home takes the form of a physical space and our own relationships.
for clark kent, home means smallville. the place which shaped him into the well-mannered, hardworking, empathetic, and passionate man meant to change the world as both a journalist and superhero.
but home also means you. the first person who he sees when he wakes up and the last when he goes to bed. who he looks forward to hear you laugh at his silly puns. who holds him accountable when he slacks at work and throws himself into danger unnecessarily.
and after the longest month of putting his body through the ringer, clark needs to go back to the two things that always recentre him. and that means bringing you to visit smallville for the first time.
the long drive to the kent house was soothing quiet with only your playlist cutting through silence. clark is staring straight ahead on the long winding road cutting through smallville's wheat fields. he's tense and you notice. you gently place your left hand onto his lap, soothing him in the process. he gives you a gentle squeeze as a thanks before slowing down to your destination.
as you pull into the driveway, the kents wave gleefully at your presence. they pull you into a tight embrace, saying how excited they are to see you. and after helping you with your bags, you and clark are treated to ma’s homemade dinner.
slow-cooked chicken, mashed potatoes, pan-fried vegetables, corn on the cob, freshly baked apple pie –and don’t forget the strawberry lemonade. you would not be upset with gaining a few pounds with how much ma has reached your heart and stomach.
yet clark is still tense as if he is holding the whole world. he shooed off his parents from doing the dishes and clearing the table. while he’s scrubbing the pot, you sneak behind him and wrap your arms around his back.
come on babe. it’s time to go to bed.
he turns head slightly to give you the same soft smile in the car. his eyes light up at seeing you, in his childhood house, in this domestic setting.
yeah, he says with long drawl in his voice, let's.
he dries the last remaining dishes and guides you to his bedroom, a hand placed softly on your lower back. he feels comforted, safe, warm with you here. as you reach towards the bedroom door, you turn to look at him in the dimly lit hallway.
i noticed you, you whisper, you're tense. it's worrying me.
clark's hands find your waist as he slowly soothes you. he notices you are trying to keep a smile on your face but your concern for him waves over your composition. he kisses your forehead and smiles.
darling, i'm fine. y'know that's how life gets. through thick and thin right?
you smile at his response. he does have a way with his words but not enough to convince you for just this second. you noticed the twinkle in clark's eyes, almost as if you hold the same stars that he stared at growing up.
through thick and thin, babe. but just know you need to relax. let me take care of you, you turn to open the bedroom door and yourself in. clark follows behind as he still keeps his hands softly around your waist and closes the door with a little kick behind him.
you turn around in his arms once again and placed a soft kiss on clark's lips. he's receptive, moving his hands up and down again to soothe but himself this time. you place your hand on his cheek to deepen the kiss slightly, yet not intensely. clark pauses his hands on your lower back and holds you as if you were about to blow away.
clark pulls back just to look at you once again, how about we head to bed? he gives you a dopey smile, the one that made you fall in love with him. he heads towards the bed, leading you both to lie down.
you place yourself on top of clark as you straddle his hips. you begin to rub your hands up and down his chest. massage? you questioned, looks like you're in need of it. clark looks up at you and nods with a smile. you then begin to move your hands towards his shoulders as you knead them gently. calm rushes over clark's face as the tension of literally carrying the weight on his shoulders slowly fades away.
come on, turn around, you lift your body to give clark some space for him to open up his lower back. you straddle his hips again as you work your way to massage his upper back and shoulders. clark sinks further into the bed as he begins to physically relax. you slowly work your way down towards his lower back, still maintaining a level of comforting pressure. you rub out all of the tense muscles and tendons that are missed by quick stretches.
after a few minutes of massaging his back, you try to tell clark to turn around but he does not respond. you peer over to see that he fell asleep, a soft snoring falling from his lips. you laugh at the sight of him as you lift yourself off to turn off the overhead lights and join him in bed.
just as you enter the sheets, clark automatically finds your body and holds you against his chest – almost as if it is second nature. you reach to pet his hair as he likes to wind him down once more for some much needed sleep.
when the morning arrives, you hear a faint sound of clark slightly struggling to get up: darling, whatever you did with your hands, it is like a drug, good god. you laugh at his slight innuendo as you apologize for his inabilities. it's domestic. it's home, as needed for clark, and for you.
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before the attraction ferments (kiss me properly and pull me apart)
michael robinavitch has two problems: he has low alcohol tolerance. and that low alcohol tolerance turns him into an idiotic drunk if not careful.
pairing: medschool!rabbot (dr. michael "robby" robinavitch x dr. jack abbot)
song inspiration: the age of the understatement by the last shadow puppets
cw: angst, internalized homophobia, inaccurate(?) depictions of American medical school, alcohol usage, smoking, probably ooc?
disclaimer: no use of AI. do not give permission to post this anywhere else. MDNI.
author's note: the tiktok edits made me do it. the pitt fanfics made me do it. the november final assignments made me do it. my love for slow burn made me do it. the age of the understatement made me do it (and is my 2025 top song of the year). I AM ALSO DONE WITH EXAMS SO ENJOY THIS FANFIC I HAVE BEEN WRITING FOR EONS OMG!!
a cold 90s december night at the local bar near pittsburgh trauma medical center, a mixture of residents, interns, and medical students gather to celebrate the few days of break for holidays.
michael robinavitch is very certain of himself. in his childhood, he always had plan a, a1, a2, a3, and maybe a plan b if possible. he knew by his twenties, he will move out his parents' house, go into medical school, get into a relationship, and become a medical resident at PTMC. yet, there is a wrench in his plan that he did not factor in: his sexuality and the man who would be the catalyst for his questioning –jack abbot.
and that man is standing in front of him, beer in hand, with a cheery smile after he pockets another ball. "ah robby, i'm starting to think you're letting me win," jack swigs his beer. and maybe that is true, or he is too distracted by the stoic confidence jack displays when he gets competitive. michael awkwardly chuckles and scratches the back of his head, trying to get the thought out of his head.
"I get unlucky with stripes,” michael banters. jack smirks with a knowing look, “i know. however i will wager a bet with you to make things fair.” michael’s ears perked up. a classic pool game is usually competitive, but with jack abbot he would always add an extra monetary value. currently, michael is down $50 and a day shift (but who’s really counting)?
“okay, go on.”
“last pocket call, if you get your stripe in, i pay for our next round," jack swigs his beer again. maybe it was the alcohol talking, or trying to prove something to jack, but michael doesn't hear that voice that tells him this was a bad idea.
"deal," he doesn't hesitate to take the cue stick from jack and taps the corner left pocket before prepping himself to strike. jack notices that michael's stance is all wrong: his fingers aren't in the right places, he's holding the stick further away from the table-
"you're doing it wrong, let me help you," jack moves to centre his body behind michael's. he places his arm above his and slowly wrap his hand around to better position michael. "now i see why you're losing these bets i make," jack smirks.
michael freezes. not once have jack and him been so... close. other than a quick embrace or overlooking their work on a patient, this closeness, this should not feel right but there's that voice saying it does.
"here, if you get a little close and angle to hit the side of the white, it should work out," jack steps back, like he's observing michael in a medical case. the tension –sexual or not– is thick.
michael has never focused so hard in his life to hit this ball. not to win, but to ignore that brewing tension in the air. he strikes, wobbly, but gets his ball into his checked pocket.
"so, how about that round huh?" michael turns around to see jack leaned back with arms crossed and the same stoic confidence. "not too fast robinavitch," jack straightens up, "i did help you out with that, but i am a man of my words," jack leans over the pool table next to michael.
"if help was shifting my right arm two degrees from its original spot, then sure take the credit abbot," michael turns his head to face jack.
"i will take the credit and then some. like another $10 when your luck runs out," jack smugly responds.
"well that will be a long time," michael chuckles.
"wanna bet on it?"
"oh, yes definitely."
both chuckled. and for a moment, it feels like the bar stopped in time. jack and michael stare at each other. their beer-laced breaths mingling together.
a group of their mutual friends ask if they were using the pool table, snapping them out of it. jack smirks and pats michael's back, "guess this loser gotta pay for another round of beer."
all this touching. all of the bantering and lingering eye contacts. it's overwhelming. not because of the environment, but because he knows he is falling in love with jack abbot –his friend. his confident, flirtatious friend. his confident, flirtatious male friend. and although michael is not adding to his debt, he still cannot ignore that stiff tension between him and jack.
"alright ready to lose another g-"
"i- uh- i have to step out... for a... i just havetostepouti'msorry," michael quickly rushes out to the bar's patio. the cold air instantly hits his face, almost as if to fix him back to a functioning human. he stands close to the railing as he takes a cigarette from a box in his jean jacket pocket and lights it. he inhales the smoke and exhales it, watching it mix in with the falling snow.
"robby," michael snaps his head to direction of his name. he sees the patio door closing behind jack as he rushes towards him, "you alright?"
"yeah just," michael chuckles out of embarrassment, "just got tired of hearing the shitty dj mix," michael scratches the back of his neck again with his free hand. jack looks down to see his lit cigarette between his fingers.
"y'know those can kill you?"
"wow you should be a doctor."
"funny robinavitch, you should be a comedian. now can you tell me what's wrong?"
"i'll head back inside later."
"god, did you see your ex in there or something," jack sarcastically jokes.
"oh ho ho, that'll be worse," michael takes another drag from his cigarette.
"so what is it? you were perfectly fine just a second ago," jack increasingly gets frustrated at michael's avoidance.
"it's stupid. just leave it."
"no, i won't just leave it."
"your help will not change anything i promise"
"wow," jack cackles into the air, "wow so fuck me i guess."
michael's brain short circuits. he shakes his head, "i said i'm fine abott-"
"bullshit, you haven't been fine this entire night. you haven't been fine for weeks," jack gets closer to michael, "i don't care if it is something stupid or whatever the fuck you got going on, but you can talk to me instead of being moody alone."
michael blankly stares at jack. it's the first time jack has ever expressed some form of concern about him outside of a professional setting. he tries to respond but all he could do is take another drag of his cigarette and turn to face the railing again.
"i just need some air abbot. i promise-"
"my affection is not for rent robby."
michael quickly turns around to face jack again, dropping his cigarette in the process. "what?"
"i said, my affection is not for rent, robinavitch. i could leave you to brew outside in the cold with your goddamn cigarette, but damn it i'm tired of trying to get you out of your comfort zone just for you to retreat further into your box. so what the fuck is wrong?" jack stands firm in front of michael.
he can smell the beer and cigarette smoke off from his clothes, knowing that it has permeated from weeks of his habit. after a moment of silence, jack sighs and backs down.
"fine. i will give your space. just- just let me know when you're ready to go home," jack turns around to leave the patio. to leave michael alone in his thoughts like he wanted.
but michael robinavitch has two problems: he has low alcohol tolerance. and that low alcohol tolerance turns him into an idiotic drunk if not careful.
michael quickly rushes to pull jack by the arm, spins him around, and kisses him harshly. jack freezes, not knowing what to do or how to respond. it catches him off guard. michael steps back after realizing what he had done.
"oh- oh my god- i'm so sorry. i just- i couldn't handle it anymore and i needed to do something. and i know it's wrong, it is so wrong for me to be with you as me. especially with our careers and- and the world. but i just cannot-"
"michael. michael! shut up for just a moment," jack raises his voice, "since when?"
"since the first analog shift..."
"since the firs- jesus christ, you're killing me here!"
"i know, i know! and that's why it hurts. because i know you would not be okay with this. with me," michael pauses, "with me being in love with you."
it is now jack's turn to blankly stare at michael, "you're in love with me? this wasn't just an irrational drunk decision?"
"jack, no it isn't. and i would've never done it if i wasn't sure or if'- i don't- jesus- i should've just asked-"
"are you being serious, robinavitch? are you pranking me just to get in my head? because i know you know," jack angrily points at michael.
"jack, no! what do you mean?!" michael confusingly asks.
"i'm bisexual. have i been open about it? only to close friends but never though to mix it with my professional life, clearly!"
"abott, i didn't really know-"
"bullshit, i can see you staring and thinking and wondering when i flirt around with anyone. but it is best to just directly ask if i like men, if i like you, rather than this sick way of messing with me." jack accuses. his face is stern, red with the harsh cold, the beer, and michael's kiss. he takes several deep breaths to collect himself.
"jack i am being serious with you! i have never been so afraid to tell you. but if you are not interested, if you don't want to be my friend after this, i understand."
michael regrets this. he wishes that the agonizing voice came back deafening to tell him "do not do this. do not grab his arm!" he quickly rushes back into the bar to head for the exit.
his worried friends are asking why he's heading home so early but he tunes them out. he tries to approach the major intersection to call for a cab before hearing his name being called again.
"robby, come on! don't leave we need to talk about this!" jack yells from afar.
michael continues to ignore jack, trying to spot anything remotely like a cab.
"michael. robinavitch. fuck! look at me, i swear to god. we need to talk." jack continues to quickly approach michael.
"look jack i don't want to hear about how much i fucked up this. just let me go home. we can act like nothing happened."
"but something did happen robby. something did happen back there that i have been waiting for you to tell me and you finally did. and now what? you're just gonna run away and leave me to deal with all of this? before we don't see each other until next year?" jack confesses.
michael turns around to see jack with tears in his eyes. he gets closer to continue: "i understand if you are afraid, trust me too. but do not let this ferment without doing something about it- well you did," he uncomfortably chuckles, "but without truly talking about it."
michael tries to respond but he hears jack's name being called by their peers asking if he needs a ride home. he looks at jack. he's right. do not let this mutual attraction ferment without a discussion. however the words doesn't come out, his mouth is not catching up to his brain.
"i have to go," jack mumbles. michael hates that it will end this way.
he embraces jack whispering: "i promise we will, just give me some time please." it doesn't satisfy both of them but jack embraces back nodding and understanding.
jack lets go and jogs to his friends while michael continues to look for a cab. one finally pull up and he enters.
michael robinavitch is an idiotic drunk who is in love with jack abott. and no matter how many plans he has to avoid it, all roads will lead back to this night and the lingering, impulsive, regretful kiss that will change his friendship.
take me to heaven… make me your number one obsession! –a short blurb of shane hollander x ilya rozanov
warning: implicit smut! MDNI!!
song inspiration: no. 1 obsession by 5 Seconds of Summer (5SOS)
author’s note: wrote this while drunk so enjoy teehee :p
shane knows this isn’t good for him. all the hiding of who he is, the pressure of maintaining his image, and the constant push and pull with ilya rozanov. yet he doesn’t care. why should he if his hunger is satisfied with how full he feels. it’s the type of greed they talk about in the bible but the only person he’s worshipping right now is the man who knows how to press all the buttons, both metaphorically and literally. he knows he’s falling deep into a sinking hole of lust and desire, mixed the adrenaline he feels on ice. with how the bed creaks under every harsh thrust and the wall shakes with every moan, shane knows he’s obsessed. trying to reach euphoria is not enough for him. ilya makes him see god, makes him obsessed with every raunchy text and whispered obscenity. he yearns for when it shouldn’t be a rendezvous, but for now, shane hollander wants to reach that climax with ilya rozanov, just so he could show his own dominance on the ice soon.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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inspired by infinity on high and tranquility base hotel & casino 🐑 📻
🪐 don’t you know who i think i am: kieran. 20 (‘05). afro-caribbean + canadian. she/they/he. nonbinary bisexual. staunchly leftist. neurodivergent.
🦦 take it easy for a little while, come and stay with us: a list of original work.
🔭 the information action ratio: this blog reposts and interacts with 18+/nsfw content!! minors and ageless blogs DNI for safety reasons!! safe space for all (except bigots, zionists, and just plain horrible people).
📡 maybe i was a little too wild in the 70s: lover of boybands, superheroes, reality tv, comedy, and youtubers!! multifandom list too long to write.
☎️ i’ll be by the batphone, if you need to get a hold: questions or requests are open under “mark speaking.”
🪡 i’m a stitch away: side blog for funsies is @quixoticsynoptic
✒️ i’m signing off…but i’m better with a pen: tags under aftertranquility for any written work :)
