gotta love a little angst

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

You smack your teeth and give his chest a little shove. He lets out a deep breathy laugh as he pulls you in closer to him. You both lay like that for a second, the sunlight now starting to paint the room in a golden hue. You’re sure Clark’s fallen asleep again as you stare at the freckles coating his chest, but again he breaks the silence.

“Did you sleep okay?” His fingers are lightly tracing your back. Goosebumps follow each caress, and heat crawls up your neck.

“Yessir.” You mumble, trying not to break whatever it is that’s between you two at the moment.

“Knew you would.” He mutters into your hair, his hands finding your lower back pulling you further towards him. You don’t miss the hint of smugness in his tone.

“Yep, must’ve been the fancy outer city atmosphere, or the cushy mattress in this luxury apartment within the fancy outer city atmosphere.” You tease him, blaming your exhaustion on the atmosphere and definitely not anything you maybe have gotten up to last night, nudging his knee with yours you place a hand against his chest.

“‘s that all?” He asks. Looking up at him, his eyes are closed again but his hand continues to ghost your skin.

“Yeah, too much wine.” you tease.

He stops. His hands are splayed across the plane of your back as he taps his thumb against your skin, pensive. Thinking you may have struck a nerve, you’re about to pull back when he just lets out a sigh caressing the back of your arm.

His hand slips between the warmth of your arm pressed against the side of your chest, frigid fingers brushing against sensitive skin making you take a quick breath which he ignores as he maneuvers your arm, throwing it over his shoulder, your hand finding purchase on the back of his neck. Subconsciously your fingers rake through the short hair feathered at his nape, nails grazing lightly.

“That’s too bad.” He lets out a shaky sigh of contentment at your fingers momentarily before he’s pulling you face to face, his finger hooking beneath your chin forcing you to look at him. Heat rises to your cheeks as you examine his face, a deep blush paints his face and hooded eyes zero in on your lips.

“Yeah?” Unthinkingly, your tongue darts across your skin.

It’s then that his eyes meet yours and dizziness flutters your mind. His eyes are filled with the same desire you saw last night right before he practically devoured you whole. And it’s clear he’s hell bent on doing it again.

Before you can answer his question he grabs your face in his hand, putting pressure on your cheeks, pursing your lips slightly, which he takes as an invitation. Leaning closer, Clark plants his lips against yours, once, twice, and then a small hum leaves his lips after the third time as he pulls back to look at you, fingers still gripping your face.

“Guess I gotta remind you then.” His voice is dripping with arousal as he pulls you in for a breath searing kiss.

Almost immediately Clark's lips part, tongue prying your mouth open. All the air that leaves your lips is devoured by your boyfriend as he tosses the flimsy sheet off to the side. The chilly air nips at your skin, but only for what seems like a second as Clark quickly grabs the meat of your thigh, hooking your leg around his hip, flipping you onto your back.

He kisses at your cheek and down your neck, as he guides your bodies so he’s slotted between your legs as his elbows cage you in. It’s then that you feel just how worked up he’s gotten himself as he holds himself above your body. Your hands roam his rippled back, and your thighs spread wider in anticipation, nudging him with your heel.

“Well, good morning to you.”

He pulls back long enough to give you a lazy grin as he slants his hips against yours, his cock teasing your slit. Hearing your breath hitch he takes it as a sign to completely suffocate you with his frame. The weight and heat of his body has a huff leave your lips which Clark happily swallows as he kisses you again. Your nails dragging up the side of his torso make him shudder, but he refuses to let you go, sucking and nipping at your lips.

He grabs at your waist, pulling your chest against his as he presses down onto you while your arms wrap around his neck, hands caressing his hair. You feel his hips jerk lightly, his dick twitching against your skin, a low purr leaves your lips but Clark quicly swallows your sounds. He’s lapping at your mouth like a dog, breaths intertwining, thickening, suffocating your lungs, as the faint smell of his cologne lingering on his skin from last night invades your nostrils and drowns the last of your senses in Clark, heat shooting up your spine.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of everything Clark is as he overloads your senses with practically every fiber of his being, his body smothering yours in his yearning.

Lightheaded, you try to wrack your brain for some sort of purchase, tugging on the long curls that wrap around your fingers. Clarks gives a low whine in return causing a wave of arousal to hit you so hard a slight panic builds. The only thought that invades your mind is ‘Clark, Clark, Clark’ as you give a hard yank to his hair, lungs burning. He pulls back with a wet pop, a string of saliva following as he pulls backs.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.” He coaxes, thumb swiping at your lower lip, before slowly sitting up. Kneeling between your thighs his fingers slide down your form, squeezing at your waist before moving down your body and grabbing at your thighs. He brings them flush to the top of his, hooking your knees over his forearms. This new position has him laying hot and heavy against your hip.

Your stomach shudders as he rubs his length along the coarse hair littered across your skin. He lets out a breath shaking moan, pushing himself harder against you, shifting your body up the bed.

“Ffuh—” Clark mutters under his breath. Your cheeks burn at the sight of Clark. His eyes are shut, his head thrown back, heavy breaths escape his swollen lips. His chest heaving with a light sheen while his grip moves to your thigh as he shifts his hips, angling his hips.

“Oh…” Leaves someone's lips when his dick finally sits heavy against your folds. The room stills for what seems like a minute. Neither one of you moves, save for the pleasant buzz that prickles your skin. Again, you look at Clark, but he looks down. Your mouth goes dry as you realize how swollen Clark is. Sure you felt him and the heat but — poor thing, it looked like it hurt.

But the look in his eyes as he stared at where he laid was pure filth. With flushed cheeks, and parted lips he watched as precum leaked from the tip of his shaft onto the soft skin of your stomach. Another wave of desire washed over you and out your core spilling down your folds and onto his dick. His hips stuttered as his dick twitched, tapping against your stomach.

Gosh, the sounds that he made were no help to the situation either. With his hands gripping at your thighs and the shallow thrust of his hips smearing mixed slick against your soaked cunt, a soft whine would leave his lips. The more he rocked his hips, the further back he went until the tip of his cock grazed your clit.

Oh, fuck. You don’t think you’ll last.

As if reading your thoughts Clark slows his movements, spreading his knees so your as is flush against his thighs, while your legs are thrown over hips. His chest is heaving as he grabs the base of his cock slapping it against your cunt, a soft mewl leaves your mouth. He looks at you with hazy eyes, skin glistening in the sunlight.

Feeling impossibly shy, you squirm under his gaze, fingers nipping at taut muscle causing him to let out a lazy chuckle as he grabs his cock again, pumping his fist a few times, knuckles grazing sensitive skin. His other hand rests right below your chest, thumb kneading the soft underside of your breast. He swivels his hips gyrating, involuntarily, in slow sloppy circles before using both hands to lift your back side off the bed, arching your back.

You become completely pliant in his arms, another quiet moan leaving your lips as his fingers press into your back, there's an obscene sound of his balls slapping against your backside, the tip of his cock catching your clit.

“Can I put it in?” He asks breathless, almost mesmerized, letting go of your hip, and leaning forward to envelop your body again. He nudges his nose against the side of your neck.

“Do you even have to ask,” You’re smothered, throwing your head back as the heat turns to a boil in your stomach, Clark grabs at your jaw once more, finger prodding at your lip.

“I like hearing you want it.” He whispers into your ear, nipping at your skin. His confession catches you off guard, causing your ears to ring and your vision to blur, your throat pressing against his palm as you swallow. You hold his wrist in your hand.

“S’can I?” He kisses down your neck, humping your hip faster, goal clearly in mind. You nod but all he does is turn your chin towards him, stalling his hips, as he forces you to stare at him. He stares expectantly. Your stomach flips at the loss of friction, and your hips twitch involuntarily, humping his thigh.

“Clark.” You huff out, kneading at his chest. You gaze at him in bliss. The wine from last night must’ve cleared your inhibitions well enough to make you forget just how tantalizing he was. “P-please…” leaves your lips, you’re not sure it’s enough so you try again, hands spreading your thighs open hoping to alleviate the burning between them.

“Put it inside me…” you’ve never sounded so desperate in your life it was practically pathetic, but at this point you couldn’t care less. You’d do anything to make the ache go away. And with Clark offering himself up to you on the silver platter that he is, you’d scream naked from the rooftop if it meant you could have him.

A deep shuddered laugh leaves Clark's lips as he runs his hands down the inside of your thighs over yours, spreading open delicate skin.

“Well since you’ve asked so nicely.” He murmurs, completely entranced at the way your slick coats your lips, his thumbs teasing the sides of your clit. You cry out in aching joy, hips jerking against his.

“Do you think it’ll fit?” He straightens up once again, trailing your fingers up his body, spreading your palm flat across his chest. Once he’s sure you can feel his heart beat, he wastes no time using his other hand to smear the pooling wetness between your legs up and down your hole. He pauses, feeling you twitch against him.

“Clark…” For some reason, you’re on the verge of tears. Why is he taking so long?!

He watches you writhe beneath him, your back lifting off the mattress as he presses three fingers slowly against your sopping entrance, sliding in with no strain.

A deep breath leaves Clark’s lips, a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

“Gosh Baby,” He breathes, “You’re so swollen.”

Blood rushes to your head in embarrassment, hitting your fist against his chest.

Clark just snickers in response. He grabs your hand, throwing it over his shoulder as he leans down to pepper kisses across your face.

“Sorry, sorry,” He says between pecks, before catching your lips in a kiss. One hand comes up to cradle your ear, while the other shifts to the side. Without missing a beat he brings his fingers to his lips, the sound of crinkling can be heard as he tears at plastic. Before you can even comprehend what’s going on, he slips plastic between your teeth pinching at something inside. You watch as he closes in again, grabbing the wrapper with his teeth and tongue blowing it to the side while sliding his hand between your hips.

His natural ability to protect while still maintaining the sheer magnetism that he does is another wonder you’ll have to think about some other time because at the moment all you can think about is the way Clark uses his thumb to spread you open, using your juices to coat his condom clad cock. He aligns your hips to his before guiding the tip to your entrance, tilting his hips slowly.

A shaky whimper chatters your lips, arms clutching Clark by the skull, as your eyes flutter shut. With your head thrown back against the pillows Clark teases himself further, the burn slowly turning to a simmering boil as he stretches you out.

You’re clawing at his back, while he’s mouthing at your shoulder practically drooling at the way your walls clench against his dick. He’s moaning with every breath he takes.

“Ah…” He whines, his hips stuttering as he tries to take his time. Your heels are digging into the back of his thigh as he slides in another inch.

“Clark…clark…” you whimper, grasping onto his shoulders, the ache in your loins reaching a crescendo you’ve only touched twice in your life— last night and right now.

He’s shushing you, lips pressed against your ear as he attempts to bottom out.

Ecstasy blurs your vision hot white as your lungs burn, sharp cries claw at your throat. Your eyes are screwed shut while dots dance across nothingness. Your head pushes further into the pillows as the tip of Clark’s cock buries deep against your core.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” moaning between curses, you hiss as your walls relish in the overwhelming sensation.

“I know Baby, it’s okay.” He’s giving you open mouth kisses, his hips pulling back before driving his hips forward again.

“Fuck!” You’re sure at this point there are scratches all along Clark’s back but you couldn’t care less at the moment, pleasure yo-yoing up your spine and down to your core.

“Shhh~ Gotta make sure you can take it, sweetheart.”

Pure Filth, he was.

“I can take it.” You breathe out, chest brushing against his with each intake of air. Clark leans back to see the want—the need—etched in your eyes and he lets out a small sigh.

“I guess I’ll just have to take my time with you later.” And before you can really know what he meant he places a kiss to your forehead, and grabs your hips pulling you away from him while he draws his hips back.

He quickly thrusts in, a small grunt leaving his lips setting an almost brutal pace–unbeknownst to you this was considered light work. Your voice falls into some harmonious echo alongside his as he rocks his hips, each thrust inching you further and further up hitting that same sweet spot over and over again. In the midst of your delirium, you’re suddenly aware of the sensations pooling in your womb.

“Clark,” You call out, “Clark, wait—” you fail to get his attention, the sound of your voice drowned out against his own moans. He’s also reaching his tipping point, his hips faltering every few thrusts. Seemingly hellbent on chasing the high he grazes his teeth against your neck as he wraps his arms around your body, hooking his hands on the swell of your ass. With the new grip he has he angles your hips, hitting deeper than he had at this point, your head thumps against the headboard with each slap of skin against skin, the ache scorching your insides.

“Fuh–uh–” He moans in your ear, thrusting into you in rhythm with each sound that leaves his mouth.

“No…” you sob quietly, at the same time Clark cries out hips giving out as you both reach that euphoria you’ve been chasing.

You’re whimpering beneath him as he stutters, heat pooling in your cheeks. Hips immediately faltering, he sits up when he hears you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, automatically scooping your hands in his face to look at you. You grab at his wrists, your eyes glisten in embarrassment.

“I-I–” You’re shy as you glance down to where you and Clark are still connected. He follows your gaze down to the dark patch of cotton that now sits beneath you. For a second he doesn’t say anything, just staring at where you two touch until you feel him pulse inside you.

“Clark!” You exclaim, hands flying to your face in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry I—” He trails off, watching himself slide out of you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips at the feeling of being emptied out, wetness dribbling out of your hole, chasing his cock as Clark pulls out completely.

“Gosh, Baby.” Is all he says as he looks at you in awe. All you can do is stare at him, bewildered as he comes down to kiss your cheek, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank the Gods, it’s the weekend.”

an: y’alllllllll what a wild freakin ride. i could write abt clark forever i had to force myself stop. also lots of overthinking went into this lol pls leave comments good or bad! if u have any words u feel i need to use more lmk lol .. dk if u could tell i avoid certain things sometimes. plus it’s been a year sue me lol.

"God, baby, you smell so good," you said into his back, muffled by the fabric. You had to clamp your thighs together to keep the warmth pooling between your legs from running down them.

His laugh rumbled through you both. "Good morning, my love. Thank you, it's the scent you gave me. Like it, huh?" "Like it?" You put your hands on his hips and swivelled him around to face you. He moved willingly and met your gaze with a smile, immediately placing his hands on your hips. You rested your palms on his chest and leaned up close. "I love it. Jesus Christ, it's so sexy," you said, playfully upset.

He raised his eyebrows, his grin widening. "You think I'm sexy?" You laughed at that, breaking out of your façade and planting a sweet kiss on his cute little mouth. "Ridiculous." "I had no idea!" he said, acting so earnest you almost missed his teasing under it. But you knew his rhythms, his humor.

"Want me to show you?" you whispered in his ear, pulling him down by his tie and nibbling his earlobe. He groaned and nodded into your shoulder.

You led him to the couch and pushed him to sit on it. You loved how he let you manhandle him—the man of steel, Atlas himself, strong enough to hold up the sky, going soft and pliant for you. The power he gave you over his body sent lightning through your pussy.

You swung your leg over and straddled him, sitting yourself comfortably in his lap. Immediately, you pressed your face into the side of his neck, where you knew he'd sprayed the cologne, and inhaled deeply. You groaned loudly as you exhaled, your core throbbing.

"Fuck," you whispered into his skin as you lathed wet kisses up his neck, across his jaw. "The things I wanna do to you right now."

"Tell me," he breathed.

You chuckled and pulled back to cradle his face in your hands and give a sweet, slow kiss. "If I get going, we're never gonna want to stop," you said with a sigh. A glance at the clock on the stove behind Clark reminded you that you had a bus to catch. "So?" he asked, his eyes blown and glassy.

"So we have work today," you returned, nudging his nose with yours. You climbed off Clark's lap and walked into the bedroom to get ready for the day.

He pouted adorably. "Baby. I'm all worked up," he practically whined.

"I know, I'm sorry, my love," you said, returning to the couch to give him another short kiss while you buttoned up your blouse. "You're just so distracting." He huffed. You knew he was still sitting on the couch trying to will his boner away before he had to fly to work—literally fly if he could swing it, because he was way too late to try taking public transportation now. "You're the distracting one!" You grinned guiltily at him. "I'm sorry, baby! I'm so sorry," you said. You'd gotten ready in record time while he was still calming himself down. You leaned down to kiss him goodbye, a warmer one that you luxuriated in a bit, before running out the door with your work bag in tow. "I'll make it up to you later! Gottarunloveyoubye!" You knew he'd hold you to it.

----

It was past 7 at night when Clark finally got home from Superman patrol. He floated into your apartment through the balcony, which you always unlocked for him as soon as you got home from work. You'd gone ahead and had dinner, gotten all clean and cozy, and settled into the couch with a book and a glass of wine.

"Hey, baby, welcome home," you'd said when the billowing of the cape on your balcony caught your eye.

Clark stepped into the living room and locked the sliding door of the balcony behind him before scooping you up into his arms and kissing you senseless. "Hi, my love. Missed you." "Missed you," you said, kissing him again and then tucking your chin against his shoulder. The fragrance still lingered there, a lot weaker twelve hours later but undeniably there. It almost amplified his musk, and you couldn't tell if it was the cologne or if your boyfriend had gotten a little singed during his latest scuffle, but there was a smoky note that was more pronounced than it was that morning. You inhaled deeply again, groaned again, and licked up his neck. "You still smell amazing." He laughed. "As do you, honey." As much as you wanted to jump him there and then, you knew he was always ravenous and aching for a shower when he got home from patrol. You were horny, not cruel. So you pushed him off toward the bathroom and went to heat up leftovers for him to inhale when he was clean and had shed the day's turmoil down the drain.

When he padded into the living room twenty minutes later clad in a Smallville Debate Club t-shirt and a pair of burgundy sweatpants, you'd already gotten curled up on the couch with the TV ready to play the next episode of the show you were watching together. The bowl of rice, beans, and chicken that you'd heated up for him sat steaming on the coffee table, and he scooped it up in one giant hand and settled back on the couch next to you to eat.

You leaned in close, resting your head against his shoulder and relaxing against his side as he ate. You were barely paying attention to the TV because you were trapped in the lush headiness of his cologne. He'd spritzed on some more after his shower, the asshole. That sexy, considerate motherfucker. Goddammit, he was so delicious you wanted to sink your teeth into him.

Instead, you sat up and started peppering tiny kisses over all the skin you could reach—his cheek, his jaw, the right side of his neck. Your left hand swept up his back and tangled your fingers into the soft, dark curls at the nape of his neck. Your right hand sat motionless on his thigh, the picture of innocence—for now.

You could feel his breath stutter in his throat under your lips, the muscles in his spine stiffening as he tried not to drop his bowl into his lap. Instead, he put all his focus into absolutely annihilating his food, and before you knew it, the bowl and his dinner had magically pulled a vanishing act.

You hardly had time to laugh over him using his superspeed to get his human—alien?—needs out of the way before he was pushing you back against the arm of the couch. His lips slotted against yours, his tongue minty with the spearmint candy you liked to keep in the kitchen. You wouldn't have minded if he tasted like his dinner, obviously, and he knew this, but he was still Clark Kent. Shy about his own imperfections, endlessly considerate. Sweet like candy.

You sighed against him and sank further into the couch cushions. You relished this, with his weight over you pleasant and grounding, that cologne sending heat straight to your cunt, the softness of his mouth against yours.

"I want you so bad," you whispered against his mouth, sounding wrecked even to your own ears.

"I know, baby, I know," he whispered back, one of his hands snaking down your body and slipping beneath the waistband of your pajamas and your underwear. His fingers slid between your folds, gathering the wetness there, and he sighed against your throat. "So wet for me. Gosh, you're perfect." "Clark, please," you murmured.

"You been like this all day?" he asked, something playful in his tone.

"Maybe," you teased back. "Or maybe I took care of myself as soon as I got home so I could be ready for you." He pulled air through his teeth like your statement punched him in the gut. "God, baby, thank you. So nice to me." "I like being nice to you," you said, a genuine smile gracing your face.

He nuzzled his nose into yours and kissed you soundly, letting out a pleased little noise. He only broke away a moment later to slide your shirt off your body, and then he was on you, his callused fingers tweaking your nipples, his tongue in your mouth. He was everywhere and so was that scent and if you weren't literally dripping before, you certainly were now.

"Baby, take your clothes off, please," you sighed, and immediately he stood up to pull off his t-shirt, sweatpants, and boxers and toss them onto the armchair next to the couch. You took a second to shove your pajamas and panties off in one go, and when he sat back onto the couch, you swung your leg over him like you did that morning and straddled him.

You ground your hips against his erection, hot and leaking and trapped between your bodies. "Mmm, oh my god, baby, you feel so good," he murmured into your mouth. You moaned in agreement. "Want you inside me," you said. He nodded fervently and canted his hips forward. You lifted yourself up and pressed him against your entrance, sinking ever-so-slowly down onto him.

"Fffffffuck," you hissed, the stretch still overwhelming you after fucking yourself with your dildo to prepare. "You feel so fucking good, baby. God. I love you so much," you sighed.

"I love you. So much," he said, capturing your mouth with his. You both groaned when he was finally fully seated inside you. You gyrated your hips slowly, experimentally, as you got used to the size of him, and then shoved him back against the couch so you could brace against his chest while you rode him. Slow, you always started slow while you dragged your pussy up and down his length, coating him with your slick.

"I love your dick inside me," you said, nibbling on his earlobe as you bounced in his lap. He groaned and his grip on your hips tightened infinitesimally. Still the picture of control. That wouldn't work for you.

This smell on him, the spice, the smoke, the musk, turned on something animalistic and hungry in you and by fuck, you were going to awaken it in him too. You licked up his neck and pressed kisses into the trail you left there. He shuddered.

"You were right, you know," you whispered. "I was thinking about you all day. Sitting at my desk at work with my thighs pressed together because my cunt has been aching for you. For this gorgeous dick." He whimpered and buried his face into your neck. "Thought about getting myself off in the bathroom, honestly," you confessed. "But I was good. I waited till I got home so I could fuck myself open on my vibrator for you."

His breathing only got heavier, and when you pulled back to meet his gaze, his eyes were a thin ring of blue surrounding his blown pupils. Glazed over, full of lust for you, for your body.

"God. So good for me. So beautiful. God, I love you so much," he cried. Your pace ratcheted up, and he planted his feet so he could match your strokes and fuck up into you. You moaned, but it was almost drowned out by the sound of your thighs, wet with your own arousal, slapping against his.

He was ramming into your g-spot so deliciously, so precisely, and when he reached his hand down to rub furiously against your clit, he threw you off the jagged edge of your orgasm. You clenched around him and let out a small choked-off scream.

The debauched look on your face and the vice-like squeezing of your cunt as you came were all too much and Clark's orgasm slammed into him like a truck. He kept fucking up into you, bouncing you on his legs as he spilled inside you. You hung your head back, savoring the warmth spreading through your core.

"Fuck, baby, that was so good," you said as you caught your breath.

He chuckled and pulled you back into his chest for a long, slow kiss. "I think I'm gonna have to wear that cologne more often."

You levelled a look at him, all serious except for the playful quirk at the corner of your mouth. “If you wear that cologne to work again, I'm not responsible for my actions.”

Clark laughed and kissed you again. "Noted."

Taglist: @supermanville @kryptidfiles

“Deal,” you chuckle, the relief evident in your voice. “I’ll see you then, love you.”

The line clicks dead, and the sudden silence of the apartment settles heavily around you. You lower the phone, setting it face down on the kitchen counter. Leaning forward, you prop your elbow on the cool surface and drop your chin into your hand, letting out a long, weary sigh into the empty room.

It wasn’t that you meant to completely isolate yourself from the world; it had just happened gradually. Ever since the messy and abrupt breakup with your ex, Clark Kent, the energy to put yourself out there had completely vanished.

Now, you just didn’t feel like doing anything anymore — no dating, no small talk, no trying to explain your life story to someone new. It was easier to just stay inside, where nobody could ask anything else of you.

You push away from the counter and head straight to the bathroom for an extra long hot shower, letting the water completely wash away the lingering tension you’ve had built up throughout the day.

After putting on your pajamas, you finally crawl into bed and pull your laptop onto your lap. You scroll through your emails you’d been avoiding and sort through the digital clutter of the day, when a sudden sound breaks the quiet of the room.

The room is completely quiet until your phone suddenly lights up on the nightstand, vibrating heavily against the wood as it begins to ring.

You glance over and see the name flashing across the screen makes your chest instantly tighten.

‘Clark (do not answer.)’

For a few heavy seconds, you just stare at it, your brain trying to remind you not to care about what he could possibly be calling you for. But despite the reminder in his contact name, you answer it right before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello?” you squeak.

“Hi,” his voice comes through the receiver, low and familiar enough to send a sharp jolt through you.

An uncomfortable silence falls between you as you anticipate his reasoning for the sudden call.

You swallow hard, gripping the phone a little tighter against your ear. “Can I help you?”

“Well y’know I was just in the neighborhood—” Clark says, his tone carrying a trace of that old, familiar playfulness. You could tell he was smiling on the other end of the line and it made your stomach churn.

“Clark,” you cut him off, your voice dropping into an annoyed, warning flatline.

He sighs, his tone turns quiet and serious, “Right, sorry, I uh, I just wanted to know if you’d be okay with going somewhere and talking for a bit,” His voice tilts up slightly at the end, hesitant and almost nervous as he waits for your answer.

You let out a quiet sigh, biting the inside of your cheek as you stare at the wall, weighing the risk of letting him back in.

“Please?” he adds softly.

God.

The word almost cracks your resolve, a familiar pull tugging at you to just give in. You try to suppress the instinct, before a desperate bit of self-preservation takes over.

“I’m not even home,” you lie, the excuse slipping out at the last second.

“Oh, well your lamp is still on,” he says almost too casually.

“What?” You look over at the nightstand, your heart taking a sudden dive. The lamp is in fact on and casting a warm glow across your bedroom. “How do you even know that?”

“Because I’m outside your window.” He speaks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You drop the laptop onto the mattress, scramble across the blankets, and quickly yank open the curtains. Down on the sidewalk, standing right under the glow of the streetlamp, is Clark. He looks up, locks eyes with you through the glass, and offers a little wave, that familiar dimply smile cutting through the dark.

“Oh, there you are,” his voice crackles through the phone. He doesn’t even care that you just lied about not being home.

All you can do is stare down at him for a moment in disbelief.

Instead of heading down to meet him, you let out a sharp breath into the receiver. “Just come up.”

It doesn’t take long until that familiar, heavy-handed knock sounds against the wood of your front door. You scurry over, your pulse quickening, but you don’t unlock it all the way.

The door jolts to a sudden stop after a few inches, held fast by the taut metal link. Clark is standing under the dim hallway light, looking a little tired but searching your face through the narrow vertical gap. The chain hangs rigidly between you, a stark, physical boundary slicing the space between your two faces.

“Yes?” you ask, your tone flat.

“So?” Clark replies, tilting his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

“So.….what?”

“I asked if we could talk, maybe walk around for a bit,” he reiterates softly, his voice trailing off towards the end .

You analyze him, head to toe, through the slender gap of the door, taking a second to really think about it. He stands there anxiously waiting, looking like an expectant, hopeful stray, dressed in a layered brown sweater, jeans, and a matching brown leather belt. His hair is slightly disheveled due to walking in the evening wind. His glasses serve as a familiar disguise that feels almost absurdly endearing given what you know about his true identity.

You find yourself wishing he didn’t look the way he did, possessing that effortless, frustrating pull. Huffing out a breath in defeat, you squint your eyes at him.

“Hold on.”

You shut the door on his face, the latch clicking back into place. Leaning your back against the solid wood, you press a palm over your face and close your eyes.

Pushing yourself off your door, you travel around the bedroom, grabbing a light jacket to throw over your pajamas and sliding your feet into a pair of shoes.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror but don’t bother lingering for too long. It would be entirely redundant to try and fix your hair or throw on a bit of makeup considering he’s seen you in every way. All of you, in every way.

When you walk back to the door and reach for the doorknob, you pause, deliberately forcing yourself to wait so you don’t seem too eager to let him in.

After a few added seconds, you swing the door open quickly.

The sudden movement makes Clark snap his head up from where he had been staring at the floor. The second he locks eyes with you, that dumb, endearing smile instantly spreads across his face.

Stop.

“Where are we going?” you ask, pulling your jacket a little tighter around yourself.

“Just a walk around the block, if that’s okay?” His voice is soft, leaving the decision entirely up to you.

You give a brief, silent nod and step out into the hallway, pulling the apartment door shut behind you.

The walk down to the elevator is quiet, and once the aged, metal doors slide shut, the small space suddenly feels incredibly tight. You keep your eyes glued straight ahead, staring intently at the illuminated floor numbers so you don’t make any eye contact whatsoever.

But without even looking, you can still feel the heavy weight of his attention. In your peripheral, you notice him awkwardly shifting, his eyes drifting over to look down at you at least twice, testing the quiet between you.

When the doors finally slide open, you step out into the lobby. Walking side by side, you make your way across the floor and push through the heavy front doors of the building, stepping out into the cool, quiet night air.

What starts out as a hesitant lap around the block slowly stretches out, your quiet footsteps naturally guiding them into the grass-lined paths of the nearby park.

You tried your absolute hardest to stay closed off, keeping your arms crossed and your answers short, but you forgot how hard that can be when you’re around him. He just has an innate warmth to him that makes it impossible to stay guarded for long; it doesn’t take anyone long to feel comfortable around him.

As you keep walking, the conversation naturally drifts into the heavier stuff.

It starts with a few hesitant, awkward apologies, where both of you trip over your words as you try to find the right things to say.

You even find yourselves talking about the lingering regrets you’ve both been carrying around internally. It’s clunky and a little uncomfortable at first, but airing out the past brings a strange, quiet relief to the space between you.

Soon you reach your apartment building again. You push through the heavy doors and step into the elevator, the quiet of the lobby following you inside. Of course, you’re not surprised when you realize that Clark is staying with you until he sees you enter your apartment. It’s always been a habit of his so he knows you’re safe.

The ride up is a bit different this time. Instead of purposefully ignoring Clark’s gaze, you both keep glancing over at each other. Right as the elevator passes the halfway point, you both look up at the exact same time. Your eyes lock, and the sudden, intense eye contact sends a jolt through the quiet space.

You both quickly break away, snapping your focus down to the ground. The easy energy from the park instantly disappears and is replaced by a sudden wave of awkwardness as you both start shifting your weight and adjusting your jackets, completely unsure of what to do with your hands.

The elevator chimes, and the doors slide open, releasing you both from the small, confined box. You walk down the carpeted hallway until you’re standing right outside your door, it was a spot you two were very familiar with.

“Thank you for the talk,” you say softly, the honesty in your voice surprising even yourself. “It was definitely needed.”

Clark shrugs his shoulders and that quiet warmth returns to his eyes. “It was no problem,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Really.”

You exchange your final ‘goodbye’s’ and Clark turns on his heels and heads toward the elevator. You slip inside your apartment, lock the door, and let out a long breath, leaning your forehead against the wood.

Standing in the quiet entryway, you feel it — that fuzzy sensation pulling right in the center of your chest. You absolutely hate that it's still lingering, even after everything that happened between you. You close your eyes, shaking your head aggressively as if you could physically knock the feeling out of your system.

Before you can even take a step towards the bedroom, a violent rumble of thunder rattles the walls and a massive downpour starts absolutely slamming against the glass.

You rush over to the window, parting the curtains and looking straight down at the sidewalk.

Right under the streetlamp — the same spot he was in previously — Clark is caught in the rain. He is completely drenched, his hair flat and sopping on his head, and his brown sweater has grown heavier (not that he noticed). He just accepts it and just hunches his shoulders, looking entirely miserable as he starts a slow trudge down the sidewalk.

You watch him for a few seconds, completely defeated.

He is so ridiculous, you think. You know he could easily outrun the clouds, but Clark Kent has to walk in the rain.

You yank the window open, the cool, wet wind blowing against your face.

“Clark!” you shout down into the street, throwing your voice over the sound of the storm.

He snaps his head up, squinting through the downpour as he looks up at your floor.

“Come back!” you yell, gesturing aggressively towards the building. He nods quickly, turning on his heel to sprint back inside.

You mentally go over the timeline of him crossing the lobby, waiting on the elevator and riding it back up to your floor.

By the time the distant ding! of the elevator echoes down the hallway, you can't even pretend to be casual anymore. You unlock the door and swing it wide open before he can even make it halfway down the corridor.

Clark quickly steps past you, slipping inside the warm apartment to get out of the open hallway. The heavy door clicks shut behind him, and only then do you turn to really look at him.

He looks pitiful. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, his glasses are so fogged up and covered in droplets that it’s a miracle he can even see, and that heavy brown sweater is already dripping small puddles onto the entryway floor.

The second he clears the water from his eyes and looks at you, his face lights up, and that same hopeful, dumb smile cuts right through the rain dripping down his cheeks.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a little breathless as he stays firmly planted by the mat, hyperaware of the soggy mess he’s making.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” your eyes catch the dripping knit fabric. “You’re getting my carpet all wet,” you chuckle.

“Right, yeah,” he quickly kicks off his soaked shoes and nudges them onto the mat.

You gesture toward the bathroom door. “Just hand me the wet stuff and I’ll get you something dry.”

You stand outside the bathroom door, waiting in the quiet hallway as the sound of wet fabric rustling echoes from inside.

A moment later, the door cracks open, and Clark reaches out to hand you a heavy, waterlogged bundle of his soaked sweater and jeans.

When the door swings open just a few inches, you see it — the clear sliver of his bare torso through the gap. Your eyes drift instantly across the solid line of his broad shoulders and down the damp curve of his chest. The sheer frame of him fills the doorway, and your gaze linger for a beat too long before your mouth goes completely dry, forcing you to snap your focus back up to his face.

Clearing your throat, you take the dripping pile with one hand and quickly extend the dry bundle you pulled from your dresser — his old white t-shirt and dark sweatpants that was left behind months ago back when staying over was a regular thing.

Clark takes the clothes through the crack in the door, his fingers brushing against the worn, familiar fabric. There’s a heavy beat of total silence from inside the bathroom as he recognizes what you just handed him.

“I was wondering where these went,” his voice is quiet as if he’s talking to himself.

Once he’s dressed, Clark steps back into the living room, cleaning his glasses with the bottom of his shirt that was now lifted just enough to give you a perfect view of his happy trail.

Stop staring.

He slows his steps when he sees the couch. You’ve set up a pillow and folded a few heavy blankets across the cushions for him.

Outside the window, the storm continues into the pitch-black night. With the weather tearing through the streets at this hour, it would be ridiculous for him to even attempt walking home — superpowers or not. So letting him sleep on the couch is the only sensible option left.

“I’d feel super guilty letting you walk home in that,” you say, gesturing toward the heavy rain hammering against the living room window.

Clark rubs the back of his neck, giving you a small, humble smile. “Oh, I’d be fine really,” he says, his voice quiet. ‘I’ve walked in worse,”

His words say one thing, but his body language says another. He makes absolutely zero move toward the front door.

He isn’t reaching for his wet jacket, he isn’t checking his watch, and he certainly isn’t looking for his shoes. For someone claiming he’d be fine walking out into a torrential downpour, he seems remarkably content standing right where he is.

“Okay, well,” you say, clearing your throat. “You know where everything is.”

You pull off a quick shrug, trying your best to seem casual and completely unaffected — as if having your ex-boyfriend standing in your living room at night were the most routine thing in the world

The awkward silence in the apartment lets every buried thought and quiet memory rush to the forefront of your brain.

Panic creeps up your chest. Wanting nothing more than to put a solid wall between yourself and the constant reminder of his presence, you pivot toward your bedroom.

You start at a normal walk, but within two steps, your feet pick up a frantic pace. You practically power-walk down the short hallway, desperately hoping Clark’s sharp eyes don’t catch the absurd speed at which you’re retreating into your room.

You leave the door pulled shut, but leave it cracked open just a tiny sliver. As you crawl into bed and pull the blankets all the way up to your chin, you squeeze your eyes shut with absolute determination. You try to focus on the steady pattern of your breathing, desperately trying to drown out the noise in your head.

Through the narrow gap in the door, the subtle sounds of Clark settling in drift through the dark space. The quiet creak of the sofa cushions as his heavy frame sinks into them. The soft rustle of the blanket being pulled over his shoulders. A long, weary exhale that cuts through the quiet room.

At least forty five whole minutes stretch on, each one feeling longer than the last. You toss, turn, and stare at the thin strip of pale light cutting across your ceiling, but sleep remains completely out of reach.

Coincidentally, Clark is actually having the same problem.

He’s lying flat on his back, staring up at your living room ceiling with his hands tucked behind his head, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy rhythm. The old white t-shirt smells faintly like your detergent, and every time he inhales, it pulls him right back to every night he spent under this roof.

His mind drifts back to the nights you used to share. He could never forget how pretty you’d look when you were all flushed and unraveled in his arms.

He also remembers how soft and sweet you are. If he told you that he had been with another woman since you’d split, he’d be lying.

Just the thought of it makes him sick.

And of course tonight you looked perfect — your cheeks flushing a bit when he caught you off guard, the small line between your brows when you furrowed your brows at him. Even with all the walls you’ve put up between you, you still manage to drive him crazy.

The constant chatter in his brain pulls a heavy breath from his chest, making the space between you feel thin.

Oh no.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and groans in frustration quietly as that familiar warmth flows straight through his veins and pools low in his stomach.

He yanks one of the pillows from behind his head and buries it firmly over his lap, pressing it down against his growing erection as if physical force alone could force his body to stop.

It backfires completely. The added friction and weight only makes it worse, sending a sharp jolt straight to his core. Overwhelmed by the sensation, his hips instinctively push up against the soft pillow, seeking even a fraction of relief for the ache building inside him.

He freezes the second he hears the couch springs shift beneath him, holding his breath as he listens intently toward your cracked bedroom door, praying you didn’t hear him lose a fight to himself.

Of course, you would hear him if you weren’t getting all hot and bothered yourself.

You’re completely rigid under the covers, a pillow wedged firmly between your legs as you clutch the edge of the mattress. You fight the overwhelming urge to slide your hand down and touch herself the way you wish he could.

You shut your eyes and bite down hard on your lower lip to keep your breathing steady. You know that if you gave in, or let your breathing hitch, he would instantly hear every single second of it.

For a few agonizing minutes, Clark stays on the couch, silently rocking his hips up against the pillow in a desperate attempt to work off the unbearable friction burning through his flannel pajama pants.

He sighs in defeat and runs a clammy hand down his face.

Fuck it.

A spark of courage settles in his chest and he quietly pads across the dark living room and towards your bedroom.

He stands in the doorway, watching you in the dim light for a few quiet seconds before sneaking inside. You hear him quietly call out your name, causing you to immediately close your eyes and pretend to be sound asleep.

He walks farther into your room, his sock clad feet making no sound against the floor as he walks closer to the side of the bed, pausing right beside you to silently observe your face in the dim light.

His eyes drift across your sleeping figure in the dark, unable to look away from how soft and pretty you look in the low light.

You try your best not to tense your muscles as he runs his fingers gently down your bare shoulder, the warm tips tracing the curve of your skin.

His breathing turns shallow as the touch sends another wave of heat straight to his gut. Keeping his eyes fixed on your quiet face, he reaches down with his other hand, carefully palming himself through the fabric of his boxers, slowly relieving the throbbing pressure.

As his fingertips travel lower, tracing down your bare skin and towards your hips, you carefully crack your eyes open.

“I know what you’re doing, Clark,” you blurt out into the dark.

The words instantly cut through the quiet room, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his breath hitches, and his fingers keep moving against your soft skin, unable to draw away.

“M’ sorry,” he whispers, his lips now brushing your arm. “I missed you so much,”

His palm slides slowly along your side, his pulse hammering against your skin as he leans down, his mouth just inches from your ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.”

You turn around on the mattress, your eyes locking onto his in the dim light for a beat.

He opens his mouth to speak again but before he can say another word, you reach up to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss.

Clark’s knees almost buckle beneath him, his legs going weak as his lips meet yours. He completely melts into you as you pull him upward, easily guiding his weight until he’s positioned right on top of you.

He presses his broad palm flat against your chest, his fingers spreading over your sternum as his lips drag deeply against yours. The rapid pulse of your heart thuds into his hand, matching the wild pace of his own.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice breathy before he leans back in to capture your lips again.

“So is yours,” you whisper back, allowing your tongues to tangle together in a deep, intoxicating rhythm.

Clark ruts his hard cock firmly up against your cunt. The tip catches directly against your clit, sending a sharp wave of pleasure straight through you that draws out an involuntary whine.

“Do you want me?” he asks, his breath hot against your neck as he grinds into you again.

You were too far gone to realize that you were letting Clark back in almost too easily, but with the way he was pressed so perfectly against you, he’s the only thing you need right now.

“Yes,” you gasp out, clutching his shoulders. “Right now.”

Clark groans at your words, sliding his hand up under your shirt to cup your breast, massaging it firmly. His big, warm hand pulls a loud moan from your throat, your hips bucking up against his.

He moves his lips down your body until he reaches your cunt. He quickly works off your shorts and buries his face against your center, taking in a deep, unsteady breath of your scent.

He lets out a soft whine, leaning down to press slow, warm kisses directly against the fabric of your panties. His hands move to the elastic, gently sliding the fabric down your legs until they’re discarded somewhere in the dark.

His finger trails down your slick heat, tracing your wetness in an agonizingly slow stroke. He looks down at your folds, his voice barely a breath as he whispers, “Hi, pretty girl,” unabashedly to your cunt.

You feel his lips press a slow, wet kiss directly against your pussy, letting his warm breath linger for a second before his tongue swirls out to flick right against your clit.

He dives in, fully eating you out with pure need. His hands grip the undersides of your thighs, planting his thumbs firmly into your skin to hold you locked in place so there's no chance of escape.

Your fingers weave their way to his dark hair, gripping tight as he licks and laps into you without missing a single beat.

Two thick fingers slide deep inside of you, instantly hooking right where you need them. He presses his weight into the bed, completely shameless as he begin to hump the mattress, the thick swell of his cock grinding against the sheets right beside your thigh.

“Clark, I’m gonna- ‘M cumming,” you gasp out, your fingers tightening in his dark hair as the rubber band in your belly finally snaps.

“Mhm, mhm,” he murmurs against your skin, not slowing down for a single second. He holds you steady, helping you ride out every last ripple of your high.

After littering your inner thighs with a few more kisses, he starts to push himself up, but your hands immediately catch him to halt his movement.

“Still need you,” you whine as your hand drifts straight down between his legs to wrap firmly around his cock.

He smiles, a breathy chuckle slips past his lips. “Oh, baby,”

He leans back up, pressing a sweet kiss right against the corner of your mouth before kicking off his pajama pants and boxers to free himself.

He slowly drags the length of his cock up and down along your folds to collect your wetness.

“Are you sure? Use words pretty,” he asks as he taps his tip against your clit a few times. You can tell by the dimples peeking for the upteenth time tonight that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“C’mon Clark,” The impatient tone in your voice leaves no room for debate.

A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Sorry,” he murmurs, taking a breath before lining himself back up and steadily sinking all the way inside.

“Biiiig stretch, there you go honey,” A sharp, synchronized moan breaks through the quiet room as he fills you up completely.

He rests his forehead pressed against your shoulder as you both take a few seconds to really feel each other.

“Clark, please move,” you whisper into his shoulder, the soft plea breaking through the quiet room.

“Hold on...just give me a second,” he mutters, his voice a little strained and gritty.

His whole body is rigid over yours as he shuts his eyes, concentrating with everything he’s got just to keep from busting right then and there. His hands grip the sheets beside your head, knuckles turning white as he takes a few slow, steadying breaths into your skin, trying to catch his control.

He mumbles a quiet ‘okay’ to himself before slowly rocking his hips into yours. His cock deliciously drags along your walls in a way that you had craved for far too long.

The slow, cautious pace vanishes as he suddenly picks up speed, driving into you with a desperate rhythm that has both of your hips snapping together in quick, breathless bursts.

His lips find yours again, capturing them in an urgent kiss. Every deep thrust pulls needy whines straight from both of your throats, muffled against each other's mouths.

Your hand drifts back down between your bodies, fingers finding where you both connect, feeling every inch of his length working in and out of you.

Clark shifts, leaning back just enough to look down at your stomach, his eyes locking onto that familiar, distinct bulge beneath your skin.

“Look,” he whispers as he reaches down with his hand. “Forgot about that,”

He presses his palm down firm against the swell, and the sudden, intense pressure sends a helpless, high-pitched mewl straight out of your throat, your hips instinctively arching up into his touch.

The headboard thumps loud and hard against the wall with every single stroke, a heavy, rhythmic banging that’s definitely going to bring in some noise complaints from the neighbors.

It doesn't even matter. You’re way too far gone to care, legs wrapped tight around his wide waist as he jackhammers into you, completely lost in the static fuzz that filled your brain.

“I missed you,” he pants against your ear, the pace not slowing for a second. “I know you did too, I can feel it,”

Clark’s words pour out into a mindless, frantic babble, the words tumbling out raw and unstructured between hard thrusts. “I should've done better, fuck, I know I should’ve. I’ll do better for you, I promise, if you’ll let me, please,”

You can’t even assemble a proper sentence. Your brain is completely fried from feeling his cock punching into that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. All you can manage is a series of nonsensical nods, letting out weak, incoherent noises.

You both hit the edge at the same time, and Clark can feel your walls starting to clench tight around him with every shuddering breath.

He reaches further down between your legs and tweaks your clit.

The sharp, intense bolt of electricity makes you clench around him even harder, almost locking him in place. Clark lets out a harsh, guttural groan, his jaw tight as he tries to hold back for two more seconds.

“Where do you want it, hurry,” he grunts, his voice completely wrecked.

“Inside,” you gasp out, barely able to force the word past your lips.

The second the word leaves your mouth, he buries himself as deep as he can go and spills inside of you.

“It’s all yours, m’all yours,” he slurs against your skin, filling you up as your whole body shatters in a synchronized, overwhelming climax that leaves you both shattered.

You both lay there in the quiet room, chests heaving as you breathe heavily against each other.

Clark slowly pulls out, shifting over to the nightstand to pluck a few tissues from the box. You lie entirely limp and exhausted as he gently cleans you both up.

He reaches over the edge of the bed and scoops your panties from the floor along with his own boxers. He slips your underwear back onto your hips before pulling his on. He then finds your shirt, holding it in front of you.

“Arms.”

Without even having to process the thought, you sit up and automatically raise your arms so he can slide the fabric back over your head and shoulders. It all comes so naturally, a familiar routine your body has known a thousand times before.

He settles back down at your side, wrapping his arms around you to pull you flush against his chest, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple as your breathing finally begins to slow.

Then the evening breeze picks up. You shiver.

He picks up on it in an instant, shedding his suit jacket. Without it, the crisp, white dress shirt underneath fits snug over his rugged frame. He faces the river for half a second, and you swear you spy more muscle than Calvin Klein intended on accentuating.

"I'm okay, Jack, really," you insist, but Jack doesn't budge.

"I'm not having you catch a cold, angel," he pauses by a lamppost, holding his jacket by the lapel. He shakes it by way of encouragement.

You roll your eyes, then slip your arms through the sleeves. Jack sneaks a kiss to your cheek as he helps you in. It's oversized, but not so baggy you look like a little girl playing dress-up.

When you secure one of the buttons, the smell of his cologne wafts through to your nose. Sea salt, pine, and a light hint of musk.

The scent follows you all the way back to his home. It's a townhouse in Allegheny, with bones that must be over a hundred years old, made modern by a a semi-recent facelift.

Jack opens your door and offers a hand to help you out of the car. He hoists your overnight bag over his shoulder, then nods towards the front door.

He's been quiet since you left the riverfront, something you weren't expecting but aren't surprised by. As far as you know, he's never brought a woman back here, to the home he shared with his wife.

Warm, earth tones embrace you as you step inside. Accents of blues and greys invoke the feeling of a warm, summertime meadow under a clear sky.

You can tell almost immediately what tchotchkes are Jack's —utilitarian, sleek, and slim— and which belonged to his wife. The homemade quilt on the back of the armchair, for example. The painting of sunflowers above the fireplace. She was a welcoming spirit, and it lingers in between these walls.

Her presence —or lack thereof— is made clear by the obvious gaps along the wall by the staircase, little voids between family photos and ones of Jack with his friends. There's even one from about twenty-five years ago, if you had to guess, of Jack and Robby with their arms around each other. Stethoscopes dangle from their necks, and drunken, happy smiles stretch along their much younger faces.

But not a single one with his wife.

The primary bedroom is on the bottom floor, so you follow Jack's lead to the back of the house. He points out the kitchen, explains you're welcome to anything at any moment, then guides you into the bedroom.

A king-sized bed sits comfortably in the middle of the room. Two matching nightstands and two matching dressers make for a symmetrical spot-the-difference game.

Jack's side —the closest to the en-suite bathroom— is lived-in. A stack of books on the floor by the nightstand, a pair of reading glasses and a bottle of Advil on top. Folded pajama pants on the dresser.

The other side is barren. Spotlessly clean, to an almost clinical degree. If you had to guess, the drawers are all empty. The pillow on that side of the bed sits stiffly upright, as though it was recently purchased.

You feel her in here, too. It isn't a haunting, dramatic sort of feeling, but seeing this room —her room— carries a significant weight.

"You can use the bathroom first, angel," he says in a low rumble, pointing you towards the door.

You wash your face and moisturize, run a comb through your hair, and brush your teeth. The evening's romantic haze still swirls around your head like little cartoon cherubs as you slip into your pajamas.

You love Jack. You haven't quite garnered to bravery to tell him yet, but the feeling has made its home in your chest.

Your tummy is full, but not overly so, and your bones are heavy in the way that indicates a day well-lived. The bed is all too inviting when you emerge from the bathroom, even more so when you spy Jack resting against the headboard.

He's removed his prosthesis, changed into a pair of pajama pants and a loose grey t-shirt. The big light in the center of the ceiling has been flipped off, but both lamps on either side of the bed cast a calm, yellow glow over the room.

He doesn't look up when you round the bed. His eyes are locked on his left hand, where he twirls a familiar silver ring around his finger.

He doesn't say anything, either. In fact, the silence would be deafening, save for the low hum of the air vents.

Your climb into the bed is tentative, the creak and dip of the mattress finally tugging Jack from his trance. He schools his features into something less guilt-ridden, and pulls down the comforter for you.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, not quite looking at you.

"What for?"

"I should've…" his gaze passes over you, to the empty side of the room. "I wasn't thinking what it'd be like for you."

Hyper-empathetic old man.

"D'you miss her?" You ask, careful to sound curious, but not overtly sympathetic. You know he's gotten plenty of that.

Jack's gaze dips down at the silver ring on his left hand. Then he closes his eyes for a long moment, as though he's searching for the right thing to say.

"There's no wrong answer, honey," you add, reaching across the mattress to squeeze his thigh. "We can do whatever makes you most comfortable, but it feels disrespectful to pretend she never existed."

He nods, a slight quirk to his mouth as he meets your gaze. His brows furrow in that sad puppy sort of way, sending you reeling.

"I miss her every day," he admits, his voice low as he rubs the back of his neck. Self-soothing, you realize. Something he's had to do since she passed.

"I took the pictures down a few weeks ago," he explains, and when you incline your head to the side, he continues. "I felt guilty, coming home with my mind all full of you."

"What about now?" You ask, shoving your empathy for this sweet man down into the pits of your stomach so that you won't cry. Because if you cry, it becomes about you, and right now? Jack needs this to be about him, whether he's willing to admit it or not.

"Now?" Jack reaches out, tugs you by where the satin fabric loosens around your hips. You take the hint, and posture over his frame.

Knees dig into either side of his hips as you straddle him. Large hands graze over the plush of your sides, settling in their usual spot at the base of your spine.

"I think there's always going to be a part of me that feels guilty for moving on. But I talked to my therapist," he glances at the now-empty side of the bed. "And he asked me if falling for somebody new means I love her any less."

You nod, your palms sliding over his broad shoulders. You cap them and give a firm squeeze, encouraging him to continue.

“We decided that just because I hold a candle for you, doesn't mean the candle I hold for her is any dimmer," he says, digging his fingers into the small of your back.

You hum in response.

"The light I carry is infinite,” he adds, twisting his lips in the side of his mouth. The words come out practiced, a mantra, something he doesn't quite mean to say out loud.

“Wow,” your smile dances along your face in a delicate pirouette. “That was very poignant.”

A casual shrug despite the weight of the conversation. “Yeah, well, I contain multitudes.” 

“You sure do, Jack,” you agree, leaning forward to press your lips against his. It’s a soft kiss, mouths closed, bordering on chaste, because you have more to say. “I’m serious, though. I know it’s only been a couple months, and I swear it’s not just the wine talking.” 

You card your fingers through his soft, greying curls before you continue. “We can take this at your pace, and we can talk about her or not talk about her. The man you are today is because of the love you shared with her. I’m grateful to her for that. And I’m here as long as you’ll have me, honey.” 

A long silence passes between you and Jack. His lips quirk just slightly upward. A finger tucks a flyaway hair behind your ear. “That’s the kind of sappy thing I should be saying to you.” 

“The floor is yours, Dr. Abbot.” 

Jack slides one hand around your neck, and presses you forward just slightly. Your forehead anchors against his, and he breathes you in like someone inhaling fresh air after a long day inside.

“I’m here as long as you’ll have me, angel," he repeats your words back to you.

His fingers catch in your hair. He digs in to your scalp, as if his fingers are punctuating his words.

"And I'm so lucky you think I’m worth spending even a minute of your time with. I want to take care of you, and I want to let you take care of me.” A beat passes, then he raises his lips to kiss your temple. “How was that?” 

“Ridiculously sappy," you shake your head, incredulous that the man before you even exists.

He beams back at you, infinite light and all. “Good.” 

You bit your tongue, because whatever words that could’ve possibly tumbled out of your mouth in response would have been wildly impulsive, and probably inappropriate.

You were one of five skaters your coach, Jack Abbot managed, but you were his best. His golden girl. Or so he said. The way he spoke to you at times made you feel like the term’s polar opposite.

You’d been working with Jack for the last three years. In that time, he’d made an absolute star out of you. You’d assisted in a few shows on ice and competed in sporadic competitions before becoming so adored by the public that people wanted to see you perform at your own shows. That upcoming tour was the very thing that had your coach’s panties in a twist.

Jack had always been a little gruff, but he’d been different lately. You couldn’t really blame him. The stress of the tour had you behaving a little out of character, and your die hard figure skating coach was likely interpreting it as indifference. In reality, you were just nervous, and you wanted to exceed the expectations of everyone who was coming to opening night.

While you understood his perspective, would it kill him to sugarcoat anything? You honestly think you’d prefer he lie to you than be so blatantly rude. At least you had somewhere good to put the reassurance, even if it was fabricated. The petty comments only made you feel worse.

“I do want this,” you grumbled, pulling your skates on. “I’m here now, right? So, come on, let’s go.”

Jack looked like he wanted to protest, but he gave in and sighed. “Fine. Let’s.”

He held the door to the chilly ice rink open for you. You stepped out onto the ice and breathed the frosty air in, hoping it’d ease your nerves. With your luck, however, it instantly had the opposite effect.

“Two laps around the rink. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay,” you said. You’d failed to mention the part where you hadn’t stretched before this like usual, and hoped he wasn’t soon to figure that out.

You felt Jack’s eyes boring into you as you made your first lap around the rink. It felt like he’d been scrutinizing your every move lately, even when you were off the ice, and it was futile for your confidence.

“Pointers?” you shed through clenched teeth after your first lap. Jack only grumbled in return.

“No. One more. Backwards.”

You sighed and did as told, turning around to perform the backwards lap. Aside from a slight trip, you remained on your feet until you circled all the way back to him.

“Two foot slalows. Around the rink.”

You nodded and got right to work, moving your body from side to side as you made your way around again. You were starting to feel a little warm despite having not stretched, so you at least had that going for you.

Jack had you do a few more familiar warm ups before you were off the hook. He eyed you with that same look of scrutiny when you returned, putting his hands together. “Good. Let’s see you practice some jumps.”

You nodded and got to work. Tried to, anyway. The first three jumps went by like a breeze, but the fourth had you taking a slight stumble on the ice. Jack was skating near you now and helped you up, less because he wanted to and more because he felt obligated.

“Up. Try again,” Jack said.

He skated with you while you prepared for a fifth jump, this one landing with ease. You breathed a sigh of relief at the small victory, but this practice was still far from over.

“Better,” said Jack plainly. Why were his insults always more decorated than his compliments?

“Thanks,” you returned just as flatly. “S’that enough?”

“For now. You feeling warm?” he asked. You nodded.

“Good. Let’s see your choreo.”

“Just like that? But we haven’t—“

Jack held up a hand. “I want to see what you remember. Surely you should know the routine you’ll have to execute in less than a week before, I don’t know, thousands of people? Right, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The nickname was typically sugary, but coming from Jack’s lips, it was more bitter than ever. In the time that you’d known him, he hardly uttered it with affection.

“Right, Coach,” you bit annoyedly. “I should.”

“Then, show me.”

“Can I play the music for it?”

“If that’ll improve your performance, sure.”

With an eye roll you hoped Jack didn’t catch, you made your way off the rink and to the soundbooth outside it, using your phone to queue up the music that’d play as you skated on opening night. The choreography required you start off the ice to make an entrance, so the second you started the playlist, you flew out on your skates.

The routine started well. You did two dramatic laps around the rink, swaying your arms and settling back into the rhythm you’d been trying to return to for weeks. You did a few twists here and there to show off, letting the music sweep you into an elegant dance on the ice.

It was elegant, at least, until your first complicated move, a double axel jump into a smooth landing, followed by a traveling camel spin—seriously, what the fuck was Jack thinking?—snuck up on you at the height of the song’s chorus. You braced yourself for the move and took a deep breath before attempting it, silently praying to whatever god there was that you did this right.

Unfortunately for you, if there was one, they were not on your side as you flew into the air and promptly landed on your ass.

“Fuck,” you muttered as Jack skated over to you. He helped you to your feet, but he didn’t look happy to do so.

“Again.”

You went back to the soundbooth to restart the playlist, emerging onto the ice with your same dramatic flare from earlier. Whatever they said about faking it until you made it really needed to prove true for you right now.

You conquered the same move you’d just failed like the universe was purposely playing tricks on you. At least the small win eased your nerves the slightest bit.

It was mostly short lived, however, as you prepared for the following one.

You steeled yourself to go into a toe-loop jump, one of the many moves that’d had people enamored with you from day one. Two large glides and some mental motivation had you pulling the move off with flawlessness.

You could see Jack’s slight nod from the corner of your eye. While it wasn’t much, it was more than he’d given you all morning, and you had to hold onto that.

Subsequently, after another dramatic lap, you had another complicated jump in the finality of the song. The Salchow jump was no easy feat for any skater, but if you wanted eyes on you, it was definitely the way to go.

As the bridge of the song began to play, you readied yourself for the final complicated move of this part of the show. You felt Jack’s eyes burning into you from somewhere in the room, ready to witness your coordination. You sure hoped you could muster that in time for the final move.

You glided once, twice, willing your feet to act like they were attached to a halfway decent skater, and leaped into the air to make your final move. You executed it with confidence, completing it with a decent landing, but you lost your footing towards the end of it, ultimately throwing the elegance of the move off.

“Christ,” Jack said to you when you skated back over to him, the first song having now ended. “I’ve seen far better from you. And I expect it in the next song.”

“Yes, Coach,” you said with a sigh. You were starting to think that the reason Jack’s exasperation irritated you to pieces was because it was mostly justified.

You skated off the rink once again and queued up your second song, this one a little more upbeat than the last. You took your place on the ice to start the routine, but this time, Jack skated over, positioning himself behind you.

You turned to cock an eyebrow at him, your eyes twisted into what was practically a glare.

Jack waved his hand. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Easier said than done,” you muttered under your breath.

You started skating again, keeping a quickened pace that matched the faster tempo of the song. The beginning had a few simpler moves than the first, which gave you enough time to hopefully. . . .hopefully. . .find your groove again.

Except you were utterly grooveless as you lost your footing for the umpteenth time, far before your first complicated move. Hell, before the song had really started.

You didn’t even notice that Jack had skated off the rink until the song stopped abruptly, making you pause in your tracks. You skated over to the soundbooth, stepping inside the bleachers area.

“Alright, I can’t watch this anymore,” Jack huffed. “Skates off.”

“What? But, Coach, I—“

“Off. I don’t want to hear it.”

You furrowed your eyebrows but obliged—you owed him that after what was arguably your worst performance of all time—and sat down on the bleachers to take your skates off. You slipped your regular shoes back on and spent far longer than necessary lacing them to avoid Jack’s piercing glare.

“You trying to make a fool of yourself or me?” Jack barked.

“What?” you said.

“If your heart’s not in it, sweetheart, and clearly, it’s elsewhere right now, now’s the time to tell me. My career doesn’t need to go down with yours.”

You scoffed, standing up. “You didn’t even help me out there. Your criticism only made it worse,” you snapped.

“At least it was constructive. Why should I have to hold your hand through this? You know far better than to put on a show like that.”

“I wouldn’t be putting on a show like that if my coach acted like he gave a shit!”

Jack crossed his arms. “I do give a shit. Too many, apparently. You want the big leagues, honey? Those coaches would have ended your contract like that for even half the performance I just saw.”

You crossed your own arms to mirror him, huffing.

Jack took a step closer to you. His face went the slightest bit softer despite his earlier fury. “Look. I’m not saying this to be a hardass. And I’m sorry if it’s coming off that way. Skating’s your passion, and I know you want this,” he said. “But if you can’t act like you want to be here, then I can’t help you. Nod if you understand me.”

Your head seemed to nod of its own accord.

“Great. Now, you going to tell me what’s the matter?”

You looked up at the taller man, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t know, Coach. I’m stressed, I guess. Stressed I’m going to royally destroy the opening show this weekend. And I suppose I. . .I’m also scared to disappoint you.”

“You might do both things if you can’t get your head in the game,” Jack deadpanned.

“Coach,” you whined.

“It’s true,” he said. His tone went quieter then as he looked you in the eye. “But you probably won’t do either if you put your heart in it, too.”

You held eye contact for a minute without speaking or moving. As much as you hated to admit it, Jack did have a point. As a matter of fact, you’d hardly known him to ever be wrong since the day you’d fucking met him.

Jack broke the silence. “So, what do you need? More practice? Pointers? Need to stretch again?”

“Well. . .” you said. “About that.”

“What?”

“I didn’t actually stretch before this? Was already late, and—“

“Hold on. You got on the rink without stretching?”

“Yes? No? Which answer will take the look you’ve got on your face right now away?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want to get hurt now, too? Fuck, what am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry! Again,” you said. “Let’s stretch.”

“You need more than dynamics. Let’s take a walk.”

You cocked an eyebrow as Jack started to split down the hallway that led outside the arena. “More than dynamics?”

“Yeah. I need you back on your A-game, and we need to release any tension in your muscles before you start again,” Jack said. “You coming or what?”

“Yes, Coach,” you said, ever the dutiful skater, following behind him.

You trailed beside him until you reached a room you’d never been in outside the rink. It was mostly empty save for one of those doctoral beds in the corner, as well as a counter with a few random items atop it.

“Never been back here before,” you said. “What is this?”

“There used to be masseuses here for the figure skaters and hockey players that come through. Few other rooms just like this one down the way,” Jack said.

“So you get to play masseuse now. Exciting.”

“Hilarious. Come on, honey. Vest off.”

You took off the puffy vest you’d had on and set it on a chair in the room. You also took your shoes off at Jack’s command.

“Did you want, um. . .should I keep my shirt on? I have a tank top under. And shorts,” you said awkwardly.

“It’d make it easier,” Jack said plainly.

You then made quick work of your longsleeve, revealing a thin tank top underneath, followed by your thermal leggings. The exposure made your cheeks heat up slightly, but Jack thankfully didn’t seem phased. 

“Lay down. You can start on your back.”

You got onto the bed with Jack’s help—and tried not to think too hard about his hand lingering on your waist—and laid down flat. Jack’s warm hands met the flesh of your leg, and you turned away timidly as he started to lift it.

“Let’s loosen those hamstrings, yeah?” Jack said. He lightly thumbed your skin while your leg was positioned above you, working into the knots you hadn’t even known accumulated there. The feeling might have been foreign, but that didn’t mean it felt bad.

“No wonder you can’t skate. You’re tense.”

“Would it kill you to say anything nicely?”

Jack chuckled. “Maybe it would.”

He put your left leg down and moved onto your right, repeating the same routine.

“Just breathe. Relax. You’ll feel better.”

You tried your best to internalize that, but you couldn’t relax with the feel of Jack’s hands on you if you tried.

He lowered your leg and pushed your knees into your chest, holding them there. You completely averted eye contact with him, letting the silence speak for you. Jack hummed like he was amused.

“What?” you said.

“All that fire on the rink but you can’t even look me in the eye in here. It’s funny.”

“Shut up. It’s just awkward.”

“Still funny,” Jack said. “Both legs up. Hold it.”

You lifted both your legs. The stretch did at least feel good in your glutes, and the ones prior had you feeling good in general, so you had to give him credit for that.

“Legs down. Put your foot over your other leg, then switch.”

“You’d make a good doctor,” you teased as you used both arms to hold your leg over the other.

Jack rolled his eyes. “All this shit is Google-able. So as I said earlier, it’s like you want to get hurt.”

“Jesus. Old man can’t take a joke now?”

“Sure I can. Switch legs.”

You followed his instruction, but you weren’t done pushing him yet. “I’m just saying. Doctor Jack Abbot. . .mhm, could totally see it.”

“You’d probably give me a hard time as a patient, too,” Jack said.

“I don’t give you a hard time now,” you hummed. “You just take everything so personally.”

“You trying to piss me off?”

“See? My point is proven.”

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

You did as told and laid on your front now, feeling even more vulnerable like this. Jack rubbed your inner thighs with the pads of his fingertips. You let out a shaky sigh in return.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm. It’s. . .nice.”

“Good,” he said. He lifted your leg again, pushing it towards you until you felt a stretch in your quad. “Hold it.”

After doing the same to your other leg, putting you in child’s pose, and lastly, into a cobra position, Jack finally let up. You sat up and faced him, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“How was that?” Jack asked.

“Way better than dynamics. I feel great.”

“Of course you do. The longer you neglect your muscles, the better it feels when you finally release the tension in them.”

You rolled your eyes. “And here I was, about to tell you how good of a masseuse you are.”

“You’re full of jokes today, aren’t you?” Jack said with a small chuckle. But he tried, no surprise to you, to hide his amusement beneath his usual stoicism. “I’m still not too happy with you.”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “Come on, Coach. I already said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?”

“What do I want?” Jack said, taking a step closer to you. You parted your legs without thinking so he could stand between them, all before you could really process what you were doing. What he was doing. 

“I want my golden girl back.”

You swallowed nervously as you looked up at him. Apart from celebratory hugs and pats on the back, you didn’t think you’d ever stood so close to him; close enough to make out every gorgeous feature on the older man’s face, every gray in his stubble. Every rise and fall of breath, the freckles that started at his neck and slowly descended beneath his shirt. . .

Your breath hitched at the proximity, leaving you stupidly tongue tied, until you managed a small, “I can be her. I promise.”

Jack rested a hand beside you on the bed. “Yeah, honey? You promise?”

“Yes, Coach.”

Like two magnets with an impenetrable force, you both found yourselves leaning into what was more than a kiss, but a whole new side of your relationship you hadn’t known existed until now. You weren’t exactly sure who sealed the deal, only that Jack cupped your cheek with a tenderness contrasted deeply by his previous gruffness, and started to work his lips against yours similarly.

The kiss was soft and sweet, tentative, like Jack was trying to figure out what you liked. Luckily for him, you had no problem disclosing just that. You pushed your tongue past his lips and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Jack grunted against your mouth, possibly the hottest sound you’d ever heard, and slipped his fingers into your hair. His hold wasn’t to control you but more to possess, and the thought had you soaked.

You weren’t the only one worked up, however, because there was a bulge in Jack’s pants that was already hard and insistent against you.

The kiss became frantic as the sounds of both your noises filled the room. You desperately guided his hand down to your shorts, right above your clothed core. Jack chuckled against your mouth.

“My God, honey. You’re so fucking needy,” he said, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He laid his palm flat over your center, and though fabric prevented him from fully doing so, you still rutted your hips against his hand.

“You expected me to stay sane after I had your hands all over me, Coach?” you rasped.

Jack shook his head. He looked you in the eyes while he kept his palm against your core, letting you take your pleasure. “Skip the formalities, sweetheart. You can call me Jack.”

“Okay,” you said with a swallow.

“Say it to me.”

“Jack.”

“Again.”

“Jack.”

“That’s it. Get used to it. S’exactly what you’re gonna say when I fuck you stupid on my cock,” Jack said with so much nonchalance, you could barely register the implication. “Hips up. I want your shorts off.”

“So bossy,” you teased, but you did as told. You lifted your hips so Jack could slide your shorts off your body, revealing your pitifully soaked underwear. 

“Should have expected that from you of all people,” you said.

Jack helped you take them off, discarding them on the chair you’d put your vest on. “Girls like you need it. Always acting up until someone puts you in your place,” he tutted.

Jack audibly groaned at the prominent wet spot on your panties. He rubbed his thumb over your clit through the cloth, finding the spot easily, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.

“Fuck, look at you. S’this why you were fucking up out there, honey? Too wet to think straight?” he cooed.

Unable to argue with that, you bit your lip. “Can you b- blame me? You can be really hot when you’re mad.”

“Which, according to you, I’m always mad.”

“Then you’re always hot.”

“Have you always thought that, honey?” Jack said, his pace against your clit quickening.

“It’s kind of hard not to notice,” you admitted unabashedly. “Especially when you—fuck—talk to me like that. Makes me think all kinds of dirty things about you.”

“Oh, yeah? And just what kind of things d’you want this dirty old man doing to you, doll?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you teased. You pulled him in by his curls, twisting them in your fingers and pulling him in for a heated kiss. “Let’s start with your fingers inside me.”

“Demanding girl, aren’t you?” Jack scoffed, but he still obliged. He instructed you to lift your hips and slipped your panties off your legs, shamelessly putting them in his pocket.

“Perv.”

“You like it,” Jack said. He wasn’t wrong.

Jack slipped two fingers between your folds to find you wet and pliant for him, your hole practically crying to be filled. He used his free hand to drag you to the edge of the bed, keeping his arm around your waist and his eyes on yours while he teased your slit. Your breath picked up speed at the teasing gesture while your body begged for more.

“Come on, Jack,” you breathed, tasting his name on your lips. You found its flavor as sultry as the scene before you. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I don’t know, honey. After your little tantrum today? I think you deserve it.”

“Jack.”

“What?” Jack said nonchalantly, still teasing you between your folds. You thought you might implode if he didn’t fuck you already. “I told you what I want. So come on, doll. Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Jack. Please, fuck me.”

“Good girl,” Jack said, and with that, he slipped two fingers inside you, thrusting them in deep. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Fuck, n- no,” you squeaked as he began to thrust in and out of your tight walls, your own wetness the only thing allowing him to breach it at all. “Jesus, Jack,” you whined, scratching your nails into his bicep.

“Fuck, love when you say my name, baby,” Jack grunted. He pulled you impossibly closer, gripping your waist with a possessiveness that was making you feel dizzy. “Can you take a third?”

“Already? Shit, you’re insatiable.”

“Guilty,” Jack smirked.

“For you, I can.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Jack cooed to make it sound sugary, but you knew it was anything but. He slipped a third finger inside you, groaning as you clenched around the digits. He began to pump them in and out of you with vigor, eyes never leaving yours.

“Mmm, so good,” you whimpered. Fuck, if you were this stupid on his fingers, you had no idea how you’d handle his cock.

“You’re cute when you can’t think,” Jack said. He flicked his thumb against your clit, implementing the same circular motion he had previously. “No bratting, no back-talk. S’like my version of heaven.”

“You’re so. . .mean. . .”

“Oh, but you like it, huh? Look how hard you’re clenching around me,” Jack tutted. “Now I know the trick. Give this pussy a bit of attention and you’re a stupid little slut for me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you whined as he spoke. “Don’t stop, Jack, please, m’gonna cum.”

“Don’t stop what? This?” Jack said with a particularly sharp thrust into your cunt. “Or did you mean treating you like a whore, honey? Yeah, that’s it. You need a filthy old man putting you in your place.”

“God, y- yes,” you nodded your agreement. “Need you to fuck me so dumb, Jack.” 

“Gonna give you everything you want, sugar. Just need to be good f’me. . .you are capable of that, aren’t you?” Jack cooed, taking your face in his free hand. He pinched your cheeks between his fingers, making you look at him.

“Yes, sir. So, so good.”

“There’s my precious slut. Cum for me, baby. Cum all over your old man’s hand.”

That did you in. A wave of pleasure crashed over you as you came with a shudder, holding onto Jack’s arm while he fucked you through your release. His fingers didn’t leave until you were basking in the aftershocks, and only then did he pull them out, sucking his fingers clean.

You pulled Jack in for another kiss, moaning when your tongue met his. He kept a hand on your waist, the other on your neck, gently squeezing down. You moaned into the rough touch in approval.

Jack pulled away to help you get your shirt off, then unclasped your bra with scary ease. He groaned at the sight of your hardened peaks, taking both breasts into his hands.

“Shit. Your tits are perfect,” Jack said as he squeezed them both, circling your nipples with his thumbs.

“Fuck,” you whined. You watched him trail kisses from your neck to your collarbone until his tongue swiped over your chest. He sucked one of your breasts into his mouth, swirling the length of it over your nipple, while one of his hands continued to knead your other tit.

“Beautiful girl,” Jack hummed more to himself than to you, all while his mouth continued working. His filthy words and flick of his tongue against your chest, paired with the incessant hard-on pressing against you from below, was about to make you fucking explode.

“This is some. .  .stress relief,” you whined, still trying to joke despite your vulnerable position. “You really would be a good doctor.”

“Back to that, are we?” Jack hummed against your nipple. “What are you trying to say?”

You laced your fingers through Jack’s hair again, playing with it as you spoke. “Just. . .saying. This feels like a check-up, that’s all.”

“What’s that make you, then?” Jack hummed. “My pretty little patient?”

Caught off guard by his words, you let out an involuntary whimper. “I suppose it does.”

“Well, don’t worry, doll,” Jack said. He squeezed your nipple even harder, pinching it between his fingers. “Doctor Abbot’s gonna get you all fixed up.”

With that, he latched his mouth onto your nipple again, swirling the bud with his tongue. It was evident what kind of man he was as he took a liking to your pretty tits, hardly coming up for air and grunting like he was the one being pleasured.

“That feel good, baby?” Jack hummed after switching to your other nipple, giving it as much attention as the other.

“So good. Doctor,” you teased without thinking. “But I want more.”

“Oh, s’that right? You’re gonna have to use your words, sugar.”

“I want your cock, Doctor. Think that’d really fix me.”

Jack chuckled and stood upright. You didn’t have to tell him twice. “Lay back.”

You did as told and laid down on the bed he’d been stretching you on previously. Well, you supposed this still counted as. . .stretching. . .right?

As Jack started to remove his pants, you realized you’d been completely naked while he was fully clothed. He almost stopped at his bottoms and climbed atop you, until you shook your head.

“Shirt, too, Doctor.”

“Bossy,” Jack said, but he didn’t deprive you. He removed his shirt and discarded it on the growing pile of clothes across the room. The sight of his bare chest had you impossibly wetter, even more so as he settled between your legs on the bed.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you said as he hovered over you.

“Look at that. You do know how to be nice,” he returned.

“You should be the last person talking.”

“I’m as nice as they come,” Jack hummed like he actually believed it. He started to free his cock from his boxers, and the girth of him surprised you. You sat up on your elbows to get a better look, swallowing at the size.

Jack’s face went a little softer. “You okay, baby? Sure you can take it?”

You nodded quickly. In fact, you might have been a little too excited to take him, not so much the converse. “S’this gonna help me, Doctor? Relieve my stress?”

Jack smirked at you. “Sure is, doll.”

“Then, yeah, I can take it.”

“That’s a good girl. See? You can be smart,” he said.

“Oh, fuck you,” you retorted.

“Gladly,” Jack said. He slotted his already leaking tip between your folds, putting a hand beside your head to keep himself steady. “Ready?”

You nodded.

“Words, sugar.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Caught off guard by your words, Jack sunk into you shakily, the name in a moment like this working him right up. “Fuck. You’re trouble.”

You gasped at the utter stretch of him inside you, and felt even more shocked when you looked down and realized that was only half of him. Jesus. You were already sweating and he hadn’t even fully breached your hole yet.

“Oh, s’that too much, love?” Jack cooed at your little whimpers. He pressed a kiss to your lips to silence you, humming as his mouth swallowed your noises. “Shhh, shhh, you can take it. Big stretch, sweetheart.”

With that, he pushed even further into you, watching your face for your reaction. His equally cocky and attentive demeanor was making your head spin with complete and utter lust.

When he was all the way inside, he started to thrust into your pussy, picking up speed the faster your moans got. Your body was gradually accommodating his size, but the longer he fucked you, the better it felt.

“Jack, f- fuck, you’re so big,” you moaned as he rocked his hips against you. Jack was so deep that his heavy balls were slapping against you with every thrust, adding to the erotic nature of the moment.

“You like that, sugar? How much I fill you?”

“So, so much. Please, don’t stop,” you whined.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jack grunted into your ear, his thrusts already getting sloppier. For how uptight he was on the ice, it was jarring in all the right ways to see him lose a bit of control.

“My good girl. My golden girl. Taking her coach’s cock so well,” Jack cooed.

“Wanna be your good girl, Coach. Only yours.”

“That’s what I like to hear, sugar,” Jack grunted.

He picked up the pace and fucked you into the bed quicker now. Your back arched off the surface, the man so deep it was like you could feel him in your throat, as you took every punishing thrust of his hips into your gummy walls.

Jack withdrew momentarily, the loss pulling a whimper from your lips. “Lift your legs, doll.”

You didn’t question him and raised your legs the same way you’d been earlier when you were stretching. Jack took them over his shoulders and lined his head up with your hole again, before thrusting back into you.

“You’re so pretty when you listen to me,” Jack hummed as he started rutting into you again.

You let out a breathy laugh, though it proved hard with the feeling of being so full. “I’m not all brat, as you’d put it.”

“I like when you behave. Should try it more often.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, though you both knew full well you wouldn’t.

Not if it ended in sex like this.

Jack pulled out of you, and for a second, you thought he was going to make you beg for his cock again. That is, until he was slamming back into you, getting lost in the feel of your pussy wrapped around his dick.

“Fuck, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

“Jack,” you whimpered in return, your body ready to give into another orgasm. “I’m close again.”

“Yeah? Want me to—“

“No,”  you said instantly. Paired with him subtly shifting his hips back, you knew where this was going. And, quite frankly, the thought of him pulling out wasn’t a good one. “Cum inside me. Please? I want you to.”

Jack chuckled, thrusting back into you. “Jesus, sugar. Who knew you were such a dirty girl?” he said. He pushed in impossibly deeper, the tip of his dick hitting that sweet spot inside you. “You want this old man filling your pretty little pussy, huh? Fuck the consequences?”

“Fuck the consequences,” you repeated. “I want it.”

Jack didn’t deny you. He fucked into you like an animal, gripping your legs tightly as he slammed into your cunt. A familiar pleasure started to build in your lower belly, and you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

“Jack, fuck, faster!” you moaned. “Gonna cum for you, gonna cum, holyshit.”

“I’m right there with you, baby. I gotcha,” Jack groaned. You clenched around him hard at the reassurance, and before you knew it, you couldn’t hold back.

You came with a loud cry after a particularly harsh thrust into your pussy, soaking Jack’s dick with your juices. He wasn’t far behind you, cumming deep inside you only seconds later with what could only be described as a feral grunt.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed as he fucked you through it. “Take it like a good little slut.”

When you finally caught your breath—or enough to get a few words out, anyway—you looked up at Jack with a fucked-out expression. Sweat was sticking his gray curls to his forehead, and he looked just as dizzy as you.

“That was—“ you started, but you didn’t get to finish before Jack was suddenly flipping you over, pulling a surprised “Oh!” from your mouth. Without further warning, he bent you over with your ass up, running his hands over the flesh of your bottom.

“Jesus, Coach,” you said at the sudden action. “This another one of your stretches?”

“Always a fucking minx, aren’t you?” Jack tutted. He pushed your face down into the bed and pressed up behind you, his cock prodding and insistent between your cheeks.

“I’m not a—holyshit,” you moaned. You didn’t finish that sentence either, not before Jack was thrusting back into your oversensitive hole, setting a lethal pace.

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, not loud-mouthing now, are you, sugar?”

“T- Too s- soon!” you managed through a whimper, the overstimulation making you dizzy. You had said you liked him meaner, but you hadn’t expected this.

“Poor baby. Just a little more now, love, almost done,” Jack cooed like his fingers weren’t now gripping your hair, and the room wasn’t filled with the wet squelch made from him pounding into your poor pussy.

“Jack,” you whined, the sound muffled by the pillow he had your face in. “Feels. . .feels like. . .”

“Use your words, doll,” Jack commanded. “Feels like what?”

“L- Like I’m gonna pee,” you admitted embarrassingly.

Jack chuckled and didn’t let up, already knowing where this one was going. “Ain’t anything to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. S’gonna feel so good, promise.”

“What’s. . .what’s gonna. . .mmph!” you said with a final moan before you felt exactly what Jack was being so smug about.

The second Jack withdrew from your pussy, a stream of fluid involuntarily escaped you, promptly soaking the already ruined bed below you as well as Jack himself. He patted your bottom condescendingly as he watched you do it, muttering a satisfied, “There it is, doll. Let it out.”

“You’re so evil,” you muttered when all was said and done. You turned around to find a smiling Jack, who pulled you to rest flush against his front, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

You tried to ignore the feeling of his still-hard cock behind you as he returned, “Still got my golden girl back, didn’t I?”

You giggled and conceded, nodding in agreement. “Told you I could be her. Or whatever you want me to be,” you said. You laced your fingers through his curls, pulling him in for a sensual kiss.

Jack returned it eagerly, the gesture a sweet contrast to his rough treatment from before. “Yeah? ‘Cause after this sugar, you might have to be mine.”

You smiled at him. “I think I could live with that.”

“You.” Tone seething as you grab the thin fabric of black scrubs. A rough tug, yanking a startled med student from the counter of the hub. 

Not giving them a moment to process what is happening, a soft jab of your finger into their chest. As if your touch has enough power to make them cave in on themselves. The twitch in your eye is enough to tell them they are in deep. It’s either all that frustration pent up inside of you, or the less than optimal four hours of sleep that you were running on. 

“What did you do with the order for Rebecca Washington’s lab?”

They stutter, you cut them off before they can explain themselves further.

“Because all I have in my hand is a toxicology test— Last time I checked, we did not test for blood alcohol and opioids in a god damn heavy metals test.” Volume rising louder than acceptable and venom dripped from your lips as you waved the paper in their face. It was long gone from neat, crinkled in your grip. Giving it one last shove into their chest, before stepping away.

“Redo it or stay out of my face for the rest of your fucking med school career.” Your eyes finish your thoughts with a sneer, turning yourself away.  “And fix your fucking handwritting, my four year old niece has better hand writing than you.” You had a particularly heavy sailor mouth today. 

The air is thick as you march away, turning your breathing ragged. Your trail could have left burn marks on the slippery linoleum.  A few nurses and CNAs eye each other at the fresh eruption that occurred in front of them. By the next shift, everyone is sure to know how you blew up at a med student.

You thought getting the chance to teach med students would be fun, fulfilling even. You loved being taught and having a mentor. You anticipated it being a bit stressful, but this— it was a different kind of stressful. No one warns you of the strain that forms in the back of your head when you have to focus on patients and babysit a small group of 26 year olds for twelve hours. The day had been piling up on you. Mistakes from med students, entitled patients, losing a patient, lack of a full meal. You were at your wits end. The only way you were able to properly emote your frustrations was onto other people.

Your charged stomps slowed down as you leaned against the counter of the nurses station. Catching your exhausted body on the edge, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Two more hours, and then you can go home, is your mantra of choice to get through the rest shift.

“Maybe wanna lighten up on the interns? Before you scare them away into a different department. Or profession.” Robby’s sudden interjection pulled you back into reality, he leaned against the counter with you. Arms hugged around his chest and glasses hanging low on his nose bridge. A pitiful smile curled onto his face. He was just as tired as you were, but in comparison, you are winning the crash out olympics today. 

“Want to tell me what happened? Because I’m not quite sure what constitutes cursing out someone in front of their colleagues.” He asked, tilting his head to try and meet your gaze. 

A deep huff left your chest, straightening your posture for your attending. Fingers running through your hair and giving your scalp a brief massage to ease the headache. His eyes had that look— one that said: chill the fuck out. Or, that’s the only way your mind could interpret it. Your brain is stuck in fight or flight mode; everything feels like a constant jab at your competence. The tight thread holding you together can’t take an infamous Doctor Michael Robinvitch lecture. 

“They fucked up the order! I mean it’s med school 101 to know how to properly write a lab order and send it away.”

“True, but it’s their first week. Things happen. That’s the ups and downs of teaching. Can’t teach well if you’re always blowing up over the small things. It’s important to remember—”

“Oh blow me Robinavitch.” Turning away from him with a scoff. He really was one to talk; you could have sworn of the countless times he had to give you a stern talking to.

Never in your time working at PTMC have you ever had that kind of bite. Especially with Robby, on a normal day you were obedient under his words. Robby turned to look at Dana, who shook her head and never broke her focus on the ipad in her hands. 

“Well she’s got quite the potty mouth today.”

Robby sighed, watching as you walked into another trauma room. Picking up your next case, terrorizing your next med student. His hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Swiping through the screen to bring up Jack’s messages.

Robby: Your girlfriend is on a rampage today.

Jack: What the fuck? What happened?

Robby: Well, she told me to blow her after she verbally abused a med student.

Robby: And you know I like to be wined and dined before going to the bedroom.

Jack: Jesus. I’m picking her up, I’ll be there tonight.

The last hours had flown through the emergency department. Night shift staff steadily trickled in to relieve the day shift of their duties. It is a rare night off for Jack. He posted himself up at the nurses station, chatting up with Lena and Dana as he waited for you to emerge from the locker room. Jack kept his eye on the locker room door, just so he can be the first to see for himself how to day put you through the ringer.

“You’re kidding?” He asked, keeping his voice low to avoid the chance of you walking into their conversation.

“Mhm— told them to fix their hand writing and everything. I caught the poor kid writing their ABCs in the breakroom.” Dana recanted the events of the day to Jack with a small, amused smirk on her lips. 

“That’s not really like her…” Jack pressed his lips in a straight line, already thinking of the lecture he was to throw at you about respect. He tries not to be that guy in your relationship, knowing you want a partner not a father. But at a time like this, it gets away from him and he feels the need to remind you of the importance of respect and humility within the profession.

“Go easy on her, it was a rough day for her.” Dana’s eyes and eyebrows jutted to point in the opposing direction behind Jack.

He’s quick to turn around and face you, crossing meaty arms over his chest and putting on a happy smile for you. He’s not surprised you were not returning his smile. The corner of your lips drooping down and your eyes had lost most of their glimmer. Trudging to Jack with your backpack hung over your shoulder lazily, he could see how tense you were.

“Hey baby, how was your—”

First stopping at Jack, shoving the bag into his arms, and beelining for the ambulance bay doors. Dismissing his presence as if he was any other person on the side of the street. Blazing a path of wrath. His eyebrows knit together, surprised you had to gall to ignore him like that. Poor Jack, he is no exception to your attitude today. 

“Good luck with that.”

The beginning of the car ride is quiet, only the hum of the engine and click of the blinker filling the void of silence. Jack wanted to make an attempt to talk to you again. Ask what he can do to make it better, offer an olive branch to spare him from your claws. But he knew how you were, you need to decompress. He let the silence stay, opting for silent forms of his affection by opening the door for you and taking your bag. As he let the door close behind him, you already disappeared into your apartment. Left alone in the living room, dimly lit by the floor lamp. Slipping his boots off, discarded neatly by the door compared to your sneakers, as if you had thrown them away when you walked in. Jack thought this was how the rest of the night would go, even though you knew he wasn’t keen on ending the day with silence or bitterness. He was very clear in every argument you had, neither of you is going to bed without talking it out.

Jack placed your bag on the bench by the door, sitting to massage the area around his prosthesis. You emerged from the lit bedroom, scrubs removed and changed into your normal house clothes. One of Jack’s old shirts and cotton shorts. He figured now is better than never to talk about how you’ve been acting all day. Pulling himself up, he moved to the kitchen counter, the one that overlooked the sink. He leaned onto it, watching as you floated around the kitchen. You were trying to avoid as little eye contact as possible, but he is searching intently for your eyes. He took a deep breath to talk first, in hopes your mind was clear enough to have a proper conversation.

“So, I heard you had a little run in with a med student. And Robby.” 

You stop what you’re doing, grabbing on to the edge of the counter. You lull your head back and take a long, irritated breath.

“Why? Did your boyfriend tattle on me?” You quip. 

Obviously, you didn’t clear your head enough, or at all. His head hung low, developing a headache. Taking a long, deep breath to engage with your temper. 

“No— he didn’t tattle,” yes he did. “He expressed… some concern about your performance today.”

Shaking your head, refusing to answer as you fill up a glass of water. The little angel in your head agreed, you were rude to that med student. You’re sure you made the same mistake before. And you knew you didn’t have enough tenure in the ED to be given a pass of the ‘bitchy’ teacher, you were only an R2. But this isn’t about you, it’s about how everything around you chose today as the day to be inconvenient. Is it too much to ask for one day of the year to go in your favor? It’s the principle, although you were most likely using that justification loosely.

“You can’t talk to an attending like that. If it was anyone else, you could have gotten written up. HR meetings aren’t all that fun you know?” Jack ducked his head to try and meet your eyes. Keeping your stare down at the very interesting cup of water. 

“Boohoo, it’s not like I cursed him out.”

“You told him to blow you.”

“Exactly. Not a swear word said.”

Before Jack could try to get another word in, you turn yourself away and shuffle into the bedroom. Closing the door behind you with a louder thud than necessary. He puffed, frustrated that you weren’t giving him the time to actually talk things out with you. It’s not to say he’s caught off guard by your behavior. You’ve had your off days, you weren’t always sunshine and rainbows. And you especially aren’t so mouthy with him. Something about today was getting on his nerves quicker than he should let it. He wasn’t the one that messed up your lab order or tried to lecture you during a heavy shift, so why can’t you spare him?

Jack follows you into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It also let out a loud thud, his irritation coming out in little pieces. That strain formed in his head, handling the door with unnecessary power, grinding his teeth with his clenched jaw. Jack did not want the first interaction of the day with you to be brewing into an argument.

“Honey, you can’t walk away from me when I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Really? Because I did right now.” Your voice comes out steady, that little hint of bitterness hot on your tongue. It becomes a stand off in the middle of the bedroom. Hands on your hips and narrowing your eyes at him as he steps a little bit closer to you. “And from what I remember, you used to be just as bad too, so I don’t know why you’re coming at me on such a high horse!”

Jack tensed his jaw, any more he was going to need to go to the dentist for teeth grinding. That stung a little bit, maybe a lot. Jack isn’t proud of how he used to be, pre-therapy and post-the loss of his wife. But he grew from that, and you saw how that growth turned him into the man he is today. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips thin, holding back from letting your words get to him.

“I’m not lecturing you. You have to understand— yelling at med students and your attending. That’s not something we do.”

“Not what we do? Last time I checked Jack, you aren't my attending! I don’t have to listen to this or you.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m your attending or not, it’s my obligation as an attending to help you learn that throwing a tantrum—” His voice gets rougher, less collected than he typically is. Jack attempts to put a caring hand on your shoulder, but you swat his hand away.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child Jack!”

“I have to because you’re acting like one! But what else should I expect from my immature girlfriend, hm?” 

You took the highest offense being called immature, especially when Jack knew that was a sore spot in your relationship, being immature compared to him. The anger bubbles over, the heat of the work day follows you into your own home, unwelcomed. Without thinking, you raise a hand to the air. Quickly, just want to give him a taste of how his words make you feel. Before it can even come close to his face, Jack’s hand catches your wrist and puts it into a tight hold. The pads of his fingertips press down deep enough to feel your racing heartbeat. He yanks you towards him, chest on chest, closing the gap that has existed between you for hours. 

As you try to get the next words out from your lips, a rough hand catches the back of your head and pulls you in for a deep, sloppy kiss. Teeth hitting and drool starting to leak from the corner of your lips as Jack carries out an attack on your lips. Tongue forcing your lips apart and invading the wet cavern. It erupts a moan from your throat that you wanted to keep secret. Jack knew exactly how to render you speechless. The hand on the back of your neck tangles into your hair, keeping a tight grip. Your hand that started out balled into a fist relaxes and rests on his chest, slowly running up to hook around his neck. When he pulls away, panting for air, his gaze is heavy on you. It turned dark and vicious. Those barbed-wire lined walls you had up all day were crashing down around you. And Jack had a sledgehammer.

“Jack…” Melting into putty in his arms as you whimper as he pulls away.

“What happened? A little kiss made you all soft?” He flips you around his hold, pinning the held wrist behind your back. He guided you to the bed, shoving you to bend over the soft mattress. That rough grip in your hair pushes the side of your face into the mattress, only able to see just over your shoulder.

You whine when he presses his crotch into your cotton covered ass. The tent in his pants prodding at the curve of your ass and rutting up. You are sure Jack could feel that drip in your panties forming a little wet spot. He continues to rub his bulge up and down your ass, catching it occasionally on your increasingly wet mound. Taking his hand away from your hair and moving it next to your head, keeping himself up as he leans over you. 

“Who do you think you are… trying to slap me— fuck. After all I do for you…” His hot breath floods the back of your neck, panting like a dog. You want to respond, tell him he’s wrong, but you choke on moans.

You try to move your hips up, feel more of him on your aching cunt. But his hips and hold on your wrist keeps you still. When he pulls himself away, the grip on your wrist is free, feeling the ache slowly blur into your body. You want to move, whip yourself around and give him a piece of mind for being so forward with you. But the raw, agitated energy emanating from Jack was enough to keep you down, growing compliant. Jack grabs the hem of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. A large hand kneads the skin, pinching and watching the heat manifest as color from his touch. Humming, you lean yourself into his touch. A finger loops around the fabric of your panties that bars him from seeing your leaking pussy. Coating his knuckle as he pulls the fabric down and away from you. You close your eyes in hopes of getting a blissful night to alleviate the stress of the day. One sudden strike at your ass brings you back down from the clouds. Crying out Jack’s name as he rings another slap on to burning skin. 

“I pick you up from work, pay your rent, make you cum whenever you ask— ‘n you can’t even give me the decency of respect when I talk to you?” Another harsh, personal, spank to your abused flesh.

You bury your face into the sheets, muffling the painful gasps that mix with needy moans. Soaking up the little tears that prick the corner of your eyes. You twitch in response to his hands on your body, your nervous system preparing to feel swipes at your bare ass. He pauses, must be taking in the sight of your skin littered with the faint outline of his hand. The result of your moody spirit. You lift your head away from the bed, sniffling a little as you bite your lip to wish away the pain. 

“Jack… please..” Ground your elbows into the bed and try to bring yourself up. You couldn’t bear to not be able to look him in the face. Even though you struggled to confidently make eye contact.

“Now you want to be nice? ‘S too late for that honey…” Jack clicks his tongue disapprovingly. One hand now holding your hip while two fingers swipe up the slick on the folds of your pussy. You gasp, relaxing your body back into the mattress.

He doesn’t wait for you to catch up with him, plugging his fingers into your cunt. Your walls immediately flutter around him, wanting to suck him in deeper. He holds off, wanting to go at his own pace. Only reaching to the second knuckle, and pumping thick fingers shallowly inside you. You hum with this pace, it was just enough to scratch that growing itch in your core.

“Look at you… all happy I’m playing with your pussy. Could have had this way earlier if you cooperated, brat.” His hand on your hip left to swat at your ass again. Eliciting a cry of his name with a moan as the pain mixed with the pleasure brewing inside you. 

“There she is— my good girl. God, you’re so easy.” He loves the sounds you make for him. The words brewed inside your head, because you haven’t been good at all. You were being a pain all day to anyone within the vicinity. And it got you to this position, bent over the bed at Jack’s mercy. 

His fingers slide deeper past your lips, the palm of his hand flush with your skin when he reaches as deep as he can. Shaking beneath him when his pace grows faster, the sinful sound of your wetness squishing on his fingers. It really is punishment, pay back, the way the tip of his fingers brush over that sensitive spot inside you. But he doesn’t bother to stay there, saying hello and quickly leaving. You groan, frustrated that he’s toying with you and not giving in to what you want. Not that you’re asking, more so expecting it. Pushing your hips back to deepen his pace, he quickly slips his fingers away from you. Shaking his head in disapproval. 

“You just can’t be patient, can you?” You can hear his belt collide with the hard wood floor, and the sound of heavy fabric falling.

A tingle goes up your spine, like a spidey sense. Because you have been in this kind of position before; where he picks you up by the thighs and fucks into you while you hang over the edge of the bed. Your feet once flat on the floor, press up on to tippy toes, waiting for him to use his strength on you. A few seconds go by, and he hasn’t moved. Your eyebrows knit together, looking over your shoulder and seeing him standing behind you. Arms crossed, looking down at you with an expectant expression, his cock so casually stiff in the air. 

“Jack, what are you waiting for?” you ask with a frown.

He leans over you, arms caging you in as the brace onto the bed. His lips dip close to you, giving you words for only you to hear.

“You’re going to come at me with an attitude— when I did nothing to you by the way— and expect me to do all the work?” humming into your ear, expecting one of your smart ass responses. He looks down to your glistening slit, he wants to dive in so bad and show you a good time. But there is a lesson to be taught here.

You stutter over yourself. You never had to ask Jack to do anything to you; he knew how to treat you and what you liked, what made you feel good. You felt silly having to plead to him to fuck you properly.

“You can reach baby, I’m not doing any of the work for you— since you think you know better than me.” 

I never said that… is all you can mumble. Jack thought you would put up a fight, but so easily compliant in this state, he watches as you push yourself up by the toes more. Your slit that had been weeping from the lack of attention, glistened in the bedroom light. It brushes the tip of his cock ever so slightly, making you hiss at the small amount of friction. You struggle to even catch him between your folds, constantly bouncing on your toes. Jack bites through his smirk, enjoying the sight of you. Helpless and impatient, willing to do as much as it takes just to feel him inside of you. It’s pitiful, the comparison from earlier in the night to now. Defiant of Jack, ready to slap him when he threw it back at you. Now you’re a dripping, whimpering mess, so eager to feel the slightest touch of his cock against your pussy.

“I— I can’t do it Jack… I can’t reach…” You deflate into the bed, sad whining muffled in the sheets.

It is pathetic, you are a doctor for christ's sake. You should be demanding him in this instance to fuck you right now. But Jack loves to watch. The way your ass jiggles with the bounce of your toes, trying to rock back to try and catch his cock between your folds. He let this go on for what felt like 30 minutes (it was only 3 minutes). Jack let out a deep sigh, a once stern hand turned comforting on your hip. Brushing his thumb against the skin and cooing to you. He moves his hips forward just a little pit, the tiniest tough of his tip against your cunt. It was nothing but everything at the same time. It sent that buzz of anticipation up and down your spine. As you start to rock yourself again, both of Jack’s hands press down your hips pressing you into the bed again. He is still in control here, he’ll go in when he’s ready. In a tortuous pace, his cock slips in between the folds. He holds in a deep groan from finally feeling your warmth enveloped around his cock. You cry out a soft whimper from the slow stretch of your pussy. Even with how slow Jack was going, his girth is like retribution. A brutal size you thought you have gotten used to by now. He reaches the halfway point and stops, prompting another frustrated groan from you. Clearly have not learned about the stakes of your predicament yet.

“How bad do you want it, sweetheart?” He asks. You mumble into the mattress.

He pulls out just a little bit. “Ah-ah, I said— How bad do you want it?”

Lifting your head away from the sheets, your head slumps over. Jack can see you weren’t in the mood to be good still. But he doesn’t have to act anymore, he knows the more you wait, the more time spent not getting pounded.

“I want it really bad, Jack...” you whine. 

“Yeah? What do you have to say then?”

“God, not this now, Jack. Just fucking—” cut off by that same swat on your ass. It shuts you right up.

“Wanna try that one more time?” you nod. “What do you have to say to me?” from the tone of his voice, you can tell Jack does not want to ask again.

Shamefully keeping your eyes down, “I’m sorry that I tried to slap you and argue with you, Jack. I won’t do it again…”

Jack hums but doesn’t answer. Making a show of him considering your apology. He should really make you work for it; force you on to your knees and show how sorry you are with his mouth. But he can’t deny, Jack is growing just as impatient as you were. This night should have ended with sex without all the fighting and huffing. His hand glides down to your thigh, brushing the skin.

“You gonna apologize to Robby and the med students too?” giving you a warning squeeze. If you answer correctly, everyone will be happy. Nodding your head, you peak over your shoulder. Eyes damp from tears and hopeful to get the proper kind of release. It is enough to make Jack crumble for you all over again. At last, Jack hums with approval. A happy tap on your skin as he scoops his hands under your thigh and hoists your legs up. He grips right under your hips for the best leverage. Jack is really testing how much strength and stamina he has left at this age. You yelp as the sudden pull moves your hips up, meeting Jack at a better, and deeper, angle. Pushing himself so deep it punches up into that sensitive spot. He finally gives in to that satisfying rock of his hips, letting out a deep groan.This is all both of you wanted. Impaling you with such a force you felt like Jack was going to split you in half. Sweet moans spur him on more, releasing all of the night's irritation on to your helpless cunt. 

Jack revels in the feeling of your velvety walls dragging along the veins of his cock. Squeezing down and taking the shape of his girth, like you were made to be filled by him. The whole predicament— arguing, him mandling you, and fucking you with such punishing force, it made your pussy drool and tighten for him. He can tell exactly what you’re feeling just by the way your walls clench around him. 

“Such a good girl, you love getting your pussy filled by my cock, huh?” He says through gritted teeth and low groans.

You can’t give a coherent response, too caught up in the motions all you can do is offer him slutty moans. The tips of his fingers dig into your plush skin, an iron grip dragging your body like a toy on his cock. Jack musters enough strength to lift every so slightly. The new angle makes all the difference as the top of his cock bullies up on your soft spot. The impact forces you to see fireworks in your hazy eyes.

“Shit— Jack!” Your body lurches forward from the force of his hips.

“Fuuck, sweetheart. Feel so good around me, need you to cum f’me.” Jack occasionally had to adjust his grip on your hips, trying so hard to not get lost in the pleasure that he drops your legs on accident. “I know you’re close— rub that pretty little clit for me.”

Your hand snakes under your body, delicate fingers shakily running small, fast circles are the bud. Eyes pressed shut and moans pouring from your lips. That knot deep down came rushing to the surface with each thrust of his hips. Your release is slowly coaxed from deep within you, your thighs and knees pressing against Jack’s, locking him in place. It feels like a wave rushes over your body, your orgasm crashing through you in ripples. Body shaking while your hands grip on to wrinkled bedsheets.

“Ooooh god, Jack!”

“That’s it baby, make a mess on me.” 

Jack’s hands slowly let go of your hips and help in letting your feet meet the floor. As soon as you limp in bliss, he lets his pace become self-indulgent. Cock pistoning in and out of your pussy while your walls still clench around him in post-orgasm glory. Pushing himself deep, right to the hilt, he lets his seed slip inside you. Flooding your silky walls with hot, white cum. It leaves a satisfying warmth with you. Jack moans and crones through his release, a thrust or two to push all of his load deep within you. He tries not to fall on top of you when the fog clears from his head. A little drips of cum leaking from you as he pulls out, half-limp cock slick with a mixture of your desire and his cum. 

“Jesus, Jack.”

“I should be saying that to you. All that huffing, puffing, and yelling. If you wanted it so badly baby all you had to do is ask.” He teased, a lazy smirk on his lips.

Crawling up the bed a bit, you manage to turn yourself over for the first time supporting your weight on your elbows. Panting heavily as you take in the sight of a sweaty, fucked out Jack. It is an insatiable sight; little beads of sweat dripping from his neck to his chest, the tuft of hair above his cock damp with body fluids. Jack eyes the scheming smirk on your face. Lifting your foot to poke at his stomach.

“I don’t know if I learned my lesson yet. You weren’t the most… convincing.” Pursing your lips and trailing your eyes from his firm stomach, all the way up to his lingering eyes.

“Yeah? I guess I have some more gas in the tank to teach you, brat.”

Jack grabs your ankle and yanks your body back towards him, a high and excited squeal coming from you.

“Hi.”

The med students whips around, eyes widened and already shaking. A trauma response from the incident a couple of days ago. You had a basket in your hand, filled with muffins, fruit, and a random energy drink you picked up from the story. Holding it out from them, you try to come off with a gracious expression rather than guilt.

“I’m sorry for how I spoke— treated— you earlier this week. I was out of line and you’re still getting the hang of things around here. I was stressed and I should not have taken it out on you. ‘Sorry for yelling at you’ basket?” Giving them a crooked smile and handing the basket to them.

It follows with a short conversation, exchanging necessary apologies and coming to an agreement it was an off day for everyone that day. You felt embarrassed having to apologize for behavior that could have been completely avoidable if you remembered what emotional regulation skills are. In the end, you are glad no bridges were burned. An ease settled over your body as the med student walked away with a softer smiler than before.

“And where’s my basket?” Robby pipped in.

“Jack said you would rather have an eight pack over a basket. And I think I would be in more trouble if I brought beer into the workplace.” 

Robby didn’t care to cover up the deep huff of laughter. Bringing a pat to your shoulder as he shook his head. 

“I need to know what Jack did to get you to come to your senses. Could use it on you if you ever feel like shooting at me again.” Robby said contently. 

You scrunch your face, “No you don’t, Robby.”

“Why not?” he asks, les confused more intrigued.

“You’d have to ask Jack for permission. I know you guys are close, but I don’t know if you’re close enough to share.” 

You turn on your heels and walk away quickly, trying to stifle the little giggle inside your throat. Robby runs his hand over his mouth and beard, slowly catching up with what you were putting down. He scrunches his own face, shaking his head to clear away the dirty thoughts.

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Before she can expertly dodge your question, everyone — Shen, Walsh, and Mateo — come back with their drinks. You slowly rise to your feet and take a sidestep, so Mateo and Walsh can slip into the booth. Having already been squished enough, you're willing to take only the corner this time.

You settle in again, next to Walsh, the leather under you creaking with every drag of your thighs.

“Are you both always so fun at parties?” Emery sips through a straw, eyes darting between you and Santos.

“This one —” Shen points a thumb at you “— is already uptight as it is. And Santos is just a poor influence. Don't think I've ever seen her smile, actually.”

“Yeah, she only smiles on her day shift when huckle– Dennis gets pissed on. Or, something of the same sorts,” you join in, ignoring the dig at you.

However, everyone's attention is quickly stolen away by the lives of the party again.

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING LOVE YOU, BABE OOoooOohhhOOO

You cannot stifle your laughter anymore when Mateo cheers them on, hooting with his palms cupped around his mouth. The best part is that he looks genuine and sincere, rooting for them no hint of mockingness.

Yeah, you wish you could be 13 again.

It's your turn to miserably and longingly watch the teenager birthday party taking its full swing, completely drowning out the overlapping conversations — and petty arguing — of your colleagues.

You smile at one of the young girls on stage, giving her a lazy wave. Suddenly, she's flushing and whispering in her friend's ear, presumably about a “cool adult” that interacted with her. You wish you could tell her that even though you might look the part — the sitcom adult who sits in a booth with a friend group and drinks — your life couldn't be less boring.

You work at the PTMC, go home, watch TV, fall asleep in front of the said TV, and daydream of a certain honey-eyed doctor. Maybe he's your rebound crush after your recent breakup. Not to mention, a deeply inappropriate one, both work and age wise.

Speak of the devil.

Your face snaps up when you hear your name in that low, raspy, voice. You register his face, tired under the dim lights, and his perfect salt & pepper curls frazzled from the ride over. He's in a white t-shirt stretched taut across his pecs, and a simple pair of black jeans. Though, nothing about how he looks is ‘simple.’

“Doctor…” you speak slowly, narrowing your eyes, and making a show of thinking very, very deeply. You snap your fingers in front of your chin, Before pointing your index at him, “aha! Doctor Abbot, attending of the nightcrawlers. What will you drink?”

The corner of his lips quirk up, amused by your liquor-induced playfulness. “Two of whatever you're having,” he replies, smoothly stealing the glass right out of your hands, holding it in front of his eyes to examine the brown liquid.

“Long island?” 

“Yep. L-I-I-T, it's pretty L-I-T. Lit. It means cool.”

“I know what lit means.” He takes in your sluggish blinks, the drop in your usually tight shoulders, and the almost giddy smile on your lips. “How many have you had?”

You hold up one digit, wiggling it back and forth for emphasis. 

Jack tuts, “L-I-G-H-T-W-E-I-G-H-T”

“F-U-K-C-Y-O-U,” you proudly smile at your mature retort, mind completely unbothered that your mouth just sweared at your boss. 

He shakes his head, contemplating if he should tell you that you spelled your insult wrong.

“Jesus…” he watches you carefully for a second, before handing your cocktail back to you. His thick fingers brush against yours, sending a jolt up your arm.

“Jack! Man, we thought you abandoned your children,” Shen exclaims, realising along with everyone the presence of the new arrival, and bringing you out of your head.

“Well, Shen, daddy's gotta come home.” 

Daddy. 

Well, technically, he is the attending, so he is the daddy. Daddy of the department, daddy of the floor, daddy of your–

Getting a little off-track there.

You clear your throat, trying to push the sinful thoughts away, putting them back in the compartment that only opens itself in sleepless, late, horny, nights.

“Do you wanna sit orrrr…?” Trinity trails off, jutting her chin towards the karaoke stage.

You bring your glass to your lips again, savouring the citrusy taste on your tongue. You expect to hear the scrape of a chair's legs dragged along the floor — Jack, as always, hauling an extra seat to sit at the head of the table. You always thought it was a way to maintain boundaries even outside the workplace, to make sure there's a tangible difference to avoid misuse of power dynamics. Your attending was quite easygoing, as far as bosses went, but that never deterred his ability to be responsible. 

Instead, “Yeah, there's some space here.”

You don't realise you're being spoken to, until you look and everyone is staring expectantly at you. “Wha– oh.”

You try to visibly measure the space next to you, barely larger than your hand. You look back up at the towering man, raising his grey brows in impatience. 

You move your ass.

As soon as he's shifting next to you, your senses are overwhelmed by his dominating presence. Your entire side is pressed against his. And he must've showered before coming here, because you can smell the soap he must use — cedarwood. You're thankful for the alcohol in your system, calming your nerves enough to not send a body-wide emergency signal.

“So…” you begin, taking in his face, which is so, so close to you. The disco lights of the place dance on his features, and you try not to chase the shine with your fingers. 

“Sorry for crashing. Must be a bummer to have your boss here,” he speaks louder than usual, voice trying to carry over the singing, though his attention is on waving over a server.

You wait until Jack orders a whiskey for himself, continuing after the waiter leaves, “oh, you're not a regular boss. You're a cool boss.”

“Yeah? Is it because I yell a lot less than Robby?”

“That and more.”

“Care to explain, nurse?”

Biceps. Charming. Funny. Biceps. Competent. Sexy. Hardworking. Generous. Biceps.

“No.” You lean forward to catch the view of the little pop-stars again. It seems they've moved on from Olivia Rodrigo to…more Olivia Rodrigo. It's a song you've only recently heard — something about higher standards and expectations.

THEY SEEM SO DESPERATE FOR LOVIN’, BUT BABY, I'M NOT…

The loud singing must have called for his attention too, because now he’s focusing intently on the concert since the first time he came here. 

NOW I TAKE CAREFUL CONSIDERATIONS

I'M NOT KISSING ANY BOY THAT IS PASSIVE…

His eyebrows draw together in concern, and almost to himself, he murmurs, “they shouldn't be kissing any boys right now.”

“They're 13, grandpa,” your voice snaps his gaze to you again, “kissing at that age is normal.”

“I'm 50. Anyone under 25 is a kid to me. They—” he gestures to the pack, “—are practically toddlers to me.”

“To remind you, you also have staff in their 20’s working for you. We, very much, aren't kids.”

That makes him pause. If you would've blinked, you would've failed to notice how his gaze dropped to your lips for just a second, before flicking up.

The server brings his order, and Jack is quick to take a swig. “That's what I try to remind myself, too.”

“Do you think Stacy would mind if I join them?” you whisper in Jack's ear with the eager expression of a dog waiting for its owner. You're practically vibrating in your seat, knee bouncing from the third drink you definitely should've refused. 

But it's not like you're the only one stupidly drunk. Santos and Mateo are at the pool table, losing to strangers. Shen is in a corner on a facetime with his wife — like, just go back home — and Walsh is nowhere to be seen. So, it’s a thing to wonder why you and your senior are still sitting glued together. You are drunk. What reason does the most rational man you know have?

“Who is Stacy?” He shifts, trying to maintain some semblance of a physical distance between you both, but you just end up closing the space again.

“The birthday girl, Dr. Abbot!”

“The 13 year-old on the karaoke with her friends?”

“Yes!”

Jack sighs, “you don't have to exclaim everything, you know.”

“YES, I DO!”

He physically recoils at your sudden raise in pitch. He takes in your erratic energy: the restless leg, the speedy talking, eyes blown wide. His palm slowly reaches out, firmly cupping your knee, bringing the bouncing to a halt. “Okay, exclaim away. But–”

“But?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking the deep breath of a man who wasn't expecting to babysit his drunk colleague today. 

“Okay, this time, we let me finish talking. Yeah?” You immediately nod your head. In reality, you have no idea what he just said. You only heard the “yeah?” in his authoritative voice, and agreed.

“I'm very concerned you know her name.”

“Who? Stacy's?”

“Exactly. You're referring to a random teenage girl as if she's a close, personal, friend,” he explains carefully, like he's talking to a child.

“Nooo! She's not a friend, doc.”

“Of course, that would be creep–”

“But I want to be her friend sooo bad,” you whine, staring adoringly at Stacy and friends like they hung the moon. “Just look at them! They did Olivia, moved to Glee's soundtrack, and are now doing Olivia again. They're sooo cool.”

Jack shoots them a quick look and lets out a small huff of laughter when he sees the deep longing in your eyes, a pure look of awe. 

He says your name, and your gaze darts straight from the stage, and into his eyes again. It always steals your breath when he calls you by your first name, anchoring you completely to him with just one word. One person should never have so much power.

“I'm cutting you off.”

“What?” Your mouth hangs open, words blurting out from shock, “like, from your life?”

“What? No–” he uses his free hand to pry the drink out of your hand. He lifts the glass, swinging it in front of your eyes, before setting it far on the table. Out of your reach. “From drinking. No more alcohol for you.”

A huge sigh of relief leaves you, and you dramatically clutch your palm to your chest. “That's nice. It would've been hard to work together with beef between us.”

“It's already hard to work with you, sweetheart,” he says under his breath, scanning your face for any signs of distress.

Your brows draw tight in confusion. Huh, what does that mean?

OH BECAUSE MY HEAD IS FULL OF POISON 

AND MY HEART IS FULL OF DOUBTS…

The sound of collective cries panics you before you realise sad girl hours have started. You look from Stacy to her other two friends, fortunately not knowing their names. They're clutching the mics tightly enough that you're sure one of them ought to break the device. The singing is a little uneasy on the ears, but you find yourself softly smiling. 

Then frowning.

And next you know, your eyes are welling up with tears when the song comes to an end.

IT'LL NEVER BE THE CURE

IT'LL NEVER BE…

Poor girls. They're crying thinking about their eighth grade crush, but they have no idea what's coming for them. One day, they'll be in their 20's and a stupid man with a stupid name will tell them he loves them, and they will believe him, even though he does nothing to prove it. Poor, poor, girls.

You're not sure if it's them you're upset about, since you feel like the only poor, poor person in this entire room.

“Are they okay?” Jack has forgotten his drink, attention fixated on the young girls. His hand unknowingly slides off your knee, hovering near the edge of the table, as if he's about to get up any second. “Why is the girl in the green dress crying? She can't possibly relate to this. Where are their parents?”

“I'm gonna go make sure–” He turns to look at you for assurance, but he sees a fat tear rolling down your flushed cheek. Suddenly, the concern in his eyes is replaced by panic. “Woah, hey, what's wrong? Do you feel dizzy? Overstimulated?”

His head tips down to map your face. You were fine just a few minutes ago. Now, you're tearing up, and your breath is hitching, and his hands are hovering unsurely near your face.

“It's just,” you sniffle, “it's just so…”

“Sad…?” He prompts.

“Yes!” Your eyes flash like he just invented a new word. “Exactly! See, you have the heart of a teenage girl.”

He shakes his head, “I'm 50, but thank you.”

“Why do you tell me you're 50, like 50 times a day? We get it, grandpa.” You sniffle again, trying to look at the stage. But Jack effectively blocks your view with his sturdy frame, instead offering you his handkerchief like some sort of a gentleman from a 60's rom-com.

You wipe your nose in what you hope is in a dignified fashion, barely hiccuping a thank-you to him. “Is it that you forget it too? And you have to keep reminding me so you don't forget it yourself?”

He sighs, finally swiping his thumb under your eye to brush the wetness away. 

“Believe me, I try to forget it.”

As if catching up to what he just did, his hands rush towards the safe territory of your upper arms.

You nod thoughtfully, “that makes sense.”

“Yeah?” You watch as hope flickers in his eyes. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, as if contemplating if he should say something. “You understand why?”

“Mhm,” you nod again. “If I was 50, I'd be trying to forget my age too,” you say completely sincerely, eyes swimming with sympathy. 

His head falls forward, and his shoulders shake. For a second, your drunk mind makes you believe you made him cry. But when he looks up at you again, he's flashing an amused grin, shaking his head at you.

“Real funny.”

“I wasn't trying to be funny.”

WENT TO THE DOCTOR AND SHE SAID I WAS FINE

BUT EVERY MOVIE THAT I SEE MAKES ME CRYYYyyYY…

Oh, no. When did they start singing this one? It's that song. The one you've had on replay since your breakup, the one you've been singing in showers, in cars, and in the kitchen.

You feel a fresh wave of tears clawing their way up again. Your lower lip juts out in a pout, and you flush in embarrassment when Jack's laugh dies. “I'm fine.” 

He gently squeezes your arm, “up.”

Before you have any mind to be confused, your world tilts when you're suddenly hauled off your seat. You sway on your feet for a moment, before Jack steadies you, firmly planting his hands on your elbows.

“Are we finally going to join Stacy?”

“No. Not while you're doing your best impression of a kicked puppy.”

I CAN'T SLEEEEEP

I CAN'T EAAAATTTT

I THINK YOU'RE WHAT'S WRONG WITH MEEEE…

A soft sob escapes your throat. What is wrong with you? 

“Nothing. Three-drink-you is just not as fun as two-drink-you,” Jack assures you, his fingers twitching at your elbows without his permission, stuck between staying noble and wiping away the hot tears that are rushing from your ducts again.

Oh. You hadn't realised you'd said that out loud. You can't believe you're breaking down in front of your attending. Because of a breakup song. Because you're drunk. That's, like, top 3 tell-tale signs you need some help. Or, another drink. But you're quite sure that four-drink-you is a horny you, so, maybe not.

The surrounding noises get muffled when Jack spins you around, and starts walking you towards a hushed corner. He swiftly steers you away from any table, chair, or a group of people that comes in your way, before you even register it.

You're disappointed when his hands drop to his own sides, when you're both tucked away in a corner. You look around, and the lights are even dimmer in here, painting everything a dull shade of yellow. There's a door behind you, presumably leading to a bathroom, because you can see the universal signage for a male. Before you can ask Jack to move from here, you notice a lock on the door.

“No one's gonna come here. Talk.”

You clear your throat, managing to speak through your watery throat, “It was just really–”

“Sad? Yes, we covered that,” he catches the sharp edge in his tone, and quickly smoothes it over, gentling himself for you, “but as sensitive as you are, I know that you're not really sobbing because some little girls are crying along to a sad Taylor Swift song.”

“It's Olivia, not Taylor.”

“They're all the same.”

You immediately gasp, narrowing your eyes at his disgusting comment, “I take my words back. You have the heart of a cold, unfeeling, man.”

Jack bites the inside of his cheek to not burst out laughing. “I'm sorry. Will you please tell me why you're worrying yourself over an Olive song?”

“OLIVIA!”

He raises his palms in surrender, but instead of giving up like you'd expect anyone to, he apologises again. Now he's looking at you expectantly, as patient as a saint, and you feel your sob story tumbling out of your mouth.

“I had a break-up recently. And it's,” you click your tongue in frustration, “I don't even miss him. He was a mistake. A big one. But…”

“But?”

You sigh, “I don't know. It's humiliating. Can we go back?”

“What's humiliating?”

You scramble for words but all that comes out is, “this! You! Here!” 

“I'm humiliating?”

“Gosh, no. You're– you're not. You're anything but. You're sweet and patient and kind–” you immediately lock your lips when you realise you're verbally fawning over the man in front of you. “That's not what I mean.”

“So, I'm not sweet and patient and kind?” His eyes are crinkling with amusement, and you would want to wipe that smile from his face if it wasn't so goddamn beautiful. 

You take a deep breath, “what I am trying to say is, It's humiliating because we work together. You're my senior. Like, super, super senior.”

“And that makes me unempathetic towards one of my staff having a meltdown in a public place?”

“Okay, I think we're throwing the word ‘meltdown’ a little too easy here.”

Jack pretends to ponder for a moment, observant brown eyes scanning your face slow enough to make you squirm. “I think not. Look at yourself.”

You immediately straighten up. “Huh, do I look like a mess?” Your hands rush to your face, trying to harshly rub the messy tears away.

His eyes immediately soften. “No, hey, that's not…You just look so upset is all. Otherwise, you look fine. Good. As always.” He says it like it's obvious, like it's a rule he learned in medical school.

Almost hesitantly, he pries your wrists away from your face, leaving them in his grip, hanging between you both. You have no option but to look straight at him.

“I'm sorry. You've just caught me on a bad day.”

“What do you mean? I'm having a really good time.”

You let out a watery laugh. “You don't have to make me feel better.”

“Gloria is always on my ass about keeping staff happy. Consider this a part of my duty.”

You have a good couple of inches between you, but the distance seems really, really little right now. You're not sure if it's him or you who takes a step closer. Probably you, since his thumb is stroking the side of your wrist, and you're feeling floaty again.

“I'm not sure this is what duty looks like, Jack,” your voice comes out barely more than whisper.

He tuts in disapproval when you use his first time, voice dropping an octave lower. “No, it doesn't. You should be thankful. Robby just yells at people and tells them to pack it up.”

“Don't joke.”

“If I stop joking, I'll have to tell you that you have no reason to cry for a fuckin’ idiot who owned forty different colors of the same polo t-shirt.”

For a second, you're taken back enough to not speak. “How…how do you know that?”

“Used to see him everyday when he would pick you up, remember?” He reminds you as you watch irritation flare up in his eyes, “and he was 20 minutes late. Every single day.”

“20 minutes is not a lot. He was, after all, picking me up.”

“If you're gonna do something, do it right. I wouldn't even be 2 minutes late for someone who spent the entire night working their ass off.”

You downcast your gaze to avoid his sharp eyes. “Shame you're not the one picking me up, then.” You try to play it off as a joke, but it only comes out as wistful.

“Shame,” he murmurs. “So, you don't miss him?”

You shake your head. “No, but it gets lonely.” You sigh before continuing, admitting with a hint of shame, “I like the whole routine — the dates, the places, the high while it lasts.”

“So? Go on a date again.”

“Right,” You laugh in self-deprecation, “It's not like I've queues outside my door, people waiting to take me out.”

“Impossible. Look at you,” he replies, without missing a beat. You examine his face, trying to gauge the intent behind his words. Mindless affirmation or meaningful compliment?

“You're just saying that,” you whisper.

“What reason do I have to lie?”

“Getting me off your hands, and back to your whiskey again.”

His breath mingles with yours when he tips his face forward, gaze locking in on your soft lips. “I'm not so eager to get my hands on whiskey. I've got better things going on for me,” he speaks, voice dropping low and intimate.

“Like me having a meltdown?”

“Like you allowing me to be here for it.”

“Of course. You're sweet and patient and kind.”

“Pray tell. Don't let me stop you from singing my praise.”

“And…calm and funny and…” you pause, trying to even out your shallow breaths, “incredibly, stupidly, frustrating.”

“Careful. Still your attending.” Irony is that right as he's saying it, he's letting go of your wrists to cup your hips instead — long fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt, settling heavy and firm, grounding you in place.

“You're not acting like it.”

He playfully squeezes your hips, “why am i frustrating?”

“Because…sometimes, I come to the shift, and I get to hear from Santos that somebody decided to play the hero and got shot. And I'm obviously never there, because it all happens during the day shift.”

“You worry?”

“You're not a man with ill styling choices. I can worry.”

“As long as you don't cry.”

“Are you one of those people who don't like people crying? You get all awkward and uncomfortable?”

His hand drags up your arm to swipe across your cheekbone, brushing over the dried tears. “I don't like when you cry. It makes me frustrated and insistent.”

“Insistent to do what?”

“To fix whatever caused it. Or whoever.”

Your throat dries up, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “It's not recommended to go causing trouble in the name of nurses.”

“What if it's a pretty nurse?”

Red rushes to your cheeks, and you feel yourself warming up. You urge the alcohol in your system to deliver you courage, but all you feel is like wet noodles in front of him.

“That's not a valid reason,” you murmur.

“My floor, my rules.”

“Careful. Next thing you know, it's 20 missed calls from HR.”

“Shit,” he says, not sounding concerned in the slightest.

You clear your throat, “now that I'm not actively sobbing, we should head back. Somebody will notice we're gone.”

“They're all too busy being idiots. Besides, there's nothing to notice. I'll just tell them–” your eyelids flutter when he lightly blows air into your right eye, “–there was something in your eye.”

“And you were helping me while using your bedroom voice?”

Jack sputters a small laugh, “oh, this is not my bedroom voice.” His hand on your hip moves, leaving a trail of fire up your side, settling high on your waist. “Or my bedroom hands. Or my bedroom acts.”

Your eyes flutter close, and heat melts low in your belly, leaving an ache between your thighs. Your thoughts wander, trying to imagine his ‘bedroom acts.’ 

You snap your eyes open before your body can take control from you, and start acting on its own accord. 

“HR. 20 missed calls,” you breathily say, not sure if it’s him or you you’re trying to remind.

He sighs as he backs away from you, and you feel sharp dissatisfaction at the loss of his burning, comforting touch. He holds his arm out towards the small hallway from where you both entered. “Pretty nurses first.”

I KNOW THAT THE BAR CLOSES AT ELEVENNN

I HOPE YOU NEVER FINISH THAT BEEEERRR…

What do you know? Your colleagues were indeed too busy being idiots to notice any change. You sit in the booth again, next to Jack, watching the girls be happy and bright again.

You on the other hand feel disappointment settling deep in your chest. You're suddenly wishing that you hadn't urged Jack to come back out here. Something could've happened. Something you had been wishing and hoping for. And now you have let the moment pass.

OOOO, ONE NIGHT, I WAS BORED IN BED

AND STALKED YOU ON THE INTERNET…

“So, I'm gonna leave.”

You turn to look at him, trying very hard not to let your dismay show, instead sweetly smiling at him and nodding your head a little too quickly.

A pause.

“You can leave 10 minutes later. I'll be in my truck.”

Your brows snap together in confusion, lips parting to say something, but Jack is already getting up, grabbing his leather jacket from where he kept it in the booth.

“They're idiots, yes, but it's better if they don't see us leaving together.”

You scramble for words but nothing comes out.

‘CUZ I ALWAYS HAD A VISION OF US STANDING LIKE THIS

ALL PRESSED UP IN THE BATHROOM LINE…

“Where will we go?” you dumbly ask.

Jack shrugs, “dates, places, chasing the high while it lasts.”

Your heart leaps out of your ribcage, body unable to do anything but watch his back as he walks towards the door. Your lips open. And close again.

What.

Deep breaths. It’s chill. All good. Just a normal hangout with Dr. Abbot. Surely, nothing will happen.

Fuck.

You give a final glance towards the cheerful trio of girls, a luminous grin finally breaking out on your face.

They'll be okay. So will you.

You take out your phone and tap the screen awake. One minute passed, nine more to go.

KISS MEEE AND I MIIIGHTT

KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD.

Sigh…i missed my husband. Now everyone say, “thank you, stacy” and then everyone who liked this, please glaze all over me. Likes, comments especially, and reblogs increase one minute of my lifespan.

⋆ ꩜ ⋆

"What would you say to a date?"

You turn to find none other than Dana Evans being the one with the absurd question. You're not even entirely sure where she came from. Suddenly she's propped up, hip against the desk, crashing your peace with that certain gleam in her eye that means trouble. 

This wasn't the first time Dana's complained about your singleness. The way your life consisted of the commute to work, the commute home, a cheesy romance movie, and bed. On the occasional wild day maybe you'd take a trip to a coffee shop, or an in-person trip to the grocery store instead of DoorDash. That is if you were feeling really adventurous. Somehow in those times though you've never managed to have some rom-com meet-cute like in all the movies you watched. 

"As flattered as I am, I was under the impression you were married!" You dodge not only the question but also her. Turning on your heels, you walk to the leftmost side of the desk, keeping your eyes down. 

Sure, a date sounds nice in theory. The same way a leading man chasing you through an airport seems nice in theory. But, if it actually happened you'd most likely pepper spray him. 

"Not me." She says dryly. "Maybe in my younger days though." 

You give her a sideways glance, which she's already giving you. The thought intrigues you more than you care to say. What you would give to know more about Dana's college days!

"I've got a guy for you."

"Dana, really I'm good. I don't have time to even fantasize about a date right now."

To you, a date was never a fantasy. They just never turned out right. Men would speak over you, or you'd intimidate them and it's a night full of awkward silences and bad company. 

However, you find the occasional times to fantasize about Jack Abbot.

Your crush on Abbot started slow and accidental really. A night off work for the first time in months. Which of course you spent doing the one thing you love most: turning off the lights, drinking wine in your pajamas, and watching whatever rom-com popped up first in your recommended tab. This night just happened to be Two Weeks' Notice. You'd seen it a thousand times and could probably quote half of Sandra Bullock's monologues. 

But, there was something different about it this time. Something about the way she was falling in love with her charmingly sarcastic boss. It seemed less like something you'd laugh at and instead it started making perfect sense to you. 

I mean Sandra Bullock is falling in love with her boss. Why can't you?

Somehow by the second glass of red, Hugh Grant's face somehow started to morph into Jack Abbott's. 

But, most of all it was the mistake of falling asleep during the fourth glass and the dreams that followed, guest starring a sexy doctor. 

As quick as this crush started, it was anything but quick to leave. No matter how much you willed it away. 

Sandra Bullock-esque rom-coms don't happen to people like you. Hot boss or not. 

"It won't kill you." Dana's arms thud against the counter as she lays them down with purpose. 

"It might." A voice that belongs to Shen interjects into the conversation you already wish you weren't having. "Have you seen how awkward she gets when hot dads bring their kids in?"

"I do not!" You half-yell. "I'm a professional. I don't think about things like that at work."

"Yeah, and that's why you eye fuck Abb-" 

"OKAY!" You yell. Prying eyes are on you immediately as your voice cuts through the ED. You give an awkward thin-lipped smile and apologetic wave to the strangers. "Okay. Point received." 

Now the only fantasy you're having at work is ripping the Dunkin cup from Shen's hand and drenching him in it. 

"Ignore him." Dana shoos Shen away. He slinks off slurping what's left of his melted iced coffee. 

You can't miss the small glint in Dana's eye as she bites back a laugh at Shen's accusation. Which is totally false!

"Dinner. That's all I'm asking." Dana pries once again. You shake your head, not even bothering to verbally answer anymore. "An hour, two max."

"Dana when I'm not here I'm sleeping or trying to get all my shit done before I have to be back here. I don't have time." 

"You have time." She responds insistently. 

It's almost impressive how she hasn't budged. 

"Fine. I don't want to make the time then."

"You don't want to go out and just have a free dinner with a handsome guy?" Dana's eyebrows shoot up.

Unfortunately, the idea intrigues you somewhere deep down. That same part of you that smiles and rewinds when the movie finally crescendos with a dramatic declaration of love. But, in reality, the movie would end differently for you. A terrible date with a guy who went to a doctor a few times and now feels confident in his ability to mansplain medicine. No love at first sight for you. 

"Sounds like hell."

You can't even remember the last time you looked at a man that wasn't on your TV. Well, I mean besides the ones you're forced to see every day. Abbot… Who apparently you REALLY look at.

Your mind trails off as he moves from room to room in front of you. That quiet confidence radiating off of him like it always does. UGH, and he's wearing those camo pants tonight. OH. You totally are eye-fucking him aren't you?!

You snap your eyes from him back to Dana immediately. "Tell me about this guy." 

No part of you really wants this, but you've got to get your mind off Abbott. Fully. You one hundred percent, unequivocally, cannot be crushing on Jack Abbot. 

"It's a guy I know. He's been single for too long. Like you." She says pointedly. "I think you'll like him. He's good people." 

"You sure you wanna do this?" It's a genuine question, not a threat. Introducing you to someone could be a bad move on her part. You're not exactly revered as a charmer. "Because, if I don't like him, I'll leave."

You we're strong willed and didn't enjoy wasting your time. There was nothing wrong with it, but some men would disagree. Apparently you could be a quote, "a real ball buster" as your college boyfriend so eloquently wrote in the very text message he dumped you with. 

As time went on, you came to realize you liked love more in theory or in dreams. You were not cut out to be a rom-com star. 

"I know." Dana draws out her words, rolling her eyes at you. "But, I have a good feeling."

"What's his name?" You give a defeated sigh. 

Dana's face lights up with that cocky closed-lip smile she gets when she's won something. She's beaten you down enough and she knows it. Success!

"No names." Leaving no room for rebuttal, she claps her hand flat against the counter to make her point. "I don't want you looking him up."

"Come on-"

"No. You and Santos do that cyber stalking thing and you'll try and find him." She's already turned on her heels before you can get another word out. 

 "It's not stalking!" You yell after her. "It's the way the world works. Get with the times Dana!"

Well, looks like you just got yourself a date you didn't really want to go on in the first place. But if all goes well you'll fall in love and never think of Jack Abbot as anything more than a boss ever again. 

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"Jack, c'mere I gotta talk to you." 

Dana surveys the floor, making sure you're nowhere in sight. Luckily for her, you're tied up in a trauma room with a very chatty guest who, based on their facial expression is not very happy with you. 

His face turns confused for a second, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening before he falls in step.

"You need a date." She says simply. 

For once in his whole life he's actually speechless. He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is an offended scoff. 

"When's the last time you've been on a date?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

The offended sound comes out once again as he blunders for a second. "I don't know. A year…?"

He tried once, maybe twice after his wife passed. Someone who asked him out both times. He'd never actually pursued anything himself. It wasn't exactly that he was resisting, there was just never anyone who caught his attention first.

Then came you. But to him, that was forbidden.

"That's sad."

"I'm doing just fine for myself-"

She holds up her hand for him to stop before he says anything further. "I didn't ask about that. And, I don't believe I want to know that."

Robby laughs from somewhere behind her. Of course, listening in on the conversation. Somehow his ears seem to be everywhere at once. There's no conversation he misses in this hospital. 

"What?" Jack asks him. The tone of his voice would almost sound offended if he wasn't chuckling. 

"No, nothing." Robby shakes his head. He clasps a friendly hand on Dana's shoudler. "He's doing fine Dana. Just this morning Myrna offered to flash him." 

Alright, now they're just being mean. 

"Tell him he needs a date." Dana elbows Robby. Before Jack can interject, Robby's response is immediate. 

"Ohhh, you need a date brother."

Jack's outnumbered and somehow they're also beating him at his own game. He has no defenses left. No sarcastic comments that'll stop them 

"You know what? Fine." Jack tosses his hands up. "I'll start looking for someone." 

His eyes rake across the hospital floor like he's looking for someone and before he's even made any conscious effort, they land on you. 

One day you were a thorn in Jack's side, a new resident he had to get acclimated to. But, very, very quickly you became something else. The worst part was it wasn't even because you were attractive - which you absolutely were. No, it was the first time you yelled at him during trauma. You, a resident, yelling across the table at your attending.

He was gone. 

Robby and Dana side-eye each other at Jack's obvious stare. He was never a subtle man and even less so when it came to matters of the heart. The number of times Dana's caught him acting like a giddy school boy around you was absurd.

That time you complimented his technique for a chest tube and he walked around like a God for the rest of the night. 

Or, even worse, that time he let his beard grow and asked you, Dana, and Ellis for your opinions. They both agreed it was fine. - not that they cared much either way. - But, you weren't a fan. The next day he was shaved. 

It was just something about you. Something he had never seen in someone else. You had no angle, you didn't play games or hospital politics. You came in to work every day, yelled at whoever needed yelling at, and fixed whoever needed fixing. No ass-kissing or pride involved.You had no ego; it was refreshing. If you thought he was acting like a dick you'd tell him. If you thought he was right you'd tell him. Though maybe a little awkwardly because nice feelings weren't really your thing.

"No need!" Dana says with a satisfied grin. "I've got someone for you."

Robby howls a laugh at how perfectly Dana manipulated Jack into this. 

"Who?" He asks. 

"Someone I've been wanting to set you up with."

"Set me up with? Like a date?" He says emphatically. "Like I'm twenty?"

"It'll be fine. You'll like her."

"Well, who is it?"

"You don't know her." Her face gives nothing away but for a fleeting second Jack would almost swear that seemed like a lie. 

"She's smart and beautiful, you'll like her."

"Well, I can't say I don't like those two things." A small smirk creeps up his face. Smart and beautiful was great but he knew someone who fit that description already. Doesn't much matter though, Jack can't remember a time he's seen you show interest in him. And, he was the furthest thing from a pushy man.

Plus, if you wanted him surely you would've said something by now. 

"She's a little young," Dana trails off. "That okay with you?"

Jack finds himself calculating in his head how old you were. Would that be weird? Wait. First, why would he care? Second, why would it matter? 

"I mean how-" 

"Okay, great." Dana claps her hands with a loud boom, ending his sentence for him. 

She's already exited the conversation before he can ask more of the many pressing questions he has. "What's her name?" He calls out, Robby still beside him, happy to be a non-involved third party to this shitshow. 

"Secrets." She hollers back not turning around, her hands doing most of the talking. 

"Looks like you just bought yourself an appearance on the Dating Game." Robby claps Jack's shoulder with an overjoyed smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes. 

Hopefully she isn't that young because God, they really are old. I mean the Dating Game, really?

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"What are you up to?" Robby asks, narrowing his eyes onto Dana once he's managed to find her alone. 

"Just think he needs someone." She shrugs sounding a little tender, strangely. 

"Uh huh." Robby clicks his tongue. "And I'd swear I heard you giving that same advice to one of our residents earlier.

Dana gives nothing away, just a shrug. 

"Not saying it's a bad idea. Jacks clearly got it bad. It's just ballsy."

"So you'll help me?" Dana asks. 

"Whoa, no." Robby lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"All I'm asking is that you keep them away from each other tonight so they don't find us out."

"There's no us here Dana." He tosses his hands up in surrender. Always the dramatic. "I've got a hospital to run and this is your master plan." 

She gives him a look over the rim of his glasses. He knows he's too grown to be scared into submission by Dana but damn if it doesn't always work. 

"I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, why don't you ever set me up on dates?" He can't help but ask as he's already halfway leaving. 

"Because I've seen you in relationships."

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Somehow as if by miracle, the ER was the Q word you'd never dare utter. So, for now you'll just say slow. It seemed brighter without so many people clogging the place up, not such a terrorizing place to spend your nights. But, on the other side of quiet and peaceful meant all you could think about was this stupid date with some (probably) stupid guy you don't even want to meet. 

Even if it was a leisurely night, there was no such thing for Dana. She paced around the giant hospital centerpiece that was the nurses' desk, doing a million jobs that somehow all belonged to her. 

You came out of nowhere, suddenly popping up on the other side of the desk. "I don't like mansplainers." 

"Okay, and I don't like the Ravens. What're you telling me for?" It always seemed like her accent had a way of getting thicker when she was stressed or angry. 

"For the date." You tap your finger to your temple in a duh fashion. "If they start mansplaining anything to me, I'll leave."

Dana doesn't give you a response, just a curt nod. Because she was definitely going around the city looking for the perfect asshole mansplainer to force you into a date with. 

"And they need to be politically sound. I can't deal with someone who doesn't care about the issues I do." 

As much as you loved Maid in Manhattan, you always found yourself disliking the leading man just a little too much. That was not a rom-com you wanted to star in, alongside a right-leaning politician. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Dana snaps her head up, shutting you up immediately. It's terrifying when she starts cursing in catholic. "He's a non-mansplaining registered democrat. Does that satisfy you?" 

"Yes." You answer quietly tucking your lips into a thin line apologetically. 

She reaches over the desk, gripping your arm and guiding you somewhat forcefully until you're standing under the track board. 

"Work." 

Looking down at the iPad in your hand, you said your patient's name to yourself over and over again. You had this terrible habit of knowing everything you needed to know about someone and then coming face to face and forgetting everything, even down to their name. You've done this with friends and patients alike your whole life. 

"Janet Lawson." You mutter on a loop, scrolling through to see what the nurses had already done for her. 

"Janet Law— Ow." 

Your forehead is suddenly rebounding off a black T-shirt; underneath it is a weirdly muscular back that's actually managed to rattle your brain around. Of course. Who else wears a black T-shirt and camo pants to work and has this muscular of a build? 

"Doctor Abbot! Sorry." You laugh to mostly yourself, running a few fingers over your forehead. Why'd that come out like a giggle? You laugh. You don't giggle. 

"My fault. I should've known better than to stand here when you're running around." He grins.

He's so charming. 

You drop your eyes back down to the iPad, looking at him made your chest pinch. Why does it feel like you're cheating on him by going on this date tonight? He's your boss! People don't usually feel like they need to divulge their dating life to their bosses right?

"You off this weekend?" He asks, tilting his head to be able to better to see your downcast eyes. 

"Yep. Played my cards right and got two whole days."

"Got any plans?" He crosses his arms over his chest casually. He always asks about your life. This isn't weird, this is just the only time you've thought about keeping it secret. 

"Not much." The lie comes out before you can stop it. 

"Me neither."

"Cool." 

Jack Abbot could befriend a brick wall and somehow you've just managed to have an awkward interaction with him. 

"Jack!" Dana's voice echoes between you too. It's so loud and desperate-sounding that he whips his head around immediately. 

"Yeah?"

"I need you in room 3."

He looks to the whiteboard, eyes scanning over it twice. The hospital's calm tonight, what could possibly be this critical?

"No one's in room 3…"

She doesn't even turn to the whiteboard herself to double-check. "Room 4 then."

"Okay…" He agrees. "Catch you later?" He turns back to you with a sympathetic frown, waiting for your confirmation. Once you nod at him, he pulls himself and his lingering eyes away.

Like clockwork, Abbot finds himself in your orbit once again. He's nearly convinced you have some kind of magnetic force he's not aware of because there's no rational reasoning for him to be trailing after you all the time. 

Your shift is officially over and if you're not going to fall asleep behind the wheel you're desperately going to need a cup of coffee. As your hand rests flat against the break room door, you feel a much bigger and stronger hand just inches above yours.

"Together again." He laughs. He's so close behind you, you swear you feel the vibrations in your own chest. He pushes the door open, just enough that you have to duck under his arm to step over the threshold. 

"How was everything with that patient?" You ask, hoping your voice is even and trying your best to keep your face away from him until the heat in your cheeks die down. 

"Fine. Just cut and dry stress hives. Not sure what the big emergency was."

You plop down in the chair around the small table, the one leg that's off kilter shakes it back and forth for a second. "Weird." You stretch your legs up onto the second chair in front of you, resting until he's done making his coffee. 

As the coffee maker percolates in the background he considers mentioning the fact that Dana is setting him up on a date. Do attendings and residents ever share that much personal information with each other? Probably not.

What was he even hoping to achieve? That you'd imagine him out with some (probably) hot nurse friend of Dana's and lose your mind with jealousy that he's never once seen you have. 

It felt weirdly offensive to share his weekend plans with you. He's wanted to ask you out since the second week you worked at this hospital and never has. He couldn't, as the superior here and the man twice your age he wouldn't even let himself think about you too long if he thought it would be disrespectful. It'd be too weird to sit here and talk about his dating life like this. So, he opts for silence. 

You push your chair out once Abbott's done using the coffee maker, groaning from the pain that's popped up in your spine from standing all day. 

"Here ya go." He extends a full cup to you just as your feet hit the ground. 

You stare at the drink for a second. He made you coffee? Coffee you didn't even ask for. He pushes the cup towards you once more, urging you to take it instead of staring at it.

You wrap both hands around the thin cup, feeling the warmth seep through to your palms. "You know how I take my coffee?" You ask, noting the color difference in your cup compared to his. 

"Yeah, milk and two sugars. I've seen you make it enough times." Wow, the world really was never going to let this crush ease up was it? "I didn't give you any vanilla though. Keep taking it like that and you'll end up in a coma." You laugh, noticing the wide smile on your face in the reflection of your coffee. 

"Thanks." Your voice loses the harsh edges it usually has. 

He shrugs as if this was a small gesture and not something that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. He sips the coffee but never takes his eyes off yours. They have a darker look to them as the cup puts a shadow over his face. 

"Heading out?"

"Yep." You toss your bag over your shoulder. "I'm caught up on all my charts from tonight."

"Yeah, I trust you." His words come out smooth. 

You know you're so far gone when these upcoming two days off start to feel like punishment more than a much-needed break. Two days without seeing him might be bordering on eternal torture. 

This is the last time you'll see him until your date with some stranger. You're being so dramatic but it literally feels like you're some Wild West movie heroine seeing her one true love for the last time before heading to her arranged marriage.

Maybe it's just because your fantasy had to end now. You had to live your life, date (annoyingly so), and you could keep falling asleep at night and having Jack Abbot's face pop up in your dreams. It was a fantasy, that's all it was. 

Abbot likes people, not you. He liked to be friendly, wink at nurses, and flirt with the old ladies who were frequent fliers. Even if you weren't his resident, people like you didn't end up with people like him. 

Plus, if he wanted you surely he would've said something by now.

"Want me to walk you out?" He asks, always the gentleman. 

"Sure."

He reaches over and slides the bag from your arm, throwing it over his own shoulder. His arm stays on the small of your back as you pass through the crowded triage area, only dropping when you make it to your car. A small, beat-up Civic you're embarrassed to tell people the year of. 

"Have a nice vacation." He grins, setting your backpack in your backseat for you.

"Yeah, two days is one crazy vacation." 

"Well, either way don't miss me too much."

You laugh, your head lulling backwards as the sound reverberates outside in the quiet parking lot. "Might be too hard. Living in a cold, cruel Doctor Abbot-less world." 

He leans over, enough that you can tell he's not wearing any cologne as the smell of antiseptic wafts off him. And the worst part is, somehow it works. The click of your car door opening is the only thing that draws your eyes away. 

"Be safe." He says, carefully shutting the car door once you're solidly inside. "Come by if you start missing me too much." He speaks a little louder so you hear him through the sealed window. 

You give him a thumbs down as your reverse lights come on. 

He watches you pull out of the parking lot and imagines what that sight would be like more often. Your taillights pulling out of the driveway of his house every day, waving you away while drinking his morning coffee, knowing you'd be back that night. 

Oh yeah He's going on a date with another woman tomorrow. 

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

This is horrible

You stand in front of the mirror in the third outfit of the night. You pull at the fabric, like a toddler. It clings to everywhere you don't want it to. You've got to have help for this.

Where's your quirky best friend sidekick that everyone in the movies has?

To: Santos From: You what do you wear on a date?

To: You From: Santos show up naked power move 

Unhelpful. 

A dress feels like too much, but dress pants make you feel like a politician. The place is way too nice for jeans. As Dana specifically told you. You don't even own anything you'd consider a blouse. And to make matters worse, you're beginning to notice you have very little color in your wardrobe. 

This is agonizing. 

The outfit you have on will have to suffice, if only because you're running out of room on your floor for discarded clothese.

The long skirt feels less dramatic than a dress but less stiff than pants. This is the nicest shirt you own and the closest thing you'd associate with fancy. All in all, you clean up pretty well. Everything is black like all the other items in your wardrobe. But, Dana requested you wear black since she told your date that's how he'd recognize you. Your mystery man will be in white tonight 

Your body collides with your bed as you toss yourself onto it like an angsty teenager. You haven't been on a date in months and the last one you went on lasted an hour before you faked and emergency and left. 

Katherine Heigl's voice blares through your apartment as 27 Dresses begins auto-playing after whatever you threw on to begin with. 

What the hell is with these movies and falling in love with your boss?

Rolling onto your back, you're fingers start typing Jack Abbot into the Instagram search bar before you even know what you're doing. It only takes the letter J for his account to come up. You've for sure done this too many time. Maybe Dana's right. This is totally stalking. 

He has three posts and none of them are his face. He's got a picture of Robby and Dana at some fancy hospital event and two pictures of some scenic locations he visited. He's such an old man. The only thing you can see him in is his profile picture. Much to your dismay, you screenshot and zoom in. 

He's so handsome and this is such weirdo behavior.

The more you zoom in, the blurrier the photo gets. Right now, you're essentially looking at pixels that vaguely resemble Jack Abbot and even then he's otherworldly handsome. Some selfie from a terrible angle that he no doubt took the moment Instagram prompted him for a profile picture. 

You scream as the name pops up on the top of your screen, tossing the phone on your bed like it burned you. For a second you actually believe he somehow knows your cyber stalking him right now, but there's no way. On your feet now from the scare, you timidly reach over and in one quick motion flip the phone face up. 

Abbot: Have fun on your vacation while the rest of us are working our asses off. 

You've got to stop reacting to everything he does like some school girl experiencing their first crush. You're more giddy from this stupid text than you are about this date. This is what you're actively trying to avoid!

You click the side button stuffing the phone into your skirt pocket. Yeah, the skirt has pockets. You give yourself one more look in the mirror, closing your eyes and taking three deep breaths to clear your mind. 

No more Jack Abbot tonight. 

ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

This place is nice just like Dana described. An Italian restaurant that you had to take a taxi to reach. The outside has a deep maroon awning where people waiting on tables are congregating. It's not crowded but there's way more people here than you want to experience a first date in front of. 

The inside is even nicer. Dark walls and romantic lighting. There's even a band playing from somewhere you cant see, but you recognize the sound of live instruments. The tables are all covered in white cloths. This is far from the restaurants you usually eat at where children color on those paper table runners. 

"Hi," You approach the hostess more timid than usual, clearing your throat. "I'm meeting someone…"

Your eyes scan over the many people in the room. Theres way more people seated than you'd hoped. Great, all these people may witness your biggest humiliation tonight. Theres a small, even fancier dining room that's walled in and you wonder if your mystery man is in there. 

The maitre d responds but your ears are suddenly filled with nothing but the sound of your own heart beat. Your eye's zero in on someone, someone sitting in front of the giant burgundy curtains that drape from floor to ceiling. 

A very familiar face.

No. Fucking. Way. 

"Doctor Abbot?" You say standing beside the empty chair at this table for two. 

His eyes shoot up so fast you're afraid he's going to hurt himself. He looks like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out of his barely parted lips. You're mirroring the same expression back to him. Shock and horror. 

He stands up from his chair so fast, the table rocks and sends ripples through the expensive water glasses. "What are you doing here?" He asks, hands flat on the table like he needs to prop himself up. 

"Me?" You say back, clutching the purse strap over your shoulder. "What are you doing here?" You want to dissolve into dust in the huge fancy restaurant that suddenly feels much smaller. This can't be happening. 

"Oh fuck." 

You both speak at the same time. Your sentiment is much more verbal than Abbot who had the decency to whisper under his breath. 

You two go back to staring at each other for another moment. Completely still except for the twitch around Abbots eye. You know your eyes are wider than usual and probably frighteningly so, but you can't make them close. To make matters worse the trumpet crescendos into something romantic from wherever they're playing from. You're a little too busy to look right now. 

How could this happen?

"I think Dana uh—" The words die in your throat as soon as they start. You gesture vaguely hoping to fill in the blanks. 

"Yeah." He speaks gruffly. 

"Yeah." You parrot the same word back, unsure of what else there even is to say. "I could go." You gesture back to the grand entrance of the restaurant. 

That's all it took to shake Jack from the shell shocked state he was in. He reaches out before he even thinks much about it. Not a pull, just his palm flat against your forearm making sure you don't bolt.

"No. Were already here." He shrugs like it's simple. "Plus, I need you to stay and help me plan on how to get Dana fired."

You laugh, your shoulders easing finally, dropping from where they were pulled up so tight. The immediate horror of this situation is beginning to dissipate between the two of you. Despite the knot in your stomach, you actually feel a little giddy. I mean, you've dreamed about this for a long, long time. Maybe it wouldn't be awful of you to at least try and enjoy yourself. 

"We might as well stay and eat." He picks up his menu and gestures to the chair that's meant to be yours. 

"Might as well?" You repeat back with a sarcastically sensual tone. "Well, with an offer that romantic how could I refuse?"

He walks around the table, eyes on you the entire time. He pulls out your chair without even looking at it. When he puts his arm on the small of your back to guide you onto the seat, your actually worried your knees might buckle. 

"You know what I meant." The breath from his nose tickles your ear as leans in close to tuck your chair in. 

"Can I get you two started with anything?" The waiter appears from the kitchen, dressed just as nicely as half the patrons in here. Jack gives him a polite just a second gesture. You've both been far too distracted to look at the menu.

"You want wine?" He asks, flicking his eyes from the menu to you. "I mean… we are on a date." Theres a small smile in the corner of his mouth when he says it, almost humorous like he's enjoying saying that in the presence of the server.

A date. Officially a date.

"Yeah, I'll do a glass."

"A bottle of the house red." Jack speaks to the waiter. A bottle? Big spender! 

The wine the waiter returns with is in expensive glassware. The stems are crystal thin and make you feel like you're back in the OR holding a delicate medical instrument.

Jack makes a polite declining gesture as the waiter goes to fill his glass. "None for me, thanks."

"You're not having any?" You ask, lowering the glass from your lips, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the large sip you've already taken. 

"I've got work tonight. Not everyone has the weekend off like you." He laughs. Oh yeah. It was only 5:30 of course he'd be heading to work after this. Always saving lives. 

"You didn't need to order all that then." You gesture to the still mostly full bottle the server left behind. "I'm not gonna drink a whole bottle myself." Not in front of him at least!

"Take it home then." He shrugs. Damn that's sexier than it needed to be. He orders one of the nicest bottles of wine, doesn't have any for himself, and then tells you to keep it. "I know how much you like your wine. 

"You look nice." He crosses his arms on top of the menu resting on the table so there's nothing that could possibly distract him from you. His words are genuine but a little stiff. He hasn't complimented someone on anything outside of a medical context in a while.

"Thanks " You actually smile. looking down at the fancy outfit you were so hyper critical of in the mirror. "I wouldn't get used to it though."

"You clean up nice yourself." You force out. Not because it wasn't true, it very much was. But, it's always felt awkward to you to compliment someone. 

"Feels weird." He tugs at the black tie resting on top of his white dress shirt. It was quite the site. Under the warm lights of the dining room, at certain angles the muscles under his shirt were highlighted perfectly, especially his arms.

Jack however is more caught of guard by your new look than you are of his. Your hair is fixed and resting on your shoulders in waves instead of pulled back and frizzy from a scrub cap. I mean, you looked beautiful the other way, but he didn't know this was an option. And your clothes. It was few and far between that he saw you in anything but scrubs and certainly never anything fancy like this. Your scrubs were loose and unflattering. These clothes were tight and highlighted all your features well. You'd been hiding all this? But, maybe that's for the better because he wouldn't be able to survive this look day to day. 

"Would you judge me if I had another glass?" You have a small smile just on the corner of your mouth. Your stemware was getting emptier and emptier as the conversation went on.

"I'm not your boss tonight." He chuckles, filling up the glass for you. He holds your eyes when he says it, like it's important to him that you remember that.

"Alright. Let's be honest with ourselves." You finally laugh out, shaking your head. "This is weird." The wine coursing through you is making it a lot easier to say whatever you're feeling. Plus the small drink you had back home to pre game that you're not going to bring up. 

Thankfully, he laughs too. "Yeah. I didn't imagine I'd be sitting in front of you tonight."

"Yeah. I certainly wasn't expecting Doctor Abbot." You gesture widely towards him. "… I should probably drop the "Doctor" on a date right."

"Yeah probably." He nods. "Just Jack is fine." 

You're stomach flips. It's silly, something as simple as a name change getting you this worked up.

"Jack." You test it out, turning the name over in your head a few times. It just felt so intimate for some reason. You've known him as Doctor Abbot for so long, now you get to learn Jack.

"So, Jack" You laugh, using the name one more time now that you've been awarded the permission. "I was expecting Dana to set me up with an Orthopedic surgeon I'd hate or something." You laugh. If your relationships with the Ortho team at work was anything to go on, that date certainly wouldn't have gone well. 

He laughs loudly in the dining room full of people talking softly below the music. "Yeah, God help us all if she did that. I was expecting a nurse or a lawyer or something. Not my resident."

"But, I'm glad she didn't." He says at a lower register.

"Wait!" You completely skip over the romantic thing he said, your brain already locked onto a minute detail you just thought of. "You texted me before I left the house." 

"Yeah? So?"

"So?!" You scoff at him, but you're laughing too much for it to be perceived as upset. "So, you texted me before you thought you we're going on a date with some woman."

He just shrugs. "I was thinking about you."

Your cheeks burn hot and you have to roll your eyes to try and get some of your cool demeanor back. "That's crazy."

"Well, it doesn't matter now does it."

Being on a date with Jack is even nicer than you imagined it could be. You've barely lifted a finger tonight. He pulled out your chair for you, he refills your glass for you. 

Yes, you're now a quarter through your third.

From anyone else, you'd probably get a little annoyed with this, but there's something romantic about the way Jack does it. He's not smothering or chauvinistic about it, just someone who wants to care for you. 

He really is like a man from a movie. 

By the time they drop your food off at the table, you're enjoying yourself more than you ever have on a date. He cuts into the steak while telling you the story of the first patient he ever had, which actually makes you snort. 

"My first patient at PTMC bit me." You laugh, nodding emphatically as you do. The third glass of wine has definitelyloosened you up. Enough to even reach across the table and put your hand on his arm when you laugh.

"Oh yeah! The one with the suppository." He points the end of his fork in your direction as he remembers. 

You make a sound of dissatisfaction between your teeth, scrunching up your face. "Let's avoid saying suppository on a date."

"Fair enough." He laughs, covering his mouth with his napkin. "Man, I thought you were gonna kill that guy." 

"I remember telling Robby when you first started, you we're gonna drop the night crews patient satisfaction scores by half." He shakes his head fondly.

"What?!" You laugh, dropping your mouth open with a jokingly offended expression. 

"You have a real mean streak to you." He shrugs truthfully, but he smiles when he does. He loves that about you. 

"I do not." You roll your eyes, the mean streak showing through clearly. "And, I could say you're not as charming as you think you are." 

He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah I am." 

Yeah he is. 

You pretend to care about his accusations some more, but he can see the smile you can't wipe off your face. "I can't believe you talked shit about me to Robby." You shake your head. "And to think I actually liked you when I first started. You were my favorite Attending." 

"Yeah?" He quirks his eyebrow up, somehow looking even more handsome with that smug sideways smile. 

"Yeah I did."

"Did it wear off?" He asks, leaning back, tilting his head as he looks at you. 

"Nope."

The words hangs there a moment too long. You expect him to make a joke, tell you that you have good taste, or that he was the obvious choice, but he doesn't. Instead he just looks at you, his smug grin changing into something much softer. 

"Good to know." His voice is maybe as tender as you've ever heard it. Like your statement meant more to him than he's letting on. 

Jack's already reaching into his pocket for his wallet before the check hits the table cloth. In fact, he doesn't even let it sit there. He takes it from the waiters hand so there's no argument about who's paying. 

"I can cover my half." You offer anyways, hand digging around in your purse under the table. This would not be the first date a man expected you to go dutch on.

"No you can't." He rolls his eyes. He knew you'd offer no matter how obvious he made it that you weren't paying this bill. It was just in your nature to be fiercely independent. But, he was here now. "I don't make a habit of asking women out and making them cover the bill."

"Technically you didn't ask me out… Dana did." You raise your eyebrows in a challenge. 

He makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. "Either way, you're not paying."

Jack opts for cash, pulling out a few bills that you try and count up so you total how much he's spent on you tonight. You can't make out if a few pieces are twenties or fifties, but based on the wad alone it must be a lot. 

"Fine. I'll get the next one." You're eyes widen a little as you catch what you said, your words coming way too freely with your tipsy-ness. "I mean… not, or, If- you know." You flubb, your hands moving quickly in front of you.

"No you won't. But, you can offer, again."

He stands first, extending his arm to you like the gentleman he's been all night. The sleeve of your jacket catches the chair as you stand making you wobble on your already slightly uneven footing. "Alright, let's get you out of here before you hurt yourself." He laughs. His reassuring hand stays flat against the small of your back, guiding you through the beautiful dining room and into the cool night air. 

Jack stands under the awning with you, shoulder to shoulder as he waits for your ride to arrive. Before he has to drag himself back to work and away from you. Through the window, you can still hear the bands instruments playing, on the high notes it rattles the glass just barely. 

"I love this song." You gasp, leaning against the wall and physically feeling the song course through you. Jack listens intently for a second, making out what you're hearing. He jogs his memory and remembers having heard the songs a few times. Something by Louie Armstrong; there was no mistaking that voice. La vie en rose that was it!

Jack stays silent, listening to the song alongside you. He doesn't close his eyes like you do. To be honest, he's far more interested in you than the song. This was what he's thought about so many times. Not this exact scenario, but things like it. You in domestic situations, calm, happy. With your eyes still shut, he roams his eyes over every part of your face without fear of being caught. 

The slope of your nose, down to the curve of your lips. You had a prominent cupids bow that made your lips look sharp in a way he could never stop thinking about. Your eyelashes that now fluttered along your under eye. He wasn't sure in this moment if you've ever looked more beautiful. 

"You know," He says quietly, making sure you we're still able to hear your song over this words. "all thing's considered I think this was a pretty good date." 

You peek one eye open, flickering it over to him with a smile. "So we are calling it a date?"

"Yeah." He grins back at your silly looking one-eyed expression."I mean that's what it was wasn't it?"

"Just making sure." You relax again, back to closing your eyes. You can hide the gleam in your eyes by shutting them, but you can't hide the smile on your face. 

"But," Jack starts his sentence quietly, devoid of that usual sarcasm he carries through every word. "I was always under the impression good dates usually end with a kiss."

Both your eyes open now, quickly. You stay leaned against the wall, putting a few fingers over your mouth to try and cover the stupidly giddy grin. You coyly nod, eyes looking back and forth like you're thinking hard. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for whatever response this could possibly lead to. 

"That does check out." You laugh, one finger tapping on the side of your mouth in fake thought. "That's usually how all the movies end."

"Yeah?" He mutters close to your mouth, settling his hands on either side of your face. You floss your lip in between your teeth, not even that hiding the grin. "Yeah." 

La vie en rose crescendos in the background as Jacks lips finally connect with yours. It's perfect. It's like a movie. Like a really perfect rom-com. He's not careful, but he's not aggressive. You can feel how long he's wanted to do this in the way he swallows every breath that leaves your mouth. Your hands trail up his arms, finally feeling how toned they actually are after wondering what they'd feel like under your fingers every time they flexed in the OR. 

You're sure you're getting stares from a few concerned citizens along the sidewalk but you couldn't care less. You feel that same smile grow on his lips as you press a hand to his chest. You're reminded of the scene in The Princess Diaries and swear your leg almost kicks up just the same.

He pulls back for no other reason than breathing which he's almost sure he could live without if he could do that a few more times. But, before he can go too far you chase him for one more peck which he reciprocates with just as much enthusiasm. Your hand is still on his chest and now white knuckle gripped against his tie.

"Yeah pretty good date." You repeat the sentiment, any ability to form new thoughts left your head the moment he kissed you. You smooth down his tie with one hand, straightening out the wrinkles your fist caused. He stops you, enveloping your one hand with both of his, pressing his lips along your knuckles. "I'm glad it was with you."

Once your taxi pulls up, you feel like lying and claiming you never called for it. But you have no choice, Jack's got work and you're under strict doctors orders (Doctor Jack Abbot) to rest and enjoy your one weekend off. 

"Text me when you get home." He says, shutting the taxi door with you on the other side, painfully. "And, swing by the hospital if you have any more wine. We may need to get you on a saline drip." You laugh way too loudly in the enclosed space of the cab. You hold the wine bottle by the neck, showing it off. 

"Goodnight Jack." You say elbow resting on the sill of the rolled down window, smiling up at him. Jack. Not Doctor, just Jack. 

You're phone vibrates in your pocket a few minutes down the road into the silent cab ride. The notification disrupts your staring out the window with a smile that was starting to hurt your cheeks. You figure it must be Jack, way too worried about you commuting home alone and already checking in, but it's not.

peters hands move from his ears to your arms, eyes still screwed shut as he begins to come down slowly. you thank him quietly, pulling the mask off his head and placing your headphones over his ears.

the noise cancelling feature turns on immediately, blocking out everything but the blood rushing through his ears and his erratic heartbeat. Peter’s eyes are still screwed shut, his grip on your arms is bruising, but you don’t dare move, watching intently as peter slowly comes down.

you could hear the muffled ‘arachnid hormones back to baseline,’ come from his mask, chest still heaving and bottom lip trembling as his grip on you finally loosens.

peter slumps slightly, eyes fluttering open just enough to make out your silhouette. he groans softly, dragging himself until he’s flush against you, his body falling limp the moment your arms wrap around him.

his head is still spinning, but the silence helps ground him, the warmth of your body balancing him out as he gains his bearings.

your legs are asleep by the time peter moves to take off the headphones. he looks at you with a small smile, face still bloodied from whatever he’d been fighting with this time.

“hi,” he whispers, a drowsy smile on his face as you brush a stray curl out of his eyes. you can’t help but smile back at him, scanning his face to asses the extent of the injuries you could see.

“hey bug boy,” you whisper back, letting your nerves settle as he nuzzles into you. “still overwhelming?” you ask, he nods.

“I don’t know what wrong with me,” he says, waiting a second before pulling away from you. not a second later you’re dragging him to the restroom, pulling out your first aid kit and having him sit on the counter.

“nothings wrong with you,” he wants to scoff at your words, but the sincerity in them almost makes him want to believe you. “it’s just change, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” your soft smile makes his heart clench.

“yeah, maybe,” he replies, eyes following your every moment as you clean his wounds. neither of you say anything as you stand between his legs, dabbing the blood off his busted lip before mumbling ‘okay’ as you finish.

“can i stay here for a bit? I just- i don’t want to go back out there yet,” he admits, you nod quickly.

“always,” you reply. peter thanks you, hopping off your counter and watching you rummage through your drawers. “here, these should fit you, if you wanted to shower or change,” you offer him a hoodie and sweats.

peter graciously accepts your offer, slipping into bed with you after towel drying his hair. your fingers scratch his scalp, tension leaving his body with every movement.

“you know im here for you, right? even if i can’t help with everything, im still here,” you say quietly. peter’s eyes prick with tears, nodding as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“thank you, angel,” peter whispers, breath warm against your skin. you don’t say anything, only kiss the top of his head. he lets his eyes close, focusing on the rhythmic thump of your heart to lull him to sleep.

it was a rainy morning, dark clouds had covered the sky, and the atmosphere was melancholic. you had just stepped out of the book cafe you usually went to study or read in, it was a hidden gem in the ever-crowded streets of new york city, usually quiet and peaceful. this time, you’d just paid a visit to buy a drink with some pastries.

today’s gloomy weather felt right to you, somehow, it spoke to your soul and fit your mood. you’d stuffed the pastries you’d bought into your bag, and you were going to walk around a little bit, holding your drink in one hand, your umbrella in the other. you thought you might sit somewhere, maybe go to a park after walking for twenty or so minutes, you enjoyed the smell of rain mixing with earth to bring life to the world.

and that’s when you saw him.

he was standing at the other side of the road, wearing a simple hoodie, getting wet from the rain. an expression on his face as gloomy as the weather. he’d grown, his face had taken a sharper shape, his hair had curled on the tips from meeting with water.

peter parker, the boy from your ap chemistry class, from days long forgotten, and much less destructive.

you froze, your gaze set on his face, which had been painted in subtle and few scars, and bent downward from either the rain getting into his eyes, or life. the regular noise of the city was reduced to background buzzing in your ears, all the pedestrians walking past you, and the people waiting to cross roads around peter had turned blurry and faceless, the cars passing by had become trails of colors. the boy, or perhaps now man, you had just noticed, was someone you’d never thought you’d see again.

peter parker had been the smartest student in the class you took together, you used to keep notes and read ahead before every lesson, and he’d come sleep-deprived, busy himself with unrelated trinkets, and answer every unexpected question coming his way correctly. later, when you learned that he was spiderman, you realised he must’ve been so tired and out-of-it every day for saving lives and fighting crime.

you had learned of his superhero activities, like everyone else in the world. you didn’t use to see him outside of your shared lecture hours, not because you were actively avoiding him, fate just hadn’t coincided a conversation between you two. after you’d passed the course and stopped seeing peter entirely, you hadn’t busied your mind with thoughts of him, until that incident with mysterio. learning that he’d been trying to help people every step of the way, back when you used to see him, had changed your view of him.

and then, suddenly, no one remembered anymore. you saw it all happen. you saw the sky shatter and shadows watch the earth through its cracks. you saw what you could only describe as hundreds of aliens preying on your planet. you knew spiderman fought to save the world from their clutches. yet when it was all over, no one remembered the hell-torn skies. or peter parker.

no one remembered he was spiderman. no one remembered he was peter parker. no one remembered peter parker was. no one from your old high school, not even his best friend, not even his girlfriend. they all looked at you as if you spoke of a ghost, he was a painted over memory, he’d escaped from the weak grasps of the growing brains of the youth and the ever-tired minds of the grown.

he’d even escaped from records and photos, like how short-lived cherry blossoms disappeared in a week, as if trees had never been pink. like how spring never lasted. you’d questioned whether you’d made him up, if something was wrong with you. but how could you make up a whole person, that you simply never had a relationship with? he wasn’t an imaginary friend, he had never been a friend.

trying to catch a glimpse of his existence had been like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. and yet, now, he was standing right in front of you, waiting to cross roads. waiting to come towards you.

the lights turned green for pedestrians, and peter snapped out of his stillness, he gained motion, he slowly came closer. people around you made noises indicating they were annoyed at your inaction, but you could barely hear any of them. you were focused completely on one person only.

he crossed the road, and started walking the opposite way from where you had been nailed to the ground, unable to take your eyes off him.

no, don’t go. i must know. i must talk.

you ran after him, forcefully making yourself a way amongst bodies covered in layers of clothing. you closed your umbrella, so it wouldn’t get tangled in others’. you caught up to peter, and grabbed his arm.

he turned instantly, gripping your arm in return, a shocked expression on his face, ready to take you down, had you posed a threat. he looked into your eyes; questioning, confused, hesitant… sorrowful? how had he grown so solemn? how had he lived forgotten?

“peter?” you asked, “peter parker? is that you?”

his eyes widened, grip loosened, lips parted. he looked completely dumbfounded, drops of water dripping down strands of his hair, and the tip of his nose. he searched for something in your eyes, just silently thinking. trying to process, you assumed.

he opened his mouth to talk, and his breath hitched.

“you…” he started, seemingly talking feeling like labor to him, “you know who i am?”

you couldn’t help giving him a sincere smile, he really was peter parker. the boy from your class who was remembered by no one. he was real.

“i was in the same ap chemistry class as you in high school,” you explained, he might not have remembered you, as you’d never interacted outside of topics regarding course materials, “if you don’t remember.”

“no, no,” said peter, his voice still laced with shock, and a tune that dropped a tiny piece of despair into your chest, “i remember. you were the smartest student in class.”

“that’s… debatable,” you said, your surprise clearly read from your face.

“it wasn’t,” he said, defensive, “everyone borrowed your notes, and you always had the correct answers.”

“so did you,” you said softly, the bitter taste of nostalgia repainted with a blue hue catching up to you, tightening your chest, placing a lump in your throat. “what happened, peter?” you asked, “why have you disappeared?”

peter closed his mouth, and his grip slightly hardened, he hadn’t let your arm go. you hadn’t let his go, either.

he lowered his head, and fixed his gaze on the grey stone ground. you couldn’t quite name the emotions you saw in his eyes, but they made you tear up. what must it have been like to suddenly cease existing? what must he have been through? what must he have thought, watching his chosen family from afar, like a vampire looking at a mirror, erased from his own reflection?

the cloudy weather truly felt fit for the day, maybe peter had been feeling it too, today. raindrops fell on earth like shattered glass pieces, you thought you might’ve been bleeding with your umbrella down, but peter wasn’t, was his skin thicker?

“would you like to sit down somewhere, peter?” the tale must have been long, how else could a person, and a rift in the atmosphere, be erased from the minds of billions? “like a bench at the park, or maybe my place?”

he looked deep into your eyes, thinking.

“okay,” he said at last, determination adorning his words now, “we can. we can,” he said while nodding.

“okay,” you repeated after him, and finally let his arm go.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

peter had been on his way to his small apartment, by himself, as always, after another long, sleepless night, that rainy morning. clouds had covered the sky, obscuring the sun, as if to match the weather inside his ribcage. the sun hadn’t shone on him since it had seen space ripped apart because of him, for his mistakes.

it was a day the same as any other; he was walking in the crowd, unseen without a mask, faceless. then, someone he hadn't sensed had touched him, must have been because no harm was intended, yet he'd felt alarmed.

a girl, he'd realized, a familiar face. that wasn't strange, he was used to seeing people he used to know, what was strange was... the look you had in your eyes, almost like you recognized him. a kind of tiny beam of light in your irises, aimed at him.

and then you called out his name.

the world tilted. he felt as if hit by a shockwave, rolling backwards, losing the tightness of his grip on reality, on you. he’d been completely dumbfounded, he could barely process what was happening. someone remembered him. you remembered him. you knew.

he looked you over again, he remembered, too. he remembered how you sat at the front seat, carefully trailing the teacher with your eyes, focus unbreakable. you didn’t use to look his way unless he was asking or answering a question related to the course, he wouldn’t think you would recognize him under normal circumstances, without happenings made foggy through magic, let alone when the whole world has left him behind. the whole multiverse.

he couldn’t get out of the shock he’d been thrown into, not even enough to wonder the why, the how, or think of the implications of the possibility that someone(s) might not have forgotten. he had been erased even from stone and paper, ink had evaporated, computers had lost their binary numbers. human memories couldn’t even be held, they must’ve been so easily broken apart and mended without wholeness again, didn’t people always forget things, anyway?

that had been hard to accept, of course. the fact that the feelings people reserved for him were fragile and unresistant, that they could be so fully erased, that they could be erased at all. but you remembered, was your mind stronger, or was it the impression he’d left on you? was it you, or him?

he hadn’t even been able to ponder if this was a good thing at all, if he should be worried, if he should accept this, how he should react. the past year had been so soul-crushing, so lonely, that after slightly getting over the initial shock that had hit him, holding back his tears had been all he could manage to do. you were wet from the rain, a drink forgotten and an umbrella folded in one of your hands, the other one holding him, looking at him expectantly, worried. you had come after him. you were holding onto him. he tightened his grip again.

you’d even wanted to talk more, to learn of his story, to listen. so he’d agreed, he suspected he would chase you on that road if you’d walked away. his chest had been closing in on his veins and heart, increasing the pressure and twisting his organs, breathing had become harder every day for the past year, he was suffocating. you’d held his arm like a tree branch offered to a drowning kid, an olive branch offered to a warring people, a willow… willows were hunched and weary, weren’t they? he was like a willow, layers of leaves covering his face, unseen.

he didn’t have anywhere to go, or anyone waiting for him. he hadn’t wanted to let you go, now that someone had finally, truly seen the shape of his face. so he had just followed you, let you draw a destination for two.

you had brought him to a small apartment, similar to his own, in an austere street lined with buildings that were short compared to the signature buildings of new york city. you’d told him you were staying there for the time being. your place, as you’d put it. the inside was much nicer than his living space, expectedly, and it contrasted with the grey view of the street from your windows and the pipe-filled outer layer of your apartment building. the floor was covered in soft carpets, the living room was filled with books, its walls covered in bookshelves, academic books left open and stationary scattered about on a table, notebooks filled with your handwriting, it was lived in.

you had taken him to the kitchen, said you’d just bought pastries and had some leftovers to reheat for him, he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, but you’d shut him down. “how could i send my guest off on an empty stomach?” you’d asked, made him sit down at the kitchen table, and gotten to work on the countertop. the living room had smelled of a flowery incense he couldn’t name, the kitchen was now smelling of baked dough and vegetable soup, making him feel his hunger. he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, or during the night.

“i apologize for the mess,” you said, while putting two bowls of steamy soup on the table, “i wasn’t expecting a guest.”

“oh, no, no,” he quickly scrambled to apologize himself, “i don’t mind at all, i’m sorry for… for…” he gestured around himself, trying to find the right words. being a burden? interrupting?

“for accepting my invite? i’d say that was the polite response,” you said, finally sitting opposite to him, having brought the pastries you’d sliced and placed on plates nicely, and the fruit salad you’d quickly put together. “thank you for that, by the way.”

he didn’t know what to say, he looked down flustered, “i- of course- i mean, thank you for inviting me,” he said, gesturing towards you with his hand, a slight smile on his face. how long had it been since he last smiled? it sure didn’t feel like an every day occurrence.

you gave him back a smile that made him… feel warm. he was still on the verge of tears, he was barely holding it together, focusing on the moment, trying not to let all the overwhelming feelings leave his body.

“please, enjoy,” you said, as you slid the plates closer to him, and he nodded in gratitude. he was hungry, and looking at the warm vegetable bisque… he hadn’t eaten a homemade meal in a very, very long time, especially one that was delicious, one that was warm.

and it was delicious. it tasted like a hug, a hearthfire, a blanket. it tasted like something you would eat at your home, like something your mother would cook for you. “this is,” he started, in between spoonfuls, “this is great. you’re a good cook.”

“thank you,” you said, and then started explaining. “i roasted tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, potatoes, bell peppers, and an onion, and blended them with vegetable broth and cream, so probably the easiest way to make something like…” you trailed off as you realised peter was… crying. he was looking down on the bowl of soup in front of him, and tears were silently rolling down his cheeks, as he kept taking spoonfuls.

peter was mortified at his reaction, he quickly scrambled to wipe his face with the tissues you’d placed on the table, and apologize. you told him it was fine, and he could take however much time he needed or wanted. you let him eat and think in silence for as long as he needed, you gave him time and space as he filled his stomach with warm food and sweet fruits. he didn’t know why tears had won against his willpower this time around, considering how good he’d gotten at holding them in. he didn’t know why just eating in your kitchen, with you, had made him feel emotions overwhelming enough to rush out of him. he was embarassed, despite your reassurances. it was the first time he was meeting with you in years, the only person who still remembered him, and he had started crying over a soup. he wasn’t a teenage high schooler anymore, why was this happening?

after a silence long enough to make someone less patient uncomfortable, he finally felt he could talk, and decided to tell you everything that had happened. all of it. you were the only person who knew him now, was it wrong to want to be known fully? to be understood?

so he told you everything, from the start… from a time too early, one might’ve thought; from before he even became an avenger. there had been people in his life who knew of his journey, how he became a hero, how he became an avenger, who he fought against, who he fought with, what really happened with mysterio, and then… then aunt may’s death… then everyone else’s little deaths.

peter used to be talkative, he used to converse with even the people he was actively battling, yet telling you all he wanted made him realise it had been a long time since he’d spoken so much. so transparently, willingly. had life crushed him under a fallen bridge without him noticing? he had been feeling it, but couldn’t guess how dire his cuts and walls had been drawn.

you listened all of it, without looking away once, without looking at the time. and then, once he concluded his speech and drifted off to silence, you let it fester. it seemed as if you had a hard time proccessing everything peter had dumped on you, or maybe couldn’t find the right words to continue with. this time, peter left you in your own silence, his hands slightly shaking in nervousness. what was your reaction going to be? what were you thinking?

“i’m truly sorry,” you said at last, a rueful expression adorning your face, making you look older than you had when telling him of the soup recipe. you had grown older, peter had noticed, more beautiful. “i’m sorry about your aunt, too. i had no idea. i thought… i guess i assumed at least your family would remember you.”

“yeah,” said peter in defeat, “there is no one.”

you looked deep into his eyes, pain visible on your face, “i remember,” you said. “and now i know.”

peter sighed and put his face in between his hands, closing his eyes in despair. “there is nowhere i belong, now. i fight for this city, and… and no one cares.”

this was horrible. truly horrible. a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when you’d recognized him, listened to him, welcomed him into your home. but he also felt bothered by it, too. had being known always been so scary? he hadn’t meant to say the last bit, he hadn’t even thought that to himself before. he’d been on the verge of it, but hadn’t actually thought it. why did he say it out loud now? why did he tell you?

you took a deep breath, “a lot of people care, especially the ones you save. you’ve been making a huge difference, peter. yours can be a thankless job sometimes, but many are grateful.” you paused for a moment, “i’ve always been grateful. when i learned how you’d been fighting for people this whole time, my respect for you skyrocketed. i thought i would help you in any way i could if it ever came to that.”

peter pressed his hands harder on his eyes, he didn’t want to start crying again. he didn’t know if you realised how your words had fallen into the deepest part of his soul. it was strange, how only a few words could help people keep going, how humans could be built merely by caring, and how humans could be so worn-out that they could stop tasting without even realising.

his phone vibrated silently in his pocket, taking him out of spiraling. he sighed again, what was it now?

strong fire in a building, spreading speedily, authorities unable to protect the citizens despite doing their best. he stood up abruptly, “i should go,” he said.

“what is it? what happened?”

“fire in a tall building, i need to save those people,” he said while walking towards the door, you trailing behind him.

“okay- be careful, peter. and come back here after you’re done there, okay? even if it’s late, because i’ll wait for you, and if you don’t come back, i’ll wait until morning,” you said quickly as he was wearing his shoes, the door to your house open.

“okay,” he said, stuttering slightly, “thank you.” truly. you’ve made breathing possible for me again. thank you.

and he left you behind like that, because he never had a break. he didn’t know if he deserved a break. none of that mattered though, there were people suffering, and he couldn’t leave them behind, no matter what.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you were leaning on the metal handrails of your small balcony, looking at the few people and cars that passed by the road in front of your apartment. it was desolate, compared to most of new york, but it was steadily never-ending, there never was a time when people stopped in this city. your view was made up of other grey apartments like yours, sharp corners and square shapes, nothing tasteful added to their designs. could this be good for the soul?

you looked up at the sky, to watch the stars, but as always, not many were visible. you counted four stars that could be clearly seen from your balcony. the same as yesterday. you sometimes wondered: if you could reach greater heights, would more of them shine on you? the city had offended the stars in an effort to be independent from them, brighten night time, they didn't show their faces anymore. even if they wanted to, they couldn't be seen.

peter had been shining since he was a kid; clever, kind, righteous, fair-faced in a way the cleanness of his heart had reflected on his features. how big of a loss was it for the world to be forsaken from his face? it was lucky that peter was good-hearted, for he kept showing up under a mask anyway, offering those who looked a glimpse into his light.

it was past midnight already, and peter was still nowhere to be seen. he'd left you a little past noon, the fire had been extinguished by now, and spiderman had left the premises after saving dozens of lives (that the firefighters would've been too late for, despite their best efforts), and yet, peter was nowhere to be seen. it worried you, you wished you had asked for his phone number; you'd considered asking, but decided against it, thinking he might be bothered by the request.

after you'd talked to michelle, his girlfriend, some time back, and she hadn't remembered the boy she’d been in love with, you'd been thinking of peter regularly. even if you had made him up in your mind, it had just flooded your chest with such profound sadness, that you had decided at least you would remember him, whether it would matter to him or not.

and, he was real, he was spiderman. and he’d been so lonely. graveyards had become his only sanctuary, teenage diaries and late night messages had been buried next to the corpses of anyone who'd ever taken care of him, and he did not know their hiding spots. he just wandered around graves, knowing they were somewhere under his feet, to stay there forever. if he tried to dig them out, he would be swallowed up by lava, dooming the rest of the world to a volcanic apocalypse.

it seemed like volcanos had already been erupting behind his eyes, in his lungs. the peter you remembered used to be a jolly kid.

your head perked up as you heard your doorbell ring, and quickly rushed to open the door. a smiling peter greeted you, clothing changed. he looked more put-together than he had in the morning; a clean shirt under a black jacket and denim pants, not the baggy sweats he had on before.

you welcomed him inside, and brought him to sit on your couch, in the living room.

“are you all right?” you asked, “does anywhere hurt? do you need anything?”

he hesitated for a moment, a little surprised. “no, no- it’s fine. i didn’t fight anyone, so didn’t really get injured… much. it’s fine. i took care of it.”

you looked at him in silence for a few seconds, thinking. “liar,” you said.

“what?” he said in low voice, sounding worried. did he think he’d messed up somehow?

“you gave me your word that you would come straight to me, instead you took your sweet time tending to your injuries and changing your outift? you showered too, didn’t you?”

“i… i-” he quickly started talking, and then stopped to think. that was fine, he didn’t need to rush a response, never with you. he would learn that you’d always wait for him patiently. with time, he’d become more comfortable. you assumed this must be… somewhat of an uncomfortable experience for him, after being alone for so long. “i thought-”

he didn’t know what to say, you supposed.

“did i sound mad? i’m sorry. i was just worried. i.. uh, i’d wanted to help you with your injuries and stuff, too,” you weren’t exactly used to these kinds of conversations either. “since you’re not alone anymore… and all.”

“oh…” was all he could say.

“i mean, i’m glad you’re okay, and you look great, and i don’t mind that you had some alone time before coming and all, but you could, uh, if you want to, just come straight to me as well. after a fight or whatever. and you can take care of… your stuff here,” you forced the words out, you had to take these kinds of initiatives, if you wanted to have a closer relationship with him. because he wouldn’t impose anything on you. “if you want to, of course,” you added.

“i… thank you, i would, uh, yeah,” he said. you supposed that was a positive answer.

“so, what happened?”

he recounted the fire and the struggles in detail, how he saved the people trapped, how he had to deal with the authorities after him, how he got injured (only a little, he emphasized), and then how he went home to wear something better to come back to you. he’d wanted to rid the smell of ash and soot off his skin.

“i got tired just listening to you,” you said.

he chuckled slightly, “ah, yeah, things like this happen sometimes.”

“would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“no, no. not necessary, thank you,” he said quickly, raising his hands.

“okay, just tell me if you need anything.”

“all right, thanks… again,” he had a beautiful smile, but it looked like guilt had mixed into his skin, stopping him from smiling fully, with his eyes, or eyebrows. you wanted to tell him that none of this was his fault, he wasn’t responsible for the cruelty of others, he wasn’t at fault for being a victim. his aunt hadn’t died because he’d shown mercy, he was just being humane, the fault lied solely with the… whichever supernatural freak had done that, it was getting harder to keep track of them now. and the spell hadn’t gone wrong because of him, couldn’t doctor strange tell that he obviously wouldn’t want his own family to forget him? why wouldn’t he automatically add that to the spell? and the second time? surely he could’ve just kept two people out of his spell. none of it was his fault.

but you couldn’t bring yourself to, you didn’t want to push too hard, or overstep your bounds. peter didn’t know you, not really. you assumed he must be happy that someone remembered him, but you wouldn’t be too surprised if he had forgotten you.

why had you remembered? you weren't magical, as far as you knew, so what had gone wrong? wasn't this... somewhat bad news? if you remembered, could it be possible that someone evil might, too? you didn't know, you supposed maybe you should try to ask doctor strange, somehow.

after a while of silence, you decided telling him how you feel, being straightforward, should be better than leaving thoughts to go back and forth in your head, bothering you. “peter,” you started, “i know what kind of a person you are for the most part. i know that you have a good heart, and you’re loyal, and honest. i… don’t doubt that you’ll be a good friend, that’s why i can be… this comfortable with you. i know, because i’ve been able observe you quite well until now.”

he was listening to you, eyes getting wider and smile dropping slowly, as you went on.

“i also know that you don’t really know me as well, so i’ll have to prove my character to you, in the way that you’ve already proven yours,” you quickly added, which was the point you’d wanted to make. “so, uh, i just wanted to say that… is the reason why i would like to be… good friends with you, even though we didn’t interact much back then. telling you just in case… you were wondering.”

he gave you a shy smile. "thank you," he said, occasionally glancing away.

then a small chuckle escaped his lip. “all i’ve been doing the whole day has been thanking you."

you giggled in return, "i thank you as well."

"for what? i haven't done anything."

"for saving this city and the world over and over again."

his expression turned serious, thoughtful. "i just do what i should. it’s my responsibility."

you leaned back on the couch, observing him. was it? did he really have to do what he did? he didn't have to, no one had to do anything. but it was right that he did. you supposed, being able to help people did mean you should, would it be wrong if he didn't interfere?

"what are you thinking?" he asked.

you hummed. "i think you are right, but then it's our responsibility to be grateful, and to help you in any way we can, even if that's just emotional support." you looked into his eyes carefully, "you've been doing your duty, but most others in the city haven't."

"that's all right," he said. "i don't expect anything. i don't do this to get anything in return."

"well," you started, "you can expect things from me, and feel free to let me know."

the shy smile returned to his face, "thank you again," he said. "you as well," he hastily added, raising his eyebrows while gesturing at you.

you were glad he seemed to be in a better mood now, compared to this morning. he was more put together, and somewhat more confident. you assumed having more time to process your situation must've helped.

the two of you talked for around another hour, peter got more talkative as you went on, and by the end, he was the only one talking. he'd started to tell you all about the various villains he'd been fighting, and you were very interested; you enjoyed listening to him.

but the time was getting closer to two in the morning, and you were having to fight your own eyelids to keep yourself from dropping to the floor right at that moment.

peter stopped abruptly mid-sentence, looking at you concerned. "oh," he started "i'm sorry, it's really late, i talked too much."

"no, no," you said, shaking your hand, "i really want to know about all of these things. let's continue tomorrow?"

"okay, sure," he said, smiling. "i'll get going now, and uh, see you tomorrow."

"get going? i could arrange my living room for you, if you'd like to stay the night? should you be alone when you're injured?"

"i don't want to bother you," he said as he stood up. “it’s fine, this isn't really all that bad, I've had much worse."

"okay, but call me if anything happens. i'll be more upset if you don't," you said as you followed him to the door.

"i will. you call me too," he said, having gotten out, wearing his shoes.

"deal."

“good night."

"good night."

and he was gone.

and you were so sleepy that you could fall asleep standing there. as you made your way to your bed, you decided to go over today's events tomorrow, when your braincells wouldn’t be forming a union to counter your abuse.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

peter opened his curtains to look outside, as soon as he managed to get out of his bed.

the sun was shining down on him, bathing his room and face in its light. he opened the window, and took a deep breath in. the air had the beautiful smell of rain, still lingering, left from yesterday.

he leaned on his window, and for the first time in forever, a smile graced his lips for the sun, for the day ahead of him.

he wanted to put on his spiderman suit and swing around in the city, not out of obligation or because he didn’t have anything else to do; he had an unfamiliar motivation in him to do something with his day.

so he did. he quickly got ready for the day, and all the steps felt less intimidating today. even brushing his teeth had become a tiring chore. he'd supposed it must've been because he was so tired all the time, but today, it had been easier, all of it. even breathing.

and it wasn't like he'd gotten more sleep than usual, either. sleeping was something out of routine for peter. sometimes he could only get a few hours at night, having to be spiderman. sometimes he would stare at the ceiling, unable to drift off to sleep. sometimes he would end up sleeping for more than ten hours, not wanting to get out of his bed, forcefully scraping his body off of it with a mental spatula, skin tearing apart from muscle, using every bit of his willpower. but, no matter which scenario happened to play out, peter would never feel rested.

he got mad at himself sometimes. for sleeping. or not sleeping. surely none of this was supposed to be this hard, everyone always did them just fine. so why was he like this? what was wrong with him?

he shook his head, getting out of his window as spiderman, and started wandering new york from the tops of buildings. not today, though. today he felt rested. and like something good could happen, strangely. and his chest could host the air he breathed in, unlike any day he could remember in months. he hadn't realised how air had been refusing to get into his lungs, until it finally did today.

he watched people walking towards their destinations without looking anywhere else. the streets of new york were always overfilled with motion and a million faces, and no one stopped to look at one another.

how had you seen him, yesterday? were you looking? were you always looking at people? were you searching for someone, something?

clouds had poured more rain on the city at night, and towards the morning. it was almost as if they had only stopped momentarily for the fire in the building to spread.

peter had gone to his apartment as soon as he was done rescuing civillians from the fire. he'd wanted to wear something nice, look cleaner for you. he was sort of embarrassed that your first meeting had been when he looked... less than ideal, let's say.

while showering, he'd spaced out, and ended up thinking for almost an hour. mostly about you.

he'd tried to remember everything about you, any kind of clue about your exceptional situation, but there was nothing. you used to mostly keep to yourself, peter hadn't even interacted with you all that much.

despite that, you'd been so accepting of him so quickly yesterday. he had wondered why, before you explained that you… knew him.

not only remembered, you knew him. not completely, but enough to trust. his heart fluttered in his chest, making a gentle movement for the first time since the last time he'd been called peter by anyone at all. thinking about your words excited him, energized him, made him move faster,

you wanted to get closer. you offered to patch up his wounds. you weren't afraid or displeased. you wanted to be close. his friend.

he would call you around noon, he'd decided. he'd kept you up quite late and didn't know when you would wake up. then maybe you could meet up this evening. outside, perhaps? he could take you to... he would come up with some ideas, by then.

he stopped and perched on top of a building, examining the back alleys. he knew the way to your house from where he was, he was really looking forward to seeing you again. was that why waking up had been easier today?

he shook his head and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day, and the task in front of him. he needed to focus, do his job. he would get to see you when the time came for it. you would respect him more for his service, anyway... or at least he hoped so.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

the the sun had just started setting, the orange hue of dusk hadn't settled in the sky yet. you were sitting on the stairs at the entrance of your apartment building. the ground was still wet, but the upper part of the stairs had been protected from yesterday's rain thanks to the architecture of the building. you would just need to dust off its filth once you stood up.

peter was supposed to come any minute now, he'd called you around noon and asked if you'd like to meet up this evening, and he could take you to see some places. you had started preparing some hours ago. you hadn't known what to wear, or what he had in mind, and had been too nervous to feel completely good about an outfit. you didn’t want to mess this up. at last, you'd just decided to get out of your house and wait. sitting on cold stairs. you were beginning to regret your choices slowly.

“hi,” appeared a head suddenly in front of your nose, making you yelp in surprise and slide backwards on the stairs. you put your hand on your mouth, wide-eyed, and finally processed what the dangling head in red was: peter. he was hanging from your building, held by his web, upside down, in his spiderman suit. he wouldn’t be as instantly recognizable from afar, as he was wearing a jacket, pants, and sneakers on his suit. it looked good.

“sorry,” he said, landing next to you, but not moving towards you. “sorry,” he repeated quickly. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“my goodness, peter,” you said, exhaling a deep breath. “no, sorry, spiderman.”

he chuckled lightly. “did i make you wait too much? sorry about that, too.”

“no, no, you are…” you looked at your watch, “right on time, actually.”

“uh,” he started, then hesitated for a moment before taking out a piece of cloth… no, a mask from the pocket of his jacket. “this should be really comfortable, i brought it in case you wanted to, you know, keep your identity hidden.”

“oh, you will stay in your spiderman costume?” you asked, taking the mask, and putting your hand in it so see what it looked like.

“yeah,” he said, “i can’t do what i want to do with you without my suit.”

you looked at him questioningly, “what is it that you want to do with me, peter?” you asked with mock seriousness.

he made a low-volume laughing sound. “i was planning on carrying you in the sky with me. if that’s okay.” he raised his hands in hurry, “it’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. just… i just thought you might like it, is all.”

you looked at the mask, and swiftly wore it. fixing it on your face, you looked at peter. “how do i look?” you asked.

“wait, let me help,” he said as he came closer to you, and fixed the back of the mask.

“thank you.”

so peter took you to the skies.

you held onto him like your life depended on it (it did), arms wrapped around his shoulders. his movements in the air were fast and sharp, the wind felt like a slap to the face at points. yet, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear, if anything, excitement and joy would be descriptive of your feelings. peter had a strong grip on you, somehow, you trusted that without doubt, he would never drop you.

──────

he had taken and placed you on top of a skyscraper, with a view of busy streets and the decorated balconies of shorter buildings. having ascended on the city as rain yesterday, clouds in the sky had thinned, and the atmosphere was clear. the sun was half gone by now, and all your gaze rested upon was dusk-touched; bathed in the burning scarlett of the sun’s farewell.

you smiled, looking over at the city. the wind was caressing your face gently, and breathing had become easier since seeing peter. being where you stood now, it felt freeing.

“this is amazing.” you glanced at peter briefly, and saw he’d been looking at you.

“i’m glad you like it,” he said, then joined you in gazing towards the horizon.

──────

you’d been sitting where peter had caried you to, on top of the skyscraper, for a while now. topics chased each other with ease, built onto each other, and you ended up talking about things you’d never told anyone before. but peter listened, contributed, he seemed truly interested, and then he outclassed your yapping, so words ended up spilling out of your mouth naturally.

“my favorite tree is willow, actually. i love willows, they are so pretty, they have leaves like drapes. they look magical," you said, adding onto the conversation that you’d ended up talking about because… the city layout, then parks, then trees, then if many people have favorite kinds of trees, then his being olive trees…

he looked into your eyes carefully, like you'd said something that struck a cord, something he'd considered before.

"really?" he asked, then turned his gaze towards the city again, eyebrows laying heavier, eyes looking below. "willows look hunched," he said, "they look weary."

was he hunched? had he grown tired? was he trying to tell you that was how he saw the world now? hunched, instead of magical?

"hmm, " you thought for a moment, "do you know why willows are hunched?"

he looked at you questioningly. "no?"

"i've been told a story from someone who'd been told a story; there once was a willow next to a lake. you know how willows like wetlands. and there once was a child sweet as a sugar beet, yet did not know how to swim. choose one day from the countless days the old willow had seen, the sweet child fell into the lake right next to its roots, he couldn't stay on the surface, so he asked the willow for help. the willow bowed its leaves as fast as it could, to offer a branch to hold onto, but it was too slow, and the leaves touched the water too late. after that day, the willow's leaves never rose again. word spread to every willow with time, and they lowered their branches one by one, so if a child were ever drowning, they would never be too late."

he was still looking down, but his expression had changed lightly. his brows were slightly tented, his eyes seemed watery. you studied him, it looked like the story had touched him; he was quietly in thought.

was he a willow? had he failed to save a drowning child? had he been hunched?

had he realized being hunched didn't have to be ugly?

"stories are great," you said, not to fill the silence, but because you now felt comfortable enough to share your thoughts with him. "they can verbalize things you keep in your head, and make you realize; oh, someone else thought the same thing back when who knows how many years ago, and i’m not the only one."

he nodded after another moment of silence. "that was a beautiful story," he said, looking at you, "do you know many like it?"

"short tales like these? not many. i generally read novels."

"maybe i should start too."

you perked up. "you could!" you said, voice coming out too excited for your liking, "i'll lend you some."

"okay," he said, smiling in his usual, reserved way, "thank you."

poor, innocent peter. he had no idea what he'd just signed up for, basically accepting to be subjected to a reader's propaganda of their favorite books.

"i should be thanking you," you responded, "for bringing me here."

the sun had fully gone down, no traces of orange left in the sky, although it hadn't gotten fully dark yet. the moon could be seen, finally getting out of the sun's shadow. or more so, light. too bright for anything else to stay visible near it, yet nothing on earth would be visible without its light, including the moon.

you looked down at the ant-sized citizens of new york, ever-moving, flowing like a river. the wind was caressing your face, chilly, up here was colder than down below, yet it didn't feel as hostile.

"i used to really like it," he said while nodding, a half-smile left on his face from your previous conversation, and perhaps memories of years gone.

"sitting atop buildings?"

"yeah. sitting or swinging or... just height."

"it is kind of freeing."

"and just... you know, a different kind of perspective."

"yeah, i get it," you said, looking at your ant subjects, "why don't you like it anymore?"

he seemed to search for words for a moment, looking around. and then shrugged. "i guess i just... don't really like things anymore."

you sighed, nodding. "well, it's a miracle that you liked my below-average vegetable soup, then."

"it was very much above average!"

"as i said, a miracle."

"why am i having to defend my tastes in the middle of a date right now?"

he stopped abruptly, his smile fading, eyes widening. "i mean!" he quickly scrambled to fix his mistake, "not like- not a date like a date date, you know, i was just saying... just-"

was this a time for you to interrupt? he didn't seem like he wanted to finish that sentence.

"i know," you said, chuckling, "don't worry. i'm also really glad we're doing this. take me soaring the skies more often."

"i wouldn't necessarily call it soaring."

"well, whatever it was."

and then, once again, hours chased one another, carrying your long-winded conversation back and forth, and the deep black of night had fallen on the two of you like a blanket.

peter was sweet, it was like honey dripped from his lips; you hadn't found a conversation so enjoyable in years. you were glad he'd opened up more, back in high school, you had no idea he was so talkative.

you had brought a homemade meal with yourself, considering how much he'd appreciated that yesterday. and you’d shared it over the hours you’d spent together.

peter seemed to relax more and more around you, smile actually coming naturally to his face now, dangling his feet with comfortable, quiet joy.

“ah,” he said at some point, “this is… somewhat hard.”

“what is?”

he thought on it for a moment. “no, nothing. forget i said anything.”

“nooo,” you grabbed his arm and slightly shook him, “i’m curious now!”

he chuckled, “no, it’s embarrassing.”

“peter, listen to me,” you started with mock seriousness, “whatever it is, it cannot be as embarrassing as my cringeworthy memories, so i won’t even register it as embarrassing.”

“okay,” he said after a short silence, “i guess… i guess i got used to being alone too much, now i find it kind of hard to… be known, i guess. it leaves me with a kind of anxiety.”

“it wasn’t like that before?”

“no,” he turned his gaze to the city, “i don’t remember it being like this.”

you hummed, nodding your head. you were going to tell him that you understood, that you felt similarly occasionally, that it was normal, but he kept going before you could.

“at least, the bad parts.”

“what bad parts?”

“you know, my mistakes and flaws and other such things,” he took a deep breath before continuing. “i told you everything but… i wish you didn’t know some of it, now.”

you studied his face; he definitely looked more youthful, like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him anymore. like he could put his burden down for a moment, take a break. peter didn’t seem like a person who would have a hard time being vulnarable, or being known, but pain did change people. was it just being alone, or being alone with what he thought were his mistakes, scenes repeating over and over in his head as he stared at empty walls, with no one to talk to?

“i like you as you are,” you said, “with your mistakes and flaws; that’s being human, and you’re not lesser for any of it. not objectively, and not in my eyes.”

he was looking into your eyes now, he’d become more comfortable resting his gaze upon yours; you found it comforting, you tried to make him feel the same.

“isn’t that the part of being known that matters?” you asked. “knowing the imperfect parts, the harder to accept parts, and accepting anyway, and loving anyway. doesn’t it make you feel better that i know you fully and like you even more for it?”

peter seemed truly lost for words, for the second time since you’d met. you’d wanted to make him feel welcome into your life, so you’d done your best to tell him things you’d wish to hear yourself, and they were the truth, but you really hoped it would come across right. he wasn’t the only one to overthink conversations.

he opened his mouth to give an answer, and then, suddenly, chaos erupted.

the thunder of a bomb going off shook the ground and the buildings around you. screams mixed into a deafening whistle of the wind that carried them as people ran away from the sound collectively, pushing each other.

peter stood up instinctively, looking towards the explosion. it had happened close enough that you’d felt the shockwave.

“what was that?” you yelled, trying to be heard over the sound, clumsily standing up next to peter, as you were quite high up. he held your arm to steady you.

“i’m not sure, but i think i know who’s responsible for it,” he said with a serious expression on his face, brows furrowed, thoughtful, voice lower than yours, but you could still hear him.

“are you going to go?”

“i have to, this is… these people are dangerous, you should go home.”

he grabbed you by your waist and brought you down to the ground in a hurry, gently placing you. “i’m sorry,” he said, “i’ll come back, uh, to your house, if that’s okay?”

“of course,” you responded, “i’ll be waiting. and don’t be sorry.”

and he dissapeared into the sky, swinging.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

peter hated villains, truly. criminals who committed heinous acts of terrorism, knew nothing but cruelty, unashamedly hurt people, kidnapped, wounded… there were so many of them, too. he kept defeating those hurting new york, and new ones kept popping up.

well, he thought he hated them, but he didn’t know how exactly he felt. he remembered a time when feelings so negative and irritating hadn’t ever been inside him, it was like they added onto each other. one would think it would get easier with time, that he would get used to repeated things. like losing… but not only had losing aunt may been harder than losing uncle ben, he was now more bitter, and more mournful over the past deaths he’d thought he’d gotten over, as well. or, how instead of growing numb to seeing horrible crimes unfold, every act of abuse and cruelty made him angrier, every time he hated… he hated more, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he was hating.

when he tried to track the target his hatred was pointing at, he saw blurry pictures. villains were a part of it, surely, but he didn’t feel a burning rage while fighting them, it was more so weariness, or disgust, mostly, he just wanted all of it to be over. he didn’t want to… ponder more on it, after that point. he had tried once, and then felt an untangible pain. he couldn’t admit it to himself, but he was afraid of what else he could find in that blur. himself? tony? aunt may? mj? new york? the world?

so the picture stayed anonymous, and he couldn’t fully direct his fury at anything, and he disliked all the villains, but could hardly muster up the energy to truly hate them. and perhaps it wasn’t in his nature, either. anger and hatred, he’d never been very good at those. was that why his heart was withering? because he couldn’t feel well? because those were all there was to feel in his life now, and he failed at it?

he felt so done with everything, currently. was he not going to be able to spend time with you uninterrupted? the conversation was going well, too. or at least he thought it was. he hoped you would agree.

back in high school, he knew you were smart, and funny, and would be a good friend if anyone could approach you, but you’d prefered to stay away from him, and he hadn’t had the courage to initiate a relationship with you, he’d found you intimidating. now getting to know you better, he wished he’d just done it, back then. but maybe not. maybe then he would lose you too.

would he lose you now, as well? he’d lost everyone, hadn’t he?

or he’d break your heart, maybe. he’d left liz, he’d left mj, he’d left ned. thrice taken, something was wrong with him.

he arrived at the site of the explosion, looking from above. the thick, suffocating hotness, the pain-filled wails of the survivors, the rubbles of the building crumbled down, his eyes searched for certain signs in between the horrors. he would first save those who couldn’t save themselves, then he would stop whoever was responsible.

as he started carrying survivors out of flames and rubble, he also started scanning everything around him carefully. a sign, a clue, a mistake on the culprit’s part… he knew who it was, he was almost sure the organization he’d been tailing down for the past few months was responsible for this. they were onto him, too, they knew.

he’d found out the position of their base was last week, a site with several factories and buildings in it, towards the border of the city, in a mostly desolate area, as it used to just be an industrialized site, but had now turned into an unpreferred place for bussiness. he’d wondered if they had something to do with that as well, but he supposed that didn’t matter much, in the grand scheme of things.

he would go there, and… and confront them. fight them. end them. something. somehow. the police were rendered useless for the most part, when it came to these underground syndicates, some were bought puppets, some were too powerless, peter knew better than to give away his knowledge now. he’d been burned enough. he would have to do it himself, and do it quick, before any other disasters struck his city.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you hadn’t gone back home, you were waiting next to a shop near the place peter had left you, looking at the exploded building from afar. you were growing more worried by the second; peter had seemed serious, and talked about a criminal organization who would bomb a whole building like it was a normal thing. was he engaged in a fight, currently? how often did things of this magnitude happen to him?

your phone buzzed, you immediately looked at the screen, it could be important in these circumstances. peter. peter was calling. he’d gone to fight, said he’d come back to you, and now was calling-

“peter?” you answered before you made any assumptions.

quick gasps cut short responded to you, and peter’s voice had taken the shape of slow, low wailing, or wheezing, or… regardless, it was obvious he was in pain.

“i…” he started, clearly having a hard time speaking, “i’m stuck. it was a trap.” he was breathless, his voice kept cracking.

“you- where?” you asked, choosing your words carefully. he was stuck. trapped. time. time was important. ask only for the information that matters right now.

“the building- that- there were people, i wanted to save them,” he was crying, it was obvious. “but i couldn’t, they are stuck too, and unconscious, some are dead. i couldn’t-” he cut his sentence short, taking quick breaths, most likely trying to keep himself awake, or too pained to continue. you understood it anyway.

“where are you, peter?”

“the building crumbled down, and it’s all rubble- but, it’s a huge- a huge, i don’t know. i’m under a heavy part, big, i can’t move it. not safely. i can’t try anything too dangerous, or the- the others might get crushed,” he managed to say in between his gasps and pained groans.

your heart sank, an awful dread dropped into the pit of your stomach. what to do now?

“i’m sorry,” he said, “i just- i didn’t know what to do, and i’d told you i’d come back, i don’t know. there is no one else i could call, i’m not- i’m sorry.”

no one else.

“don’t apologize,” you said, voice firmer, having gotten slightly angry. you weren’t angry at peter, you were angry at… at the reason why peter was hurt. it had only been two days since you’d truly gotten to know him, and you wanted to scream into a void at the top of your lungs already.

you started walking towards the road, looking for a taxi, or you would call one. the initial chaos had subsided, but now people wanting to immediately go back home around you had taken its place, taxis were working, you just didn’t know how fast you could go to wherever peter was.

“send me your location or describe where you are,” you said.

you could only hear his gasps for a moment. “no,” he said, “no, no, i don’t want you to come, that’s not why i-” his breath hitched, he started coughing.

your eyes had gotten teary, you blinked harshly a few times to get rid of the blurriness. would a bicycle be faster? a… motorcycle, perhaps? you started looking around to see any unclaimed ones, you could maybe pay someone-

“i’ll come either way, i’ll help you,” you said, as you started walking towards the site of the explosion, you thought finding an abandoned vehicle might be easier there… maybe even one that no longer had an owner. maybe even a gun. “send your location or i will go into the flames and try to find a clue.”

another pause.

“okay,” he said, exhaling in pain, “but be careful, run away the moment you see anyone dangerous. okay?”

“all right.”

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

it had been a long while since peter had been in such peril, had he underestimated his opponents? had he been too rash, reckless? it was highly unlikely that his street-level work would be as dangerous as the avengers-level threats, and he’d survived those, hadn’t he? so why was he crying now?

when he’d arrived at the site, and looked around a little, he’d found people, kidnapping victims, being sent to somewhere. he’d thought he’d needed to act fast to save them, but he’d fallen into a trap. not a trap specifically set for him; it more so looked like a last resort to cover up their traces while killing anyone at their tail, just destroying the building with evidence and their enemies in it. peter was just one person though, was that enough for them, or had they not bothered to check?

he didn’t know where exactly he was wounded under the rubble, everything was hurting. somewhere on his abdomen, he assumed, and legs, they were stinging like a thousand needles were sinking into his flesh at the same time.

he sighed, putting his forehead on the fallen stone in front of him.

he hated himself. that was it, yeah. that was the true target of his hatred. more than anything else. he realised so when he admitted it to himself; hating had suddenly gotten much easier, much deeper.

he’d just killed the last person on earth who knew him. why had he called you, anyway? he should’ve just… done as he always did before meeting you, deal with it himself. or die. the world wouldn’t lose much if he did, there was no one to mourn him. well, maybe you could get a little sad, but it wasn’t like you were particularly close to him, you’d never really been friends before. and you had a life, other people around you, you had no reason to hold onto him like he did you. so why were you even coming? why would you do this to him?

he killed everyone around himself. he would kill you. he would kill you. he would lose you.

no, no, stop. you could survive this, right? sinking into despair had never been helpful. he would need to stay sharp for you. he would… you could survive this much, right? and then he would never see you again. he would block your number, and… good thing he hadn’t brought you to his apartment.

he’d been so selfish, thinking only of himself, the happiness he felt at being remembered. what was he thinking? he should’ve never talked to you. he should’ve told you to raise your umbrella and go home without getting wet. he’d been erased from existence for a reason, hadn’t he? had he forgotten why he hadn’t gone back to mj and ned? how could he do this? how could he keep doing this? why did he never learn from his mistakes?

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you were breathless, having ridden a bicycle (that you really had managed to find abandoned next to the explosion) until a point where traffic wasn’t jammed, then taken a taxi to the point where the driver would be willing to drive to, then ran until you could see the eerie factory site peter had told you about. you’d stopped to catch your breath briefly, your throat was hurting, sweat was coming down on your face like rain had been on the morning you’d grabbed peter’s arm. you put your hand on the right of your abdomen, you had a bad case of side stitch pain. you were holding a metal pipe in your other hand, you hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble upon a gun lying around, unfortunately. you had wanted to find a shield of some sort, but the blown off car bits were mostly too heavy, and couldn’t be carried on a bicycle.

there it was, the area of a dangerous mafia organization. how many cameras were there? you wore the mask peter had given to you, even though you really didn’t want to when you needed so much air.

you could see the remnants of a big dust storm behind a few buildings, you would need to get closer to truly figure it out, but you assumed you could go towards that direction to find peter. your heart was drumming against your chest, your fingertips had suddenly gone cold. a tiny portion of it was because of your previous marathon, mostly your nervousness and… fear were the cause.

but you had to do this. there was simply no other choice. someone needed to save peter, and the authorities wouldn’t do it, and the heroes wouldn’t do it, and you were there already. so you got a move on.

you mostly walked behind walls and next to corners, nervous about being seen and shot dead on the spot before you could even get into the mafia’s base. you reached… a chain-link fence, surrounding the complex.

“NO TRESSPASSING” the sign on the fence read, “PRIVATE PROPERTY”.

well, you’d already stolen a bicycle.

you took a shaky breath, and put your foot into one of the chains. you’d never climbed over a chain-link fence before, but everything had a first time, right? so you gripped the chains for dear life, and although you probably looked ridiculous and unnatural doing it, managed to climb to the other side. you did scratch a few places on your legs and hands, but it was mostly a success.

now you needed to sneak deeper into the complex, somehow.

you walked half-crouched down, mostly next to walls, looking around yourself nervously, yet as fast as you could. as you got closer to the collapsed building, you started hearing screams, and gunshots. there was a commotion going on somewhere close to you, was it the kidnapped people? the ones peter had been able to save, the ones who’d gotten out? you stopped where you were and pressed your back to the building next to you, where did you go from here? where were the gun noises coming from? what did you need to do to avoid that, yet still reach peter?

your hands had started shaking, would it be possible to find an abandoned gun as you walked closer? it would be so easy for them to kill you.

you'd only managed to make a few turns from that point before you were caught. by a man with a gun in his hand.

"look at that," he said, as he pointed the gun at you. “it seems a little mouse sneaked in, in this chaos."

you stopped, completely frozen. your heart was beating in your throat, your hands were trembling, you'd forgotten how to breathe. you'd never been so fear-stricken in your life.

what could you do? one shot and you would be dead, what could you do with the metal pipe in your hand? you couldn't look away from the man to see what else you could use.

he started walking towards you slowly, saying things that would only distract you and make you more nervous if you focused on them, so you blocked them out.

he was clearly enjoying cornering you like a prey animal, that must have been why he was walking closer to you; to scare you. you fought against your urge to back away, to protect a distance between you two; you had a metal pipe. a gun was a long-range weapon, being closer might make it harder to run away, but would make it easier to fight back, and running away in this situation would do you no good. if he missed the first time, he would get you in the second. so you forcefully nailed your feet to the ground, ignored the alarms setting off in your mind, and tried to prepare yourself for a confrontation. your legs were trembling; you hoped the man would just think you'd frozen in fear.

he came close enough to put the gun to your head, just an arm's length of a distance between you. “you can't run even when the gun is in your face?” he asked mockingly.

would begging work? would it keep you alive long enough to catch an opening?

you would die. you would die.

you hadn't opened your mouth to form a single sentence since this man had found you, and you didn't think you could now. one wrong word and it would be over. you needed to act.

was there anyone else around? why was he alone? had you lucked out, somehow? they weren't going to take you into custody, you were a transgresser, they were going to kill you. you assumed this man had stumbled into you coincidentally in the ruckus, and hadn't felt the need to call for reinforcements. even if there were others in places you couldn't see, you had no choice but to act now.

the gun's tip was touching your forehead. seconds. i must act in seconds. by bending your knees, you ducked your head faster than he could process what happened and pull the trigger, and while ducking, swung the pipe in your hand as fast as you could, with as much force behind it as you could muster, and hit him in the groin.

you immediately made a move to get behind him while he buckled over; there was no running away from someone with a gun.

should you hold his hand with the gun, or hit it with your pipe? he was turning his face towards you, and would shoot you the moment he got a good view.

no, you’d taken too much time to think, and he’d already directed the gun at you, pulling the trigger. you immediately hit his hand with your pipe. the shot wasn't completely wasted, however, and grazed your leg.

you screamed in pain.

he reached for you with his other hand, grabbing your hair.

no time.

you gripped your pipe with all your strength, and hit his hand again while he was yanking your hair. and then kept hitting his hand, lest he direct the gun at you again. one, two, three, four, five— he kicked your leg. you buckled over in pain as he put your head to the ground, your hair still entangled in his hand. he was saying something, eyes bulging, looking very mad, but you weren’t proccessing any of it. your ears were still ringing because of the gunshot, and the pain in your leg was so powerful that you couldn't focus on anything. it was as if endless knives were constantly stabbing you. it was unbearable.

his hands were occupied with your head and the gun, you were nowhere near strong enough to set free from his grip, but he'd forgotten you were still holding onto the pipe. or maybe he'd just thought you'd be in too much pain to use it now. or maybe he just hadn't had the time to do something about that yet, everything was happering in seconds.

you swung it again in one last, reckless effort to fight back, and hit his head. the momentum tossed him to the side while taking you with him as he hadn't let go of your hair. before he could turn to face you back, you hit his head again, with all your might. he let go of your hair while balancing himself with his other hand, and hit you across the face before you could land your third hit, but you planted yourself to the ground, and landed another hit anyway. his head was bleeding, and he was clearly distraught.

what now? a few seconds. this had given you a few seconds of decision time. what now? should you keep hitting him? take the gun, somehow? how could you get rid of him?

you tried to move reflexively, to get away. but your leg was done for, you couldn’t get up. no. no. you couldn't move.

your heart was going to burst out of your chest, your nerves were completely wrecked; you couldn’t get up.

what, then? did you have to… kill? you were going to throw up. your hands started trembling even more violently. you couldn't. you just couldn't.

you wished you could yell for help. but you were supposed to be the help. it was as it had always been before, pick yourself up and dust yourself off.

no time to think.

you hit his head again, and when he flailed, this time you put his head to the ground, climbing on top of him, twisting his gun-holding arm under his body. now… now you could... how could you stop him? if you managed to take the gun, and told him to stay put until you could run away... you couldn't move, though. you couldn't even properly restrain him because you were having to drag one leg. the concussion he had was doing most of the heavy lifting.

an idea did come up in your mind. you supposed you had no other choice.

──────

you were lying on the floor, your back towards the sky. you’d left your unconscious attacker where he was lying, and managed to drag yourself for a few centimeters before you’d stopped, and leaned your forehead against the ground. you needed to get away, you knew. at least near a wall, somewhere you wouldn’t be seen so clearly, but your leg was hurting too much to use.

you couldn’t raise your head, and just started sobbing openly. you’d already been crying, but trying to hold back, keep quiet. you needed to sit up, and look at how bad the wound was, and how much blood you’d lost. the pain was all you could think about, your head was hurting from stress and forcing yourself to think through the pain, your eyes and throat were hurting from crying (and maybe also sleep-deprivation, as time was diving deeper into the night), your face was hurting from the hit you’d taken, and yet, nothing could be compared to the pain you felt in your leg. you wanted to take off your mask, it was suffocating enough even without it, but any cameras catching your face would be more of a disaster long term.

you took a deep breath, and put your hands on the ground. you pushed yourself up while shaking, and turned around. you looked at your leg, and immediately regretted it. it was bleeding a lot, and your flesh had been ripped apart. you didn’t know what to do, there was no one you could call.

you took out your phone from your pocket, and found peter’s number. you really didn’t want to, but you had no other choice.

peter answered by calling out your name questioningly, his voice came across better than last time; it still did sound like he was in pain, but he was calmer.

“peter,” you said, failing to sound like you weren’t crying. “a guy shot me. my leg is hurt.”

“a- what? where are you?”

“i’m near the collapsed building you should be in.”

“i- i-”

you took a second to breathe. “no, no, i… i just don’t know what to do,” you said, sniffling and gasping, “i can’t get up. i, uh, should i wrap something around my leg?”

“yeah,” he said, “a piece of cloth until you can get out, how close are you to the exit? you should call an ambulance or a taxi or—” he also had to stop to take a breath in pain, “i don’t know— i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”

“what are you sorry for? it’s the fault of this piece of— well, garbage. at least i have a gun now.”

“who was it? is he still there?”

“i don’t know, some random guy. he’s unconscious.”

“… how?”

“well, i… kind of strangled him? he was,” you huffed, “he fainted because he couldn’t breathe, he’s alive though. i did hit his head a few times, i don’t know how that bodes for him.”

“probably not well,” he said, now with a hint of surprise and amusement in his voice, “you, uh, you did well. very well.”

“huh, thank you.”

good, this was good, hearing peter’s voice had been good for you. you pushed yourself up somehow, and sat up straight.

“what happened?” he asked, “why is the pain worsening?” probably because of your increasing groans.

“i was trying to sit up. i need to find a piece of cloth.”

you looked around, and decided to take anything you could from the man who attacked you. you went through his pockets, and sure enough, found a knife. you cut a piece off of his shirt, and used it as bandage.

“how tight should it be?”

“you should be able to slide a finger under it.”

next, you needed to drag yourself away from the middle of the road, to somewhere you could hide—

no.

no, that wasn’t why you were here.

“how are you doing, peter?” you asked, but couldn’t add that you would be there soon.

“i’m…” he started, but drifted off. and then you heard silent sobbing. “i’m sorry,” he said.

“you have nothing to apologize for.”

“no, it’s all my fault. i never should’ve dragged you into this mess.”

“you didn’t drag me into anything, i stole a bike and ran a marathon to get to you,” you’d sounded firmer now, although still couldn’t stop your crying; the pain just wasn’t getting any better.

“i let you down along with everyone else,” he wasn’t listening to you, “and i don’t know what to do, i can’t come to you, i don’t know how to get you out,” his voice had gotten frantic again.

you sighed, trying to get your sobbing under control, and think of a reply. was it his fault? no, you were certain it wasn’t. had he let you down? no, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. should he stay away from you? were you afraid of pain or death? would you rather live a more stress-free life than stay with peter?

you closed your eyes to let the tears roll down your cheeks as the realisation that you couldn’t immediately say “no” set in, you felt betrayed by yourself. you’d thought about this, yesterday… or two days ago, you supposed, as it was past midnight. he’d told you everything, so you knew the risks, and you’d thought about it. you’d decided it would be fine; worrying for his safety or being at risk yourself. and if you got injured, then you could handle some pain. and if you died, well… there was no getting ahead of death. if you died, that would mean your time had come.

so where had your conviction gone to? had the pain been too much, after all? it was the pain, the stabbing sensation was making your brain foggy, demanding all the attention be on it. you hated it, you hated everything. you were mad at yourself; why couldn’t you just be better?

“peter,” you cut him off, “i know i can’t understand you fully, but i get it,” you’d decided to just ramble. you couldn’t come up with the perfect answer to make his worries disappear, so you would just… tell him whatever was going through your mind.

“i lay awake some nights, randomly afraid of the dark. then i curl up under my blanket, and try to comfort myself. because there is no one to lie next to me. i look out from my window and see grey walls. i look up at night and see no stars. i walk outside and hundreds of people just walk past me without even looking at my face, and i don’t remember any of theirs the next hour. all i hear all day are the honks of cars, and depressing news. abuse. crime. kid died. alone person went missing. don’t go out at night. don’t talk to anyone. there is no one anyway, who would i talk to?” you paused to sniffle again, and catch your breath.

“i come home and say ‘hello’ to emptiness and darkness, i turn on the lights myself, then think about what i’ll eat. and i don’t properly eat most days, because i just don’t want to prepare something only for myself. yesterday, i was so happy you liked the food i made, i wanted to cook something for the first time in months while waiting for you,” words were just coming out of your mouth without restraint now, was it the sleep deprivation?

“in high school, i used to watch you and your friends, and wish i could find someone who would be in sync with me too. i used to wish i had a reason or an excuse to join in when i saw you three laugh or talk. i go to university now, and i attend lectures, and i make small talk with a few people, and then i drown in my own thoughts the whole day. i tell myself that i’m fine by myself, but i feel like my soul is getting thinner by the day, looking at walls. is it just me, or is everyone just disconnected now, i don’t know.”

you finally stopped, and let silence stretch after your words. your crying had gotten worse as the suffocation of your life had built up enough to rush out of you; you didn’t cry much, not really. sure, you sometimes shed silent tears, sitting by yourself on your couch, but normally, you just kept going without thinking much about it. you had your exams, and job, and volunteer work, and projects to worry about, so pitying yourself was at the bottom of your to-do list. but now? you were crying waterfalls. was it because you’d finally found someone to tell what you were really thinking? no, it was probably because of the pain you were already in.

peter didn’t answer, for a long while, it was just silence.

“you were right,” you said, “being known with your negative sides sucks.”

“no,” he said, “you were right. i’m glad to know you as you are.”

he didn’t sound good. he didn’t sound good at all. you sighed in resignation, closing your eyes tightly shut to clear your view of tears. “i’m closing now, peter, wait for me,” you said, and closed the call before he could reply.

you looked at the ground, and furrowed your brows in concentration. you would get up. you had to. you had no choice. peter had called you for help. he had no one. no one else to call. no one else to save him from making a choice between death and killing innocent victims under rubble. no one else to save him from death.

you gritted your teeth, your leg hurt as the deep cut touched the bad guy’s shirt, and in some parts, the cold air of the night. the wound kept bleeding, and hurting more by the second. but you gritted your teeth anyway, through your tears and gasps for air that you had an abundance of, but your lungs refused to take in. you put your hands on the ground, and pushed yourself up, using all the strength you had.

you whimpered and groaned in many attempts to stifle your screams before they could come out, and alert whoever was close enough to hear, and managed to set your back straight. it was unbearable, the pain was holding you from the collar, trying to drag you down, making your vision red, exploding in your brain.

it’s just pain, you kept repeating to yourself, it was just a feeling, you could move through it. so you would walk now. towards peter. as quickly as possible. you needed to reach him, that was why you’d come this far, how could you let pain make you forget? it was simply unacceptable, the thought of peter dying under that rubble.

so you put one foot in front of the other, and made your way to peter through every force working against you.

──────

"peter?" you asked, trying to walk through the rubble, and then heard your name back.

"i'm here!"

you tried to reach him at least enough to see his face, as fast as you could, but it was still taking too long with your injured leg. too long for your impatience currently, anyway.

"i'll remove the victims so you can get out of there," you said as you stretched your head enough to see his face, not being able to get closer. he was... he'd taken off his mask, and he looked horrible; his eyes had become red from tears and most likely his injuries, his face was covered in dust and some drops of blood. looking at him stung your chest. "tell me where they are."

──────

peter was strong. he truly was. not only mentally; you were currently watching him lift what was essentially an entire ceiling with other pieces of rubble on it off himself, with most likely many crushing injuries. insane. he was insane. no wonder he couldn’t move with all with those unconscious people around.

you had somehow managed to move them out of his way, seven people in total, much more than you’d anticipated. how could you get them out of here now? you were injured, peter was probably in worse condition… although he did seem to be able to carry significant weight. maybe you could carry them until the exit and call an ambulance, for yourselves, too.

──────

peter walked towards you until he was a breath away, his face was covered in sweat on top of everything else, and he was gasping for air, as were you. he looked at your leg.

“i’ll carry you,” was all he said. he seemed so tired.

“we need to carry these people first.”

“no, i’ll carry you first. until you’re out of this complex.”

──────

you were sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance you had called. well, ambulances, as they’d be carrying nine people. you had, also, finally taken off the mask you’d come to despise at this point, associating it with very negative feelings.

you saw peter swing down with the last one of the survivors. he landed, placed the unconscious man on the sidewalk, and sat right next to you.

you sat together in silence for a while, until you took a deep breath, and chuckled lightly. it was over. you’d done it. everyone was alive.

peter looked at you questioningly, although it was hard to read his face; he’d turned mostly expressionless. because of how much effort it must have been taking to even stay awake for him, you assumed.

“it’s over,” you said, “we did it.”

he looked away again, to the desolate road in front of you. “you did it,” he said, “i messed up.”

“how so?”

“i acted rashly. i should’ve been more careful. now they’ll find a new base, and i have to start from nothing to track them down again. and they know i’m after them. and i couldn’t change anything in the end, i just made things worse. all of this was for nothing, it could have been completely avoided. it started with the collapse of one building and then it ended with the collapse of another for no reason.”

you were watching him carefully. lines of exhaustion had formed on his face, the sorrow and… and whatever it was that dropped a boulder of burning despair into the pit of your stomach from when you first met had come back; you’d thought the youth had somehow returned to his face this evening.

“so,” you started, taking another deep breath, “you came here after they exploded a building to stop them, like, end them in general, or at least weaken them, do something. that makes sense to me. then you acted rashly here? why?”

“i saw… the kidnapped victims, and they were suffering, so i wanted to save them.”

“then you didn’t mess up, right? you saved them.”

“not all of them, and i wouldn’t have without you.”

“well, a big majority of them, you did save. all of them would die without you. and what else could you have done but to directly interfere? you did the only thing you could.”

he just stayed silent, was he not convinced?

“i don’t think this was a failure, peter. i think you did well and saved many people, and i think it was worth it.”

his eyes were teary, but he didn’t look at you again, he turned his gaze to the ground, and just stayed silent.

──────

you had decided on what to tell the authorities before the paramedics had arrived, and then you’d been separated, put into different ambulances.

then… well, the rest was as you imagined it would go. still a lot of pain, and a lot of hasty doctors as they asked questions and barked orders. it was horrible, really, with the way your head had been aching, but at least they were numbing your leg. and you would most likely be allowed to drift off to sleep at some point, right?

──────

you lied on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. it was almost noon, and you’d waken up not so long ago. you just kept playing what happened again and again in your head, trying to make sense of every detail.

it was a miracle you were alive. you’d faced off a gun. an actual gun.

it was good that all you could do by yourself in this hospital bed was think; you’d been asking yourself the same questions for a while now. did you still want to be involved with peter? you’d known him only for two days, and you’d ended up in a hospital already.

you’d considered every outcome and every reason, every choice you could make. in the end, it boiled down to a few core options. would you rather live a less risky life by yourself, or risk getting hurt like this to be with someone? someone who can meet you as deeply as you crave?

not just that, human bonds were too important to be disregarded because of what external threats might arise. the reality now was that you loved peter, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned because of what evil people did. your choice didn’t come out of loneliness; even if you had a dozen bonds like this, you would still choose to stay with peter, because you’d formed a relationship with him now. and that was that.

out of every outcome you considered, the worst one was definitely living your life without peter, and then getting news that spiderman just died somewhere, by himself. even the thought of it was nausiating. then again, the thought of just him getting hurt like this, and having no one to go to was just as horrible. so you needed to choose the opposite of what would cause that outcome to happen.

it hadn’t been that hard a decision to make; staying involved with peter. you’d already been tangled, it wasn’t much of a possibility to untangle yourself now, a part of you would be left behind.

besides, you somehow remembered him, didn’t you? that had to mean something. there had to be a reason for it.

──────

after finally being discharged, the first thing you did was look for peter, but he’d somehow gotten out before you. not because his wounds were less severe, quite the opposite, the nurses had said he’d been restless to get out, and they couldn’t keep someone against their will.

the orange of dusk had faded away, although it wasn’t fully dark yet. you were on your way to your apartment while you kept ringing peter’s phone, he was stubbornly refusing to answer.

you huffed as another attempt turned out to be in vain. you looked at the taxi driver, who did not acknowledge your existence, and then turned back to your phone.

“peter, are you okay? is everything all right?”

you messaged him. then waited for him to see. aaand waited. still waiting.

you huffed again, three minutes of staring at your screen impatiently and he wasn’t responding.

although you’d asked him if he were okay, you knew the truth. it wasn’t that he couldn’t answer, it was that he’d decided to go through with his stupid “i’ll never see you again because i’m ruining your life” nonsense. in your heart of hearts, you knew. so you sent another message.

“if you’re thinking about cutting ties with me, then do it properly. come and talk to me about it.”

and then looked out the taxi’s window for the rest of your journey.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you were right, peter knew. after everything that happened, opening up to you and accepting you into his life, if he wanted to step away now, he needed to respect you, and tell you about it properly. so he was standing in front of your door now, trying to gather up the courage to ring your bell, and tell you he’d never see you again. this door had seemed so inviting one night ago, and it had tricked peter. he was not supposed to be invited into any house, didn’t your house know that?

he took a deep breath, and rang the bell. when you opened the door, you looked tired. not your expression, but the lines on your face and the look in your eyes gave it away. that was his fault, wasn’t it?

you stepped aside to welcome him, and he followed you into the living room, the couch he’d sat on the night he’d told you everything.

bidding you farewell was going to be hard, he didn’t know if he could be brave enough, or selfless enough. he’d been so when he had been wiped from the memories of every living being, and that was much harder a task, wasn’t it? so couldn’t he do it a second time?

but he hated waking up every day, and hated… well, he couldn’t even properly hate. getting up, putting one foot in front of the other was becoming harder every day, he didn’t want to do anything, anymore. so circumstances had changed since then, but he still kept fighting every day, and he still kept doing what he thought was right. so he could do this too.

or you would die. he’d lost enough people. to love was to lose. to love was the possibility of loss eventually.

he shouldn’t even have sat on this couch, actually, why had he done so? he should’ve just told you he was leaving, and then leave. he made a move to get up again, you grabbed his arm to stop him.

“you should stay seated,” you said, “i’ll bring something to eat for dinner.”

“please don’t, i’ll be on my way shortly anyway.”

“no,” you said as a statement, firmly, and left him alone in the living room.

peter never should’ve come. you deserved to have one last conversation, but how could peter move on from you? he supposed it would’ve been impossible even if he hadn’t come to your place today, even if he’d told you to turn back without getting wet the day you first recognized him. he would just have to live missing you forever, and that wasn’t unrealistic. it’s what he was doing now, missing everybody he’d ever known. and he was living, wasn’t he? well, he was alive.

you brought pasta with chicken, obviously freshly made, and put down two plates on the couch.

“we could eat in the kitchen,” he said.

“couch is comfier.”

he sighed, looking at his plate. he really didn’t want to eat anything made by you again, he didn’t need more things to miss. you’d said you didn’t feel like preparing a meal just for yourself, that he made you want to cook something… he remembered everything you said, of course. that you’d apparently wanted to get closer to him in high school too, why had he been so nervous? afraid?

it was for the best, though. otherwise, you might’ve died years ago. no matter what you felt, he couldn’t be selfish enough to assume he could be there for you, or good for you.

“so,” you started, “you decided to go forward with your plan of ignoring my existence for the rest of your life?”

“it’s not ignoring,” he had a defensive tone, “i was wrong to even confirm i’m peter at the start, i’ll fix my mistake.”

“it wasn’t a mistake, how can you say that? would you prefer i believed i’d lost my mind?”

you had a hard time walking now, limping although you tried to hide it, and several wounds were visible on your face. you’d beat up a man with a metal pipe, what kind of damage did that leave on your psyche? peter didn’t know, he’d been warring since he was fifteen.

“you wouldn’t be in pain, at least.”

“you’re unbelievable,” you sounded exasparated, and seemed offended, but peter didn’t know what else to say. it was the truth. “i’d rather know the bitter truth, or suffer from its consequences than believe a lie any time. besides, you couldn’t have known this would happen, it’s not on you.”

“you can’t tell me you would still get a gunshot wound yesterday if we hadn’t met two days ago.”

“maybe not, but i don’t blame you for it and i don’t care.”

“you don’t care?!” peter was getting angry, was it because you were getting angry? he was angry at himself, was it dripping out of his chest into his tongue as poison?

“no,” you backtracked, “i mean, i’m fine with it. i can live with it. and i don’t hold it against you, i don’t have any resentment for you. i don’t know how else to explain this.”

he took a deep breath to hold back his tears. he couldn’t let your words get to him, make him feel better about what had occurred. he needed to protect you, he kept reminding himself.

“i can’t put you in harm’s way,” he said.

you paused for a moment.

“do you take care of your wounds by yourself? you did so after the fire the other day, and you basically ran away from the hospital this time around.”

peter was taken aback. “uh, yeah?” he answered.

you grabbed a bag that was positioned right next to the couch on the floor, and took a… first aid kit out of it. and then a salve, and bandages, and… what was going on?

“i bought these today after being discharged, figured you might need some.”

“i’m… fine?”

your expression was very unimpressed when you looked at him.

“so you think i don’t see your arm, or the way you have a hard time eating or breathing, or even just your hands?”

ah, right. his hands were bruised, not enough to warrant bandaging though, this happened regularly. and his arm did hurt, but the pain would go away in a few days or so. his abdomen… that was taken care of, too, the dressing they did at the hospital would be enough.

“it’s all taken care of,” he said.

“we need to put salve on your hands, and then wrap-”

“we don’t, this happens all the time.”

you looked at him in surprise for a moment. “this happens all the time and we don’t need to treat it?” you repeated with your eyes wide, tone something between offended and shocked.

he didn’t know what to say, so you just started doing whatever you’d set your mind to even before he came to your house. you gently held his hand, and started applying the salve. he sighed, and closed his eyes, leaning his head to rest on the couch. he shouldn’t have, but you didn’t give him much choice.

“i’ll learn how to suture,” you said, “and anything else that’s necessary.”

peter spoke your name, “i’m sorry,” he said, “i am so, so sorry. i don’t want to leave you either, but you saw what happened. mj and ned have forgotten me, and they are happier for it. this is what i need to do.”

“peter,” you said, as you started wrapping the bandage around his hand, “i haven’t forgotten you, and if you leave now, i still won’t forget. i don’t know how mj and ned are doing, having forgotten, but you can’t compare me to them. and even if i had forgotten, i still would want to know. how else can i put this?” you searched for the words, “i care about you more than i care about happiness. i’d choose you over happiness, i’d rather be in pain with you than be painless by myself.”

peter had straightened his back, his gaze fixated on your eyes, as you spoke. a lump in his throat, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks in his eyes, his hand in your hands… a warmth in his chest, how he hadn’t felt in so long. your words did soften his edges, but he couldn’t accept it. he still held back his tears, and still wanted to escape. run away. was that why he wanted to leave you? was his true reason to protect you, or his fear? he wanted to run, he wanted to run as fast as he could and hide, from anyone who could see him.

it was too much, but he couldn’t exactly tell what was too much. he was afraid of hurting you, but that wasn’t all he was afraid of, yet he couldn’t recognize what else scared him so.

“but,” you continued, “being with you will make me happy anyway, do you understand? i’ll be happier with you than alone, even if my life is at risk, and even if guns chase my back.”

you had teared up too, peter realised, but were wiping your tears away, to keep your vision clear while working on his now other hand, he assumed.

and that was it, the last drop of water to make his glass overflow. silent tears started finding their way to his chin, his gaze lowered in embarrassment. he’d already cried a dozen times in front of you, and he wished he hadn’t, he wished he could be stronger, firmer, he wished he could aspire confidence instead of silently crying. he hadn’t been able to cry for a while, before meeting you. even when it hurt deep inside his bones, his tears had dried up. were they all spilling out now?

he wanted you to stay, too, he was tired of being alone. he was tired of imagining “what if”s. he was tired of walking directionless with his hoodie covering his face, face a blur in crowds, never known by anyone. if you could bandage his hands every time after a fight, or have your textbooks scattered around in his room, then-

he didn’t want to imagine it. he just couldn’t accept it.

you were done with his hands, even though peter didn’t want you to let go. “how about this,” you started, “why don’t we give it some more time? i mean, how many times did mj or ned get wounded while knowing you?”

“… never, really.”

“yeah, so, either i’m also cursed, or this was a rare occurrence. either way, me staying with you won’t change anything. so, instead of making a rash decision like this, why don’t we try to be friends first? and if it doesn’t work out, then you can put some distance?”

that was… peter thought on it. and then his silent tears turned into straight-up sobbing. because that could work. he could accept that, it made sense to him.

he leaned down and buried his face in his hands. you started caressing his hair, which made it impossible for his tears to stop.

when everyone had forgotten, you'd remembered him. when faced with a gun, you'd survived. when injured, you'd walked. maybe he really was cursed, considering what had happened to you after you just met, but you seemed determined to break it.

and it might not be perfect, but it would be.

it must’ve been hard for you to make such a decision, you must’ve thought about it; staying with peter. you’d chosen him anyway. he could do the same, too. despite his fears, his horrible instinct to shrink and escape, he could stand his ground, and choose to stay, as you had. and maybe with time, it could get easier.

he stopped his sobbing, calmed down enough to face you, and raised his head.

“i don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” he said with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“right,” you smiled, “exciting, isn’t it?”

ghost towns (youtube music) by radical face... as we part ways for now.