never. I’ll take you with me.”

Oh. Your chest warms. “What makes you think I’d go with you?”

“I’d just have to convince you,” he whispers, tilting his head to press his forehead against yours. His next words are soft, but they have your heart pressing against your ribcage. “And I can be very persuasive.”

A giggle falls from your lips. Clark shrinks himself, bending himself at a slightly odd angle to accommodate your height as you lean your head on his shoulder. The quiet moon is company you don’t want to humor tonight and Clark seems to agree when he rises to his feet and offers his hand.

The two of you drift back into his bedroom. Light still spills across his hardwood floors that whine below his heavy footfalls. But Clark shields you from the stark brightness, engulfing you in a comfortable night against his chest.

When you tip your face up, he’s already looking down at you. For a moment, he only searches your eyes. Looking for something you’re not sure you can provide.

However, he seems to find whatever it is he wanted when he leans down and slides his mouth over yours.

The kiss is soft. Slow. None of the usual heat and messiness that leads to hours of tangled legs and sweaty limbs. This one is patient, it’s kind. Clark tastes like tea and sugar, the kind of concoction that lulls you slowly back to sleep.

Before your consciousness slips away again, Clark murmurs a promise of sweet dreams.

You think you may already have that.

This farmlife experience is much more taxing than you expect. Hours of Harvest Moon on your old game consoles do nothing to prepare you for the ache between your fingers and the soreness of your shoulders. However, you suck it up and keep going because there’s no greater sight than Clark who delights in showing you the ropes.

You’ve fought off chickens all morning to feed them and take their eggs for breakfast. You’ve milked cows, delicate fingers wrapped around the hefty udders until you fill a whole pail. You’re grooming the horses and trying not to get your hair chewed out.

Again, it’s all worth it when you see Clark beam at you like the morning sun.

His eyes also keep wandering to your finger where he has already pointed out — “You’re wearing the ring.”

You blame the fever on your neck on the sun that’s barely risen. “I thought it would be best to wear it so your parents don’t get suspicious.”

The two of you do end up talking, agreeing on points in time that align for your supposed romantic development. It isn’t a hard task, not when you actually do remember those moments when you felt your strongest attraction towards Clark. The first time you slept together was redesigned as your first date. The arrangement of your… arrangement was reconfigured into a conversation about official labels.

Clark is close to your side, arms brushing as the two of you make your way back to the house. The basket of eggs hangs from Clark’s hand as his other one shifts to the small of your back — it hovers, present, but doesn’t touch.

He’s telling you a story from his days of youth and you’re throwing your head back in laughter. The emotions come easy here — honest in the early hours of dawn when it’s only you and him.

When you arrive at the house, you two spot Lois already nursing a steaming coffee mug in her hands. Her eyes dart between the two of you carefully, curious — almost calculating. Her lips quirk upwards at the sight and you’re almost shy by her response.

Unfortunately, Clark’s reaction has you stiffening. He clears his throat and takes a step out to the side. Away from you. Distance. You try not to let your hurt show but it feels as if there’s a giant stone sitting in the pit of your stomach that’s weighing you down, slowing your steps.

“What’s going on?” Clark asks, brows puckered.

It’s your turn to regard the two of them. Clark has always been comfortable with Lois. Kara’s teased him before for having a crush on her; perhaps that feeling still lingers. Worse yet, perhaps those feelings have only strengthened.

Once again, you reckon with the fact that Clark Kent is not yours. You have no right to be jealous, to feel possessive over a man who doesn’t belong to you. You were the one who put your foot down and swore off any actual romantic relationships, and Clark was never an exception.

If Clark wanted Lois — and if, by some luck, Lois wanted Clark back, who were you to stand in the way of true love?

So you force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing. I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait—”

But you’re already turning on your heel and heading back inside the house.

+ sam: tumblr hit me with the block limit for the full fic so i figured this is a good separation point while i edit the second half!! happy ending i promise <33

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[spider-starry]

Tender Sunlight

A/N: Not proofread because I'm lazy. I might go and fix it later who knows?

About: Season 3! John Carter x Nurse! Reader

Summary: John just really loves you. Especially in the daylight.

Word Count: 781

Warnings: None. This is fluff. Though there is one slightly suggestive joke at the end.

John could feel your eyes on him even as he stirred awake. In any normal circumstance, he would’ve found someone watching him sleep to be creepy. But you weren’t just anyone. You were you. 

As cliche as it may be, John Truman Carter deemed you to be special. You weren’t like the rest of his ex’s or his flings. To him you were a once in a lifetime type of woman. One of which he'd proudly give the title of Mrs. Carter too. (That is of course if you wanted it.) In truth, you were the first person who truly saw him for him. You weren’t blinded by his family’s money, nor by his looks. It was the depth of his character that attracted you to him. Which is why he held you in such high regard. 

He felt a sense of joy in his chest at the thought of you watching him sleep. Whenever he got the chance, Dr. Carter would stare at you during your shared shifts at County. Always admiring you, lovingly. But to know that you had done that same made him feel completely giddy inside. Perhaps, you liked him just as much as he liked you. Possibly even loved him. Nevertheless, this didn’t stop him from feeling a bit mischievous. He couldn’t just not tease you about you watching him sleep. That urge was too great. So, he does what he does best; he teases you. 

“How long have you been watching me sleep? An hour? Five? Or are you like a total stalker and who is just always watching?” He flashes his honey brown eyes at you, only for you to scoff at him. 

“Fuck off, Carter.” You playfully say as you nudge his naked chest lightly. His smile deepens and without a word he’s on top of you. You're breathless for a moment. But you then give him an innocent smile. As if this was your goal all along. 

Leaning into your ear, he whispers. “Make me.” 

As he began to kiss you he’s gentle with his kisses. Only on a very rare occasion was Carter ever rough when kissing you. (Oftentimes after a rough shift at County.) To him your lips were always a blessing he should cherish. Which is why he’d kiss you with such tenderness. This tenderness only amplified in  early mornings like this; he had to take as much time as possible savioring you. And yet, the daylight drew him out of this limital moment. Making him think about his other priority–work. Dr. Carter pulled away from you and searched your eyes. 

“What time is it?” 

Without skipping a beat you answer. 

“It’s a quarter after seven, baby.” 

“Shit!” With that, he’s a mess of limbs scrabbling to get out of bed. Benton is his first thought. A very angry Benton yelling at him in front of the other surgical students. Scolding him for his tardiness. Possibly threatening his residency. 

It seemed that now as a resident, Benton was riding him more than ever before. Always correcting him. Calling him out on every minor mistake. Always annoyed. Benton might as well strangle him for his tardiness. 

“Where are you going?” You ask softly. It made him want to stop everything and go to you. But the looming threat of Benton prevented him from caving in. Instead, he’s putting on the nearest scrubs he can find rather than his usual suit and tie. 

“I’m late, baby!! Like super late! Also, I’m pretty sure you’re late too!” 

“You do realize it’s our day off, right?” 

He stops and turns toward you slowly. With a gaping mouth he scoffs at you. You knew. Of course, you knew. The grin on your face said it all. Shaking his head he then flops back into bed. 

“That was a nasty trick.” 

You giggle and wrap your arms tightly around him, making him chuckle in return. He then sighed deeply with content and traced his lips across your bare shoulders. Though soon these kisses turned rough making you groan with pleasure. 

“You’re pure evil.” 

“I know.” 

“By the way, If you’re thinking about going in today just know I’ll have appendicitis or something. Then you’ll have to be stuck with me that way.” 

“I definitely don’t want to be the one to cut you up so It seems like I’ve gotta stay here.” 

“Well if you gotta, doctor Carter. Besides I think I would rather have you split me open in a less gory way. If you catch my drift.” 

Yeah. It’s safe to say Carter knew he was going to marry you. After all, where else would he get such tenderness in the early sunlight? 

><><><

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[voidsagent]

Gossip…Boy? - jack abbot x reader

Pairings: jack abbot x resident!reader

Summary: After finding out a certain attending likes to gossip, you find yourself having a very unexpected Fourth of July shift.

Warnings: none really; TONS of fluff, age-gap, pre-relationship, mentions of injuries, mentions of PTSD, gossip!jack, & medical inaccuracies.

Word Count: 4k+

Author’s Note: my fourth of july fic is here !! so excited to introduce ya’ll to gossip jack !! i hope you guys enjoy !! <3

Jack Abbot is a lot of things; strong, intelligent, well-liked, level-headed, quick to react, reliable and good at his job. If you knew him well enough you’d find he’s pretty funny despite his dry sense of humor, very down to earth and has quite the sweet tooth. One thing you absolutely wouldn’t expect by just looking at him was his love for gossip.

With his sharp jawline and casually neutral face—grumpy in a way that was unfairly handsome—chin donned with grey stubble and hair to match. Sharp eyes that noticed everything. He’s an ex-army man with a night shift attending badge clipped to his pants pocket who only drinks his coffee black—he survived losing half his leg, and yet—Jack enjoyed using all of that to his advantage.

Any newcomer at the Pitt was quickly intimidated by him—almost choked to death anytime Robby or Dana, hell; even if Shen or Ellis picked on him or called him old. Desperately looking for a patient to tend to before they saw one of their coworkers die or get scolded. But it never came, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips that was quickly so uniquely Jack.

So no, looking at Jack you’d assume he probably kept to himself—and for the most part he did. But once you got to know him a little? It wouldn’t be long before the truth came out;

Jack Abbot is a big fat gossip.

He never started the conversations, he’d wait until someone else did and just…effortlessly slide himself right into them. But you could always tell when he’d heard something new.

Like now, as you’re walking in next to him for your shift; he’s practically vibrating. An extra bounce in his step, his hands closing and unclasping at his sides. He’s shifting on his feet way more than he usually does; and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.

You try your best to keep your eyes on the board—an ever growing list of patients above you. You try to ignore him, try to start your shift and at least make an attempt to head towards your first patient; but when he leans against the counter with a rather obnoxious exhale through his nose and scratches at his scruff—you finally break.

“Alright Gossip Girl, what is it?”, You ask, crossing your own arms and lifting a brow.

Jack practically shoots off the counter, straightening up and stepping closer to you. He looks around once before speaking.

“Robby and Noelle are hooking up.”

He says it with both brows raised and eyes so wide you swear they’d pop out at any second.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it; “SHUT UP—“

Eyes from every direction flick towards you, your reaction a little louder than you wanted it to be.

“Jesus kid-“, Jack shushes you quietly; nervously looking around before he gently pulls you into the empty break room.

His hand is still on your elbow when you speak up. You force the acknowledgement at the way your skin burns perfectly at his touch to the back of your mind; store it away for later.

“Robby and Noelle!?”

He nods; “Mhm.”

“How?? When?? Robby??”, All your questions tumble out at once.

Jack shrugs, slipping his hands in his scrub pockets; “Don’t know for sure, long enough that it set McKay’s alarm bells off.”

“…Oh this is too good”, You say, eyes focused on the floor as you comb through every thought that’s now popping into your head.

“It gets better”, Jack says, leaning closer; “Dana said Noelle told her Robby sleeps with the tv on.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. The smug smirk on Jack’s face does nothing to help you. Neither does the scrunch of your nose when you realize what you’re really hearing.

“That’s way more than I needed to know about Robby”, You say.

Jack grunts something close to a laugh; “You’d be surprised.”

“Wait”, You tilt your head; “Wouldn’t you already know that about him?”

Jack’s smirk deepens; “Well yeah, but”, He leans even closer; “How would she know that?”

The information hits you again, your brain swirling at a speed that’s too fast for before coffee.

“Oh my god”, You breathe.

Jack laughs across from you, actually laughs. You force yourself to ignore what that does to your heart.

“I don’t think I can even look at him now”, You say, “I’d laugh in his face, it’s too good. I’d-“

Jack’s hand on your shoulder stops you; “Woah, kid. Don’t go spiraling on me now.”

“I’m not…it’s just so?-“

“Strange? Weird? Bordering on haunting?”

“Well, yeah!”, You say, hands flying in the air.

Jack laughs again, you ignore what it does to your heart; again.

“Careful kid”, He says, leaning in way too close; “Gotta work on your poker face or I won’t be able to share with my favorite resident.”

Favorite resident.

Your heart does a somersault and the air leaves your lungs; heat rising to your cheeks.

His hand on your lower back lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaving your skin cold and missing the contact.

“Cmon, gotta get back out there before Dana threatens to put us all in triage”, He says, that crooked smirk playing at his lips.

It stays there as you watch him push the break room door open with his shoulder, disappearing back into the noisy hum of the ED; leaving you standing there with your mouth parted and your heart beating way too fast to be close to normal.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Three hours and too many patient charts later, you finally get a moment to sit down and let your feet rest. You take a drink of your water, crack your back once and lean back in your chair; letting your eyes close and hoping you get at least a few minutes.

That dream is quickly wrecked within seconds.

You feel him before you see him, not even having to open your eyes to know who’s standing next to you—the shadow of his strong frame blocking out the blaring fluorescent lights above you. The heat you can always feel radiating off of him. Warmth you so desperately want to sink into, wrap your arms around him and nose into his neck. You briefly wonder if his cologne would smell stronger against his skin like that, or if there’d be something you’d learn to be so uniquely and purely him.

You sigh, snapping yourself out of it. Eyes still closed as you cling to the last remaining bit of peace you’ll get before he speaks and resumes his mission to annoy you as much as he can. Not that you mind in the least bit.

“What Jack?”, You breathe, fighting the smile that’s trying so hard to creep onto your lips.

“How’d you know it was me?”, You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You reek of antiseptic and annoyance.”

A noise escapes him next to you, something between a laugh and a sound of disbelief.

“Oh so you know what I specifically smell like?”, He juts.

You feel your face heat up immediately, air leaving your nose. You fumble to keep yourself composed, a string of muttered words leaving your mouth.

You peek your eyes open, peering up at a way too smug Jack. Enjoying how flustered he’s made you. His strong arms crossed over his chest; biceps bulging under his too tight scrub top. Freckles decorating his skin all the way up his arms; grey curls looking unfairly good and framing his face in a way that should be illegal—

“What do you want, Jack?”, You feign annoyance.

“What makes you think I want something?”, His answer comes from pursed lips.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m standing.”

“You have a look on your face”, You throw back.

“My face always looks like this.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey—“, His mouth opens, but you cut him off.

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

“What”, you sigh; “Do you want?”

His mouth is crooked in the way it gets when he’s trying to hide a smile or the fact that he’s amused; but it always gives him away. You know that look and all of his looks too well by now. Unconsciously memorized and stored away for later with all the other information you’ve filed away about him. Normal, completely casual.

It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with whatever feelings flutter to life inside your chest and set your very being alight each time you seem him. That certainly wasn’t the case, even now; when he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne and something underneath it that’s just uniquely Jack—

You snap yourself out of it before the heat climbing up your neck once again can reach your face. Forcing yourself to stay calm—steady.

Jack, who hasn’t moved from where he’s standing; that ridiculously and frustratingly adorable crooked smirk still on his face—takes a step closer to you.

“Did you know Shen has a secret supply of free drink vouchers from Dunkin?”, Jack says.

You roll your eyes; “Did you know you and Robby have matching tattoos?”

Jack falters for a moment, mouth falling open before heat pinkens the tips of his ears; “We do not!”

You shoot him a smirk, grabbing your drink and rising to your feet to walk around him. He’s following you half a stride later.

“W-Where did you even hear that?”, He gawks.

You shrug; “I’ve got my own sources.”

A second later he’s in front of you, arms up in defense as he shakes his head; eyes closing for a moment; “Woah. Woah—I—ok, you’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”

“How’s it feel?”, You muse.

You watch as his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, a crooked twitch of his mouth as he rubs at the back of his neck; “You’re mean, kid.”

“And you’re a gossip”, You shoot back.

Jack pushes his hands into his pockets; “I might be.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes again; “Why would you even care if Shen’s was true? You hate Dunkin.”

“I’m nosey”, He shrugs.

“You’re something.”

But that only makes Jack’s smirk grow wider, twitching again in the way that sets your heart ablaze. God, he was gonna be the death of you.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A few weeks later, you’re strolling into the hustle and bustle of the ED for another shift. Bracing yourself for the incoming influx of patients from the holiday. The Fourth of July was always busy with firework accidents and heat stroke—among other injuries you didn’t even want to ask about.

You hoped it would at least be relatively smooth—close enough to a regular shift; that unfortunately would soon become the furthest from the truth.

You slid up next to Robby with a few patients, following Dana’s directions; having opted to come in a little early to help out day shift. The ED was already busy, already bustling with patients of all different kinds. McKay had a firework injury, Santos had a nun with gonorrhea in her eye that she deemed an “immaculate infection.” Donnie had a priaprism, Mel and Langdon had set up a cool room and Javadi was helping a girl with glue in her eye. Not to mention the fact that a baby had been found in triage and was now being lovingly referred to as baby Jane Doe. Never a dull moment.

As if the shift couldn’t get any crazier—an hour later the ambulance bay doors opened and who came rushing through with a gurney but Jack Abbot. A Jack Abbot in uniform, nonetheless.

Camo fatigues hugged his body close, sweat already peaking through the fabric. Damp hair matched as he called out to Robby. SWAT team rushing in behind him. You can’t help but stare.

“Intubated neck wound, stats not great. Is there a trauma room open?”, Jack calls out.

You’re quick to snap yourself out of it—joining him at the other side of the gurney, rushing along side him; “What’s the story?”

“My buddy Hiro, neck trauma. Warehouse robbery gone wrong”, Jack fills you in.

He doesn’t say much after that, setting up immediately once inside the trauma room. You can see he’s tense by his shoulders and jaw—worried for his friend. You jump into the chaos, helping any way you can.

“Did you intubate?”, Trinity asks, working alongside you.

“Yeah”, Jack says, not looking up; “Under active fire.”

You don’t miss the way he looks back over his shoulder, eyes flicking down as if looking for something that isn’t yet visible—or the way he winces when he rolls his shoulders.

“That’s badass”, Santos says, smiling to herself as she assists Robby.

You on the other hand; only have worry clinging to the back of your neck—hairs standing on end as you look at Jack.

It doesn’t take long for all the hands working on Hiro to get him stabilized enough to send him up to surgery. The room clears out, leaving Jack and Robby the last two lingering inside. You’re pulled into another case before you can get to Jack, forcing your worry down for later.

When you finally get a moment, Jack is nowhere to be found. The ED settling back into its regular busy hustle before SWAT had rolled in. You pick up another chart, going to check on one of your patients. What you find however when you pull the curtain back isn’t a patient—but rather the man you’ve been looking for the past few hours.

Jack Abbot stands shirtless, back to you with a very visible bruise forming on the back of his left shoulder. He turns at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, glancing around the room.

“Oh! I—sorry!”, You blurt out, cheeks heating up; “I was looking for my patient.”

Jack continues moving, sitting down on the exam bed—sliding the tray of sterilized tools he’d already set up towards him. He sets his black tee down on his lap, maneuvering the supplies.

“No patient here”, He says; “Room was empty when I got here.”

You furrow your brows, but push the thought to the back of your mind. All you can focus on is Jack—the injured Jack sitting in front of you.

“Shit, Jack”, You say, mind rushing back to the present; “You’re hurt, what happened?”

You’re already reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall, making your way around him as he reaches for his back with a swab—failing to reach far enough.

“Bullet grazed my vest”, He says, waving a hand.

“You got SHOT?”, You blurt.

“Shot at”, He says, brows raised with a shrug; “Anyways, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

But you do worry about him; more than he knows.

You ignore his words, taking the swab from his outstretched hand and gently clean the wound on his shoulder.

“Thank you”, He sighs, voice going soft.

You can’t help the smile that breaks onto your lips, soft and gentle just for him; “Anytime.”

Knowing he’s ok and safe, your mind drifts now—focusing more on the fact that he’s sitting shirtless in front of you. Thick and strong body built and freckled; just enough healthy fat around his mid-section that it settles over his belt when he sits down. Broad shoulders that stretch each scrub top he owns. You want to explore them, connect all the freckles that etch his skin—press kisses to the paleness of him.

You feel yourself bite your bottom lip, willing the heat returning to your cheeks to climb back down. To act normal.

“You ok?”, Jack asks, noticing your quietness.

“Yup, perfect”, You say.

You don’t see his quirked brow, and whatever he’s thinking—he keeps to himself. Shuffling to grab his t-shirt off his lap when you finish patching him up.

“Thanks for keeping this off the books”, He says, offering you a crooked smirk.

You nod, bottom lip still between your teeth; “Sure.”

He eyes you suspiciously when you don’t move, even after his shirt is pulled back on; “You sure you’re ok, kid?”

“Yeah!”, You answer to quickly; “I better go see if Dana needs anything, uh…I’ll see you later? For your shift?”

Jack huffs a laugh; “Yeah, see you there crawler.”

With that you spin on your feet, rushing out of the room; leaving a smiling and curious Jack behind.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

You find yourself at the hub, hiding your face in your hands—elbows resting against the top of the counter.

“What’s got you so flustered?”, Santos asks, looking up from her charting beside you.

You groan; “I don’t even know if I can say.”

Princess perks up on the other side of you; “Ok, now we need to know.”

You groan again, looking around you once to make sure no one else can hear. Thankfully spotting Jack leaving through the ambulance bay doors.

Santos follows your line of sight; “Something happen with Dr. Abbot?”

You push your face back into your hands; “God. What didn’t happen.”

Both of them eye you with quirked brows.

“I saw him…shirtless”, You mumble.

Princess’ face lights up; “Oh you lucky girl!”

“And?”, Santos asks.

You can’t help but groan again; “He’s unfairly hot. Like, so built and fit it should be illegal. He has no business looking that good in an ER.”

The women next to you exchange glances, before bursting out into laughter beside you.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on Dr. Abbot”, Santos says.

“Who doesn’t?”, You quip back, like it’s common knowledge and not about you.

Princess sighs on the other side of you.

“He’s like the McDreamy of the Pitt…or the Clooney”, She sighs.

“He’s better than McDreamy and Clooney, he’s like…McClooney.”

Laughter erupts around you again.

“So you and Abbot, huh?”, Santos asks.

“God, I don’t know. I mean we’re friends yeah, but I don’t think he even knows how I feel. Or that he’d even feel the same”, You sigh.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen him look at you. Seems like something’s there”, Princess says; “You should talk to him.”

Your face heats up way too fast; “I can’t do that! Are you crazy?”

Princess shrugs; “You never know what he’ll say.”

You sigh, nodding. You know she’s right, but you can’t push past the nerves or the fear that you might ruin a friendship you deeply value.

“He’s gone for a few hours anyways, I just need to get back to work”, You say, reaching for a new iPad.

You turn on your feet with another sigh.

“Go get your McClooney!”, Princess calls out behind you, making you shush her.

You shrink under all the glances your way, hurrying along to find Dana and focus on literally anything besides your feelings towards Jack.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It’s a few hours later when Jack strolls back into the ED, camo backpack slung over one shoulder. Patients still bustle around him; Robby’s still forcing himself to work longer.

The hub is buzzing with a few staff; Princess, Santos, Nazely, Dana and Perlah all huddled together. Jack heads towards the staff room, but he stops when he hears your name.

“Oh she’s got it bad”, Santos says; “You should’ve seen her, she was absolutely flustered over seeing him shirtless. Poor girl can’t hide her crush if she tried.”

Jack feels his heartbeat pick up.

“Our girl’s got it for Abbot, huh?”, Dana says, smiling to herself; “Can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Jack’s heart stops at the mention of his name—then quickly picks back up. A smile spreads on his face before he can stop it, ducking and shaking his head as he pushes the door to the staff room open. He knew how he felt about you, but hearing you felt the same way towards him? His entire shift just got a whole lot better.

He keeps it to himself during handoffs, even during his beginning of shift speech as everyone gathers around him. His eyes flick to you once; standing between Cruz and Ellis. His smile doesn’t falter, a warm feeling fluttering behind his ribs.

He lets you go about your shift, getting swept into a few cases of his own. It’s nearing nine when he finally comes face to face with you; a much needed silence in the break room.

He’s leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee when you come in, stopping in your tracks when you see him.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t know you were in here”, You say.

Jack scoffs a laugh; “What? You avoiding me now?”

“No”, You say, a little too quickly.

“Good.”

He watches you cross the room, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. The noise of the can cracking open fills the room, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean up against the counter beside him—a little more space between you than usual.

Silence fills the air as you both drink, enjoying the few minutes of peace you might get before it’s interrupted. Jack, as if sensing your calm—decides now’s the time to get you all riled up.

“So”, He says, tracing the rim of his paper cup with his pointer finger; “I heard something interesting earlier.”

You scoff; “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, He asks, brow quirked and faking offense.

“Jack”, You say; “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No”, He shrugs, smiling to himself as he sets his cup on the counter behind him.

You shake your head, doing the same with your can; “Lay it on me, Abbot.”

Jack juts his chin out, scratching at his scruff.

“I heard…someone that works here has a crush on me”, He says.

You feel your stomach drop, embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Something about ‘unfairly hot, so built it should be illegal’”, He says; “‘Hotter than McDreamy and Clooney?’”

“Jack I-“, You try to rush something out, but no words come out.

Your brain has shut down. You blink away the tears brimming your eyes.

But Jack just takes a step towards you, hands settling on your arms. His thumbs rub up and down, digging softly into your scrubs.

Then he hooks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. What he finds is a look he can only describe as guilty.

“Hey”, He says softly, ducking his head down to meet your eyeline.

“I’m sorry, Jack”, You rush out; “It’s highly inappropriate and I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, we can just forget this ever happened and go back to being friends. If you even still want to be my friend. I’m so sorry—“

“No”, Jack says.

You freeze; “What?”

“I don’t think I can do that”, He says softly.

“I’m so sorry Jack…”, You mutter, fearing the worst.

“I’m not.”

You look up at him fully then, finding him gazing back at you fondly—a soft crooked twitch of his lips taking over his face.

“You’re not…?”

“No”, He says; “Not when it’s you.”

Your breath catches.

“Sweetheart, I’ve felt the same way about you for so long.”

Your mouth falls open. This time you can’t will it to shut again.

“God, you drive me crazy, kid. It’s always been you”, He confesses, voice soft and deep.

Your chest is heaving by now, mouth dry and eyes wide.

But then you smile; “It’s always been you too, Jack. For so long.”

His smile widens to match yours; “Cmere.”

He pulls you in close, wrapping his strong arms around you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, not here; he doesn’t want the first time to be in the ED. Not when you deserve a real date, to be treated right.

He lets his lips ghost over your hair, pressing softly once against your crown. He rubs his hand up and down your back, before laying his cheek against your hair.

When he pulls away, his thumbs rest softly on your hips; digging in just enough to let you know he’s still there. His smile hasn’t wavered, if anything it’s only grown fonder.

“So we’re ok?”, You finally ask.

Jack laughs softly; “More than ok, kid.”

Quiet settles between you both again, comfortable and warm as you take each other in with new awareness on both sides. Then Jack shifts once; pushing himself off the counter.

“C’mon”, He says, pulling you with him.

“Where?”, You ask.

“The roof”, He tells you; “Gonna watch the fireworks. I know how much you like them.”

You feel your heart melt with fondness, before the lingering concern for him creeps up behind it.

“Jack”, You say softly, stopping him; “It’s ok, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not”, He says, offering you a smile and a small squeeze of his hand; “I want to watch them, with you.”

So you follow him up the stairs to the roof, heart pounding loud enough to echo—letting him guide you with a steady hand on your lower back.

Most of the dayshift is already up there, gathered towards the railing of the roof. Jack finds a spot just in front of the doorway, leaning up against the brick wall. Away from the crowd and somehow seeming a little more private.

You settle in next to him, closer than you were in the break room. The first few fireworks go off, and for the first time; Jack doesn’t flinch. By the tenth, he reaches quietly for your hand; interlacing his fingers with your own.

Not out of fear or bad memories, just grounding himself. That makes you fold; you let your head drift down softly to rest against his shoulder—watching the sparkles of blues and reds paint the sky above you.

Jack brushes his lips briefly against your hair again, pressing once before he turns his head back—squeezing your hand softly. You stay like that; cuddled up against him in the back of the day shift crowd—a new, stronger feeling blossoming between you. Sweetly intimate and warm. Something existing just for the two of you.

“Happy fourth, Jack”, You hum, pressing your lips to his shoulder.

He squeezes your hand again, looking back at you as a sparkle of blue illuminates his face; “You too, sweetheart.”

taglist: @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @cajunebugg76 @littlewolfbird @marquiserose @oneinamelanie @vipervixxen @eternalseeker999 @silovicbaird @lovesflourmorethananything @shawnhatosyfan @barnesonfilm @pinkgarnet @bethexo07 @lynnmaybewrites @mrsconradfisher @lostacademia @jacksbrownie @yellrow @dyeditkeylimegreen @andrearose89 @lilmisslexapro @anthropsych @kneelforloki @croissant31 @ryannnleigh @jennataurus @laenys-targaryen @mafercita101 @queen-honeybee-stories @emma8895eb @lovergirlellie @sir-thisisadndserver @org12 @merlin288 @gotlostintranslation @princessak @sucker4seresin @ilocuras24 @thewillowarchive @luluskye @thehockeynerd30 @sliversprings @staygoldsquatchling02 @saralovesjoelmiller @ozwriterchick @nepttune1 @myescapefromthislife @thehockeynerd30 @xfanficlvrx @southkingdom98 @midnightttriage @artchaotique

[diorgirl444]

thinking about how dean winchester manhandles you… 🤤

he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it mostly. we’ve all seen how he’s always having to do something with his hands, tapping the steering wheel and the like so it’s only natural he does it with you!

he’s just very tactile and it’s his responsibility to take care of you. you’re drunk and he needs to get you home? he’s slinging you over his shoulder. there’s an attack of something? he’s immediately roughly grabbing you by the waist and pushing you behind him. but even little things too.

if he wants you attention and your back is to him he’s tugging on whatever style your hair is in. he needs to get past you he’s gonna rest his hands on your hips to move you out of the way. if he wants to kiss you he’s pushing your cheeks together with his hand till your lips are pursed in an exaggerated pout.

sometimes you bemoan it! you’ve got finger marks all over your body because your boyfriend apparently never grew out of the pull the plaits of the girl he likes phase but he just shrugs and says “what you can’t handle a little lovetap sweetheart?”

maybe i’ll turn this into a proper fic someday idk

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

written in your heart (f.w.)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 12.9k

Summary: Anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate’s, leaving you to wonder whether your destiny can still be rewritten.

A/N: these fuckass summaries are gonna be the death of me... also i really enjoyed planning for this fic but now that i've done my final read i actually kinda hate it

Year 2:

Soulmates were a tricky business.

No one fully understood the magic behind it—how the universe could possibly decide, from the moment you were born, that there was one person out there meant specifically for you. Even now, it remained one of the greatest mysteries of the magical world. There were no rules you could study, no spells to influence it, no way to predict it.

All anyone really knew was this: somewhere out there existed a person whose magic matched yours so perfectly that the universe itself would one day intervene and make it known.

How it chose to do that, however, was entirely unpredictable.

Some people were born with timers on their wrists, ticking down to the exact second they would meet the person meant for them. Others lived their entire lives in muted shades of grey until they met their soulmate and the world burst into colour all at once. Some carried their soulmate’s first words etched permanently into their skin, waiting for the moment they would finally hear them spoken aloud.

For others, it came later.

Marks that appeared on first touch. Marks that only revealed themselves after years of friendship. Marks that didn’t appear at all until it was far too late to matter.

There was no pattern. No certainty. No way to guess what form your own bond would take—or when it would appear, or who it would tie you to.

And so, by your second year, you had stopped thinking about it too much.

Well... not entirely.

Like any other girl, there were nights when you lay awake staring at the ceiling, letting your mind wander to the inevitable moment when it would happen. You imagined the first meeting in painstaking detail—how everything would fall into place like the final pieces of a puzzle, how suddenly the world would make sense in a way it never had before, as if you had finally found where you were meant to be.

You imagined what it would feel like to be close to them.

To hold their hand. To kiss them. To run your fingers through their hair and feel them do the same to you.

You imagined quiet moments and laughter, whispered words meant only for the two of you, a future that felt certain in a way nothing else ever did.

And sometimes, buried into your pillow so no one could hear, you’d find yourself smiling—giddy with anticipation for a life that hadn’t even begun yet.

But it was easy not to dwell on it too much.

None of your friends had found their soulmates yet—not Hermione, not anyone—and that made it easier. It meant you weren’t falling behind. It meant there was still time.

When it happened, it would happen.

And when it did, everything would make sense.

Until then, your biggest problem remained your exams.

The Great Hall was silent in that suffocating, unnatural way it only ever was during exams.

Rows upon rows of desks stretched endlessly beneath the enchanted ceiling, each one placed with careful precision—far enough apart to make cheating impossible, close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in your misery. The usual warmth of the hall felt stripped away, replaced by something rigid and tense.

The only sound was the uneven scratching of quills against parchment, echoing faintly in the vast space like a hundred tiny clocks ticking out your time.

You hunched over your Transfiguration paper, brow furrowed in concentration, your hand moving quickly but carefully—fast enough to keep up with your thoughts, slow enough to avoid smudging the ink.

You were on the last question.

Finally.

Relief flickered through you as you exhaled quietly, adjusting your grip on your quill. You leaned in slightly, beginning to write your answer, already thinking about how quickly you could leave once you were done—how good it would feel to be free of the stifling silence, the pressure, the weight of it all.

A shadow fell across your desk.

Your quill stilled mid-word.

“Miss (Y/N).” Came Professor McGonagall’s voice, low and composed.

You looked up sharply, your pulse jumping.

She stood just behind you, posture as straight as ever, hands folded neatly behind her back. Her expression gave nothing away—no irritation, no warmth, just that familiar, impenetrable calm.

“Yes, Professor?” You whispered, instinctively lowering your voice to be mindful of your fellow classmates. The last thing you needed was Hermione scolding you after the exam for making a ruckus while she was trying to focus.

Her gaze flicked briefly to your paper, lingering for just a moment, before returning to your face.

“I’ll need you to come with me.” She said quietly.

Your stomach dropped.

“Now, please.”

For a second, you just stared at her.

Confusion hit first—sharp and immediate.

Had you done something wrong? That didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t even finished your exam yet. Your eyes darted down to your parchment, then back up at her.

“…my exam—?”

“I will take it with us.” She replied smoothly, already reaching forward.

Before you could protest, she lifted the parchment from your desk, your unfinished answer still drying on the page. You stared up at her in surprise, your quill still clutched in your fingers, ink well sitting open on the desk.

Something wasn’t right.

Slowly, you pushed your chair back, the scrape of its legs against the stone floor sounding far too loud in the heavy silence. A few heads turned at the noise—quick, curious glances—but just as quickly snapped back down to their work.

After all these were your final exams, they didn't have the time for their focus to be broken.

Your heart began to beat a little faster as you stood, a faint, uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

“Follow me.”

You trailed after her down the narrow aisle between the desks, acutely aware of every step you took, every eye you could feel flicking toward you before darting away again.

The large doors of the Great Hall loomed ahead, growing closer with every step, and with them, that strange, creeping sense that something had shifted.

You didn’t know what you had done.

Still, you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek and clenched your fists at your sides, willing yourself not to cry from sheer anxiety. The past few weeks had already left your nerves stretched painfully thin.

Between late nights revising, early mornings spent cramming information into your head, and the constant pressure hanging over every second-year student during exam season, it felt as though every nerve ending in your body had been stripped raw.

Even now, as you followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors, you could feel your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. You dug your nails into your palms until they hurt, desperately trying to ground yourself, but the growing lump in your throat refused to disappear.

Professor McGonagall led you into an empty classroom adjacent to the Great Hall and quietly shut the door behind you. The click of the latch sounded far louder than it should have.

"Sit."

You obeyed immediately, lowering yourself into the nearest chair while she remained standing. For a long moment she simply looked at you, her expression unreadable save for a distinct note of disappointment that made your stomach sink even further.

"Miss (L/N)," She began, her voice calm and measured, "students are made aware at the beginning of every examination period that cheating results in an immediate Dreadful. Your parents will be notified and the staff will need to discuss whether you will be permitted to sit a reexamination or whether further disciplinary measures are necessary."

For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard her.

The words didn't make sense.

You stared up at her blankly.

"Professor... what?"

Her expression remained unchanged.

"You were found in possession of examination materials during your Transfiguration exam."

"I wasn't copying."

The denial left your mouth before you could stop it.

McGonagall's gaze lowered pointedly and, confused, you followed it.

The moment you saw your leg, your entire body went cold.

Written across the skin of your calf in cramped black handwriting were notes. Definitions. Theories. Entire sections of information taken directly from your textbooks and condensed into neat little sentences. There had to be dozens of them, stretching across your skin in dense clusters of writing.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

"What the hell?"

Your mind immediately began scrambling for an explanation. Had someone done this while you slept? Had ink somehow transferred from your notes? Had you absentmindedly written on yourself during a revision session? None of it made sense. You had showered the night before.

In your panic, you failed to notice that this wasn't even your handwriting.

"No."

You immediately started rubbing at your skin.

"No, Professor, I didn't write this."

You scrubbed harder, panic making your movements frantic.

"I swear I didn't."

The notes didn't budge.

Your palms were beginning to sweat, but the ink remained exactly where it was, stubborn and unmoving.

"It's not even coming off!"

The last few words came out dangerously close to a sob.

You looked back up at McGonagall, your vision beginning to blur around the edges as tears gathered in your eyes. Everything suddenly felt horribly unfair. You had spent weeks preparing for these exams. You had stayed up late memorizing definitions, quizzed yourself until your head hurt, worried yourself sick over every possible outcome.

"I swear I didn't do this, Professor," you said, your voice wobbling despite your best efforts. "I promise. Please don't fail me. I studied so hard."

The tears escaped before you could stop them.

One moment you were trying to hold yourself together and the next you were crying outright, fat tears rolled down your cheeks while the tiny amount of mascara you'd put on that morning in an attempt to look slightly less exhausted began smudging around your eyes. The embarrassment only made it worse. You couldn't remember the last time you had cried in front of a teacher, but now you couldn't seem to stop.

It was only through your tears that you noticed something change in McGonagall's expression. The disappointment that had been there moments ago had vanished completely, replaced by something that looked remarkably like realization. Her eyes flickered briefly from the notes scrawled across your skin back to your face and you watched as the pieces seemed to fall into place behind them.

"Miss (L/N)," She said, her voice considerably gentler than it had been a moment ago, "it would appear that I owe you an apology."

You blinked up at her through watery eyes, still struggling to catch your breath.

"What?"

"I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

For a moment you simply stared at her, the words refusing to make sense. A misunderstanding? Five minutes ago she had been discussing whether you would be forced to repeat the year.

"Once you've composed yourself," McGonagall continued, clearing her throat and smoothing a hand over her robes, "You may return to the examination hall and complete your exam."

The room fell silent.

You looked down at the notes still covering your skin and then back up at her, trying to understand what had changed. The writing was still there. The evidence hadn't disappeared. If anything, it seemed even more obvious now than it had before. Yet whatever conclusion McGonagall had reached was apparently enough to completely alter the situation.

Before you could ask any further questions, however, she was already moving toward the door.

By the time you had managed to stop crying and make yourself somewhat presentable again, your eyes were still red and your cheeks still blotchy. You clutched your exam paper tightly against your chest as you made your way back toward the Great Hall, still trying to piece together what had happened.

The corridor ahead was empty save for two approaching figures.

At first you barely paid them any attention.

Professor Snape was walking briskly in your direction, his dark robes billowing dramatically behind him as they always seemed to. Beside him walked another student, hands shoved into his pockets and expression thunderous enough to make most people step out of his way.

Mattheo Riddle.

At first, you barely paid attention. Then your eyes caught on the black smudges beneath his eyes—dark, uneven streaks that clung to his lashes and marked the skin beneath them. Mascara. Your mascara.

You stopped walking.

Mattheo stopped too.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The corridor around you felt strangely distant, as though everything else had faded into a muffled blur while the two of you stood suspended in something sharp and disorienting.

His gaze moved over your face, lingering on your red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Slowly—almost visibly—understanding began to settle across both of your expressions at the same time, like the final pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.

The notes that hadn’t been written by you but had appeared on your skin anyway.

The mascara that hadn’t been applied by him but was now smeared across his face.

The reason Professor Snape was escorting him down the corridor.

His expression darkened first.

Yours followed not long after.

You had never met him before. Never spoken to him.

And yet somehow, within minutes of discovering he was your soulmate, Mattheo Riddle had nearly gotten you expelled.

As he continued to glare at you from across the corridor, looking every bit as offended by the situation as you felt, you came to one very simple conclusion.

The universe had an absolutely horrific sense of humour.

Year 6:

It was quiet in the dormitory—far too quiet for a weekday morning.

You frowned slightly, still half-asleep as you burrowed deeper beneath your blankets, turning your face further into the pillow. Usually by now the room would already be alive with noise: drawers slamming shut, sleepy complaints about unfinished homework, someone inevitably losing a sock five minutes before class. But there was none of it. No chatter. No rushing footsteps.

Which could only mean one thing.

You had woken up too early.

A pleased little sigh escaped you as you snuggled further into the warmth of your bed, already drifting back toward sleep. Maybe you had another hour left. Maybe—

“(Y/N) (L/N), FOR GODRIC’S SAKE, WAKE UP! YOU’VE ALREADY MISSED BREAKFAST!”

You bolted upright so fast you nearly headbutted the bedpost.

“WHAT?!” You shrieked, voice rough with sleep as panic shot through you all at once, “Hermione, why didn’t you wake me?!”

“I DID, YOU TEA TOWEL!”

The insult barely registered as you threw your blankets off yourself and stumbled out of bed in a frenzy, hair a complete mess and heart racing with the immediate horror of being late. Your bag was still unpacked from the night before, half your books hanging out of it as you rushed around the room trying to pull yourself together.

“Why didn’t anyone shake me harder?!” You complained, yanking your uniform shirt over your head inside out before realizing and swearing under your breath.

Hermione, already fully dressed and exasperatingly put together, didn’t even look up from stuffing parchment into her bag, “I did! It's not my fault you sleep like the dead.”

You huffed, grabbing your skirt and tugging it on crookedly as you rushed toward the mirror, mentally planning the fastest possible route to class. If you skipped properly brushing your hair and just fixed it on the way—maybe if you brushed your teeth in the bathroom nearest the Charms corridor—

And then you looked up.

Your stomach dropped so suddenly it felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you.

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

Your own reflection stared back at you in equal horror, pale and frozen and impossibly awake now, but you barely noticed the expression on your face because your eyes were locked on the red mark pressed against your cheek.

A lipstick stain.

Bright. Smudged.

Unmistakably shaped like the imprint of someone’s mouth.

Your breath caught.

There was another near the corner of your lips, blurred slightly like it had been kissed there carelessly. One against your jaw. Another lower down, just beneath your ear.

Dread began settling into you slowly, horribly, piece by piece.

“No.” You whispered.

Your hands started shaking.

“No, no—”

You turned slightly toward the mirror, fingers fumbling desperately with the collar of your shirt as you pulled it aside.

More.

Faint red marks scattered across your skin, disappearing beneath the fabric of your clothes. Some were clearer than others; some were smeared, dragged slightly, as though whoever had left them behind had done so thoughtlessly. Casually.

You stared at them, your reflection blurring around the edges as tears began burning in your eyes.

Your throat tightened painfully.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, your chest caving inward as realization settled fully over you.

“)Y/N), come on, class starts in—”

Hermione stopped mid-sentence.

You didn’t turn around, but you saw her expression shift in the mirror from annoyance to shock. Her eyes caught on the marks scattered across your neck and collarbone, and the look on her face softened so quickly it made something inside you crack further.

“Oh.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

A heavy silence settled across the room. Then you heard Hermione approach slowly, carefully, like she was afraid one wrong movement would shatter you completely. She stopped just behind you, her reflection appearing over your shoulder, and when you finally forced yourself to look up again you saw nothing but sympathy written all over her face.

“Oh, (Y/N),” She said softly, and somehow the gentleness in her voice hurt worse than the marks themselves, “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to inhale, then exhale, trying desperately to hold yourself together.

“It’s fine,” You said immediately, too quickly, your voice unnaturally flat, “It’s not like I liked him anyway.”

The second the words left your mouth, your chin trembled.

Hermione’s expression crumpled.

And suddenly you couldn’t do it anymore.

A broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it, and then the tears were falling all at once, hot and uncontrollable as the ache in your chest finally split wide open. You covered your mouth with your hand like that could somehow hold the sobs back, but it was useless. Your knees nearly gave out beneath you as weeks and months of buried hope came crashing down all at once.

Hermione caught you before you could fall properly, pulling you into her arms immediately.

And the second she did, you broke completely.

You cried into her shoulder so hard it hurt, fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of her jumper while humiliation and heartbreak tore through you in waves.

Your soulmate had slept with someone else.

A few mornings later, when Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, she wasn't remotely offended when the eyes of her friends immediately flicked over her shoulder.

It had become something of a routine.

Every day for the past week, someone would look up when she arrived, expecting to find you trailing behind her. Every day their faces would fall when they realized she was alone.

Just as she was today.

Harry was the first to break the silence, "She still won't come down?"

Hermione's grip tightened slightly around her spoon.

The concern on his face mirrored exactly how she felt.

You hadn't attended a single class all week. The first two days had been the worst. You had cried until you physically exhausted yourself, until your body finally gave out and sleep claimed you against your will. By the following morning, you'd developed a fever bad enough that Hermione had practically dragged you to the Hospital Wing herself.

Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at your blotchy face, red-rimmed eyes, and dangerously high temperature before ordering you into a bed and refusing to hear arguments.

Hermione had stayed beside you for as long as she'd been allowed.

She remembered watching you sleep fitfully beneath white sheets, occasionally stirring only to curl further into yourself. She remembered the way your hand would sometimes move unconsciously toward your neck, fingers brushing against skin where the marks had long since faded.

Eventually Madam Pomfrey had forced Hermione out, insisting there was nothing more she could do.

Now several days later, the fever had broken.

But you still hadn't left your room.

Hermione shook her head, "No."

Hermione sighed, reaching for her tea, though her attention was nowhere near her breakfast. Her gaze swept across the Great Hall, not aimlessly skimming over the hundreds of students filling the room, but locking onto its target almost immediately like a heat-seeking missile.

Mattheo Riddle.

He sat at the Slytherin table with his friends, laughing at something one of them had said, completely at ease, looking every bit like he hadn't a single worry in the world. The sight of him sitting there so carelessly, smiling like life had handed him every reason to, made Hermione irrationally want to march across the hall, grab him by the ears, and squeeze his head until it popped like an unsightly pimple.

He had absolutely no idea.

No idea that his soulmate hadn't left her bed in days.

No idea that she'd cried herself into a fever.

No idea that Hermione had spent hours sitting beside her, listening to her sob until she had nothing left in her, only to watch her stare blankly at the canopy above her bed as though she'd forgotten how to exist.

Her jaw tightened.

"Look at him," She muttered bitterly, her eyes boring so intensely into the side of his head that she was almost disappointed when he didn't spontaneously burst into flames, "I spent half the week consoling her, and he's sitting over there like he's the bloody king of the world."

Then, she looked back down into the untouched cup of tea in front of her, watching her own furious reflection ripple across its surface. The anger was still there, burning hot beneath her skin, but it had long since become tangled with something far more unbearable.

Helplessness.

Because no matter how angry she was, it wouldn't undo what had happened.

It wouldn't stop you from shutting yourself away in your dormitory, curtains drawn around your bed, convinced that facing four wooden bedposts was somehow easier than facing the rest of the world.

She felt the sting behind her eyes before she realized she was blinking a little too often.

"I can't believe someone like her is supposed to end up with someone like him." She murmured, her voice losing all of its earlier bite.

She absentmindedly stabbed at her pancakes with her fork, skewering a lone berry in the process without even noticing.

"She's the sweetest, kindest, most selfless person I've ever met," Hermione continued quietly, swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat, "She'd do absolutely anything for the people she loves, and somehow..." She gave a humorless laugh, shaking her head, "Somehow he's the person the universe chose for her."

Finally, Hermione let out a slow, defeated sigh.

"How could the universe be so cruel?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, but neither of them answered.

Because what could they possibly say?

Afterall, they had no idea what it was like to be rejected by your soulmate.

Your head felt impossibly heavy.

When you'd finally cried yourself to sleep the night before, you'd hoped that maybe—just maybe—you'd wake up feeling even a little bit lighter.

Instead, it felt as though someone had stuffed your head full of damp cotton.

Everything was muted.

You could see the familiar shape of your dormitory around you, the sunlight spilling lazily through the windows, painting warm patches across the wooden floor, but none of it felt real. If someone had asked you to name half a dozen things in your own room, you weren't entirely convinced you could have done it. Your thoughts drifted in and out without ever quite settling long enough to grasp them.

Outside, Hogwarts carried on as though nothing had happened.

Somewhere below the tower, students laughed as they crossed the courtyard on their way back from breakfast. Every so often, a shrill whistle carried in through the open window, followed by the distant roar of voices from the Quidditch pitch.

Life went on.

It always did.

But inside your dormitory, it felt as though time itself had stopped.

Like you were sitting inside a vacuum, sealed away from the rest of the castle, where even the sound of your own breathing seemed impossibly far away.

You hadn't even realized someone was knocking.

The sound barely registered through the haze clouding your mind, so faint and distant that you mistook it for part of a dream. It wasn't until the door slowly creaked open that you finally stirred, letting out a weary sigh without even bothering to look up.

"Hermione," You mumbled into your pillow, your voice hoarse from days of crying, "Please... I don't want breakfast."

There was a brief pause.

"Well," Came a decidedly unfamiliar voice, "It's a good thing Chocolate Frogs aren't considered breakfast."

Your eyes snapped open.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright, blinking through the fog in your head until the figure standing sheepishly in your doorway came into focus.

Messy ginger hair.

Hands buried deep in his pockets.

A crooked smile that looked like it wasn't entirely sure whether it belonged there.

"...Fred?"

The way you said his name made him chuckle softly.

Not because it was funny, exactly, but because your tone carried that slight undercurrent of cautiousness, like you were trying to work out whether you were looking at Fred Weasley or his identical twin.

"It's me," He assured you with an easy grin, "George is considerably uglier."

Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitched.

Fred caught it but, to his credit, didn't point it out. He simply closed the door quietly behind him and wandered further into the dormitory, his hands still buried in the pockets of his jumper as though he were only stopping by for a casual chat.

Although, you knew better than to believe that.

He was here for something.

You just couldn't work out what.

Had Hermione sent him? Had she somehow decided that Fred's ridiculous sense of humour might succeed where she had failed? More importantly, how in Merlin's name had he even managed to get into the girls' dormitory in the first place?

"...What are you doing here?" You asked.

The question left your mouth more out of politeness than genuine curiosity.

Truthfully, you didn't really care.

Whether Fred was here or not, whether he'd come to cheer you up or drag you to breakfast or simply stare at you until you spoke, all you wanted was to be left alone again. So you settled back against your headboard, waiting for whatever explanation he had prepared so you could nod absentmindedly, mumble something about still being tired, and hope he'd take the hint.

Fred scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't really know," He admitted after a moment with a small shrug, "I heard Hermione talking about you downstairs."

He finally pulled his hands from his pockets.

A handful of Chocolate Frog boxes tumbled into his palms.

"I heard she was worried." He looked down at the collection of sweets before giving one shoulder another little shrug, "Next thing I knew, I was standing outside your door."

He crossed the room and sat down carefully on the edge of your bed.

Instinctively, you tugged your cocoon of blankets out from beneath him, unwilling to surrender even that small comfort. Fred pretended not to notice. Instead, he simply dropped the Chocolate Frogs into your lap one by one.

"I figured," He said, "if nothing else, chocolate rarely makes things worse."

You stared down at them for a second before absentmindedly picking one up and peeling open the box.

"Whatever Hermione's worried about..." You murmured, carefully unfolding the cardboard, "...it isn't going to happen."

The chocolate frog immediately sprang from your hands.

You watched it bounce across the dormitory floor, disappearing beneath someone's bed but you paid no heed, fishing the card from the now-empty box instead.

Helga Hufflepuff.

Nice.

"I just wanted some time to be alone," You said quietly, your thumb tracing absent circles over the edge of the card, "Some time to think. You wouldn't understand."

Fred's smile faded.

"Oh," He said, leaning back on his hands, "Believe me."

His eyes drifted toward the window for a moment.

"I know exactly what that's like."

You froze, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the edge of the Nicolas Flamel card as you silently cursed your own stupidity.

Of course.

You had completely forgotten who you were talking to.

Everyone knew Fred Weasley's story.

It had been impossible not to.

It had spread through Hogwarts like wildfire the day the twins turned sixteen and discovered, to the absolute bewilderment of the entire school, that they shared the same soulmate mark. The same name inked onto both of their wrists.

Angelina.

No one had known what to make of it. How could the universe make a mistake? It wasn't supposed to.

Yet somehow, two brothers had been promised the same girl.

In the end, Angelina had chosen George.

No one blamed her. She'd simply followed her heart.

And just like that, Fred had become the boy without a soulmate.

What followed had been painful to watch.

Every passing week seemed to chip away at something that had once felt unbreakable. Fred and George had always existed as a pair. Joined at the hip, people liked to joke. Before that, joined by an umbilical cord. There had never been one without the other.

It had been heartbreaking watching the distance grow between the twins afterwards. Not all at once, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, until people realized Fred no longer occupied the seat beside George in the Great Hall. They stopped seeing them sneaking through corridors together after curfew. Their jokes became less frequent, their laughter less shared.

Fred simply couldn't bear to watch the girl he'd spent years believing was destined to love him fall into his brother's arms instead.

Eventually, time had done what time always did.

The sharp edges had dulled.

The twins laughed together again. They pulled pranks together. They looked, from the outside at least, like themselves again. But anyone paying close enough attention could tell they were never quite the same.

How could they be?

Their seemingly inseverable brotherhood had been eclipsed by an ineffable bond.

Soulmates.

It was no longer Fred and George, the terrible terrors. Now, it was George and Angelina, the star-crossed lovers, and Fred, who had been left behind.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, the apology slipping out before you could stop it.

Fred's eyes met yours.

"So am I."

He didn't elaborate.

He didn't have to.

And for the first time in days, you felt the glass jar you had trapped yourself in begin to crack.

This whole time, you'd convinced yourself that hiding in your dormitory was helping. As long as you stayed within these four walls, you could pretend the world outside had stopped moving. Pretend that morning had never happened.

Reality settled over you with unbearable clarity.

That was what this was, wasn't it?

Rejection.

Mattheo had known exactly who you were. He'd known that every mark left on his skin would bloom across yours. He'd known you would wake up wearing the evidence of his choices.

And he'd done it anyway.

The thought hollowed you out.

Your entire life, you'd been told that soulmates were certainty. That somewhere in the world there was one person who would choose you above everyone else because the universe itself had decided you belonged together.

So what did it mean when they didn't?

If even your soulmate could look at you and still choose someone else...

Where exactly did that leave you?

Slowly, you lifted your eyes from the card to Fred, who was sitting beside you now, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, his gaze already fixed on you.

Your heart ached.

Because the answer to your unvoiced question was written all over his face.

He was every bit as heartbroken as you were.

Just as lost.

Just as unsure of where he fit into a universe that had promised him one thing, only to hand him another.

It hurt him every time he saw George with Angelina. You knew it did. No matter how much he loved his brother, no matter how genuinely happy he wanted to be for him, there had to be a small part of him that wondered why it hadn't been him.

Why fate had bothered writing her name onto his skin at all.

And you knew, with sickening certainty, that the next time you saw Mattheo...

It would tear you apart in exactly the same way.

Fred's expression softened as he noticed your eyes beginning to fill again.

He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.

"Well..." He said, giving one shoulder an exaggerated shrug, "At least we've got each other."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. It was watery and quiet, immediately chased by the tear that finally slipped down your cheek. Fred grinned a little wider, looking entirely too pleased with himself for managing to get even the tiniest laugh out of you.

"I suppose the reject bin isn't completely empty."

"No," Fred agreed, "Turns out it's got surprisingly good company."

Turns out misery really did love company.

It was almost pathetic, in a way.

The only reason you had finally been able to leave your room, to walk back into the Great Hall, to sit through classes without feeling like the walls were caving in around you, was because you'd discovered you weren't the only person carrying around this strangely specific kind of heartbreak.

Your chest still tightened whenever Mattheo walked into a room. Every accidental glance across a corridor still left you feeling hollowed out from the inside, wondering how someone who was supposedly destined to love you had found it so easy to choose somebody else instead.

But sitting beside Fred somehow made it easier to breathe.

You supposed anyone watching from the outside would've found it to be the most obvious outcome imaginable.

Birds of a feather.

Two people who had somehow fallen through the cracks of destiny naturally gravitating toward one another.

Before long, spending time with Fred stopped feeling like something you consciously chose to do and instead became part of your routine. You'd find him waiting outside your classroom without either of you having planned it, or he'd drop into the empty seat beside you at breakfast as though it had always belonged to him.

Sometimes you talked about soulmates.

Most of the time, you didn't.

And somehow, those were your favourite conversations.

You hadn't realized just how grateful you'd become for his presence until one morning at breakfast when Harry slid onto the bench opposite you, looking unusually flustered and whispered, "I met my soulmate last night."

Thankfully, Hermione's excited gasp and Ron's loud, "You what?!" completely drowned out the sound of your breath catching in your throat.

For a brief, horrible second, it felt as though you had left your own body.

The conversation continued around you in muffled voices while you watched it all unfold from somewhere far away, like you were observing it through thick glass. Hermione was already peppering Harry with questions. Harry, red-faced and grinning despite himself, tried unsuccessfully to answer them both at once.

You just... watched.

Until something warm wrapped gently around your hand beneath the table and your attention snapped back. Without saying a word, you laced your fingers through his beneath the tablecloth, hidden from everyone else.

The knot in your stomach loosened.

Not completely. But just enough so that when you turned back to Harry, the smile on your face no longer felt so forced.

"Congratulations, Harry," You said softly, "I'm really happy for you."

Harry's smile faltered.

Only then did it seem to occur to him what he'd just blurted out—and who he'd blurted it out in front of.

A flicker of guilt passed across his face behind his glasses.

"Oh, (Y/N), I didn't—I wasn't thinking—"

You shook your head before he could finish, "It's okay."

And surprisingly...

It was.

Harry relaxed, offering you a small, grateful smile before Hermione immediately launched into another question, successfully stealing his attention once more.

Only then did you turn your head.

Fred was already looking at you.

Your joined hands still rested beneath the table, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across your knuckles.

"I just can't believe how much time I've wasted."

Your voice was quiet as you stared up at the canopy of Fred's bed, watching the afternoon sunlight dance lazily across the faded red fabric. Beside you, Fred lay with one arm tucked behind his head, the other dangling over the edge of the mattress. He turned his head slightly.

"Hm?"

It wasn't often the conversation drifted back to soulmates anymore.

Somehow, the two of you had become remarkably good at avoiding the very thing that had brought you together in the first place. But every now and then, usually when the castle had gone quiet around you, one of you would bring it up again.

And somehow it was always easier talking to Fred than anyone else.

"I've never even been on a date," You admitted with a humourless laugh, "Can you believe that?"

Fred's eyebrows lifted.

"I just... wasted so much time." You sighed, picking absentmindedly at a loose thread in the blanket. "I kept thinking there was no point. Why bother dating when the universe was supposedly going to hand me the perfect person eventually?"

You shook your head.

"I was so convinced that one day everything would just... happen."

A small smile tugged at your lips.

"I suppose, in retrospect, that's a rather ridiculous way to live."

Fred was quiet for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"I get it."

You looked over at him.

"Before my soulmate mark appeared," He continued, "I never really bothered trying either. I always figured I'd meet my soulmate eventually, so whoever I dated beforehand wouldn't really matter."

He let out a small breath through his nose.

"And after..." His smile turned a little sad, "Well, there wasn't much point then either."

You understood immediately.

"Everyone already had someone they were meant to end up with."

"Exactly."

He shrugged, "It felt like borrowing someone else's future."

Silence settled comfortably between you.

"I know exactly what you mean," You murmured, "Even if I'd somehow found someone I actually liked. It would've only been a matter of time before they found their soulmate."

"And then I'd just be..." You trailed off, "Temporary."

Fred didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

Because he'd spent the last year feeling exactly the same way.

You groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over your eyes, "I just want to go on a date for once."

Fred snorted.

"Is that too much to ask?" You bemoaned.

"I don't even want anything extravagant," You continued, finally sitting upright since the topic had become important enough to warrant an actual discussion. You gestured vaguely with your hands, trying to paint the picture in the air between you, "Just… one completely ordinary date."

Fred turned his head to look at you.

"I want to wear a pretty dress," You admitted, counting on your fingers, "I want to spend far too long doing my hair, even though it'll probably end up looking exactly the same as it did before. I want someone to bring me flowers."

The last part made Fred's eyebrows climb.

"...Flowers?"

You frowned at him as though he'd just said something outrageously offensive.

"Yes. Flowers."

"You've just spent the last minute insisting you don't want anything extravagant."

"They're flowers. It's the bare minimum."

A comfortable silence settled over the room again. You flopped back against the mattress with an exaggerated sigh, staring up at the canopy above while Fred continued looking at the ceiling beside you.

"I just..." You murmured after a while, your voice softer now, "I wish I knew what it felt like."

"What?"

"To have butterflies."

The admission felt oddly embarrassing.

"To get excited because someone asked me out. To spend the whole day wondering what they're going to think when they see me. To hold someone's hand because they wanted to hold mine." You laughed quietly at yourself, "I don't even care whether it's life-changing anymore."

You swallowed, the words catching slightly in your throat.

“I just wanted to know what normal feels like.”

For a moment, Fred didn’t respond.

He just lay there beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, eyes fixed lazily on the canopy above as though he were turning your words over somewhere quieter than conversation. The pause stretched longer than you expected it to—long enough that you almost convinced yourself he wasn’t going to answer at all, that the moment had passed and you’d said too much again.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he spoke.

“So let’s go on one.”

You frowned, turning your head slightly, having forgotten how the conversation had even ended, “...Go on what?”

“A date.”

That made you sit up a little more properly, the word feeling strangely out of place in the softness of the room, “A date?”

“Seems like the obvious solution.” He added, as though he were suggesting something as simple as going for a walk.

You blinked at him, trying to make sense of his expression, “...With who?”

Fred looked almost insulted.

"With me."

Silence.

Not the comfortable kind this time.

The air between you shifted—just slightly. You became acutely aware of the space between your shoulders, the way your fingers were curled into the blanket, the way Fred didn’t seem to notice any of it at all.

He, meanwhile, looked completely unconcerned with the fact that he had just suggested something that felt like it should be impossible to say out loud.

“I mean…” He continued after a beat, shrugging one shoulder as if it were obvious, “Think about it.”

You hesitated, “I am.”

“We’re both sitting here complaining we’ve never really dated anyone.”

“Yes…”

“We’re both catastrophically single.”

“Unfortunately.” You muttered, despite yourself.

“We both want to know what all the fuss is about.”

“I suppose.”

“So…” He spread his hands slightly, palms up, as though presenting the most logical conclusion in the world, “Why don’t we just take each other? Scratch the itch a bit.”

You looked away for a second, down at your hands where they were picking absently at the edge of the blanket, “I don’t know…” You admitted quietly.

Fred didn’t push. He rarely did.

Instead, he shifted slightly closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough that his presence was harder to ignore.

“You said you wanted to wear a pretty dress.”

“I did.” You murmured.

“You said you wanted a normal date.”

That made you glance back at him again.

Your voice came out softer this time, almost uncertain, “I do.”

A pause.

The kind that felt like something was being decided inside it.

Fred’s expression didn’t change much, but his voice gentled.

“So let me take you on one.”

Even though you were almost entirely certain Fred had suggested the date as a joke, you found yourself surprisingly nervous when the day finally arrived.

Not because you expected anything to happen.

It wasn't really a date, after all.

Not a real one.

Just two rejects pretending, for a few hours, that the universe hadn't forgotten about them.

Still, you couldn't deny there was something undeniably exciting about getting ready for it.

You stood in front of the mirror for far longer than you cared to admit, smoothing invisible creases from your clothes before immediately finding new ones to fuss over. Your hair had already been redone twice, and you were currently debating whether it looked better tucked behind your ears or left loose around your shoulders.

You had practically licked your lips dry, wanting to put on just a little bit of gloss, if not to look good then at least to stop you from worrying them so much.

But third year had taught you that makeup simply wasn't worth the argument.

The memory still made you grimace.

You had gotten a tube of cherry lip gloss as an impulse purchase from Hogsmeade. The bottle was just so cute and the colour was just right and it smelt like a cherry pie.

You'd worn it exactly once before Mattheo had cornered you in a corridor, positively livid over the matching sheen that had mysteriously appeared on his own lips.

The argument had been spectacular.

You'd shouted.

He'd shouted louder.

By the end of it both your cheeks had been burning, partly from anger and partly from the sheer humiliation.

After that, you'd quietly switched to glamour charms.

You shook your head, willing the memory to leave your mind. A light spritz of perfume followed, and then another after you convinced yourself the first one hadn't been enough.

This wasn't a date.

You reminded yourself of that several times while changing outfits.

And yet, by the time you finally slipped out of Gryffindor Tower—carefully timing your escape before Hermione and the others returned from lunch so nobody could make a spectacle of it—you couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation low in your stomach.

Your first date.

Fake though it may have been.

Fred was already waiting beside the Black Lake when you arrived. The moment he spotted you, his face broke into an easy grin. He awkwardly straightened where he stood before holding out a small bouquet of hand-picked wildflowers.

A smile spread across your face before you could stop it.

You accepted them carefully, bringing them close enough to catch their sweet scent, asking with a teasing lilt to your tone, "Now whose Herbology project did you ruin by nicking these?"

Fred clutched dramatically at his chest.

"I would never."

"No?"

"I'll have you know these were ethically sourced. Well, a bit of unpaid labour." He said, showing you the slight dirt that was still left on the tips of his fingers.

You grinned, leaning to give him a quick peck on the cheek, "There, paid for in full."

"So..." You said, looking up at him, "What's the plan? It isn't swimming, is it? Because I spent entirely too long on my hair."

His eyes flicked over said hair for only the briefest moment.

"It looks nice."

You blinked.

"...Thank you."

The words came so casually that he didn't even seem to realize he'd said them aloud. Then his usual grin returned, "And don't worry. I've got something much more special in mind."

Rather than reassuring you, that somehow made you considerably more suspicious.

Fred simply laughed before turning on his heel and beckoning for you to follow. He led you around the edge of the Black Lake and toward a dense cluster of trees you'd never paid much attention to before.

"I thought we'd collectively agreed wandering into mysterious forests was a terrible idea after the centaurs last year." You remarked as you ducked beneath a low branch he held out of your way.

"We did."

"And?"

"We also established I was the worse student between the two of us."

You rolled your eyes, "Can't argue with that."

A few moments later he stopped.

Nestled between several thick tree trunks was what appeared to be nothing more than a tiny tunnel woven entirely from vines and ivy.

Before you had time to question it, Fred crouched down and disappeared inside.

You stared after him.

"...Bit brazen of you to expect a girl to get on her knees on the first date, don't you think, Weasley?"

His laugh echoed back through the tunnel.

"Oh, come on."

"I'm simply making observations."

"Get in here, (Y/N)."

Still muttering dramatically under your breath, you crouched down and crawled after him. The tunnel only lasted a few feet.

The first thing you noticed as your head emerged from the other side was the sunlight. Bright summer sunshine spilled across your face exactly as expected.

The second thing you noticed was the cold.

A sharp, winter chill immediately kissed your cheeks and nipped at the end of your nose.

You blinked.

Then looked up.

Your breath caught.

Hidden away beyond the curtain of vines was a tiny clearing unlike anywhere else on the Hogwarts grounds.

Wildflowers carpeted the earth in every imaginable colour while rabbits darted lazily through the grass, entirely unconcerned by your arrival. Golden afternoon light poured through the canopy overhead, making the entire place glow like something lifted straight from a fairy tale.

But none of that was what stole your breath.

At the very centre of the clearing lay a lake.

Perfectly still.

Perfectly frozen.

A sheet of flawless ice sat beneath the blazing summer sun as though winter itself had been trapped inside this tiny corner of the world.

"...What on earth..."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

You turned to find Fred watching you rather than the lake.

His grin was quieter now. There was still that unmistakable stretch of pride across his face as he took in your gobsmacked reaction, but beneath it lingered a hint of fondness that sent a slight flush to your cheeks, one you stubbornly insisted was caused by the cold.

"I was mucking about here in second year," He admitted with an embarrassed scratch at the back of his neck, "George and I were trying to invent a product that could make it snow indoors."

"And?"

"And... I may have perpetually frozen the entire lake."

You stared at him, "You may have?"

He shrugged, "I got scared I'd be in trouble if anyone found it."

"So you..."

"So, I never told anyone."

As he spoke, he reached out and absentmindedly cast a quiet Scourgify over your clothes, brushing away the bits of moss and leaves that had collected while crawling through the tunnel.

His fingers paused near your shoulder.

"There."

He gently plucked a tiny twig from your hair before tucking a loose strand behind your ear with absent familiarity.

"So..." You looked back at the lake, "You've never shown anyone this?"

"No."

"...Not even George?"

Fred's smile softened.

He shook his head.

"No."

Something warm unfurled low in your chest.

Warmer than the summer sun beating down on you.

You felt it.

The butterflies.

Walking back toward the castle felt strangely bittersweet.

Like stepping out of a storybook.

The hidden clearing disappeared behind the curtain of vines the moment you stepped through it, swallowed once again by the forest as though it had never been there at all. If you hadn't still felt the lingering chill clinging to your clothes, you might have convinced yourself you'd imagined the entire afternoon.

Your nose stung from the cold.

Your cheeks, however, had turned pink from hours spent laughing beneath the summer sun.

The two of you had spent hours on that frozen lake.

By the time the sun had begun sinking below the treeline, painting the ice in shades of amber and gold, the two of you had been too exhausted to do much more than sit side by side on the frozen shore, talking until the growing darkness reminded you that professors generally frowned upon students disappearing into enchanted forests after curfew.

Now, the familiar warmth of the castle wrapped around you as the heavy oak doors swung shut behind you.

The sudden change in temperature made your fingers tingle unpleasantly as feeling slowly returned to them.

A comfortable silence settled between you as you wandered through the entrance hall.

Students passed around you in little groups, chatting animatedly over dinner plans and unfinished essays, but neither of you made any move toward joining them.

Eventually, you reached the foot of the marble staircase.

You turned toward Fred.

He'd been unusually quiet for the last few minutes.

The easy confidence he'd carried all afternoon had somehow disappeared somewhere between the lake and the castle, replaced instead by something unexpectedly hesitant. His hands had found the pockets of his jumper again and he rocked back slightly on his heels before clearing his throat.

"(Y/N)..."

"Hm?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"So..."

You waited.

"I know..." He let out a small, awkward laugh, "I know this wasn't exactly a date-date. But…" His eyes found yours again, "I had a really good time."

Something in your chest fluttered.

"And unless I've completely misread today..." He continued carefully, "I think maybe you did too."

You did.

Far more than you'd expected to.

"So..." He took a small breath, "Unless I've made an absolute fool of myself here, I was wondering if maybe—"

"Let's go on a second date, Fred."

The words escaped before your brain had the chance to stop them.

You hadn't meant to interrupt him.

Truthfully, you'd been rather enjoying the exceedingly rare spectacle of Fred Weasley stumbling over his own words. It was oddly endearing watching someone who always seemed to have a joke ready suddenly become hopelessly tongue-tied.

Unfortunately, your own anticipation had won the race.

Silence settled between you. Fred simply stared. For one wonderfully long moment, he looked completely dumbfounded.

Then, slowly, a grin began tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It spread across his face before he could stop it, bright enough that you watched him actively try to suppress it.

"Well," He drawled, folding his arms as though he hadn't just been struck speechless, "Someone's certainly getting ahead of herself, isn't she?"

You folded your own arms in mock offence.

"Oh?"

"I hadn't even finished asking yet."

"You were taking too long."

He took one thoughtful look at you before his grin returned in full force.

"...So," He tilted his head ever so slightly, "Same time next week?"

Fred was always good at date ideas.

You knew that much by now.

Every time you met him, there was something planned—something a little ridiculous, a little exhausting, and always, without fail, something that made it impossible for you to think about anything else except how much you were laughing.

But with the July heat pressing down over Hogwarts like a heavy, unrelenting spell, even Fred’s usual energy had begun to soften at the edges.

The castle itself felt sluggish. Corridors held onto warmth long after sunset, windows stayed permanently open, and even the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall seemed stuck in an endless stretch of pale, hazy blue.

But it seemed the unbearable heat had given Fred an idea for another date.

Which was how you found yourself standing at the edge of the Black Lake in a cute bikini you’d been waiting all summer to wear, your shoes discarded somewhere in the grass behind you, watching him attempt to skip stones across the water.

He managed one bounce.

The stone immediately sank.

“Hm,” Fred said thoughtfully, staring at the ripples like they had personally betrayed him, “I’ve gotten considerably worse at that.”

“You were never good.”

“I distinctly remember being excellent.”

“That’s the heat talking. It’s cooked your brain.”

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence.

“You wound me.”

“I try.”

He looked at you, a sinister smile on his face that gave you a feeling that he was planning something, “Well, I try harder.”

You barely had time to process the warning in his grin before you felt it—a sharp splash against your shoulders, cold water exploding across your skin.

“Fred!”

You sputtered as you broke the surface, hair dripping into your eyes just in time to see him double over laughing.

And then, before you could retaliate, he cannonballed in after you.

Every moment of calm dissolved into splashing, laughter, and half-hearted attempts to dunk one another beneath the surface. Fred succeeded exactly once before you retaliated by grabbing his ankle and dragging him under with you, emerging seconds later breathless and triumphant.

By the time the chaos finally eased, you’d drifted farther from shore, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and your sides aching from laughing too hard.

For a moment, there was nothing but gentle movement. Water lapping softly against your shoulders. Sunlight scattering across the surface in broken gold. Fred floating nearby, hair plastered to his forehead, grinning like he didn’t have a single thought in his head except this.

You turned slightly, your gaze catching on something in the water near your hands.

It glimmered faintly beneath the surface.

“Oh—wait—” You said, reaching out instinctively, “I think that’s a shell or something. It's pretty."

Before you could even finish the sentence, Fred was already diving.

He disappeared beneath the surface without hesitation.

"Chivalry is dead, they say."

The words died in your throat when he resurfaced a moment later, shaking water from his hair.

In his hand, he held the shell out proudly, grinning at you, “Ta-da.”

You smiled automatically, already reaching for it, already preparing some teasing comment until your eyes slipped past his hand.

Past the shell.

To his wrist.

Angelina.

The name sat against his skin like it belonged there.

Like it had always belonged there.

Your fingers stopped mid-air.

Fred was still talking, still smiling, still looking at you with that easy warmth that had become so familiar you didn’t even think about it anymore. His voice blurred slightly at the edges, like it was coming from farther away than it actually was, and the lake around you suddenly felt quieter, heavier, as though it had decided to hold its breath with you.

You couldn’t look away from it.

Angelina.

It wasn't wasn't the first time you were seeing it. It definitely wasn't new.

And yet seeing it like this—so close, so real, so casually visible between moments of laughter—made something inside you tighten in a way you hadn’t been prepared for.

The universe’s choice.

Not you.

Never you.

A strange stillness settled in your chest, not sharp at first, just heavy, like the slow sinking of something you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your thoughts began to slip before you could catch them, drifting in directions you couldn’t stop.

Would they make a good couple?

Did she ever think about him when she looked at George?

Did she ever wonder what it would’ve been like if she’d chosen differently, if she’d taken a different path, if she’d looked at the wrong twin and hesitated just a second longer?

And worse—did Fred ever think about it too?

The shell in his hand suddenly felt irrelevant, something from a different moment entirely, like it didn’t belong in this one anymore. Like it had been part of a version of the world where you weren’t thinking about this. Where you weren’t standing in the middle of a lake watching the evidence of a future you didn’t belong in wrapped around his wrist.

You weren’t even fully aware of the shift until it had already happened.

One moment you were here, in sunlight and laughter and water that still clung warm to your skin.

The next, everything felt distant.

Muted.

As though you had stepped just slightly outside of yourself.

“…(Y/N)?”

You blinked, forcing yourself back into your body, into the moment, into the lake and the shell and him.

Fred was closer now, his expression no longer playful. The smile had faded without him even seeming to notice, replaced by something quieter, more attentive.

“You alright?”

For a second, you forgot how to answer.

Then you managed something that almost resembled normal.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

His eyes didn’t leave your face.

“You sure?”

Too quickly—too automatically—you nodded.

“Just cold.”

Even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t convincing.

Fred didn’t push. He rarely did when it mattered.

Instead, he moved closer through the water until his arm brushed yours, steady and grounding, and then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he slipped it around your waist to keep you from drifting too far with the current.

“Yeah? Well,” He said softly, almost lightly again, as though trying to pull you back without forcing it, “We can fix that.”

And for a moment, you let him.

Just a moment.

A final moment.

In all honesty, you hadn’t meant to avoid him.

Really, you hadn’t.

It wasn’t like you actively chose to turn around every time you saw Fred in the corridors, or pretend you hadn’t received his notes because you’d gone to bed early, or slip out of a room the second you heard his boisterous laughter drawing closer—the same laughter that used to send a wave of warmth flooding through you.

But every time you saw him—his warm brown eyes, shadowed by long lashes—you felt that sinking pit open up in your stomach, swallowing everything else whole. It ruined your day before it had even properly begun.

And even though all you wanted was to be near him, you couldn’t help but turn away every time his eyes searched for you.

You really should have considered the fact that Fred wasn’t going to take it lying down.

And that he knew all about the secret passageways scattered around Hogwarts.

So you really shouldn’t have been surprised when he appeared in the corridor that had been empty not even a second ago—grabbing your wrist and stopping you in your tracks.

“Fred.”

“This push-and-pull bullshit isn’t going to work with me, (Y/N),” He said immediately, “If you want to break up with me, you better look me in the eye and do it.”

Ironic.

Because you couldn’t.

Your gaze stayed anchored to his wrist—specifically, to the inked name along his pulse, peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

And just like that, the pit in your stomach returned.

“This isn’t going to work, Fred.”

His brows twitched, his grip tightening just a fraction—like he was afraid you’d slip away again if he loosened it.

“Why?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head like the answer should be obvious.

“Because you’re not meant to be with me,” You said, “You’re already… destined for someone else.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

“My brother’s soulmate?” He said, almost incredulous, “I would never do that to him. And she’s already made her choice.”

“And if she didn’t?” You pressed, your voice tightening, “If she changes her mind tomorrow? If she decides you’re the one she’s meant to be with… would you change yours?”

The question hung between you.

Fred didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze sharpened.

“Well then what about you?” He shot back, “If Riddle suddenly realizes how badly he messed up—comes crawling back, begging you to take him—would you go?”

The edge in his voice hit harder than you expected.

Suddenly, you were back in your dorm room again, staring at lipstick marks you hadn’t chosen, feeling that same hollow, awful ache in your chest.

Except this time—

he wasn’t your soulmate.

You had no claim to Fred.

If he turned around tomorrow and chose Angelina, you couldn’t fault him for it.

After all… she was his soulmate.

And if he wasn’t by your side—

If Mattheo came back, asking for your forgiveness—

Would you really be able to go back to him like nothing had happened? Could you let him touch you with the same hands that had touched someone else, pretend you didn’t know exactly where they had been? Could you stand there in his arms and still feel that sense of certainty you used to dream soulmates would bring—the feeling that this was your place in the world, that you were chosen, needed, loved completely?

“No,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as the realization settled in, “I wouldn’t.”

Your voice steadied as you continued.

“I don’t want someone who would hurt me on purpose,” You said quietly, “I don’t want someone who makes me feel like I’m something they can come back to when it suits them. Like the only reason I’m with them is because someone out there decided it.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his.

“I want you.” You admitted, your voice tightening as you realized just how true it was.

These past few weeks with Fred had been the happiest you’d been in a long time. When you were with him, it felt like you’d finally found your place in the universe.

And that terrified you.

Because he wasn’t yours.

Not really.

And if those lipstick marks had broken your heart, then watching Fred walk away from you and go back to Angelina the second she called would destroy you.

“But I want you to want me too,” You finished, “Not just because I’m there. Not just to fill some empty space.”

Silence settled between you.

Fred’s grip loosened—not letting go, just sliding from your wrist to your hand, holding it instead.

“I’ll admit it,” He said after a moment, “That’s how it started.”

Your chest tightened.

“Just… something to make it hurt less,” He continued, quieter now, “Something to not feel so bloody lonely all the time.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you.

“But it’s not that anymore, (Y/N).”

And when you met his eyes, all you saw was sincerity. It hit you in a way you couldn’t quite explain—like the two of you weren’t just standing in a corridor anymore, but somewhere else entirely. Somewhere smaller. Quieter.

Just the two of you in the entire universe.

“I’m falling for you,” He said, like it scared him a little to admit it, he'd been burned before and he was scared he was going to be again, “And I want to be with you. Soulmate or not.”

You wanted to believe him.

You really did.

But the tattoo of her name lingered in your mind—a ghost between the two of you you didn’t know how to exorcise.

“But what about—”

“Fuck Angelina, alright!”

Your eyes widened and he dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate, “There isn’t a single part of me that wants her right now,” He said, “I thought I did. I thought I was supposed to. But I don’t.”

His voice dropped.

“Not like I do when I’m with you.”

You stared at him, that pit in your stomach beginning to dissipate, just slightly.

“(Y/N), please.” He said, taking your hand in both of his and pulling you closer, guiding your palm to rest against his chest.

His heartbeat was fast.

Almost as fast as yours.

“If you don’t feel the same way about me, that’s okay,” He said softly, “But don’t push me away because you think I’d rather be with anyone other than you. Because there is no one else, and there never will be.”

Something in you shifted, quiet but undeniable, and before you could second-guess it you stepped closer, your hand coming up to rest against his shoulder as you rose onto your toes, leaning in with the simple intention of pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

But at the last second, he turned his head.

Your breath caught, your lips just a hair away from meeting his, so close you could feel the warmth of him, could see your own reflection in his blown out pupils. Your gaze dropped, almost involuntarily, to his mouth for just a moment and before you knew what was happening, you had closed the distance.

You had always thought your first kiss would be with your soulmate. You had saved it, carefully, stubbornly, building it up in your mind during sleepless nights—imagining electricity in little jolts rushing through your body, feeling inexplicable heat where he would've grabbed the dips of your waist, imagining certainty, imagining that unmistakable feeling that would tell you, without question, this is it.

You thought you would feel boundless joy rush through you, a state of euphoria that made you feel tethered and floating at the same time as you kissed the person you were meant to be with for the very first time.

As your arms slid around Fred’s neck and pulled him closer, as he kissed you back, his arms looping around your waist as he began to lose himself into you, blurring the lines between where you ended and he began.

You realized—

It was everything you had ever dreamed it would be.

The Gryffindor common room was rarely this quiet.

It almost felt like you had managed to catch your foot in the rug and slip into some kind of alternate dimension. Normally, it was chaos in its purest form—laughter spilling over armchairs, someone shouting about Quidditch from across the room, first-years getting shushed for the tenth time in five minutes. But tonight, the fire crackled softly instead of roaring, and even that felt like it was trying not to disturb the peace.

You were curled up in Fred’s lap like it was the most natural place in the world, one of his arms loosely around your waist while the other lazily traced patterns against your knee. You, meanwhile, were fully invested in a crossword puzzle like your life depended on it.

“Six across,” You murmured, brow furrowed, “Ten letters. ‘An ingredient in Pepper-Up potion—’ oh, this is easy.”

Fred hummed behind you, amused, “You say that about every single clue.”

“Because I am right every single time.”

“You absolutely are not.”

You glanced up at him over your shoulder, squinting, “Are you challenging my intellectual superiority?”

He shrugged, though that infuriating smirk was still on his face, “Not at all. Oh look—twelve down. Another word for humility. Quick, how many letters in 'not (Y/N)'?”

You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes, and moved on to the next clue, solving it just as quickly as the last one. You leaned back against him with a satisfied little grin—and Fred tightened his arm around you just enough to make you tilt into him again.

“Show-off.” He murmured.

You solved another clue, and without thinking, pressed a quick kiss to his jaw.

Fred paused.

Then, like it was nothing at all, he kissed the top of your head in return.

It became a rhythm after that—clue, answer, kiss; clue, answer, kiss—soft and absentminded, warm in a way that made the rest of the world feel very far away.

Until it didn’t.

“You two are adorable.” Came a voice behind you.

You both turned slightly.

Lavender Brown stood a few steps away, arms folded, her expression somewhere between pity and smug satisfaction. Her gaze flicked pointedly between you and Fred, lingering just a second too long on the way you were sitting together.

“It’s just…” She continued lightly, “such a shame, isn’t it?”

You blinked, “What is?”

“That you’re not actually soulmates.” Her lips curled, “It’s such a shame you’ll never know what it feels like to be in your soulmate’s arms.”

Silence settled for half a beat.

Fred’s hand stopped moving on your waist.

You slowly closed the crossword book.

Then you looked up at her properly.

“Well, I actually take a lot of pride in that,” You said, voice sweet as honey, “At least I’m not like some people who the big man in the sky clearly knew wouldn’t be able to land a partner with that face and personality… so he had to shackle some poor bloke to them just to make it work.”

Fred made a sound that suspiciously resembled a cough hiding a laugh.

Lavender’s face went red instantly, “That’s— I didn’t—”

“Mm.” You tilted your head, “Anyway, good talk.”

She opened her mouth again, clearly searching for something to salvage her dignity, but nothing came. After a second of flustered silence, she spun on her heel and walked away far faster than she’d arrived.

The moment she was gone, Fred let out a low whistle.

“Good job, sweetheart.”

“Well,” You said with a small shrug, “I am the funny one in this relationship.”

Fred hummed quietly—the sound vibrating through his chest where your back was pressed against him.

“Oh yeah?” He murmured.

There was something in his voice now—lower, slower, warmer.

“S'that so?”

Something about it—the depth of his tone, the way his words seemed to slur like they were weighing on his tongue, the way he looked at you like he was genuinely drunk on you—made your stomach drop in a way you’d never felt before.

The crossword book slipped from your lap and fell to the floor.

And then you were turning fully in his arms, grabbing the front of his jumper, and kissing him properly.

Fred made a sound of surprise that quickly melted into something far more pleased. His palm slid to your back, pulling you in, and you felt yourself go slightly hollow with it—like every thought had been knocked clean out of you. Your hands moved up to frame his jaw as he kissed you back with growing desire.

And for a moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist at all.

Ron Weasley chose that exact moment to walk into the common room like he had impeccable comedic timing and absolutely no sense of mercy.

The door swung open with a creak, letting in a burst of cold corridor air—and Ron, flanked by a couple of his friends, froze mid-step.

Ron physically recoiled.

“For God’s sake,” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “Can you guys stop this disgusting display of affection?"

Fred didn’t even look embarrassed. If anything, he looked mildly offended that Ron had interrupted his very important work of being glued to your lips.

You, still slightly breathless—and also slightly offended—were actually a little relieved he’d walked in. Because if you’d been allowed to carry on, you were fairly certain you’d be expelled for public indecency.

Ron gestured vaguely at the scene like it physically pained him, like he was about to wretch up his guts at the thought of one of his best friends with his brother, “It makes other people who haven’t found their soulmates feel bad.”

Your eyes flicked to Fred.

And before you could stop it, you both shared the same secret smile.

Ron hadn’t even realized what he’d implied.

Still, something warm and oddly sweet curled in your stomach anyway.

Fred noticed it too. Of course he did.

“Right,” He said lazily, looking back at Ron, “We’ll make ourselves scarce then. Wouldn’t want to traumatise poor, lonely Ronald.”

“Oi—”

But Fred was already standing, pulling you up with him in one smooth motion like it was second nature.

You barely had time to steady yourself before his hand found yours.

And just like that, he was leading you toward the staircase.

You glanced over your shoulder at Ron one last time, sending him a mischievous smile and a quick wink.

He responded with a face of pure disgust.

It made you laugh—but the sound faded as you climbed higher into the tower, Fred still holding your hand like he had no intention of letting go.

epilogue: (lowkey the og plan was to kill off freddie but i changed my mind lol)

Eventually, Mattheo Riddle became very good at pretending.

It was a skill he perfected over the years in the same quiet, miserable way people learned to live with old injuries—carefully, stubbornly, until the pain became less of a sharp wound and more of a permanent ache woven into everyday life.

At first, it had been difficult. Mattheo had always been a man of candor. When he wanted something, he took it. When he felt desire, he showed it, and more often than not the world bent willingly into his hands. When he felt anger, disgust, hatred—he made sure everyone around him felt it too.

But heartbreak?

Guilt?

Regret?

Those emotions sat strangely on him, like clothes tailored for someone else entirely.

For a long time, he found reminders of you everywhere. Every couple passing him in the street felt like a mockery of something he had ruined with his own hands.

But time had a cruel way of dulling even the sharpest pain.

Eventually, Hogwarts became memories instead of places. The castle faded into nothing more than fragments in the back of his mind. He stopped dreaming about you eventually. Or perhaps he simply stopped remembering the dreams by morning.

He learned how to fill his days well enough.

Work helped.

Noise helped.

Women helped sometimes too, though never for very long. He became frighteningly good at moving from one distraction to the next without ever lingering long enough for silence to settle around him properly.

Because silence was dangerous.

Silence was where you lived.

People stopped mentioning your name around him after a while.

That helped.

Or at least, that was what he liked to believe.

Years passed that way.

Quietly. Pathetically.

And eventually, he became good enough at pretending that even he almost believed himself.

Until one morning, long after he had stopped allowing himself to think about soulmates at all, Mattheo woke to faint silver lines stretching across the skin of his stomach.

For a long moment, he simply stared at them in the mirror.

Then, silently, he swallowed the pain.

And pretended he never noticed them.

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[midnightgardentales]

Hellooo, I was wondering if you could do a Jack Abbot x fem reader (maybe she’s a nurse) where they both obviously like each other a lot and are super close so they spend a lot of time together in and outside of the Pitt. It’s a miscommunication in that reader thinks they’re dating but Jack doesn’t and he’s all pining after her (maybe insecure cause he’s so much older than her). It kinda goes on for a bit before Jack overhears her one day talking to someone about a boyfriend and he’s so brokenhearted that he starts avoiding reader. Obviously she freaks out and asks what happened, thinking he might break up with her only for both of them to be confused when they realize how stupid they’ve been.

I’m sorry if that was really long/too descriptive. I’ve seen this trope maybe once or twice and I just thought I’d love to see your take on it since you write Jack sooo well💞

💞Tags/Warnings💞: age gap relationship/crush, fluff, talks of age insecurity ( so hurt/comfort ), miscommunication leads to confessions

💞Plot💞: Jack Abbot is the perfect boyfriend! He just doesn’t know it yet..

💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

💞Title💞: So, what are we?!

💞A/N💞: this is so funny! I love a good miscommunication trope. And thank you sm! Hope you like it!!

((Requests are ALWAYS open))

Masterlist

“God, I love this man..”

Those words leave Y/N’s mouth effortlessly as she grabs the candy bar that was left on her desk. She already knew who it was from. She didn’t have to read the dorky post it note that was attached to it. The confession stuns even her for a split second.

This was her first time saying it out loud.

It’s followed by a giddy giggle as Mel gets bashful for her. She couldn’t help it though. She was falling for the Jack Abbot. The man who’s been a constant by her side since she started working at the Pitt almost a year or so ago. He’s been her number one supporter on good days and her rock on bad ones.

“You’re so happy.” Mel notes with a big smile as if Y/N’s good mood was contagious. It makes her laugh a bit more.

“My boyfriend is literally perfect, Mel. Of course I’m happy…” Y/N smiles wide, holding the candy bar closer to her chest. Both women fail to notice the older attending hovering around the corner, though.

Jack had been waiting as patiently as he could for Mel to walk away so he could check in on Y/N. She’d had a terrible morning. Hence the candy he’d set for her on her desk. But hearing the word ‘boyfriend’ had done something to his chest. Maybe it had broken his rose colored glasses.

Maybe it had woken him up.

He slowly backs away as it sinks in. Of course. Of course a beautiful girl like Y/N would be taken. He rubs his hands along his cargo pants as he instantly tries to busy himself. He should’ve known that this long game he was playing would only end badly.

He didn’t know when it started. He likes to believe the moment he met Y/N, he started to woo her. But, honestly, he had seen Y/N as a mentee. Someone with a passion for saving people that he respected.

Jack loved a capable woman.

And the day he watched her practically get on top of a plus sized patient so she could have the leverage to give CPR as paramedics rushed the gurney down the hallway? He knew he had to buy her dinner.

Maybe that’s when the view changed? He couldn’t pinpoint it. One day, though, he just looked at her and thought to himself.. ‘huh. Have her eyes always been that deep?’

And he’d been falling in them ever since..

But here he is now. Embarrassed and fidgeting with his stethoscope out of an overwhelming gut feeling of aimlessness. He felt dumb to say the least.

But why feel anything else? What should he feel instead?

Surprised? He’s 50! Obviously getting the girl wasn’t for someone of his age.

What about anger? For all the late night breaks spent on the roof or at the park across the way? For all the deep conversations that an attending and nurse could not platonically have because they’re so intimate in nature, especially if the nurse has a boyfriend! But maybe Y/N was just a naturally open person. Maybe those details he had learned about her weren’t special in nature because everyone knew them. Maybe he imagined the comfortable silence and hand brushing. The resting her head on his shoulder were just habits of hers that she’d do with anyone.

Should he feel concerned? Confused? A boyfriend and yet she’d grab breakfast with him after almost every shift? A boyfriend, but she’d hold his hand as they walk through the farmer’s market on Sunday because she wanted him to explore new aspects of Pittsburgh. There’s a boyfriend in her life, and just earlier this afternoon they’d shared a hospital bed to nap in together for their night shift!

Jack wants to laugh in disbelief. Some girlfriend Y/N was! If he was said boyfriend, he would’ve been down here the first time he heard his girlfriend had gone out to grab a slice at 1am with her attending. Just to make sure the guy knows she’s taken. Maybe they weren’t that kind of couple though. Hell, maybe it was that old school mindset that Jack had that solidified him just not being Y/N’s type.

Jack busies himself by checking the supplies in empty hospital rooms. Refilling what’s needed. It’s tedious, sure, but also just enough to keep his mind on something else and stop his racing thoughts from suffocating his heart..

“Hey..” He hears from behind him, and slows his movements only a bit but stays with his back turned. Looking at her would only make him break.. And he was way too old to be this heartbroken..

Y/N pauses at the tension she clearly sees on Jack’s shoulders. She frowns slightly. “You okay? Is it the supplies?” She tries to joke as she moves closer. “Do you need a stocking buddy?” She teases as she moves to stand next to him. Usually, her teasing would be met with a joke of his own. A sly comment with a soft smirk.

But the minute Y/N’s hand brushed against Jack’s, he drops the glove box he’d been wrestling with and just walks out of the room. Leaving Y/N stunned…

What the hell was that?!

*

*

*

That wasn’t Jack. This wasn’t Jack.

And Y/N was beginning to worry.

For a man who had once told her, ‘you’re the Pitt nurse, sure, but you’re my nurse first’, he was surely enjoying calling for Mateo to follow him on cases tonight..

Y/N stands at the nurse’s station, racking through her brain to think about this. What the hell had she done? What had she said? Why couldn’t he look her in the eyes tonight? Why would he vacate any room she walked into like she’s the plague?

“I’m off..” She hears from behind her and turns to wave bye to Mel who’d been pulling extra hours now that she had no responsibilities towards her sister. That’s when it hit her.

Oh god.

Maybe she had messed up!

Telling Mel! She’d told Mel! She hadn’t used any names, sure, but maybe it was obvious. Maybe Jack wanted to keep this private. He was a very open book at work, though. Hell, Y/N found out the majority of her facts on Jack because of Robby!

That was his work husband through and through..

But maybe this, maybe they, were supposed to stay a secret. Something just for them. And telling Mel had upset Jack. She gets a thought that makes her heart drop..

Maybe it had showed him her immaturity.

She needed to find him…

*

*

*

The sun was just starting to peek up from the city line as Jack leaned against the railing. He needed the fresh air to clear his mind. The night had dragged on and today was a new day. A day to fully sit with this somber acceptance. Y/N wasn’t his. And she never would be..

The roof top door squeaks open and Jack doesn’t turn to see who has entered, assuming it to be Robby. If it was, he’d try and convince the older man to just sit here with him for a moment or so. He could use the silent company. But a voice breaks out of the silence.

“I knew I’d find you here..”

Jack cringes slightly. He sighs at the flutter in his heart. Her voice does that to him. Even now, knowing everything. He hates it.

“Just about to leave.” He says, voice gruff as he goes to grab his bookbag that’s on the gravel ground by his feet. He picks it up and swiftly moves over the railing. Y/N is quick to get in his way.

“Jack. Please. I can explain..” She whispers, finally dropping any casual front. She knew they had something to discuss..

“There’s nothing to explain, Y/N. I’m just your attending..” Jack says shortly, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see her heart break from his words.

“Jack..” She whispers, as if in shock that he’d even say that. He moves to walk past her, but he can’t stop himself anymore. They did have something to discuss…

“No.” He says, turning back around to face her. “You know what really sucks? Is the fact that you couldn’t just tell me.” He states.

“I didn’t think it was important!” Y/N quickly says back, shaking her head as if beside herself in this moment.

“You didn’t think…” Jack laughs humorlessly. A short sound that’s cut off by his hand coming up to rub his mouth in disbelief.

“We spend every night, every morning, every day off together, and you didn’t think it was important?” He continues with a heavy sigh of disbelief and anger.

Y/N shakes her head, arms coming up to hold herself. It’s her turn to breathe shakily in frustration. “I’m sorry that you wanted me kept a secret! I didn’t know you were so ashamed of being with me!”

Jack pauses. “What?” He whispers in disbelief. “What?!” He repeats as if at a loss. “I.. You know what I’m ashamed of, Y/N? Being the other man!”

“What?!” Y/N practically shrieks in shock. That sound stuns the older man for a brief moment. Long enough for her to continue.

“Jack. There is no other man. It’s just you!” She says fast.

“I…” He blinks a bit before shaking his head. No. No, he’d heard her clear as day. “You’re gonna lie? I heard you. Talking about your boyfriend..”

“Are you… Is this a senior moment?!” Y/N loudly proclaims in actual astonishment.

“Hey..” Jack warns.

“You’re my boyfriend, you big dummy! I was talking about you!” She shouts. What the hell wasn’t he getting right now?!

There’s a beat of silence the falls between the two. As if they’ve just now realized how different their viewpoints had been.

“I… I am?” Jack asks slowly now, turning pale with shock. Only then does the anger in Y/N’s body melt away, replaced with surprise. But it’s mixed with something else. Something bitter.

Mortified humiliation.

“A-Are you..?” She asks back before covering her mouth. Had she just assumed all those outings were dates? All those moments alone, all those afternoon naps at work? It was all just friendly?!

“Oh my god, you must think I’m a kid..” She whispers, horrified as Jack lets it all fully sink in. Y/N turns away, hand on her forehead as she wishes for the ground to just swallow her whole. Jack looks at her. Really looks at her, and he can’t help but start to chuckle.

“It’s not funny!” Y/N whines, tears in her eyes as Jack walks over.

“I’m not laughing at you. I.. Come here..” He whispers as he pulls her in. As much as she wants to run, she knows his arms around her will feel so much better…

He holds her close as he rests his chin on the top of her head, arms on her shoulders while she grips his waist. “I… I’m so so sorry..” He says finally before pulling back to look at her.

They both take a moment to actually look at each other and softly begin to laugh. What the hell was this?!

“You must think I’m some dumb school girl.” Y/N groans as Jack smiles softly, muttering assurances that he doesn’t, but she keeps talking. “I.. I thought we.. We’d go out, you’d buy me flowers..” She tries to defend her thought process, but her voice comes out sheepish.

“I was… I was playing the long game..” Jack admits bashfully.

“Long game?!” Y/N asks in a flabbergasted tone.

“Yeah! You know… When a guy likes a girl, so he.. He woos her! To show he’s a good candidate!” Jack defends. Y/N actually eyes him as it clicks.

“Oh my god..” She mumbles as she remembers. Right! He’s 50! Of course he’d think dating is still some big show and dance where the guy has to pull out all the stops before he can even get the girl to be his girlfriend.

“That was all just you being chivalrous?!” Y/N stomps a foot.

“I thought it’d work!” Jack says right back. In his defense, he hasn’t been in the dating game in almost ten or so years..

“Well it did! I thought we were dating already!” Y/N groans as she face palms. Jack chuckles quietly.

“We never kissed..” He points out after a moment. Y/N sheepishly shrugs.

“I thought you were just building up to it..” She defends quietly as he softly laughs and shakes his head.

The two stand on the roof, the early morning sun shining on them as they find comfort in each other’s arms. Slowly, Y/N looks up from her playful tugging at the hem of his scrubs.

“So..” She mumbles. “What are we now?” She asks finally, voice soft and slightly lighthearted. Jack looks at her before leaning in, catching her lips in a tender kiss with his hands cradling her chin and jaw. The kiss makes Y/N’s head spin. It’s exactly how she’d imagined it. The coffee taste and all..

When they finally pull away, Y/N smiles wide against his lips. “Okay..” She mumbles, nodding only slightly as if agreeing to his silent proposal. The two slowly head for the roof door now, with all that settled. But Jack can’t stop himself as they get into the stairwell.

“So. How long have we been dating?” Jack asks curiously.

“Shut up…” Y/N laughs, still embarrassed as she lightly swats at his shoulder.

“What? I need to know if I gotta plan for an anniversary!” Jack teases further as she playfully shoves him before squealing when he goes to grab her waist, playfully running from him and down the stairs as he chases her..

!!The End!!

[fluttervoid]

✦ ݁˖ — IN HIS ARMS ..!

synopsis 𓂃 ໒꒱ getting dragged out of bed before sunrise because jack wants you to “keep him company” was never something you agreed to, but somehow it still happens. you end up on the gym floor in his hoodie, half awake and pretending to read while he trains, only to realise he’d much rather bench press you instead of the barbell. (2.7k+)

pairing 𓂃 ໒꒱ jack abbot x fem!reader

content 𓂃 ໒꒱ established relationship, fluff, jack decides you're the workout instead, playful teasing, no reader weight or body type mentioned, not proof read (sorryy).

You don’t remember agreeing to this, though in fairness, Jack has always been annoyingly good at making things sound optional when they very clearly aren’t. Somewhere between him nudging you awake before sunrise and quietly telling you to “come keep me company,” you’d been coaxed out of bed with the promise that you didn’t have to do anything except sit there. 

Now you’re cross legged on the rubber flooring with a book balanced across your lap, drowning inside one of his old hoodies while he goes through the last of his workout a few feet away, and you’re beginning to think “keep me company” was just a nicer way of saying watch me work out because I like knowing you’re here.

Not that you’d ever admit he was right.

The page in front of you hasn’t changed in at least five minutes. Every time you start reading, the dull clink of metal meeting metal pulls your attention away again, and before you know it you’re watching Jack instead, following the slow rhythm of another controlled lift before your eyes drift back to the book with all the guilt like a kid who’s just been caught staring out the classroom window.

“You gonna finish that chapter,” Jack asks, easing the bar back onto the rack before reaching for the towel slung over the bench beside him, “or do you plan on giving page twenty three your full attention for the rest of the morning?”

You glance down automatically, almost as though the book might have turned itself while you weren’t looking (it hasn’t)

“I’m reading,” you insist anyway, trying for something convincing and landing somewhere closer to stubborn.

“So I’ve noticed.”

“I am.”

He drags the towel across the back of his neck, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he wanders over, looking far too pleased with himself for a man who’s done nothing but catch you in an embarrassingly obvious lie. “Honey,” he says, stopping in front of you, “I’ve watched you look at me more than you’ve looked at that book.”

You felt suddenly hot being in the room with him, “I was observing.”

“Observing.”

“Mhm.” You murmur, pursing your lips together. 

“My technique?”

You shrug, making a show of considering it. “Among other things.” That earns you a proper smile, one that always appears when you’ve managed to catch him off guard.

“So,” he says after a moment, folding the towel over one shoulder, “what’s the verdict?”

You let your eyes travel over him with exaggerated seriousness, pretending to assess every possible flaw before giving a thoughtful little hum. “I think your form’s terrible.”

He looks down at himself as though he might actually find something wrong before his eyes settle back on you again, “my form?”

“You keep getting distracted.”

“I do?”

“You’ve looked over here at least six times.”

“I was checking on you.”

“You were absolutely not.”

“I was.”

“You were showing off.”

A laugh escapes him then, low enough that it almost disappears into the room. “I don’t have to show off.”

“Oh?”

“No.” His gaze lingers on you for just a second longer than necessary. “I’ve already got the girl.”

Your stomach betrays you immediately, “that,” you mutter, closing the book before he can see the smile threatening to appear, “was disgustingly smooth.”

Jack’s smile lingers for another second, subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it, but you're not most people, before he reaches for the towel again and drapes it over his shoulder.

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Oh, that’s even worse.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the towel over the back of his neck before dropping it onto the bench beside him. “How’s that worse?”

“Because if you actually tried, I’d know you were putting it on.” You gesture vaguely in his direction. “When it just happens, it’s unfair.”

“Unfair,” he repeats, like he’s turning the word over in his head.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“You absolutely do.”

His grin grows just enough to tell you he’s enjoying this far more than he should, though he has the decency not to point it out. Instead, he nods toward the bench behind him, his expression settling back into that calm, unreadable look you’ve never quite figured out.

“C’mere for a second.”

“Come here for a second,” you mimic under your breath, lowering your voice in an admittedly terrible impression of him as a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. You’d learned very early on that those five words usually ended with you agreeing to something ridiculous, and the worst part was that you’d follow him anyway. “You know every questionable idea you’ve ever had has started exactly like that, right?”

“I don't think that's true.”

“Oh, really?” You fold your arms across your chest, giving him a look. “You got me to go camping with those exact words.”

A huff of laughter slips from him as he remembers it. “You liked camping.”

“I liked the cabin after we left the campsite,” you correct, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “There's a very important difference.”

“You still came.”

“I was manipulated.”

“You made a choice,” he says, far too calmly for someone revising history right in front of you.

“I made a mistake.”

His grin grows just enough to give him away. “You've made that mistake more than once.”

You try to hold your glare, but he has an annoying habit of waiting you out without saying much. It works far more often than you'd like to admit, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it.

“What is it?” you ask, setting the book beside you, “and don’t say ‘nothing,’ because you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that gets me into trouble.”

Jack looks genuinely unconvinced. “I don’t get you into trouble.”

You don't even answer straight away. Instead, you just look at him, waiting for him to realise how ridiculous that statement is. He holds your stare without so much as a hint of guilt before the corner of his mouth finally gives him away.

“Often,” he concedes.

“There it is,” you mumble, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I was wondering how long it'd take you.”

Rather than arguing his case any further, he simply holds out his hand. He never tells you to hurry or asks twice, and somehow that's exactly why it works. You eye his outstretched hand with as much suspicion as you can manage before looking back up at him. “I really should start saying no to you.”

“You do,” he reminds you. “You just never stick to it.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, already reaching for his hand despite yourself. “I really need to start working on that.”

“That'd be new.”

“It would,” you admit, letting him pull you to your feet before pointing a finger at him. “Don't get used to it.”

“I wasn't planning on it.”

“I hate proving you right,” you grumble as he starts leading you toward the bench, though the complaint loses most of its bite the second his thumb brushes absentmindedly across the back of your hand.

Jack glances over at you with a smile. “No, you don't. If you really hated it, you'd still be sitting on the floor.”

You open your mouth with every intention of arguing, only to realise you're already standing exactly where he'd wanted you. “…Don't,” you say glaring at him. 

“I didn't say anything,” he says, looking entirely too innocent.

“You were about to.”

“I was thinking about it.”

“That's close enough,” you decide before he can dig himself into an even deeper hole, earning a laugh from him as he finally lets go of your hand and nods toward the bench.

“Lie down for me.”

Your eyes flick from the bench to him again, suspicion settling in almost immediately. “I'm sorry... are we skipping the explanation entirely?”

“I'll explain in a second,” he promises.

You groan, already shaking your head. “You know, that sentence has never once made me feel better.”

“It'll make sense.”

“It better.”

He doesn't try to convince you after that, he just waits.

You've always admired that about Jack. He never pushes you into a decision or pesters you until you cave. He'll throw an idea your way, then stand back and let you come around on your own, even if the look on his face says he's already got a pretty good idea of how it's going to end.

You shake your head with a laugh as you climb onto the bench. “If this turns out to be one of your terrible ideas, you'll be hearing about it for the rest of your life.”

“I figured as much.”

You settle back folding your hands over your stomach as though you were preparing for surgery instead of whatever ridiculous plan he'd cooked up. Jack hangs back for a moment, looking you over to make sure you're comfortable before taking another step closer.

“So?” you ask, peeking up at him. “Are you finally gonna tell me what this master plan is, or are you just enjoying watching me panic?”

His mouth twitches ever so slightly. “I'm enjoying watching you overthink it.” He moves closer, resting a hand lightly against your side as he straightens the edge of your hoodie without really thinking about it. “I'm gonna lift you.”

You blink at him, waiting for him to laugh, thinking that maybe this was one of his usual awful jokes he tells you often. “You're gonna what?”

“I'm gonna lift you,” he repeats, like he's suggesting the two of you stop for coffee on the way home.

You stare at him for another second before a laugh escapes you, “no, you're not.”

“Yeah,” he replies, looking almost amused by your disbelief. “I am.”

“No.”

“Honey.”

“Jack.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, like that's somehow the part you've got wrong.

You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “I'm not questioning whether I'll be fine. I'm questioning why this has suddenly become part of your workout.”

“It didn't. It became part of my morning.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “those are two different answers.”

“They're also both true.” The worst part is that he seems perfectly satisfied leaving it there.

“You are so lucky you're charming.”

“I've been told.”

“By who?”

“You.”

That earns him an immediate frown. “I don't remember saying that.”

“You implied it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

A laugh escapes him as he reaches over to fix the sleeve of your hoodie. “Just stay still for me.”

“You say that like I'm a flight risk.”

“You fidget.”

“I do not fidget.” You say mouth agape at the accusation he chucks at you.  “You've moved three times since you laid down,” he reminds you, entirely too pleased with himself. “I'd say that counts.”

You scoff, shaking your head slightly like the whole conversation is already getting away from you. “That’s different.”

“How?” he asks, like he’s genuinely willing to wait you out on this.

“I don’t know, it just is,” you say after a second, dragging it out a little because you refuse to give him anything better than that.

“Convenient,” he replies immediately, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice before you even look at him.

“Oh, don’t start,” you warn, though it comes out more tired than threatening, because he’s already in that mood where everything you say is going to make it worse for you. His grin only grows at that, like you’ve confirmed exactly what he wanted. “I can’t stand you.”

“I know,” you say, without missing a beat, though there’s no real bite to it. Then, because he clearly enjoys pushing it too far, he adds, “That wasn’t an invitation to be sweet, by the way.”

“I know that too,” you shoot back immediately, and the second it leaves your mouth you regret it when you catch his expression, which was far too pleased, like he’s just won something he didn’t even have to try for.

That look alone makes you roll your eyes again. “You’re insufferable.”

“Ready?” he asks after a moment, like none of the previous exchange mattered at all, already shifting the focus back to what he actually came here to do.

You exhale, still half annoyed, half amused despite yourself. “As I’ll ever be.”

He slips an arm beneath your shoulders and another beneath your legs, pausing long enough to make sure you're settled before he moves. Even now, with whatever ridiculous idea he's got planned, he's paying more attention to whether you're comfortable than anything else. “Don’t laugh if I scream,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on laughing,” he says, like that alone should settle it.

“You definitely were,” you answer immediately. 

“I was planning on smiling.”

“That’s somehow worse,” you mutter, already regretting whatever this is about to turn into.

“It usually is,” he says, like he’s entirely unbothered by your judgement. That’s all the warning you get before everything shifts at once.

One moment you’re lying back on the bench looking up at him, and the next you’re moving with him in one smooth motion that knocks the air out of you more from surprise than anything else. A laugh slips out before you can stop it, half disbelief and half shock, because your brain doesn’t quite catch up fast enough to process how easy it feels. “Oh my God,” you blurt, staring up at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable.

Jack looks down at you, that familiar curve of his mouth showing up the second he hears you laugh. “You alright?”

“Am I alright?” you repeat, still staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Jack, this is insane.”

“You said that already.”

“I’m saying it again because I mean it.”

He doesn’t respond, just lowers you back down and brings you up again like it’s nothing more than a simple motion, showing no signs of struggle or hesitation , just the steady rhythm that makes it look far too easy to question.

“You keep looking at me,” you point out, laughing when you catch him doing it again.

“I’m making sure you’re comfortable.”

“You’ve checked like five times.”

“I’m checking again.”

“You are the most cautious reckless person I’ve ever met.”

That gets a proper laugh out of him, his head shaking slightly. “I don’t think those words belong together.”

“They do when they’re describing you.”

“They really don’t.”

“They absolutely do.” He lowers you again, and by the time he brings you back up, you’re already laughing before you’ve even reached the top, mostly because of the look on his face, far too satisfied with himself for someone acting like this is normal.

“You planned this,” you accuse immediately.

“I had the idea,” he says, like that somehow clears him of everything.

“Don’t push it,” you warn, though it barely holds any weight, especially not with the way he looks at you when he says, “I wasn’t,” which is obviously a lie you both ignore.

You shake your head, a laugh slipping out as you glance at him properly, “I know exactly what you’re doing,” and he hums like he’s entertained, asking, “Oh yeah?” even though he already knows the answer.

“You want me to admit you were right,” you say, because there’s no point pretending otherwise when he’s standing there like that.

“You didn’t have to,” you shoot back immediately, which is what finally gets him, his expression shifting just enough for a smile to settle in as he holds out his hand like he’s been waiting for this exact ending the whole time, “I still won.”

You take it with a dramatic sigh, letting him pull you up before giving his shoulder a light shove that he barely reacts to, “you are never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“Probably not.”

“I knew it.”

“But,” he adds, slipping an arm around your shoulders as you head toward the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “I’ll let you tell everybody it was your idea.”

You look up at him immediately, narrowing your eyes as a laugh slips out of you. “Oh, you are unbelievable.”

“So I’ve heard.”

[filmetcs]

pretty little birds

summary: Jack hates the way Robby treats his residents, especially you, a neurology fellowship applicant who Robby is secretly sleeping with.

pairings: younger!fem!resident reader x jack abbot, younger!fem!resident reader x michael ‘robby’ robinavitch

contains: angst/comfort, situationship from hell, heavy power imbalance, toxic!mentor!robby, savior complex!jack, lot of praise, discussions of burn out, implied smut but nothing explicit, medical inaccuracies, love triangle, coercion? dubcon (cuz of possible coercion)

word count: 5.4k

note: when the fic got questionable power dynamics and a love triangle #NEEDDAT i was initially planning on writing smut into this but felt it didn’t really fit with the flow of things. if anyone is interested though, i would love to write a separate outtake/drabble/whatever u wanna call it!

Jack doesn’t understand what goes through any of the dayshift resident’s heads. with all due respect to Robby, his best friend, he simply doesn’t understand how his approach works with his team, especially with you. Robby was already constantly on edge. sure, he always had good intentions in the way he taught his residents but his execution could sometimes come off as passive aggressive or condescending. Jack swears he’s witnessed Robby snap at you but for some reason you won’t tell Jack what’s going on or anyone else,

“Have you ever thought about swapping to the night shift?” Jack asks as you walk together to your next patient,

“Uhm… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought of it actually.” you’re unable to read Jack’s face as he pulls you to the side,

“You should really consider it, I think you’d be great on the team.” he says quietly, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you. your brows furrow in confusion at his sudden approach, sensing an ulterior motive behind,

“Look, he’s my best friend but I see the way he talks to you. I’m not trying to make up shit to excuse whatever's going on with him, but you know how he is. I just think maybe you need a break, a change in teams, y’know.” you flash Jack a sympathetic smile as he speaks,

“Doctor Abbot, I’m fine, really. I appreciate your concern though.” you say as you hold the tablet out to pass to him. he takes a deep breath as he takes it from you, letting you walk away to finish your handoffs. 

Jack wants to throw a lifeline to you. change your shifts without your permission, let you see what you’ve been missing out on firsthand and ask for forgiveness later. he doesn’t care about whether you might resent him for it or not, he just knows that you’re too ambitious, too smart and too keen to let it be diminished by the other attending.

as you type out your final chart of the day, Robby taps your shoulder, 

“Mind if we chat?” he says, tilting his head to indicate he wants to pull you aside. Dana stands nearby, watching carefully. her and Jack have talked about it numerous times and not even Dana can get through to you or Robby. though, neither of them really understand, and you know that they wouldn’t,

“I trust my residents, all of them. I trust that whatever undergrad program you’ve done has taught you the value of thorough charting and why we do it,” you nod as Robby starts, “So, I would love an explanation on why I see that your charts from earlier this morning are half done. They’re sloppy, disorganized and there are typos that could lead to wrong prescriptions.” he has that same slight condescending smile on his face that Dana recognizes even from afar. 

“I got caught up with helping on a peds case, then that overdose came in and then Langdon asked me to help in triage— I’m sorry —they’ll be fixed before I go.” you tell your attending with your head low. 

“They should be done properly after every single patient. I expect better from you, not excuses.” he says, arms crossed. you stare at the lines of the beige coloured floor, waiting for this to be over so you can get back to work. it goes quiet between the two of you and you miss seeing his eyes softening suddenly after scolding you, 

“Hey,” Robby says softly, grabbing your attention. when you look up, his expression is entirely different. he no longer looks at you as your attending but with a face pleading with desperation. it’s the kind of face only you get to see in private and no one else. 

“Same time tonight?” he says. If Jack was around, he’d argue that Robby sounds like he’s borderline begging,

“Of course.” you reply with the smallest of smiles. he nods, silently dismissing you from the room. Jack sighs as he watches you leave the room, quickly walking back to your station to continue your charts. Dana stands beside him, putting her hand on his back

“I tried talking to her again today. Still isn’t budging.” Jack says in disappointment

“Some people just don’t wanna be helped. You know that better than anyone.” Dana says sympathetically. Jack however strongly disagrees with her and is newly motivated by his need to prove Dana and Robby wrong about you. he might finally follow through with his idea of changing your shifts and begging for forgiveness later, for one week at least. 

your arrangement with Robby happened fast and out of nowhere. it started the way all messy, casual relationships do; at a bar, drunk, and with a little bit of playful flirting. 

you stared at the other residents scattered across the bar. some were in line for more drinks, some playing pool and others even dancing on a nonexistent dancefloor. you always like people watching and it was sweet to see them let loose after work. you sat quietly, and close beside Robby, knees brushing against one another every so often.

“So, have you applied to any fellowships for next year?” he starts as he takes a casual sip of his beer,

“I’m thinking of neurology right now and I know what you’re gonna say, it’s competitive, it’s for the best of the best and—” Robby cuts you off,

“I think it’s great, it’s perfect for you,” Robby looks at you smiling. No caveat, no sneaky comments, he stops with that. “You’re incredibly good at what you do in the ER, I think neuro would be very lucky to have you.” you smile at the praise from your attending, feeling yourself getting shyer by the second. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying to ignore the lustful way Robby looks at your lips, then back up to your eyes. maybe it’s the liquor but the words continue spilling out of you, “You’ve taught me a lot over the years and I don’t think ‘thank you’ will ever be enough. I never take anything you teach me for granted.”

Robby thinks of closing the distance between the two of you, kissing you right then and there in front of everyone and dealing with the consequences tomorrow. he’s so damn close to it but before he can make a move, you check the time on your phone, 

“Fuck, it’s late. I should head home.” you shuffle around to grab your bags and chug the last bit of your drink down. you know you might regret it later, but getting your money's worth from the last bit of alcohol outweighs the potential hangover or bad decisions you’ll make,

“Let me drive you.” Robby offers, desperate to keep you longer.

“Oh, no. Please, it’s okay!” you plead.

“I’ll drive you, it’s okay. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re home safely.” Robby is already standing up from the booth with his hand reaching out to help you stand. neither of you say goodbye to the rest of the day shift and quickly slip out the bar doors.

the car ride was a comfortable kind of quiet. the radio played at a low volume, and you’d hum some bits of a song you heard one too many times. he parks his car outside your apartment building, leaving the engine running. Robby still wants to kiss you, but feared that he’d come off too strong or like he’d been expecting something if he turns the car off,

“Thank you, Doctor Robby, I really appreciate it.” you say turning to look at him. he smiles softly, acknowledging your thank you with a nod. he looks at your lips again, then back at your eyes, similar to what he did in the bar before leaning in slowly. you don’t stop him, if anything you lean in to meet him halfway over the center console. he kisses you softly and with hesitation, as if he’s testing to see if what he’s doing is okay. when you don’t pull away, he puts his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper and deeper. your lips taste like a mix of vodka and the cherry lipgloss he always sees you wear, tempting him constantly. he’s always wanted to taste it and now he’s dizzy with lust and only continues to kiss you harder and deeper. he can’t hold back any longer and pulls away for a second,

“Can I come upstairs?” he asks with his hand still on your cheek making small circles. you hesitate for a second before nodding. Robby shuts the engine off before the two of you head up to your apartment. 

in hindsight, you should have said no. you should have told him that what you two were doing violated pages worth of HR guidelines and that your medical career wasn’t worth putting on the line for him. but the way Robby praised you earlier that night, the mentorship he’s given you for years, confiding in him felt natural to you but it wasn’t necessarily love. 

you could argue that you wanted him just as bad but in a different way. Robby was infatuated, desperate to feel your love, call you his and only his. on the other hand, you craved his validation, his leadership, his guidance. his desire for you to be wanted and needed by him was so strong, it made for a horrible combination. you, highly ambitious but docile, combined with his overbearing mentorship, your relationship or whatever you wanted to call it, was made to crash and burn. 

he towered over you, looking down at you as you stared up with big eyes, waiting for instructions. he always found that you were especially pretty to him like this; waiting for his instructions, only acting when he commanded. even in the bedroom, he naturally fell into a leadership role for you,

“So pretty.” he purred as he put his hand on your cheek again, leaning down to kiss you again. 

you never addressed your arrangement to each other but sleeping together became a routine most days after work. Robby only ever came over to your place, never his, and part of you is convinced that because of that, you have control over your arrangement; that you have the control to stop it whenever you want.

you laid in bed with your head on his bare chest, unable to rid your mind of the conversation you had with Jack that day. it replayed over and over in your head. maybe it was a ploy to poach you and have you join the night shift, or maybe he was genuinely concerned about the way Robby spoke to you. now that Jack mentioned it, you have noticed Robby has been a bit meaner to you than usual, and unfortunately it only made his rare praises more desirable,

“You were a little mean today.” you blurt out, not thinking your words through. there's a small moment of silence while Robby processes your sudden thought,

“You understand why I have to though, right?” Robby responds calmly. of course you know the answer. it was something he reiterated to you only ever in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I know.” 

“Say it.” there’s a tinge of Robby’s usual condescending tone. 

“You’re pushing me to do my best and you want me to be the best. Better than you.” your voice suddenly goes monotone, as if you’re reading from a memorized script.

“And?” he says with no change in tone. 

“And because it’s not fair to everyone else if you’re easy on me.” you say increasingly quieter.

“That’s right,” Robby says. the lack of an apology leaves you feeling empty and he can tell that’s exactly what you were looking for, 

“You know I started on your letter of recommendation for your fellowship next year,” your eyes look up at him with a sudden new sparkle, something he hasn’t seen in a while. it was close enough to an apology that was never coming, and you were taking what you could get.

𝜗ৎ 

the following week, you noticed a change in your schedule. for the first time during your residency, you were working nights. something about the change made you nervous; would Robby be upset? would it affect your letter of recommendation? you silently reminded yourself the schedule change is out of your control, but you can’t help but feel at fault for it. 

as you walk into PTMC, Jack and Shen stand together at the workstation,

“Here comes our newest Nightcrawler! How does it feel?” Doctor Shen says with a smile and his usual iced coffee in hand. 

“Really weird, I think it’s gonna take me a sec to adjust to the sleep schedule.” you say a bit on edge. even though you know everyone on the night shift, it still feels like you’re in unknown territory,

“I’m surprised you managed to almost avoid being on nights your entire residency,” John says as he passes you an energy drink, 

“As a welcome gift.” you smile as you take it, cracking it open before heading to your locker. 

as you put your things away, Robby approaches from behind, putting his hand on the small of your back to grab your attention. you turn to see him with slightly worried eyes, 

“So you’re working nights, huh?” he starts.

“I didn’t ask anyone to swap me to nights.” your defensiveness catches him off guard. 

“I know. And I know you’re smart, just don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,” he says, shaking his head slightly, 

“I would hate for this to affect your recommendation letter.” Robby feels ashamed to hold the letter above your head, but how else could he remind you where you belonged and who taught you everything you knew? Jack rounds the corner suddenly, seeing Robby speaking with you. there’s a notable shift in your energy from the way you were speaking with Shen minutes ago, 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice grabs both you and Robby’s attention, 

“Why don’t you catch up with Lena? We’re gonna huddle in a few minutes.” you scramble to lock everything away and head back towards the central area of the ER. Robby stays back, expecting Jack to confront him on the sudden shift in your energy,

“Did you ask to have her on nights?” Robby starts before Jack can say anything, 

“Because she was doing perfectly fine on the day shift.”

“She’s in her last year of her residency and hasn’t worked a single night shift. Don’t you think she should have an opportunity to see what it’s like?” Jack avoids his question but Robby already knows the answer. he’s too tired to fight, the day was already gruelling and exhausting enough on him,

“Just don’t go easy on her. She’s talented and she’s got a real shot at this neuro fellowship she wants for next year.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck up your protégé.” Jack says with his sarcastic flair. though he fails to mention that he’s serious on planning to show you what proper leadership looks like to him. 

𝜗ৎ 

Robby leaves PTMC right as he hears the usual HOOAH! from the nightcrawlers. he thinks the way Jack leads them is too laid back and filled with too many opportunities to bend the rules. he silently prays it doesn’t rub off on you. months worth of progress he’s made with you would all go to waste. 

“Eric Lake, twenty nine years old, had a bottle hit over his head at a bar tonight. multiple lacerations on the skull, possible skull fracture. BP, one thirty over seventy, heart rate, one twenty.” the paramedics call out as they pull the gurney towards trauma two. you look up to see Jack waving you over towards the room. 

as you enter trauma two, Jack is already working to get a gown on you,

“You’re going to need to make an incision on his skull. Neuro is on their way but there's a larger piece of glass that’s too deep. If we don’t do it now, it might press into his frontal lobe.” Jack says calmly as he can sense your panic set in.

“Doctor Abbot, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” you say with a shaky voice.

“I’ll walk you through it,” he says decisively. you walk over and he passes you a scalpel,

“Deep breath, go slow and gentle.” you take a deep breath in and follow his instructions exactly. once you make the incision, Jack takes the scalpel from your hand and passes you a set of tweezers next. you carefully remove the piece of glass and it feels like you can finally breathe properly again,

“Atta girl, let’s get him up for a CT scan next.” Jack says as he moves to take his gown and gloves off. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, following the same motions as him and removing your disposable gear. 

there’s a noticeable difference in the way Jack walks you through traumas. Robby was much less gentle, he would have reminded you of your neuro fellowship application a dozen times before you got to making an incision. he would’ve probably scolded you for taking your time, whereas Jack was calm, he trusted you and in turn you trusted yourself. 

the rest of the shift goes by as smoothly as possible. by the last hour or so, you’ve managed to finish most of your charts with your shaky, over caffeinated hands,

“You got a second to talk?” Jack says as he passes by you, waiting for you to follow. anxiety begins bubbling in your stomach, it’s a usual routine for Robby to put your mistakes on blast but it never fails to make you uneasy. Jack pulls you aside in one of the empty trauma rooms,

“You did good today, really good. You should be proud of how you handled that head laceration,” Jack starts. you look up at him nervously waiting for whatever caveat he has. he can see the nervousness in your eyes and something about the way you look at him makes him feel a sense of pity, 

“Mind if I give you some advice? Nothing bad, I promise,” you nod at his request, 

“You’ve got all the answers in you. All the right ideas and you need to own them more. Your technique, your approach with patients, it’s all great, but you need to be more confident in yourself.” you nod again at his advice. you’ve got all the answers in you repeats in your head like a new mantra,

“Thank you, Doctor Abbot. I appreciate it.” Jack nods in acknowledgement. 

from afar, Robby watches as Jack and you leave the trauma bay. he turns to Lena who is already carefully examining his every move,

“How’d she do tonight?” Lena already knows who he’s referring to,

“She did perfectly fine without you, Robinavitch.” Robby laughs dryly in response to Lena, shaking his head. perfectly fine without him sounds like an exaggeration. he wants to ask you how your first night went; were you pushing yourself hard enough still? are you learning better things from Jack than what he could’ve taught you? did you miss him? the questions continue popping up as he watches the way you interact with the night shift attending from afar. 

𝜗ৎ 

the end of your first week on nights was merciless– a mass crowd crush at a concert forced some of the day shift to come back in early, including Robby,

“He’s experiencing hyperkalemia, let’s administer nebulized albuterol now please!” you call out. Jack watches close by, nodding in agreement with each order you make. as Jack passes you by he quickly says,

“You’re doing great, keep calling orders just like that.” Robby watches as your eyes squint slightly, indicating a smile coming from under your mask. Jack leaves the crowded trauma room and heads towards the ambulance bay, Robby is quick to follow, grabbing his arm as the automatic sliding doors open, 

“She should’ve seen those hyperkalemia symptoms earlier, she didn’t deserve that win.” Robby says in a low and firm tone. Jack stops to face the other attending fully,

“But she still ended up identifying it, and that man is alive because of that,” Jack defends you quickly. Robby stares back with a deadpan expression, 

“Just because she doesn’t do it the way you would, doesn’t mean she’s not capable, Robby. A win is a win, and I’m still her attending on shift.” Robby is taken aback by Jack’s response, leaving him to walk back to the ambulance bay. 

you watch the two interact from afar as your patient is pushed out of the trauma room. you can’t make out their exact exchange but can only assume it’s about the way you’ve handed trauma after trauma tonight. 

as Robby turns to head back inside the ER, your eyes briefly meet. neither of you have spoken since you started on nights, nor has he tried to come over. Robby’s eyes have a familiar softness to them as you look at each other. part of you is torn between feeling guilty about not seeing him, but the other half is relieved to have your space, even if its temporary. you quickly look away, tearing your gown off and heading out of the trauma room through the rear door. there are silent prayers in your head hoping he isn’t following after you. 

the ER finally slows as the majority of the crowd crush patients either rest or head up to surgery. Jack watches as you type quickly to get through each chart. he can sense your fear of falling behind and having to pick up another patient so he rolls his chair beside you, casually looking at his watch,

“Down to the last hour,” you smile at his comment, still typing relentlessly. it had felt like there was no end in sight to today and you didn’t want to stop until then. Jack puts his hand on your forearm, finally putting a stop to your typing, “I’m really noticing improvement in your confidence especially in your verbal orders. Keep it up.” for the first time all day, you feel your shoulders drop and body begin to relax,

“Thank you, I’m really trying.” you say as your turn your body towards him.

“And I see it.” Jack holds his eye contact with you as he tries to continue emphasizing his praise to you,

“If you want, we could go for breakfast to celebrate your first week on nights?” heat spreads across your face quickly before you start frantically nodding. he flashes a smile, unable to hide his overwhelming excitement. 

the way Jack looks at you and treats you feels different than what you’re used to. you feel like a deer in headlights whenever he compliments you and this time, it felt genuine, authentic, like there isn’t some trick behind his words. the walls you put up to protect yourself from getting hurt are slowly coming down around him and you’re fucking terrified. 

he doesn’t tell you where you’re going, except that he knows you’ll enjoy it. the car ride together is quiet, he doesn’t push for conversations nor do you. it’s comfortable, there’s no pressure to talk about work or anything else, it’s a mutual space to silently decompress. Jack pulls into the parking lot of a small breakfast diner, looking over at you as he pulls the keys from the ignition,

“You okay?” he says with raised eyebrows, waiting on confirmation. you nod and head in together. 

it’s your traditional breakfast diner, a time capsule stuck in the 60s with posters reminiscent of those times. the floors have the usual black and white checker print with contrasting bright red booth chairs and tables. Jack guides you to a seat as a server passes you both menus,

“Did you pick this place ‘cause it reminds you of when you were a teenager?” you tease. it’s the first time he’s heard you make a joke in a while and he doesn’t care it’s at the expense of his age,

“Yeah, and sometimes I like to go to those renaissance fairs to remind me of my childhood.” he replies, smirking. you let out a laugh and he’s willing to do or say anything to hear it again. 

you both place your orders and it’s quiet again. you stare out at the window, still trying to decipher what him and Robby were talking about earlier,

“What’s on your mind?” Jack says, grabbing your attention away from the passing cars on the road. you stare back at him in hesitation,

“Can I ask you something?” Jack lets out a hum, opening the floor to you,

“What were you and Robby talking about earlier? When we were dealing with the crowd crush.” Jack breathes in deeply, shifting in discomfort,

“We just disagree sometimes on how we approach things.”

“Approach… Me?” you ask, still hesitant to continue. 

“Yeah, sort of.” Jack answers. it goes quiet again between the two of you,

“I heard you’re applying for a neuro fellowship next year?” he says, trying to steer the conversation away from Robby. he knows he’s failed when you’re suddenly the one shifting uncomfortably,

“I’m trying, yeah.” 

“Good for you. You’re great at what you do, neuro would be very lucky to have you.” Word for word, Jack repeats the exact same thing Robby said when you first told him about your plans to apply. something about hearing it again from Jack instead makes it sting,

“Is Robby writing your letter of recommendation?”

“He’s trying to apparently. Not sure he’s happy with me being on nights though so I haven’t really heard much about it.” Jack hums at your response, not pushing further. 

“Y’know for a while, I thought about changing to something else. I don’t know, maybe I felt burnt out but I just didn’t feel like I was good enough for it anymore.” there’s another small pause, Jack knows you aren’t finished yet,

“But that kinda changed recently, after being on the night shift. It reminded me why I’m here and that I’m good at what I do.” you say, looking at Jack. he tries to keep a straight face, feeling his chest swell with pride.

“You’re more than welcome to stay on nights.” he replies. you might just take him up on that. 

𝜗ৎ 

Can I come see you tomorrow? Saw you’re off. 

your half awake eyes scan over the text from Robby again. it’s been a few weeks since you’ve started on the night shift and neither of you have really spoken to each other outside of the usual patient hand offs. it was too early (or too late now that you worked nights) to be thinking about Robby and what your relationship meant. 

when you enter PTMC that evening, Robby is quick to follow you to your locker,

“Didn’t know we were ignoring each other now.” he starts with a slight bitterness,

“I haven’t had a chance to respond to anyone, Robby.” you say as you struggle to clip your badge to your scrub. it’s a half truth, you’ve been tired from the sleep schedule change but he didn’t need to know that. 

“I get it, you’re busy, I just didn’t—” he stops mid sentence to gently grab your badge and clip it on you. your arms drop as a click noise confirms that he’s secured it, 

“I didn’t think you swapping to the night shift would mean I wouldn’t see you anymore.” he says a bit quieter. you’re not sure how to respond to him. it’s not that you didn’t want to see him, you just didn’t want to deal with all the criticism and baggage that came with seeing him. Robby can tell you’re at a loss for words,

“How about I come over tomorrow, cook some dinner for you and show you the first draft of the recommendation letter I wrote?” before you can respond, Parker rounds the corner,

“Hey, that patient with dementia from last night is here again. She’s asking for you.” your attention is brought back to reality suddenly, remembering the events of your previous shift,

“Right, Mrs. Williams, I remember her. I’ll be there in a second.” you start to walk back towards the ER but Robby is quick to stop you,

“Let me know, okay?” you nod, trying to hurry back. 

𝜗ৎ 

the rest of the night passes by quickly. it’s a friday night and you learned quickly that weekend night shifts mostly included stitching up frat guys or tending to bar hoppers who drank too much. 

by the time the morning rolls around, you’ve already forgotten about Robby asking to come over. you had been preoccupied with whatever assignment Jack was throwing your way and for some reason that night, he was insistent on putting you on as many as possible. 

“Can we talk?” Jack says, interrupting you mid-chart. you follow Jack to a vacant room and there’s suddenly a familiar anxiety in your stomach that never goes away when you’re singled out by either attendings. 

“Here,” Jack says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you, 

“Open it.” he steps back with his arms behind his back, watching you carefully open the PTMC branded envelope up, eyes quickly skimming across the paper inside,

“To whom it may concern,

… A fantastic fit for a neurology fellowship…

… Extremely detailed in her work, highly competent, all while approaching every case with kindness and empathy…

… Knows all the answers within herself…

… I highly recommend her… she would benefit the team greatly…

Signed,

Dr. Jack Abbot

Attending Physician, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre”

“Whatever you choose to do, I just hope you get to stay in Pittsburgh.” Jack says with a quieter voice, filling the silence. you stare in awe at the letter,

“You didn’t have to.” you managed to get out,

“I wanted to. It’s the least I could do.” the ‘least he could do’ had possibly changed the trajectory of your medical career. 

you’re not sure what to do with yourself but your body naturally goes in to wrap your arms around Jack’s neck. he holds you close, putting his chin on your shoulders. the smell of your light perfume mixed with your skin consumes him. you pull away first, your hands still around his neck and his hands suddenly on your waist. 

neither of you have spoken but the longer you look at one another, you swear you can hear each other's thoughts.Jack just hopes he isn’t misreading anything as he slowly leans closer to your face kissing you hesitantly but softly. you don’t move, you don’t pull away, instead letting him pull away first,

“Jack, I don’t wanna mess this up.” you say in an almost whisper. it’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name and he wants to hear it again and again, 

“I know.” 

“And I need you to know I’m not doing all of this because you gave me that letter.”

“I know,” he reiterates again. “We can take it slow.” you look at him before awkwardly leaning up to give him a small kiss. Jack smiles,

“We can start with breakfast again?” 

outside in the ER, Robby walks in starting every shift the same way; staring at the portrait of Doctor Adamson. his need to continue his legacy and be half as good of a mentor is constantly consuming him and the portrait was a reminder of it. Dana walks in a few minutes later, standing next to Robby. 

“He woulda been proud of what you’ve done with the place.” Dana starts.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” Robby huffs shaking his head. 

“A bit of advice?” Robby looks over at Dana before reluctantly nodding.

“Some of the best mentors I’ve had are the ones who trust their mentees to make the right decisions. I know he did with you,” Dana says, motioning at the portrait. she leans in a bit closer, “It also helps when there are no feelings attached.” Dana leaves Robby with her thoughts and heads towards the nurses station. 

in the corner of his eye, you and Jack exit a room and Robby immediately notices the bright smile on your face. it looks out of place for someone who just worked a twelve almost thirteen hour shift. he watches you walk together and notices a bright white envelope in your hands that he can only assume is your letter of recommendation. the two attending’s eyes meet and Jack gives Robby a sly smile— a smile that reads you’re too late. Robby sighs as he looks back up at Adamson’s portrait for one more moment. Jack, on the other hand, has you both exactly where he wants; Robby feeling sorry for his mistakes and you on the night shift with him for the reminder of your residency.

[dreamersentity]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ sleeping next to sam winchester during summer nights…

sam winchester who´s become your personal human heater, makes winter nights feel different now—warmer, softer, no longer fighting the cold under thin motel sheets; instead, it´s now replaced by the warmth of his body against yours. of course, sam has never minded the closeness, if anything, he adores it: loves the way you fold into him, melt under his hands, weighing over him with an arm around his middle and legs intertwined.

it´s a sweet yet simple routine he´s grown used to, the quiet comfort he´d spent so long searching for, somehow manifested in cozy cuddles and body warmth. but during the summer? let´s just say that it becomes a bit unbearable.

one night, you’re lying on your back, halfway through your second dream when you feel a heavy weight settle on your side—grounding rather than crushing, but still there. you ignore it at first, not thinking much of it.

but after a few minutes, that weight turns into a slow, creeping warmth that envelops you until your whole body feels like it´s overheating. you force your eyes open, blinking through the haze, and there he is, the culprit: his hair is all over the place, splayed on your pillow while his arm cages your torso, his head nestled into the crook of your neck. you make an attempt of mumbling out his name, voice low and still laced with sleep.

nothing happens.

you clear your throat once more, and you find your hands threading through his hair absentmindedly, “sammy, you´re cooking me alive, move.” though your words come out without any real force behind them.

still, he doesn’t move, and all you get in return is a small, protesting sound to the side of your neck. you try to ease yourself out of his hold, rolling onto your side, but the second you move, he’s next to you again, chest pressed up against your back while his head finds its usual spot on your neck, his 6’4 frame shadowing over you in an instant.

you sigh and scoot farther from him, but it´s useless—he reels you back in, trapping you under his embrace again. when he finally wakes, rubbing his eyes as he slowly adjusts to the darkness, he just stares at you for a hot minute before mumbling, “you run cold.” and then has the audacity to press his forehead to your shoulder like that explains everything, leaving no space between you while you´re seconds away from evaporating into thin air.

and what´s worse is that he believes in it, he thinks it´s sweet reasoning.

“cold? sam i´m literally sweating through the sheets.” you groaned in exasperation, looking down at him with every intention of giving him an earful, but the second your eyes land on him, your voice falters.

he just gives you that look—puppy eyes, bottom lip jutted out in a pout and all. you quickly avert your gaze from him, refusing to fall for his antics because he knew exactly how to get his way, “don’t give me that look, you’ll make me feel bad.”

he smiles, head tilted to the side, “is it working?”

“unfortunately.”

cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ small small fluff blurb i wrote yesterday when i was dying bc of the freaking heat oh my lord save me from this heat wave please!!!

tagging my sweetest lola <33 @samwspn ty for helping me choose my sammy pics for this!!

⤷ looking for more ? here’s my masterlist !

[ssunflowerghosts]

As someone who runs so hot in the summer… I feel seen

[smoshimagine]

~ telling them you can't sleep ~

ft. angela, ian, damian, spencer, and trevor