whispers-of-starlight

[whispers-of-starlight]

forever ain't too long - james potter x reader

wc: 1496 summary: you can feel your soulmate's pain, and your touch can heal them. you think you must have the clumsiest soulmate on earth. me: a late contribution to bound together au for @acourtofchaos festival! felt bad that i haven't written anything in a while so tada... exams and assignments r coming up so who knows when the next fic will be!! also this is my first soulmate au which feels crazy!

All things considered, you were a pretty lucky girl. You’d never broken a bone, twisted an ankle; you’d never even had a bee sting or splinter. You weren’t sure how or why, but you thought it must’ve been the universe’s little gift to you.

Unfortunately, it seemed like your soulmate did not share your gift. Quite the opposite, really. Even in your earliest memories, you’d experienced phantom pains at all hours of the day. Over long years of sudden, random aches and pains, you’d decided your soulmate must’ve been the clumsiest person on earth.

It didn’t stop as you grew older, unfortunately and surprisingly, and you still often found yourself groaning in pain while washing dishes, doing homework or hanging out with friends. Pretty much everyone in your life was used to it by now, but it was still unpleasant for you.

You thought your soulmate might’ve been an athlete. The injuries got more frequent over some parts of the year, and you recognised the pattern as the Quidditch season, though you weren’t sure if any other sports aligned with the same schedule.

Still, that didn’t mean you went to Quidditch matches any more than a few a year. It wasn’t really your thing, but you’d go if all your friends did. Maybe, secretly, it’s because you were too scared to accidentally meet your soulmate.

You were only a seventh year, if you met your soulmate now, you’d have an awfully long life left with them — if all went to plan. The idea of having to be with someone forever was, well, scary. And you weren’t like Sirius and Remus, you didn’t live and breathe for someone else, the idea of forever for you was just plain frightening.

Somehow, you’d been convinced to attend the Gryffindor—Ravenclaw semi-final Quidditch match. Well, somehow was perhaps misleading.

James had walked into the common room the night before, muddy, sweaty but beaming from a final late practise, and locked eyes on you, curled up on your favourite armchair.

“Hiya,” He said, looming over you and partially blocking the firelight. You tilted your head up to face him, squinting to readjust your eyes in the altered brightness.

“Hey.” You smiled sweetly, “How was training? You gonna win tomorrow?” James grinned, cocky even despite his obvious weariness.

“Only if you come watch, sweetness. Need my lucky charm there.”

“Don’t be daft, Potter. You win all the time when I’m not there.” You rolled your eyes, attempting to go back to your book.

“Only ‘coz I’m thinking of you, lovie. Gotta win for my best girl.” You huffed, pushing yourself out of the armchair, bringing your novel with you.

“You’re ridiculous,” You patted him lightly on the bicep to ease some of the tension between you, “And you need to get some rest before tomorrow. G’night, Potter.”

With that, you headed upstairs to wrap up your own night.

“So are you gonna come or not?” James called up to you, breaking the silence of the common room. You looked back, one hand still resting on the bannister of the staircase. After a moment, you produced a small smile.

“Maybe if you’re lucky.” You retreated into your dorm without any other conversation, leaving James standing in a lovesick daze in the middle of the common room. He was well aware of the way the deep ache in his bicep had dissipated the moment you touched it, but he knew it wasn’t the right time to make you aware of that fact.

That brought you back to the Quidditch match, to your seat between Lily and Peter. It was an intense game, both teams desperate to get into the finals. Neither team was above playing dirty, and you were sure it was the most violent match you’d ever seen.

You were also, to unsure feelings, becoming sure that your soulmate was on one of the two playing teams. You were in silent agonies, your insides reflecting the conflict between the two opposing teams.

Coming to reluctant terms with the fact that you’d have to narrow down who your soulmate was sooner rather than later, you only hoped it wasn’t Richard McLaggen, the brutish, unpleasant beater from the Ravenclaw team.

Unfortunately, it was almost impossible for you to narrow down who it could be from simply watching the match. Players darted around like flies, zipping from one sport to the next so quickly it was hard to keep track of, let alone tell who was who or what their interactions were with other players.

You’d been distracted by your realisation and had evidently zoned out of part of the gameplay, but you were ripped back into reality by Lily’s aggressive grasp on your wrist as she gasped in horror.

Like in slow motion, it seemed like the entire stadium fell quiet as five or six players all collided at once in a dreadful mess of limbs and brooms. You winced as you certainly felt somebody’s injuries all over your body, but that was nothing compared to the horror of watching a body unmistakably James-shaped fall through the air, struggling in vain as he dropped quickly towards the sand.

You couldn’t breathe until he finally wrapped his fingers around the handle of the broom, breaking his fall slightly. He still landed in the sand with an audible groan, but at least it didn’t look like he’d shattered every bone in his body.

You couldn’t differentiate James’ injuries from anyone else’s, so you had no way of knowing whether it could be him or any of the other unfortunate players who’d just taken a beating. But the flutter of your heart was there at the idea, and that… Well, that was maybe scarier than anything you’d seen in the match.

Gryffindor won the match, no thanks to James, who’d been carried off and taken straight to the infirmary, a frightening amount of blood dripping down his face.

The rest of your friends stormed the pitch with the rest of the school when the match ended, celebrating your house’s victory. You didn’t join them, scared of the crowd and, admittedly, a little worried about James up in the infirmary by himself.

The school was scarily silent as you rushed through the halls, trainers echoing against the tile. You slipped through the heavy door into the otherwise empty infirmary, sighing in relief as you saw James propped up in the hospital bed, looking mostly alive.

“You’re a sad sight,” You said, and James looked up at you with doe eyes, a crooked, split smile appearing as he took you in. He truly looked a mess; blood still crusted down his chin and in his hair, bruises already forming on the surface of his skin.

“They couldn’t take the fact that I was hot and good at Quidditch, love, it’s no biggie.” You rolled your eyes with a small laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed so you could talk.

“You know I hate to be genuine, but are you actually okay? That was really scary, James.” Without thinking, you swiped your thumb across your tongue, moving it down to James’ red, raw lips, intending to wipe away some of the blood that had escaped from the gnarly split in his lower lip.

“Yeah, ‘course, I…” He trailed off, not only at the surprisingly intimate gesture, but also at the way he could feel the cut close up under your touch.

Your eyes snapped up to his, a quiet “Oh” escaping your own lips, but your hand didn’t move from its light hold on James’ face.

There was no avoiding it now; the evidence was pretty undeniable, even for you. James Potter was your soulmate. But instead of the intense, ice-cold fear that ran through your veins, James only had a warm, adoring smile on his newly healed lips.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked with uncharacteristic shyness.

“No!” You were quick to assure him, hand moving up to brush through his unruly curls. You were surprised that you didn’t have to think before responding, and even more so at the fact that you didn’t think you were lying. “I’m not disappointed. Scared, maybe. But I could never be disappointed with you.”

James beamed, golden and bright and warm, and you couldn’t resist returning it. He lifted a weak arm to cup your face, thumb caressing the skin of your cheek softly.

Maybe you weren’t the biggest fan of the whole soulmate thing, and maybe it’d all turn to shit and your doubts would be for good reason. But there, in the silent infirmary, admiring the gold flecks in James’ eyes, forever really didn’t seem so scary.

[whispers-of-starlight]

The red dress is perfect on you, a deep crimson color that matches his eyes and that alone has Katsuki salivating. Then your body has to look perfect in everything to him, especially when you doll it up in clothes you don't normally wear. This was for a hero event, awards to be given although Bakugou didn't care much for the fanfare of it all, he just liked being number one.

Although he is happy when there are times like these, you who fusses angrily over your few gray hairs, who plucks a few that are "too close" to framing your face, clad in lipstick as you snarl at your pretty reflection. Katsuki likes the greys, likes the signs of aging on your body even if you loathe it entirely. To him it is proof of the passage of time well spent and together.

His eyes fall down to your cleavage, smirking as he comes behind you to help with the pearls your sharp claws are struggling to clasp.

"I can give ya a pearl necklace ya know. All natural." He has a wolfish grin, clasping the necklace as he stays with his pelvis pressed to your ass. Your brows furrow, another snarl as you look at his reflection.

"Katsuki, you already have. Our first year anniversary, remember?" A roll of your eyes as you tap the round iridescent pearls. He sucks his teeth playfully, broad hand coming around to pet your throat before his digit traces a sloppy and uneven half circle just beneath the pearls.

"Lemme give you another set." His crude gesture earns your ire. A sharp glare at his reflection that makes his cock jump against your ass. Fingers coming to brush hair from your shoulder, his eyes momentarily lingering on the few starlight strands of grey before they move back to your skin hungrily. Envisioning you on your knees with something just as pearly white as your necklace although a bit sticky.

"You're fuckin insufferable." You scoff, still a fixed glare on his reflection before you reach for another beauty product. Only for him to grab your throat roughly, to crane your neck until you're looking at him, nose to nose, ass to his pelvis and you're reminded of all of the times he's held you like that. Stared into your eyes as he sloppily rut into your tight cunt giving you every last drop he had.

"But ya love it. Ya love me."

"Yea, somehow I do." Katsuki grins wider when your tone comes out breathy, a sound he loves to hear. Moving to close the gap, to let his tongue slide over yours when you give the tip a light nip, "But you hate being late more Suki. You always blame me."

"How can I not when my wife looks so fuckin hot in anything she wears? 'sides, I can stand to be a little late."

[whispers-of-starlight]

FREE SNAKE, PICKUP ASAP! snake!sukuna x f!reader

synopsis: your cheating asshole of a boyfriend left his snake at your place after you kicked him to the curb. but it seems your new pet has a few feelings of his own when you try to give him away - and he might just have to fuck them into you

content: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, oral (m! receiving), snake!kuna transforms to a (mostly) human form to fuck your brains out (he's FERAL and a FREAK), size difference (a python perhaps ;p), manhandling, fingering, piv sex, mating press, condom breaking

you fucking hated snakes.

sneaky, slinking creatures that moved too fast, flicking that sharp tongue at you like they might bite when you least expect it. maybe that should've been the biggest red flag, a sign of what was to come when your (now ex) boyfriend brought one to your place.

promising that he'd feed it, and he'd take care of it, swearing that you wouldn't even know the snake was there.

like you were fucking blind enough to miss the huge ass terrarium facing your bed. or the dark pink scales that caught the light, glinting as he slithered around and threw his head into the glass when he was mad (so, all the time). sometimes, you'd find the locks holding the lid on unlatched, but the snake was always inside among the foliage, so you just assumed your imbecile of a boyfriend kept forgetting to secure it, despite you being the one to give him food and water nine times out of ten.

sukuna.

even its name was creepy.

the rest of him too, really, the way his beady eyes would follow you around the room, always watching you no matter whatever you were doing. honestly, it made you not even mind the dry patch of no sex the two of you were going through. you didn't think you could even get wet if that thing was staring at you the whole time.

but, uh, your boyfriend was apparently on a different page since he went and cheated on you. as if fucking another girl wasn't horrible enough, he fucked you over by leaving his stupid snake too.

the rest of his shit had ended up in the trash.

but what the fuck were you supposed to do with a live animal?

"I'm getting rid of his snake," you huffed into the phone, squatting down to squint through the glass at the haughty snake. he was huge, long tail coiled and his tongue sticking out at you in a hiss. "I put it up on Craigslist."

"for how much?" your friend giggled as you groaned, turning away from the terrarium to flop down on your bed, pulling your laptop closer to where the listing was still up, where the word FREE stood out above your phone number.

"I'm just giving him away to whoever wants-"

your phone was snatched from your hand.

something hard and heavy pressed against your back, pinning you in place before your phone was tossed on the nightstand. A tattooed hand reached over you, twice the size of your boyfriend's, thick and sturdy fingers swiping over the track pad to hit the delete button on the listing. then your laptop was being slammed shut, pushed off to the edge of the bed.

"free? seriously?" a gravelly voice scoffed in your ear, a dark rumble rolling through you. "that moron paid two grand for me."

and your survival skills surely weren't up to par, or perhaps the situation was so strange, since you found yourself wigging out and rolling over to stare at the intruder.

"don't tell me you don't recognize me, brat."

or your pet.

in the flesh rather than scales. his hair was the same color those had been, wild strands sticking up, thick brows furrowed together in a mean scowl. but his dark eyes felt the same, sliding over you slowly, his stare even more intense up close like this. and God, he was almost painfully attractive, rough around the edges, dangerous. he was covered in thick black tattoos, defined muscles, and nothing else. completely nude. and his hand wasn't the only thing twice the size of your boyfriend's.

you didn't know how exactly that ended up in your mouth.

just that somewhere from your first what the fuck to him ranting about his former owner being a braindead moron for sleeping with someone else when you were right there, he was ripping off your clothes and you were wrapping your fingers around his swollen cock, tracing the bulging veins in sloppy strokes. asking what the hell he was just for him to laugh at you, readjusting to climb over your chest, thick thighs straddling it and nearly knocking the breath out of you before he pinned both your wrists to the bed with one meaty palm while his other shoved his cock between your parted lips.

you were choking on it.

maybe this was all some sex-deprived dream. that you had actually snapped and lost your sanity over being stuck with this snake that you were imagining getting throat fucked by him in human form.

but no, his tip slammed into the back of your mouth and you gagged, airway cut off by the sheer size of it, and you were pretty fucking sure this was happening.

"like it when I feed you?" he mocked, and you surprised yourself by nodding.

veins throbbing against your tongue, your lashes fluttering closed as his grip on your wrist got tighter, nearly bruising and keeping you there for him to fuck your face.

"fuck, that's tight," he groaned, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back. "should've strangled that asshole in his sleep weeks ago and fucked you then."

you had a sneaking suspicion he actually would have when his other hand was tangled in your hair, holding you close enough that your nose was nuzzling against the rough patch of his pubic hair.

it was getting harder to breathe, knots in your stomach tangling tighter and need starving for oxygen in your stomach, smoldering and ready to be lit with just another touch, another grunt, another thrust.

"bet your cunt's even better," he hissed, pulling out, but not before letting pre-cum leak all over your lips, rubbing his tip against them like he was applying some crude lip gloss, chuckling at the way you were panting and blinking up at him with hungry eyes.

"w-wear a condom," you managed to stammer, like your jaw wasn't still aching from the stretch of accommodating him, nodding your head towards the nightstand.

could snakes transmit STDs? or would you be the first human to catch some kind of weird disease from giving him head?

he rolled his eyes, grumbling about being clean but still releasing your wrists to lean over and yank the drawer completely out of the nightstand on accident, ignoring your huff before ripping the tab off the still-unopened box of condoms and tear into one with his teeth.

it barely fit.

stretched thin around his cock, which was already bobbing in the air from the sheer weight of it as he abruptly slotted a thick finger inside your cunt just to see how soaked you were.

a cruel smirk tugged up on his lips before he laughed at you. "thought you wanted me gone?"

"that-that was before," you sputtered, struggling to keep yourself squirming at the intense pressure of him exploring with just a single finger, more experimental than anything, like your anatomy was new to him.

you'd probably have more questions if you didn't feel too full to even formulate more than a few whiny gasps.

he pulled his finger out, popping it in his mouth for a taste of you. you hoped it was better than the mice you'd been feeding him.

he hummed his approval before pushing your thighs up to your chest, forcing your body into a more flexible position, the pads of his fingers pressing down into your soft skin. lining himself up at your entrance, his thick tip prodding at it while you held your breath.

you figured it'd be slow.

but nope.

you blinked and you were being stuffed full, his cock bottoming out in a single brutal thrust. it burned. mind breaking while he tried to split you open, balls smacking against your skin when he pulled out just to push back in harder.

his lips were open, pink and pretty as sweat dripped down his forehead, brows scrunched together in focus as he pounded into you. there was extra friction with the condom, but your own slick was dripping down, probably soaking the sheets when every slam of his hips grinding down to fit every fucking inch of him inside you left you shuddering and squirming under his heavy body.

"k-kuna," you moaned, nails clawing at the sheets while you leaned your head back against the bed. his lips practically latched onto your throat, teeth sinking into your skin like it was instinct. but instead of ripping your throat out, he was sucking hard, leaving hickey after hickey to mark your skin.

never, in the three months since you had him, had you ever bothered to say the name he came with from the pet store. and now you were crying it like it was the only thing holding you together.

he scoffed at you again, like he wasn't molding you to him, like every ridge and vein wasn't rubbing against you just right when he dragged his tip over your cervix just to remind you he could.

"not fucking getting rid of me now," he grunted, groaning when you clenched around him at the gravelly sound of his voice, all his muscles tensing.

he dragged a hand down your thighs, spreading them a little further so he could swipe over your sensitive clit, a mocking grin returning to his face at the way you jolted at the first touch.

"poor pet's been neglected, huh?" he taunted, drawing a messy circle over the bud knowing you wouldn't be able to protest being his pet.

your hands struggled to hold onto his shoulder blades, his skin too thick for you to rake your nails down, even when you were scratching and whimpering for even more friction, back arching just for his next thrust to push you down.

his still-forked tongue licked a clean stripe over your jaw, the unfamiliar sensation only making the tension in your own stomach pull tighter. he capture your lips in a kiss, long and hard and unlike anything else you experienced.

swallowing up your moans for dessert when his fingers sloppily rubbed over your clit, teasing you in hisses and whispers when you came undone for him, seeing pink instead of white. he buried his head against your neck when his cock stalled inside you, finishing with a rough growl of his own.

thick ropes of cum filling you up instead of the condom, the warmth leaking out when he pulled out to reveal only half the condom was still on with an annoyed hiss.

"maybe if your boyfriend had a bigger dick, it wouldn't have broke," he grunted, like it was somehow your fault you didn't have XXL condoms on hand.

"how the hell was I supposed to know you were, I dunno, whatever the fuck you are?" you gestured, still out-of-breath as you he distractedly pushed some of the cum back inside you.

what the fuck were you even supposed to get tested for now?

you tried to sit up, but he pushed you back flat on the bed with damp fingers.

"lay back down so I can get it out of you," he grunted, already spreading your thighs back apart.

you were just as gagged as you had been before, speechless as he just shoved his fingers inside you with that firm expression, focused solely on you.

for a brief second, you contemplated asking if he was going to turn back into a snake. but then, it struck you that either way, you were stuck with him now.

he pulled out the broken piece of the condom, tossing it into the small trashcan near your bed, your nightstand drawer still sitting on the ground from where he accidentally ripped it out earlier. he sharp eyes slid over to the rest of your room, the overflowing laundry basket and last night's glass of water still sitting on your dresser with a sigh.

"someone's gotta take care of you."

indie's pet shop (coming soon)

a/n: everyone say thank you @yenayaps

[whispers-of-starlight]

“happy father’s day,” you murmur, slipping your arms around gojo’s waist from behind.

he’s halfway through shoveling a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth and pauses mid-bite.

“huh?” he mumbles, turning slightly in your arms with a mouthful and furrowed brow. “baby, you know we don’t have kids, right? unless you’ve been hiding a baby somewhere i don’t know about?”

you roll your eyes. “i know, dumbass.”

he pouts. “so why’re you saying—”

you just point with your chin across the courtyard.

he follows your gaze.

there, lounging like a band of chaotic little gremlins, are yuuji, megumi, and nobara, bickering over popsicle flavors. maki’s sitting on the bench beside them, trying not to smile as panda pokes fun at toge for something, who just responds with a flat “salmon.”

satoru looks, then looks again.

then his eyes widen behind his sunglasses, lips parting just slightly. “oh.”

you nod. “yeah.”

he turns fully in your arms, ice cream long forgotten, the softest smile blooming across his face—bright and fond and achingly proud.

“they’re kids,” he says quietly, “they’re my little kids.”

“exactly,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “you taught them how to fight, how to survive. how to live. they’re still here because of you.”

he blinks a few times. doesn’t say anything.

just watches as yuuji leans back and laughs so hard he nearly tips over, megumi catching him by the collar without looking. nobara shoves them both and gets dragged into the pile.

maki shakes her head. panda sighs. toge just laughs.

a tiny, watery chuckle escapes satoru’s chest.

you nudge him gently. “you’re not just their sensei. you’re their… you know. their person.”

he leans into your forehead and breathes in slow. “you’re gonna make me cry,” he says, voice cracking a little.

“good,” you smile, wiping under his glasses.

he kisses you, sweet and slow, and then pulls back to yell at the kids, voice suddenly obnoxiously loud—

“hey! none of you got me a card?! what kind of disrespect—megumi, stop pretending you don’t care, you’re my grumpy little son—”

megumi groans. nobara throws a napkin at him. yuuji waves enthusiastically and screams, “HAPPY DAD’S DAY, SENSEI!”

and gojo beams so hard it looks like the sun broke loose from the sky and settled in his chest.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i guess i’m a little late but happy father’s day gojo!! ily pls come back home

[whispers-of-starlight]

✨Heroic✨

Summary: You’re on your period. At Ben’s place. No tampon. No plan. Just blood, panic, and him being him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, kinda fluffy, kinda funny

Word Count: 4108

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

You stepped out of the bathroom, gripping the hem of Ben’s oversized t-shirt like it was some kind of armor against the embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. Your face felt hot, and you were half-convinced you were better off hiding in there forever. But then you heard him—his deep, casual voice from the couch.

"Everything alright in there, sweetheart? Thought you got lost", he called out, his tone laced with that ever-present sarcasm.

You hesitated, shuffling a little closer to the living room. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped along the backrest, a beer bottle dangling loosely from his other hand. The flickering light from the TV lit up his sharp features as he watched you with mild curiosity. You’d only been dating for a few weeks, and while he wasn’t exactly the most sensitive guy, there was something about the way he watched you—like he could read your every thought—that made your stomach flip.

"Uh, Ben", you started, your voice small, unsure. His attention sharpened immediately, his smirk tugging higher, though his brow quirked in slight confusion at your awkwardness.

"Yeah? What’s up?", he asked, leaning forward now, the beer forgotten on the coffee table.

You looked down, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. "I… um… I think I got my period", you finally mumbled, barely audible.

For a second, Ben just stared at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. Then his head tilted slightly, his lips pulling into a slow, amused grin. "Period, huh?", he said, dragging out the word like he was tasting it. "Well, shit, doll, I thought maybe I’d just been a little rough with you earlier. Didn’t realize it was… that time".

Your jaw dropped. "Ben!", you hissed, your face heating even more. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to die of embarrassment or smack the smirk right off his face.

"What?", he said, raising his hands in mock innocence, though his grin never faltered. "You’re walking funny. Don’t tell me I’m wrong".

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, which only made him laugh—a deep, rumbling sound that made your chest tighten despite your mortification. He stood up, crossing the room in a few lazy strides until he was towering over you, his hands on his hips as he looked down at you like he was trying to decide whether to tease you more or not. "So, what do you need?", he asked, finally relenting. "Tampons or… whatever it is you women use?".

You peeked up at him through your fingers. "I don’t have anything with me", you admitted quietly, wishing the ground would just swallow you up. "I didn’t think I’d need to—".

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the details", he cut in, waving a hand as he turned toward the door. "Guess I’m making a tampon run. Lucky me".

"Wait, you don’t have to—", you started, but he cut you off with a sharp look over his shoulder.

"Relax. Not like I haven’t handled worse. Hell, this’ll probably be the most exciting thing I’ve done all week". He grabbed his keys from the counter and shrugged into his jacket, muttering something under his breath about how women always managed to complicate his life. But before he walked out, he turned back, his gaze softer—though his smirk was firmly in place. "Don’t go bleeding all over my couch while I’m gone, alright? That thing’s vintage".

You rolled your eyes, despite the small laugh that escaped you. He winked, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving you standing there, overwhelmed by the strange mix of exasperation and affection that only Ben seemed capable of stirring in you.

At the small pharmacy just a few houses down from his apartment, Ben stood in the feminine hygiene aisle, glaring at the shelves like they’d personally offended him. There were way too many options. Tampons, pads, pantyliners—what the hell was the difference? He picked up one box and squinted at the text, flipping it over to look at the diagrams on the back. He snorted. “Regular? Super? What, do they think this is a damn superhero contest?”.

A woman in her late 40s, wearing a pharmacy uniform, noticed his growing frustration and approached him cautiously. “Sir, do you need some help?”, she asked, her tone polite but hesitant.

Ben’s head snapped up, and he sighed, clearly relieved. “Yeah, thank God. This… this stuff”, he said, gesturing vaguely at the aisle, “is a goddamn maze. Look, my girl’s at home, and she just got her… thing”, he said, waving his hand like that explained everything. “She doesn’t have anything with her, and now I’m stuck here trying to figure this out”.

The woman blinked, taken slightly aback but maintaining her professionalism. “Okay, um, do you know what kind of product she usually uses? Pads? Tampons?”.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, his face twisting into something between concentration and annoyance. “Yeah, tampons. She asked for tampons, definitely. Not those… uh, pads or whatever”, he said, waving a dismissive hand at a nearby shelf. “She’s not really the ‘sit around and slap on a diaper’ kind of girl, you know?”.

The woman gave a tight, professional smile, clearly regretting her decision to approach him, but he plowed ahead like she was his best confidante.

“Thing is”, he continued, holding up a box that said super, “these sizes… I don’t really know how they work. Like, is it about the size of her… you know”.

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but Ben didn’t give her the chance. “See, here’s the deal—she’s really tight”. He said it so casually, like he was commenting on the weather, completely oblivious to the way the woman’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Uh—”, she started, but he kept going.

“Like, really tight”, he emphasized, leaning in slightly like he was sharing a crucial secret. “While I´m really big". He made a vague gesture downward, clearly referring to himself. “I mean, it’s not like she can’t handle… me”, he added with a smirk, clearly proud of himself. “She’s a champ about it, honestly. But I’m thinking, if it’s a tight fit with me, do I get, like, the smallest size for her, or is that gonna mess things up?”.

The woman’s face was a mix of horror, embarrassment, and the kind of blank stare people give when their brain has just disconnected. “Sir, I—”.

“Because, look”, Ben interrupted, gesturing at the shelves again, “I don’t wanna buy the wrong one and make her uncomfortable. I already thought I’d hurt her earlier—turns out it’s just her period, not me. Which is a relief, honestly. I mean, not that she’d ever complain, but still, you know?”.

The woman looked like she wanted to evaporate on the spot. “The sizes are for… flow”, she said finally, her voice tight and strained. “Not… um… size”.

Ben blinked, clearly confused. “Flow?”, he repeated, like the concept was foreign to him. “What, like how much blood she’s losing? That’s what the size is for?”.

“Yes”, the woman said quickly, nodding furiously. “Exactly. That’s all it means. Nothing to do with… anatomy”.

“Huh”. Ben stood there for a moment, absorbing this revelation. Then he let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “Well, hell. Guess I didn’t need to tell you all that, huh?”.

“No, you didn’t”, she said stiffly, her polite smile now frozen in place.

“Still, good to know”, he said, shrugging as if the entire exchange had been perfectly normal. He grabbed a box labeled regular, figuring it was a safe middle ground, and started toward the checkout. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’ve been a real lifesaver”.

The woman watched him go, her face pale and her composure shattered, while Ben strolled out of the store like he’d just finished a routine grocery run, completely unaware of the chaos he’d left behind.

At the register, Ben placed the box of tampons on the counter with zero hesitation, his casual confidence somehow both impressive and ridiculous given the circumstances. He leaned one elbow on the counter, glancing around the small pharmacy like he hadn’t just traumatized a store employee in the hygiene aisle.

The cashier, a woman in her late 20s with sharp eyes and perfectly applied lipstick, looked up from her screen and froze for a moment. Her gaze flicked from the box of tampons to his face, and then her lips curved into a knowing smile.

“Well”, she said, drawing out the words as she scanned the item. “I thought you looked familiar. Soldier Boy, right?”.

Ben’s smirk spread wide, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that signature cocky way. “The one and only”, he said, giving her a small, mock salute. “Didn’t think anyone in this part of town still recognized me”.

“Oh, please”, she said, leaning on the counter and resting her chin in her hand. “How could anyone forget the golden boy of Payback? My dad used to tell me stories about you when I was a kid. Said you were the ultimate American hero”.

Ben chuckled, clearly enjoying the attention. “Sounds like your dad was a smart man. Hero’s a good word for me—hell, great word. And now look at me”, he added, holding up the bag of tampons as though it were a trophy. “Still saving the day, just in a different way”.

She laughed, a little too loudly, and twirled a strand of her hair. “You really are something else. Didn’t think I’d see the mighty Soldier Boy running errands like this. Guess even heroes have to play boyfriend once in a while”.

“Girlfriend’s lucky”, she added, her eyes sparkling with interest as she leaned in just slightly. “Though I can’t say I wouldn’t mind being in her shoes”.

Ben’s smirk sharpened, his ego clearly enjoying the flirtation. “What can I say? It’s tough being me”, he said with a shrug. “But, hey, duty calls. Whether it’s saving the country or handling… uh, monthly emergencies”.

She laughed again, this time biting her lip as she handed him the bag. “Well, if she ever doesn’t appreciate all that ‘heroic effort’, you know where to find me”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk firmly in place as he met her gaze. “Noted”, he said smoothly, giving her a wink. “But something tells me she knows exactly how lucky she is”.

With that, he grabbed the bag and turned toward the door, his confidence radiating off him as he walked out into the night. His grin lingered as he headed back to his apartment, already imagining how you’d react to his triumphant return. If only you knew just how hard he worked to keep things interesting.

When Ben walked through the door, his boots heavy against the floor, the sight of you curled up on the couch stopped him in his tracks. You looked miserable, tucked into yourself with a towel beneath your hips like you were bracing for battle. Your arms were wrapped tightly around your stomach, and a quiet wince escaped your lips. He set the bag of tampons down on the counter with a dramatic clatter, the smirk tugging at his lips both amused and disbelieving.

“Well, this is a hell of a look”, he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “You planning to sacrifice yourself to the gods or something? Got the whole ritual vibe going on here”.

You groaned, pressing your forehead into your knees. “Ben, please don’t start”, you muttered, your voice strained from the pain.

But Ben was Ben. He wasn’t about to let this moment slide by unnoticed. He strolled over, all confidence, and plopped himself down on the edge of the couch next to you, the cushions dipping under his weight. “Let me guess”, he started, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his green eyes fixed on you. “You’re sitting here thinking if you bleed through, I’m gonna flip my shit. That it?”.

You peeked up at him, your cheeks flushing despite the pain. “I just didn’t want to ruin your couch, okay?”.

Ben let out a snort, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, this couch has seen worse things than a little blood. Trust me”. You didn’t even want to ask what that meant.

"You told me not to ruin your couch", you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you slowly stood up, every movement deliberate thanks to the sharp cramps still clawing at your stomach. You shuffled toward the counter where the bag of tampons rested, your gaze fixed on it like it was your one salvation.

Ben watched you with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the back of the couch. He didn’t say anything as you reached the counter and extended your hand toward the bag. But just as your fingers brushed the edge of it, he snatched it up in one swift motion, holding it just out of reach. “Uh-uh”, he said, his smirk turning into a full grin as he dangled the bag in front of you like a prize. “What’s the magic word?”.

You glared at him, your exhaustion and discomfort making you less patient than usual. “Ben”, you warned, your tone low.

“That’s not it”, he teased, holding the bag higher, like you were about to jump for it. “Come on, sweetheart. Give me something. A little ‘thank you, Ben, for braving the aisles of feminine doom for me’? Maybe a compliment? I accept those, too”.

You groaned, your face flushing with frustration. “Ben, I’m literally in pain. Just—give me the tampons”.

He tilted his head, his expression a perfect blend of cockiness and mock consideration. “Hmm. I don’t know. You’re not really selling it”, He dangled the bag again, his grin only widening. “Say I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had”.

You wanted to scream, but instead, you took a deep breath, glaring up at him. “You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Now, give them to me”.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your tone. “You could at least sound like you mean it”.

“Ben!”, you snapped, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

He laughed then, a deep, genuine sound that seemed to rumble through the room. “Alright, alright, don’t blow a fucking gasket”, he said, finally handing you the bag with an exaggerated flourish. “Here. Consider this a mercy”.

You snatched it from him without another word, already turning toward the bathroom, but not before you heard him call out behind you.

“You’re welcome, by the way! And don’t take too long in there—I’m not done being appreciated yet!”.

You rolled your eyes as you stepped into the bathroom, muttering under your breath about how he was impossible. But as you ripped open the package, his ridiculous antics played back in your mind, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help the small, exasperated smile tugging at your lips. Only Ben could make a moment like this feel completely absurd—and somehow a little less miserable.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling a little more human but still plagued by cramps, you found Ben lounging on the couch like he’d just finished a heroic mission. His boots were kicked up on the coffee table, his arms sprawled out over the back of the cushions, and that insufferable smirk was firmly plastered on his face.

He glanced up at you as you shuffled back into the living room, his green eyes flicking over you like he was trying to gauge your mood. “Look who’s all stuffed and ready to go”.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, and you stopped in your tracks, glaring at him. “Ben”, you warned, your tone sharp.

"C’mere”, he said, his grin widening as he held up one arm, patting the cushion next to him in a clear invitation. His green eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying how flustered you were.

You stood there for a moment, still blushing furiously, your arms crossed over your chest. The whole situation had been mortifying enough—you couldn’t believe you’d had to ask him for tampons in the first place, let alone endure his relentless teasing. “Ben, can you just—”, you started, but he cut you off with a low chuckle.

“Sweetheart”, he interrupted, his voice softening just enough to catch you off guard. “Quit fucking hovering like you’re waiting for permission. Get over here”.

You hesitated for a moment longer, still clutching at your embarrassment, but then the pull of his grin—warm beneath the sarcasm—and the casual way he stretched out his arm like it was no big deal made you relent. With a sigh, you shuffled over, your movements slow thanks to the lingering cramps, and sat down next to him.

Before you could settle in, Ben reached out and pulled you closer, tucking you against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, his hand resting lightly on your arm, while his other hand resumed its spot along the back of the couch. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing just a little against his warmth.

“There you go”, he murmured, his tone smug but laced with something softer, something comforting. “Nice and cozy. Didn’t even bleed out on the way here. Proud of you”.

Your blush deepened, and you groaned, hiding your face against his chest. “Why do you have to say things like that?”.

Ben chuckled lowly at your reaction, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Because”, he said, his voice dropping to that familiar teasing, gravelly tone, “it’s fun watching you squirm”.

You groaned again, refusing to look at him, but you felt him shift beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders as he dipped his head down. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, the warmth of his lips lingering as he trailed them down the side of your face, along your cheekbone, and then down to your jawline. The intimacy of the gesture made your breath hitch, your earlier embarrassment momentarily forgotten.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”, he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing so lightly you could barely feel them.

“Ben”, you warned, your tone weak with the mix of affection and exasperation he so easily drew out of you.

“Hmm?”, he hummed, clearly not done with his antics.

Ben’s lips continued their slow path downward, brushing softly against the curve of your neck. His hand shifted slightly, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm as his kisses grew bolder, trailing to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You shivered involuntarily, and of course, he noticed.

“See?”, he murmured against your skin, his voice smug and low. “You act all annoyed, but your body’s honest, sweetheart. You love it when I do this”.

“Ben”, you said again, though it came out weaker this time, more a plea than a warning.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your neck as his lips moved lower, just grazing your collarbone. “You know”, he started, his tone taking on that infuriating, cocky edge, “women always make such a big deal out of this period stuff. Bleeding, cramps, mood swings—it’s like you’re falling apart every month. And yet… here you are, melting under my hands like I’ve got you all figured out”.

You scoffed, your hand coming up to push lightly against his chest, though he didn’t budge. “Excuse me? You don’t have me figured out”.

He laughed again, a low, arrogant sound that rumbled against your skin as he kissed along your shoulder now, clearly unfazed by your weak attempt to argue. “Sure I do. You get all flustered, all shy, but the second I touch you… boom”. He snapped his fingers for emphasis, lifting his head briefly to smirk at you. “Fucking putty in my hands”.

Your cheeks flushed hot, both from embarrassment and indignation. “Ben, I’m literally in pain, and you’re using this as an excuse to inflate your already massive ego?”.

He grinned, unrepentant. “Hey, I went out and got you tampons. I’m practically a fucking feminist now”. His hand shifted, moving to rest lightly on your hip, and his smirk turned sharper as he added, “The least you could do is admit I’m good at taking care of you”.

Eventually Ben rolled his eyes dramatically, realizing he wasn’t going to get the flattery he was fishing for. “Fine”, he muttered, his tone exaggeratedly exasperated. “Keep your compliments, stingy. I’ll just be the unsung hero of the night”.

Before you could fire back, he grabbed a nearby blanket and pulled it around you with a practiced ease, his movements quick and deliberate. Then, without giving you a choice, he leaned back into the couch and guided your head onto his lap, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder to keep you there.

“Ben”, you protested weakly, trying to sit back up, but his large hand pressed down gently against your shoulder. “Shut up and relax”, he said, his voice softer now, though still carrying that teasing edge. “You’re not going anywhere. Let me work my magic”.

As you settled, his free hand slipped beneath the blanket and found its way under your (his) shirt, his palm resting heavy and warm against your lower abdomen. The weight of his hand alone was grounding, but then the heat began to seep into your skin—soothing and almost impossibly comforting. His supe-level body temperature, usually a source of mild amusement, was suddenly a godsend.

You let out a small sigh of relief as the warmth spread through your cramping muscles, easing the tension that had been knotting your stomach for hours. Your head rested against his thigh, your body finally beginning to relax.

“See?”, he said, his voice smug but quieter now. “Told you I’m good at this. I’m like a human heating pad—better than any of that modern shit you’ve got lying around”.

You huffed out a soft laugh, your earlier frustration melting away in the face of his unexpected care. “You’re something, alright”, you muttered, closing your eyes as the combination of his warmth and steady presence began to lull you into a rare sense of calm.

“Damn right I am”, he replied, his tone filled with mock arrogance, though his hand stayed firmly and steadily in place, his thumb brushing gently over your skin in slow, soothing circles.

For a while, the room was quiet, save for the faint sound of the TV playing in the background. Ben’s hand didn’t move except to adjust slightly when he felt you shift. Occasionally, his other hand would stray down to brush your hair out of your face or adjust the blanket more snugly around you.

“You know”, he said after a long pause, his voice quieter and less cocky, “I could get used to this”.

You cracked one eye open to look up at him, your brows raising slightly. “Used to what?”.

“This”, he said simply, his eyes meeting yours, his expression softer than you were used to. “Taking care of you. Being… good at something that matters”.

His words caught you off guard, but before you could respond, his smirk returned, chasing away the vulnerability in an instant. “But don’t let it go to your head. I’m still not doing this every fucking month”.

You laughed softly, feeling the last of your tension melt away. “Deal”, you whispered, closing your eyes again as his warmth and steady presence continued to soothe you.

And for once, Ben didn’t say anything else—he just stayed there, holding you close, his hand a steady source of comfort, his cocky grin replaced by a rare moment of contentment.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[whispers-of-starlight]

OMG IDEA....

Fwb doctor! Remus- so reader ends up at his work sick and then he ends up being the one to treat them like 'why didn't you tell me' and they're like 'well you're not my boyfriend so I didn't-' and whatever else but basically that prompts them to have the awkward convo that goes from fwb to dating

Thanks!

cw: mention of nausea, allusion to past sex but no sex takes place in this

fwb!doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Oh.” Remus falters halfway through the door. You look up from your phone, clearly as surprised to see him as he is to see you. You blink a couple of times as though clearing a film, your lips parting on a breath. Remus wishes his first thought were something more practical, something other than that it’s absurdly attractive. He may be developing a sort of Pavlovian response to you. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” you say, as shy as if this is the first time you’ve met. “What are you…” Your eyes move down to his coat, to the clipboard in his hands. “Do you work here?” 

“Yeah.” His voice sounds a tad softer than usual, and it’s the strangeness of that—him acting so out of place in an environment where he’s supposed to be an authority—that helps Remus remember himself. He steps the rest of the way into the exam room, closing the door behind him. “I take it you’re not here to see me.” 

A tiny smile graces your lips. “I might’ve been, if I’d known.” 

“Maybe next time.” Remus sets down his clipboard, opting to get his answers from you instead as he leans against the desk across from you. “What brings you in?” 

“I’ve, um…well, it feels weird talking about my problems now that it’s you.” 

Remus ignores how that stings. “It doesn’t need to. This is my job; I promise I can take care of you just the same as anyone else. Of course,” he forces himself to tack on, “if you’d be more comfortable with someone else, I can arrange that. You may just have to wait a while longer.” 

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’m fine with you. Sorry, it’s just different, you know?” 

Remus softens. He does know, to some extent. If he imagines himself going to get a cup of coffee, or boarding an airplane, or calling maintenance to his apartment and then finding out that you work there (He actually has no clue what you do, either, he realizes now. That’ll have to be remedied.), it would probably be a bit of an adjustment for him as well. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you. “We can go about this however you’re comfortable. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” 

“Right, yeah.” You’re playing with your fingers, not quite looking at him. You’re acting shy, in a way Remus had almost forgotten you could be. It’s fucking adorable, honestly. He assumes it’s because of this new environment and the shift in the dynamic between you, but it amuses him to think of you being more self-conscious in clothes than out of them. He wants to tease you, but he has a new role to play, too. “I’ve not been able to eat very much lately?” 

Remus feels his brows come down. 

“I’ve just been feeling rather nauseous,” you say, picking at your nail. “I thought maybe I was nauseous because I wasn’t eating, but eating didn’t seem to help either, so.” 

“How long has this been going on?” he asks. 

“A few days. Almost a week.” 

You know what he’s going to say. Remus knows you know, because your eyes flicker up to his for just a moment, sheepish. 

He was with you two nights ago. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, quietly. “I know I should have, but I really didn’t think it was contagious.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Remus feels his body gravitating towards you. Wanting to touch you, hold you, envelop you. He keeps it where it is. “It’s just that we spent all that time together, and you didn’t mention once that you weren’t feeling well.” 

“Well, I didn’t know that you did—” you gesture vaguely about the room “—this at the time.” 

“Even so.” 

You shrug, looking heartachingly unsure of yourself. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was relevant. It’s not the sort of thing we usually talk about, is it? I mean, you’re not, like…” 

Remus can fill in the blanks. It hurts to do it. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not someone you open up to about the everyday things in life. For fuck’s sake, you haven’t even asked each other what you do for work. 

But you are something to each other, aren’t you? Aren’t you at least friends? It’s not like all the time you spend together is taken up by wordless, impersonal, utilitarian sex. Remus tries to spend time with you before or after. At first it was just to make himself feel better about the transactional aspect of your relationship, but it wasn’t long until he was just doing it because he wanted to. He’s bought you coffee, and dinners, and pastries. He’s fixed the squeaky leg on your bed. You’ve sat on the roof of your building together and made up stories for passersby on the sidewalk below. He’s made you eggy toast in his kitchen. Your clothes have been in his dryer, for Christ’s sake; what could be more intimate than that?

“I’m your friend,” he says, because he won’t be leaving any room for argument, not on this. “You can tell me these things. You can tell me anything you like.” 

“Oh,” you say softly. You have that same look as when Remus first came in, like you’re seeing him entirely differently. “Okay. I didn’t know.” 

He feels his lips twitch. “Well, now you know.” 

“Okay,” you say again. Blinking. 

Remus puts you out of your misery. “Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?” 

You start listing symptoms, tentative, unsure. Remus forces himself to stay right where he is and listen rather than step forward to take your temperature, or get your blood pressure, or any of the other things that would help him get to the bottom of this more quickly. He doesn’t usually have to hold himself back, with other patients. It’s just that you…well, while Remus always cares about making things better for his patients as soon as he can, it’s possible that he cares just a little bit more in this case. It’s also possible that there’s still an instinctive part of him just dying to get closer to you. He wants to feel you beneath his hands and know that you’re okay. 

“Alright,” he says once you’re done, taking his stethoscope from around his neck, “I need to check a few things to be sure, but I think I know what we’re dealing with.” 

“Really?” Your expression glows with relief. A flicker of humor warms your eyes. “How did I know you’d be good at your job?” 

Remus hums, pleased beyond reason at your assessment of him. “You’ll need a prescription. You’re my last appointment of the day, so, if you’ll let me, I can take you to pick it up and get you set up at home afterwards.” 

“Oh, Remus…” You look up at him as the bell of his stethoscope settles over your heart. He ignores the drumbeat to hear you. “You don’t have to. I know we’re friends now, but that’s too much. You’re not obligated to do those sorts of things for me.” 

“I’d like to do those sorts of things for you,” he responds unflinchingly. “It wouldn’t be out of obligation, it’d be because I want to.” 

Your heartbeat ratchets up. “I don’t want to feel like a job for you.” 

“Sweetheart” —there it is again, that soft tone. Entirely unprofessional— “you could never be a job. I love spending time with you, alright? I’d love to look after you, if you’d be okay with it.” 

“I love spending time with you, too,” you murmur, so sweet Remus could kiss you if that wouldn’t truly put him at risk of getting fired. And yet he’s still thinking about it. “Of course you’re welcome to come over if you want to. I just…I don’t know how to…” 

It’s clear by now that Remus is a weaker man than he thought himself to be. He gives in, covering your lips with his. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises you.

[whispers-of-starlight]

You know how, on birthdays, it’s kind of cute to feed your friend a spoonful of cake? Real sweet, right?

Yeah, well, it’s a lot less cute when Satoru expects you to do it every single time he brings home dessert. (Which is often) Doesn’t matter if it’s his birthday or not.

He’s already tugging you into his lap before you can even say no, arm wrapped around your waist as he wiggles the fork in your face, already loaded with cake he’s definitely taken a bite of first. And he’s grinning. That wicked little grin, baby blue eyes glittering with mischief as he coos, “C’mon, baby, feed me the cake.”

You know what he wants. He wants a repeat of what happened the other night. When you cupped his stupidly handsome jaw and called him your pretty little thing, all mean and teasing while he practically whimpered in your hands.

So you don’t give him cute. No, no. You wrap your hand gently around his throat instead, just enough to feel his pulse flutter against your palm. His breath catches.

“Open wide, pretty boy,” you purr.

And he melts. Back arching just a little, lips parting instantly, tongue out and waiting like the pathetic little dessert-hungry mutt he is. You feed him the cake and he moans around it, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

You don’t even know if he likes the flavor. He just likes being fed like this. And of course you'll continue to encourage his bratty actions. Because damn it… he's so good when he begs.

(I swear though, he will deep throat the fork)

[whispers-of-starlight]

SPINNING OUT [part one]

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~4.7k

Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but it just works better in 3 parts! This is part one - the other two parts are outlined! First time really writing a multi-chapter fic, eeeep.

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, no smut in this part but eventual smut. Eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49). If I missed anything, let me know!

NOW

It starts again because of an accident. 

You’re driving home from work and you’re the kind of bone-deep tired that settles inside of you like lead. Your chest feels heavy and your shoulders ache. You grip the steering wheel, blinking bleary eyes to try and stay focused on the road. 

You dream of home. Stepping out of your heels. A glass of pinot noir in your favorite long-stemmed glass. You dream of putting the day behind you; of closing the tab on all the clients you saw today. All the words you offered them, and the space you held between your body and theirs; your mind is tired. It is fulfilled, yes - as it always is. You know being a therapist is your calling, and you’ve never been more grateful for work than you are at this particular time in your life. 

But you’re…exhausted. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night. Likely in the before. Before your home was cold and lonely. Before everything felt so fucking hard. Before you slept alone in your bed and only brewed one cup of coffee and only made enough food for you.

You just want to rest. 

More than that? You’d like to hide. Your brain is all static and fuzz. It’s flipping its channels at a rapid pace and you’ve lost the remote. You think about the Xanax you have at home and think maybe tonight is the night you take one. 

You just crave peace. 

Everything changes in the span of a breath.

There is the screeching of metal-on-metal, your driver’s side door crunching in on itself. Your neck feels like it snaps. Your airbag deploys and then all you can feel is pain.

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

You feel like you can no longer breathe. You try breathing, you try opening your eyes but everything feels blurred, like you’ve taken your fingers and smeared the paint that makes up your vision. 

You cannot see. You cannot feel anything other than a burning pain that goes from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. 

You think you might be dead. You think of him, for just a moment. 

You do not know how much time passes.

In the ambulance, through the fog and haze of it all, as you lie on the gurney with your head, neck and limbs secure, you beg them to take you to a different hospital, anywhere but the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center because if you go there you’ll see him and you just fucking can’t. 

They ignore your pleas and they tell you to hang on. They tell you a drunk driver slammed into you and t-boned your car. You can barely process anything they are telling you and you feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness. 

A nap. A nap would be so good right now.

They ask you to keep your eyes open but you screw them up tight. It’s too bright in the ambulance and you don’t recognize these voices. 

You can’t see him. Not like this. Not after everything. 

You’re fading, feeling yourself pulled under the current of a dark blankness and then the gurney is being taken out of the back of the ambulance. You keep thinking not like this, not like this, like it’s a broken record in your head and you’re desperate to get to the next track.

You understand that your gurney is moving quickly and you know, despite really being aware, that they’ve taken you to PTMC. The doors slide open and there’s so much noise but your ears are buzzing and ringing. 

Everything feels far away. 

You catch snippets of dialogue in the trauma bay. “Unidentified 38-year-old female. MVA. Somewhat responsive. Severe blood loss. Possible lung puncture, difficulty breathing.” 

Then Robby’s face is above you and his brown eyes grow wide, rounding at the ages as he sees it’s you. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” and then he barks an order at someone else and you manage to grab his sleeve. He turns back to you. 

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and raspy as he wheels you quickly into the trauma bay. “Just fucking hang on, okay?”

“Don’t tell him,” you rasp. “Robby, please, don’t—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath but it feels like you’re drowning. Blood splatters out of your lips. “Don’t tell Jack—”

A heartbroken look flickers across Robby’s face but then you gasp and you can’t finish your sentence because everything goes black. 

* * * 

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no. 

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life. 

When he works, he can stop thinking about you. 

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself. 

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has. 

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time. 

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight. 

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack. 

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack. 

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him. 

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life. 

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows. 

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1. 

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts. 

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own. 

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.

He can’t lose you. Not when everything is so wrong. 

* * * 

BEFORE

It’s Robby who sets the two of you up in the first place.

Robby went to high school with your older brother. While back then, you were the baby sister always trying to play with the big boys (literally, you were two and Robby and your brother were 17), the two of you reconnected when you became a licensed therapist and moved into the city. Despite being fifteen years your senior, Robby became a good friend. 

The two of you tried dating – briefly – but after a few dates, you realized you were much better off as friends. It always felt forced, too platonic, and you were honestly relieved when you both confessed that the romance wasn’t there. 

“I just can’t kiss someone who I knew when they were a toddler,” Robby told you bashfully, face beet red, after you’d both pulled away from a rather lackluster kiss. You hadn’t even been offended; you’d just laughed and called him an old pervert.

He’s been a best friend ever since.

You’re grabbing a coffee with Robby before his shift and your first client of the day when you finish complaining about your latest string of bad dates. 

“He venmo requested me when I got home.”

Robby chokes on his sip of coffee. “No.” 

You laugh, nodding and playing with the plastic lid of your cup. “Yes! You know what? It’s on me for agreeing to go out with a guy who still lives in his mom’s basement. I am grown enough to admit that that’s on me.” 

“Jesus,” Robby mutters. “What a dick.” 

“I think I’m done. I’m too old.” You know you’re being dramatic, but it’s so easy to bitch to Robby. “You’d think being a therapist I’d be able to spot emotionally intelligent men, but I can’t. Can’t even find someone who’s in therapy himself.” 

Robby snorts into his coffee and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ old maid.” He pauses, lifts an eyebrow. “I know a guy in therapy.”

You purse your lips, studying Robby as you sit at the little cafe table in the coffee shop. “Oh yeah? He an ER doctor too?”

Robby smirks. “Yeah, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I can’t do that again.”

Robby laughs, holds a hand to his heart like you’ve wounded him. “Ouch. Was it that bad?” 

You grin, bumping his coffee cup with your own. “Yes, it was that bad. Even if we–yanno, had actually been into each other in a real way, your schedule is atrocious. ER doctors are walking zombies. I can’t date another one!”

Robby studies you in that quiet way of his that makes you feel like he’s seeing through whatever bullshit you’re spouting. 

“His name’s Jack Abbot. He’s an attending on the night shift. He’s in his 40s, was a medic in the army.” Robby pauses. “He’s a good man.”

You take a moment and absorb the information. “Is he even looking to date?”

Robby grins, draining the last of his coffee. “When he meets you, yeah, I think he will be.”

* * * 

Falling in love with Jack Abbot starts out slow and then happens all at once. 

You meet for the first time at a little bar around the corner from your apartment. You’re nervous. If you were being honest, you didn’t think Robby’s colleague would be interested in a blind date. But you’d gotten a text from an unknown number that read, “Hey, this is Jack Abbot, Robby’s better half. Would it be okay if I called you? Not a great texter.” 

He’d called a minute after you said that was fine and the deep gravel of his voice had warmed you down to your toes. Robby had shown you a picture of him, the two of them at some hospital fundraiser gala a year or two back, and yeah, he was fucking handsome. Thick, gray curls. Broad shoulders. Crooked smile. 

Apparently, he hadn’t been opposed to whatever picture Robby had shown him of you, because you found yourself talking on the phone with Dr. Jack Abbot for over two hours that first phone call. The conversation flowed easily, winding between work and family and it began to sketch the shape of you to each other. 

It’d been natural. Scarily so, if you were honest with yourself. 

You’re still nervous to meet him in person. That phone call was a few nights ago, and your hands tremble a little as you open the door to the bar. You run your hands down the fabric of your little dress – a casual, first date number that makes you feel sexy and like yourself all at once – as you walk into the bar. Your eyes scan for a moment. 

Your heart is thumping. 

This feels weighted in a way that other first dates haven’t. This person is in Robby’s orbit, which automatically makes you trust him. 

Your eyes meet across the room and it feels like a little lock sliding into place. You’re taken aback by the feeling.

He’s standing at the corner of the bar, casually leaning against it, hands in his pockets and Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. The salt-and-pepper curls look even better than in the picture you saw, and your fingers itch to run through them. He’s in nice jeans, a black sweater, expensive as fuck looking Nikes, and he’s…well, he’s staring at you in a way that nearly makes you stumble mid-step. 

“Hi,” you breathe when you’re in front of him. Jack’s smile is a little crooked and it’s so charming you feel flustered.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds just like it did on the phone: warm and raspy. “It’s really nice to meet you—uh, in person.” Oh my god, he’s so cute. He seems nervous and oddly, it sets you at ease.

You smile at him and fiddle with the strap of your purse. “It’s also nice to meet you in person.” Jesus, you sound like a robot. 

But Jack grins again and it makes him look boyish. 

“I’ll be honest,” Jack tells you, and he steps a little closer. His scent wafts over to you - like clean, fresh soap - and it’s very nice. “I uh…I haven’t been set up in awhile. I’m a little rusty.” 

You laugh. “Rusty’s okay with me.” You pause. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement, do you?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. The bar’s that low?”

You purse your lips. “In the ground.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving breath and shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck. “I promise I don’t live in my ma’s basement.” 

You grin and he grins back crookedly and it’s so nice. He asks you what you’re drinking and after you both have your choice in hand - a pinot noir for you, a whisky on the rocks for him - you find a little table. The bar is one of your favorites, a charming little place with low lighting and a relaxed crowd. 

You’re once again surprised by how natural it all feels. You pick up right where you left off on the phone, and you’re grateful that Jack seems to enjoy talking. You’ve been on plenty of dates with men who can’t carry a conversation or seem physically incapable of asking you a single question about yourself, so this? 

This is just…lovely. 

The candlelight dances across Jack’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the gray stubble. You…simply cannot stop looking at him. And he cannot seem to stop looking at you; you may not know him well yet, but an hour in his presence and you realize this man loves eye contact. He’s unafraid to hold it, and it keeps you grounded and in your body in a way that is calming to your anxiety. 

You find out Jack grew up just outside of Pittsburgh, that he’s a born and raised Steelers fan. You learn more about his time as a combat medic (you’d touched on it on the phone). You learn that he prefers the night shift, that it calms and quiets his mind. You learn that he’s been seeing his current therapist for two years after his previous one retired. You learn that he’s the oldest of four kids and has three younger sisters. A bunch of nieces and nephews that he — adorably — shows you on his phone. 

He learns that you’re prone to anxiety attacks. That you’ve wanted to be a therapist since high school. You tell him about your friendship with Robby and he laughs when you tell him about your ill-fated attempt at dating. He learns that you want to travel more, dream of going back to Sorrento, Italy and sipping limoncello while the briny sea breeze of the marina plays across your face. He learns about your family, and how much you love them. 

A lull in the conversation as you sip your wine and he studies you. You blush, looking into your glass.

“What?” you ask out of the side of your mouth. When you look back up at him, you notice he has a dimple in his cheeks when he grins. 

“I just didn’t think it’d be like this,” is what he says. Your heart thrums once, twice, a thudding in your chest.

“Like what?”

He doesn’t blink when he stares at you. “Easy.”

You smile at him and he lets out a breath like that smile is what he’s been waiting for. 

“I uh, I should tell you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been married before. My wife passed ten years ago.” His jaw clenches once, twice. “I never know how to uh, bring it up.” He clears his throat. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Thank you for telling me,” you say softly, genuinely. And you mean it. 

He looks at you then like he’s a little surprised. “You didn’t say, ‘sorry for your loss.’”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. Do you want me to?”

His cheeks dimple when he gives you a small, gentle smile. “Fuck no. I’m just…everyone says ‘sorry for your loss.’” 

“It is an unthinkable thing to lose a partner, a thing that forever changes your entire chemistry as a human being,” you tell him. “And I hate that it happened to you. And I’m very thankful that you told me.” 

Jack taps his thumb against his whisky glass, and seems to study the melting ice within it. “She’s—she was the best person I ever met. She made me better. I think about her all the time.” He adds roughly, “I hope she’s proud’a me.” 

You resist the urge to take this man’s hand in your own. Your fingers itch for it, but you don’t want to assume he’s okay with that, especially during such a vulnerable moment. You sit in his words for a moment, letting them rest between you. 

“I’m so glad you had her. That you still have her, in a lot of ways, I’m sure.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he lets out a breath and when he looks up at you, his eyes glisten a bit. 

“This what it’s like dating a therapist? You always say the right thing?”

You bark out a laugh because you can’t help it. “God, if I always said the right thing, I’d be a shitty therapist. I tend to believe you learn by failing and fucking up.” Your cheeks warm as he continues to look at you. “And this isn’t dating. This is our first date.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? First and last?”

You bite your lip and his eyes track the motion. He swallows. “That what you want? First and last?”

“Hell no,” he says immediately, voice so sure that it warms your entire body. The glisten in his eyes has given way to a brightness and you think, I like this.

I like you.

“Good,” you tell him, draining the last of your wine. “Me either.”

* * * 

You get tacos from the taco truck around the corner, and in between bites of carne asada and tinga de pollo, Jack tells you about work at PTMC.

“I like the teaching aspect of it,” he tells you after taking a sip of his water. You sit at a little folding table in the parking lot where the truck is set up. “I didn’t think I’d like that part, but as cheesy as it sounds, I think it’s part of what I’m meant to do.”

You’re smiling as you say, “I see why you and Robby are friends.” 

Jack barks out a short laugh. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

You swallow the last bite of your taco, lick the salsa from your fingertips. Jack’s eyes linger on the movement and you feel a buzz in your blood. 

“You both can’t help but lead. It’s in your DNA.” You pause. “It’s how I know you’re a good doctor and I just met you.”

“Hey now,” Jack says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You keep talkin’ like that and my ego’s gonna get too big to fit through the trauma bay.”

You grin and he grins back and you feel silly and light and…happy. 

“I wanna see you again,” Jack tells you. It’s so straightforward that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

“You’re seeing me right now,” you say to deflect from the nerves you’re feeling. 

Jack shrugs. 

“Not enough,” he says and you think you might actually swoon. “I like schedules. You wanna see me again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’m off in three days and I wanna make you dinner at my place. Would that be okay?”

You try to contain your excitement, to play it cool. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought you were rusty at the whole dating thing,” you tell him. His eyes flash with something you want to name as mischief. 

Jack rubs his scruffy jaw. He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. “You make me wanna be good at it.”

You think your smile may be so bright that it outshines the streetlight above. 

“Dinner at your place in three days sounds perfect.” 

* * * 

There’s an energy between you that wasn’t there earlier in the night as Jack walks you home. You can feel it. It’s heavy and pulsing and it makes you feel untethered in a way that is intoxicating. 

Your hands brush as you walk down the quiet, dark street. Shoulders swaying into each other. You can feel the heat of Jack’s body, how close he’s walking. You clock that he’s walking on the outside of the sidewalk, that his eyes scan your surroundings, like he’s making sure he’s aware of everything going on.

The two of you don’t speak much as you walk, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s…anticipatory. It feels like you’re on the precipice of something and whatever happens in the next few minutes will determine something very important. 

You reach your duplex, a sweet little place with night-blooming jasmine bushes that have been there since you moved in several years ago. You stop at the gate and turn to him. He stops walking, hands in his pockets as his eyes hold yours. 

You both don’t say anything for a moment. You just look at each other and it’s comforting to know that you can exist with this man, just as you are. 

“This is me,” you say after a moment and it makes laughter bubble out of both of you. He grins boyishly, the apples of his cheeks pushing upward. A chorus of cute cute cute chants in your brain.

“Yeah, I figured,” he teases. “Unless you’re in the habit of just stopping in front of random people’s houses.”

“You don’t know me,” you tease back. 

Jack steps closer to you and you look up at him. He’s not really tall but he’s taller than you and his entire presence is so broad and commanding that you feel swept into it. 

“Hopin’ to change that, though.” His voice has a husk to it. “If you’ll let me.”

You take in a breath as he studies you like he’s trying to memorize your face. 

“Yeah, Abbot,” you say, your own voice soft. “I’ll let you.”

He huffs out a breath, hazel eyes clear. “Yeah?” 

His right hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek for a tender moment. You nod as he leans down. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, right before his lips meet yours. 

It’s the best first kiss you’ve ever had. 

Light at first, both of you learning one another’s mouths. Jack’s other hand comes to your face and he’s cradling your head like it’s something precious, like it’s something to be cherished. You step closer to him, your own hands fisting the front of his sweater and pulling him closer. 

When your tongue traces his bottom lip, Jack groans and it lights you up from your scalp to your toes. 

He opens his mouth immediately, his tongue licking into you and you’re on fire. 

You’re in your thirties and you’re making out with this man with a mop of silver curls and it’s so heady that you feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a teenager again, sneaking kisses before the porch light comes on and you’re found out. 

You don’t know how much time passes, just that when you both break apart you’re equally short of breath. You’re seconds from inviting him up to your place which is not your typical first date move but that’s simply because nobody’s been worth it before. He grins down at you, lips kiss-bitten, face flushed, and plays with a loose strand of hair framing your face. He rubs it between his fingers, then tucks it behind your ear. 

“Three days. My place. Dinner,” he says, voice husky and wrecked and you smile up at him, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. 

“Can’t wait.”

Later that night, when you’re in bed about to drift off, you get a text from Robby, asking how the date had gone. You respond with a simple thumbs up, knowing it’ll piss him off. He returns your text with ????????? and you snort. You put him out of your misery with your response: It was wonderful. He is wonderful. Seeing him in a few days. Robby sends back a thumbs up in retaliation, which in return makes you annoyed and then you engage in a battle of emojis (middle finger, gun, skull, etc.) until your phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Jack Abbot: Had an amazing time tonight and can’t wait to see you again. Sweet dreams.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you think maybe—just maybe—this is the start of a real good thing.

There’s no way you can know that in four years you’ll be separated from Jack and fighting for your life in a cold, dark hospital room.

[whispers-of-starlight]

[whispers-of-starlight]

Fahrenheit 451

it's all just vibes, never learn what anything means, never study, just assume you've got the shape of things and never check or verify from there.

[whispers-of-starlight]

Candles | M. Robinavitch

summary: it’s your husband’s birthday, you and your daughter take it upon yourself to make it as special as possible for him especially knowing he hates celebrating today.

Warnings: fluff, girl dad!Robby, lots of kisses and sweetness, a bit of angst, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 985

an: it’s Noah’s birthday and I just wanted to make something special for our one and only dr robby and his girls!!!

“Shh, Mommy! You’ll wake him up!”

  Robby hears the voice from out of the room, followed by lots of giggles and hushed laughter. He sits up, resting his back against the headboard as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms, sighing as he listens to the rustling in the house.

  With a groan, he stands up from the bed, stretching his back, hearing a few joints popping. He is getting old, he knows it, and what makes it worse is that today is his birthday. 

  He dreads his birthday; from weeks before to the day itself. He hates the idea of getting old too fast, he despises the fact that he has chained the two people he loves the most to him, and his biological clock nearing its stop. He’ll be long dead before he sees his daughter getting married, and it upsets him beyond belief.

  He walks out of the room, finding you and his daughter whisking what he assumes is a cake batter, talking with a hushed tone as you guide her through the process slowly.

  “Morning.”

  “No!” Your daughter screams, her head whipping towards him, big brown eyes wide in surprise, “Nooooo! You’re not supposed to be up, Daddy!”

  “Easy, easy—“

  You try to catch her before she trips over the edge of the chair she is on, but she jumps down and bolts towards Robby, small hands pushing on his belly as hard as she can.

  “Why not, princess—“

  “No! Go back to bed, go go gooooo!” She whines, nearly bursting into tears as she grabs Robby’s hand and pulls him to the bedroom, “It’s your day, we wanted to surprise you, but now it’s all ruined!”

  “It’s not, I promise. C’mere, lemme look at you,” Robby picks her up, cradling her face in his large hand, forcing her to look at him, “It’s not ruined, I still don’t know what you wanna do, okay? I’m gonna go back to bed and close the door, that sounds good?”

  “But now you know…” she pouts, her eyes tearing up slightly, and the sight breaks Robby’s heart. He coos gently, kissing her forehead and hugging her little body tightly.

  “No, I don’t know, princess,” he walks back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with her cuddled up against his chest, “Go and help mommy, yeah? I’m gonna get under the blanket. I promise I don’t know what you want to do.”

  “Pinky promise?” She holds her pinky up, blinking her doe eyes at him with a glint of hope in them. He beams at her, kissing her little nose before hooking his own finger around her.

  “Pinky promise.”

  “Yay! Now go to bed!” She giggles and pushes him down, wiggling her way down until her feet touch the ground and she runs outside, leaving him chuckling to himself.

  He pulls the cover over his body, resting his back on the mattress as he waits for his girls to come and get him. He doesn’t know how long it will take, but his eyes get drowsy and he falls asleep.

  “Wake up, Daddy.”

  He groans, wrapping his arms around the tiny body and crawling up his chest, flipping her over until she is giggling and screaming under him. Robby nuzzles his face against her cheek, rubbing her beard over her soft skin, making her laugh wholeheartedly.

  “Daddy! Stop!”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he pulls back a bit, looking down at his daughter’s beautiful toothy smile, “What are you up to, princess?”

  “Happy birthday!” She leans up to kiss his cheek, his nose, then back to his cheek until he lets out a belly laugh, and she hides her face in her hands in embarrassment.

  “Princess,” he chuckles, gently sitting up pulling her to his lap, and taking away her hands, “Thank you, sweetest girl.”

  “Look! Look!” She points at you, walking inside the room with a large cake in hand, lots of candles on top of the cream that he is sure his daughter’s put on, “Surprise!”

  “Ahhh, thank you so much!” He kisses her cheek, nearly melting on the spot when she wraps her arms around his neck and smashes her cheek against his, “Hey, Love.”

  “Happy birthday, my love,” you sit next to them on the bed, leaning forward to peck his lips, smiling when you find your daughter, shyly grinning at the two of you, “It was all her work.”

  “Really? Wow, what a talented daughter I have!” He kisses her forehead, smiling back when she grins up at him, nodding in agreement.

  “Mommy helped! But blow your candles, Daddy! Please, please!” 

  “Alright, alright,” he chuckles, blushing when you hold the cake up, winking at him when he looks at you before he looks back at his daughter, “Wanna blow them with me?”

  “Yes!” 

  “Ready? One, two, three— yay!” You laugh when they both blow the candles, watching as your daughter claps her hands and then wraps her arms around Robby’s neck again, pressing hard kisses on his bearded cheek.

  “Happy birthday, daddy! I love you!”

  “I love you, too, my sweet beautiful girl,” Robby’s eyes sting with tears as he looks at his daughter’s radiating smile, “I love you so much.”

  “Happy birthday, Michael,” you cup his cheek, kissing his forehead gently before he turns his head to you, pulling your lips for a slow peck, “Thank you for everything you do for us. I love you.”

  “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers, closing his eyes when you reach and wipe his tears with your thumb, “Thank you for making me the happiest man on earth.”

  “Thank you for not giving up on me,” you say and put the cake on the nightstand, crawling next to both of them on the bed to hug them at the same time, “Thank you for giving me a family I’ve always dreamed of.”

[whispers-of-starlight]

imagine bein’ loved by me

JACK ABBOT x F!READER

Summary: Jack Abbot is a tease and a bully and an overall menace to society, and you are utterly infatuated with him.

wc: 9.2k (what the fuck)

Warnings: f!reader, resident!reader, implied age gap, power imbalance, jack is a fucking tease, he is also a dummy, tension in the workplace, an almost bar fight, pining, explicit sexual content, brief oral (f!receiving), praise, p in v, finishing inside, oh no, they’re in love

A/N: not only did this get way longer than intended, it also got way softer than I had planned oops. Anyway, y’all are gonna roll your eyes at a certain scene when my clear bias toward Robby is put on full fucking display lmfao enjoy~

He notices it the first time you work a night shift with him. 

Jack has seen you in action before. Hell, Robby has even sung your praises (a rarity). You have sure hands, follow spot-on gut instincts, and you’re great with the patients. You’ve proved that you’re competent and confident here in the EC. 

However, as soon as Jack steps into any room you’re already in, that sugar-laced smile fades. You stutter, you hesitate, your hands start to tremble. 

Initially, he thought it was because he intimidated you. It wouldn’t be the first time, but usually, if a resident is scared of Jack, they’re downright terrified of Robby who’s known to be hypercritical and harsher in his corrections (a side effect of all the stress he’s under, Jack thinks). 

That doesn’t seem to be the case with you. He’s seen how you act around Robby, professional but relaxed. You grin, high five, and Jack is pretty sure he witnessed a warm, work-appropriate side hug shared after a particularly harrowing shift. 

He comes to the conclusion that this is an issue you have exclusively with Jack, and that doesn’t sit well with him. 

He isn’t angry, just curious. 

Also, he can’t have you freezing up whenever he’s even remotely close by; that’s just not good in this line of work. 

So, in the early morning hours of what Jack knows to be your last shift before you’re off for a few days, he catches your attention and jerks his chin to beckon you over to the nurse’s station. The manner in which you look around and over your shoulders, pointing to yourself in disbelief, makes his lips quirk up on one side. 

Jack mouths the word ‘you’ while nodding and watches as you shuffle toward him with wide eyes. 

“Um, what can I—” you clear your throat, “what can I do for you, Dr. Abbot?”

“You have a second to talk?” he asks, and you swallow, head moving up and down in slow, silent affirmation. “Don’t worry. You’re not in any trouble.”

“Okay, do you… do you wanna talk here, or is it—I mean, is it a closed door conversation, or…?”

Jack just does not understand why you get so timid around him. Why is it you can laugh and joke and work with Robby and Shen, but you can’t with him? What has he done to make you so mousy? 

“Wherever you’re comfortable. We can step outside if you want, or we can stay right here,” he offers. You’re in control here. You have the choice. No wrong answers. 

“Outside?” you half suggest, half ask, and Jack motions for you to lead the way. 

It’s about three AM on a Tuesday morning. Not a whole lot of action right now, but you both know that can change on a dime. 

As soon as the doors slide shut behind him, you look at Jack in concern. “Is everything okay?” 

He crosses his arms over his chest, remembers it could come off as defensive or surly, so he drops them to his sides, except that feels awkward and wrong too. No fucking wonder Robby is always rubbing his face and holding the back of his neck. 

Eventually, Jack settles on sliding his hands into his pockets, relaxes his posture, tries not to look like a soldier standing at attention. 

“I wanted to ask you the same question.” 

You frown, not quite pouty, more like you’re having trouble solving a riddle, so Jack continues before you can catastrophize any further. 

“I get the feeling that I make you nervous sometimes,” all the time, “and I want you to know that you shouldn’t be. Nervous, I mean.”

No longer pinched together, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, your gaze repeatedly flicking to and away from his face. 

“See, that,” he chuckles, “you look like you just got caught stealing drugs.” Then, in an attempt to ease your discomfort, he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial volume and adds, “have you… been stealing drugs?”

It does not make you laugh. It just makes you shake your head urgently, “no, I’d never—Dr. Abbot, s—”

“Hey, hey, calm down. I was just teasin’, kid,” he tries to reassure you while smiling how he usually does, subtle but amused. 

If he’s being honest, though, the deer in the headlights look is kind of endearing. Unnecessary, but endearing. 

Then, Jack sees that wide eyed stare move down to the slight curve of his mouth and remain there for a few whole seconds, more than enough time for you to see that previously subtle curve lift a little higher on one side until it’s more smirk than smile. 

So, that’s what it is. 

Jack tries to clear it from his face, but it’s kind of impossible, especially when you’re able to detect the mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“I should, uh—ya’ know, actually….” You start backing up toward the sliding doors, “you really don’t make me nervous, Dr. Abbot. I think you just… I mean, no offense, but I think maybe you got the wrong idea.”

A self-conscious laugh, then a little huff when you miss the doors and instead back up into the bricks beside them. 

“Right.” 

Jack moves closer, finding too much enjoyment in your tiny gasp when he reaches out and gives you a nudge to the side before placing his hands lightly on your shoulders. 

He turns you to face the pitt, guides you through the entrance as his footsteps echo directly behind yours. 

“Of course you’re not nervous—why would you be?”

You’re absolutely rigid in front of him, even curl forward a tiny bit when Jack gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze before letting go. 

You pivot to hide your face so fast, he’s surprised you don’t tear a goddamn ligament. 

It all makes sense now, he thinks. 

You’re not nervous; you’re smitten. 

How sweet. 

•

You consider begging Dr. Robby to let you come back to days early. It would be out of line and a little pathetic, but you’d much rather deal with that fallout over the very real threat of dropping dead in a trauma room any time Dr. Abbot so much as looks at you. 

A single glance is enough to make your heart skip a beat, and he is doing a bit more than that now, so you have a feeling that your time is about to be up. 

<< Hey, how many more weeks am I on nights? 

You type up some elaborate story about splattering spaghetti all over your dry erase calendar and having to clean it, wiping away your schedule, but the more details you give, the more suspicious Dr. Robby will get. 

>> Is it not on Teams?

Damn. 

<< Missed the window to change my password, so I’m locked out on my phone. 

That seems believable. 

It takes him a while to get back to you, but you almost wish he hadn’t when you read his response. 

>> You’ve still got another 3 weeks

There’s no way you’ll make it that long. You’ll be a nervous wreck by the time you return to the daylight hours of the EC. 

>> Miss day shift? 

<< Maybe. 

<< Yes. 

You also miss working under an attending who doesn’t make you shake like a chihuahua. 

>> I promise I won’t make you stay any longer than you have to, but Abbot and Shen need the help for now

Just reading his name is enough to make something jump in your stomach. 

Three more weeks of surviving Dr. Jack Abbot as he tries his damndest to kill you. 

And, you don’t even know why he’s doing it. You can understand why he’d want to suss out the reason you get so flustered around him, but now he has it. You know he knows because apparently you are incapable of concealing your feelings or even facial expressions when you see that barely-there smile of his. 

The exact moment—you witnessed the exact fucking moment that he figured it out. God, just thinking about it has you mortified all over again. And, then he held your shoulders and he teased you and you still had to work another four hours without passing out from embarrassment. 

From the very first day, or more accurately, the very first shift change, Dr. Abbot had too much of your attention. Something about his eyes and mouth and the salt and pepper stubble and silver curls and dexterous hands and really everything about him. 

He knows that now—maybe not all the details and areas of focus, but he definitely has the big picture. 

And, it amuses him. Entertains him. It’s almost like it brings him joy to make you squirm a little. 

He isn’t preying on you, you don’t think. It doesn’t feel malicious or coercive. Just inconvenient and confusing and really fucking distracting. 

In the shifts that followed shortly after his little discovery, Dr. Abbot just looked at you longer than he did before. Sometimes you’d see the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. Unnerving, but something you could cope with. Mostly. 

Now, he’s getting a little bolder, a little closer. Physically. Will come stand right next to you at the nurse’s station or sit at the computer nearest the one you’re using to chart. He doesn’t stare at you when he inflicts this torture. No, the gazes are always from a distance, probably with the purpose of making the back of your neck burn. Here, when he’s right beside you, he just smirks. You think he might try to hide it, but he’s not very good at it, even laughed once when you’d stood up as soon as he sat down. 

It’s just—it’s just rude. So rude. 

The worst part of it all, though, is that it’s helped steady you. You’ve stopped shaking in exam rooms, rarely stutter when giving reports. It’s like some kind of awful exposure therapy, and while it’s made you a more efficient doctor (still not as good as you are during the day), it leaves you in a constant state of mild discomfort, hot all over for twelve straight hours. 

It can’t get any worse, though. There’s no way that Dr. Abbot, revered and respected and selfless, would push things further. 

He wouldn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

(He does.) 

•

The praise is genuine. Jack doesn’t say it to get a rise out of you; he wouldn’t do that. 

He’s watching over your shoulder as you prepare to put in a chest tube. Your hands are unwavering, nimble fingers counting ribs and controlled around the scalpel. 

In just a couple weeks your confidence in treatment has risen exponentially. He wishes he didn’t have to torture it out of you, but whatever works, works. 

Plus, it’s not like he’s not having some fun with it. You may be well balanced while performing procedures, but around Jack, you’re still wide eyed and restless. 

It’s cute, your little crush. 

Surprising, a little baffling, but mostly cute. 

Jack has been told that he has an… effect… on some women. More than he would’ve thought, and he still isn’t used to it. Fuck, he’s only just now started to notice it. 

Samira, bless her, was able to break it down for him, said he was a ‘silver fox’. Gray hair, fit, “think Anderson Cooper!”

Then, she’d let him in on another secret. 

“Your eyes are your best weapon, though.”

“My eyes?”

“Mhmm. It’s the way you stare. It makes it feel like nothing else exists. Very intense.”

She’s moved on to bigger and better things, as she should. Jack is glad she did, even if he misses having someone to explain the trends and lingo of the modern world. The pitt was never going to be big enough for Dr. Samira Mohan. 

It’s perfect for him, though. Exactly where he wants to be, especially right now as you secure the chest tube just fucking right. 

“Nicely done,” Jack tells you, still eyeing your work from behind you, catching the way your shoulders raise up close to your ears. 

He chuckles, you let out a frustrated, squeaky grunt, and then Jack gives you a little pat on the back and leaves. 

You avoid him as best you can for the rest of the night. 

Apparently, Jack has more going for him than his silver hair and ‘intense’ stares. 

Whether it’s proximity, his voice, or the words themselves, he isn’t sure. He’s more than willing to experiment to find out, though. 

The next chance he gets, Jack stands unnecessarily close to you again. It isn’t enough to raise eyebrows, really just looks like he’s keeping an eye on a fledgling doctor’s technique (which he is!). You’re a little stiff but not nearly as done with him as you were earlier. 

So, you’ve gotten used to him hovering. That’s good. 

“John got everyone lunch,” Jack says, coming to lean against the central hub beside you, voice dipped low and a tad rough. 

If you ask, he’ll just say he’s tired. It won’t be a lie. 

You don’t ask, however, just glance over at him, eyes landing on his mouth for a nanosecond before flicking back up. 

“What, did he lose a bet?” you eventually respond. 

Jack laughs quietly, “yeah, actually.”

“Typical,” you snort, “is gambling a hallmark of every EC or is it just ours?”  

He shrugs then straightens up, “no clue. Gotta find ways to entertain ourselves, right?” 

So far, you’ve seemed relatively unfazed, which is why Jack tosses you a quick wink as he backs away from the station. 

That gets a reaction, like a lightning strike that makes your spine go straight, makes you hide your face and whine, “oh my god, I hate you.”

You can’t see him, what with your head buried in your hands, so you don’t catch Jack’s smug grin as he turns around. 

“Me? What’d I ever do to you?”

He’s pretty sure he can feel your glare burning holes in the back of his skull. 

•

Robby’s birthday finds several faces of the pitt in the bar closest to the hospital. The man behind the counter knows many of you by name and therefore has a line of drinks prepared for you all without even having to be asked. 

You sip on your vodka Sprite—easy, decent taste, shouldn’t get you fucked up unless you really want to get irresponsible. 

And, irresponsible is the last thing you want to be when you can feel a heavy, hazel gaze on you wherever you go. You talk to Trinity, to Victoria, to Donny, and no matter where you move, those eyes follow you. 

It seems a little different tonight, though. Abbot usually watches you with the purpose of teasing. Now, it just feels like he’s watching to watch. 

With two drinks and little food in your system, a nice buzz settles in your head, stomach warm with alcohol and courage—not enough to talk to Abbot, but enough to make your way to the table he’s sharing with Robby so that you can wish the latter a happy birthday. 

“Unbelievable I made it through another year,” Robby says with a tired smile. He didn’t even work today, and the man looks exhausted. 

You grin sideways and tell him too honestly, “I’m glad you did,” then laugh around your straw when he blushes. 

Your eyes flit to Abbot who’s looking over at the other man, but as if sensing your attention, he redirects his to your face. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to Robby,” Abbot jokes, “one day he’s gonna get so red, his head will explode.”

“Shut the fuck up,” comes a groan from behind Robby’s hands, “aren’t you supposed to be nice to people on their birthday?”

“Sorry, were you expecting birthday kisses?” Abbot puckers his lips and acts like he’s really gonna plant them on Robby’s cheek, but he leans back when he’s swatted away, typical half-smile lifting his mouth when he winks at you as if the two of you are in cahoots. 

Robby isn’t the only one blushing now, your face hot as it always seems to be when you’re around Abbot. 

Thankfully, Cassie chooses that exact moment to slide up next to you to do exactly what you had come over here for, grabs the attention of both attendings, allowing you to slip away. 

An hour and two more drinks later finds you at the same booth. You ate the fries off Mel’s plate with the hopes of sopping up some of the alcohol, and while it probably helped, you’re still nice and fucking tipsy where you sit next to Robby, across from Abbot. With little room, you’re actually on Trinity’s lap, her cheek resting against your back as she chats with Robby, who has had enough beer to divulge a few fun stories about one Yolanda Garcia. Naturally, Trinity is eating it up. 

You listen and laugh, happy to be here, happy to see Robby actually relax, and, if you’re being honest, happy to be stared at. 

Eyes a little cloudy, you meet Abbot’s, and your stomach flips in a way that’s less to do with nerves and more to do with attraction. 

He tries and fails to hide a smirk, and you twist your own mouth to the side to keep your smile at bay, look down and laugh as you shake your head. 

You should probably put some distance between the two of you before you say or do something stupid. No way are you gonna let yourself flirt with Jack Abbot in public, especially not with Trinity and Robby so close by.

You slide from your friend's lap with the excuse of getting some water, which isn’t actually a lie. You could definitely use some, and that’s emphasized by how fucking good it tastes and feels when you gulp it down at the bartop. 

“Now, that’s impressive,” you hear from beside you, look to your right to see a man a few years younger than you who is blatantly checking you out. 

With a little frown, you tell him, “it’s not vodka or anything—just water,” immediately getting a bad vibe from this guy who’s probably named Chad or Brad or whatever frat boys go by these days.

“Shame,” he hums, “sober girls are so much harder to pick up, especially the cute ones like you.”

It’s possibly the grossest thing you’ve ever heard, shamelessly fucking predatory, but when you narrow your eyes at Chad, he just chuckles. 

“What’s your name?” he asks, either not recognizing your expression of distaste or ignoring it altogether. 

Hackles rising, you respond, “none of your business,” and turn to walk away. 

When Brad’s fingers wrap around your wrist, you round on him again, your free hand hot with the impulse to clock him right in the jaw. 

“You’re not even gonna talk to me?” he grins, “you should at least give me a chance.”

About to reply with a lecture full of expletives, Brandon lifts an eyebrow, suddenly focused on something or someone behind you. 

The way your neck prickles tells you exactly who’s just walked up, but that sixth sense does not prepare you for the strong arm that curls around your waist. 

“You need to let go before I fucking make you,” Abbot says, tone casual, his body anything but. You can feel the tension radiating from him, a loaded gun with his own finger on the trigger. 

Chadwick drops your wrist, and you flex your hand as if it’ll get rid of the residual sensation of his grip. 

“We were just talkin’, man.”

“Yeah?” Abbot’s fingers curl into the material of your shirt, and your heart starts beating faster for reasons unrelated to the cocky fucker in front of you. “You grab every woman you talk to like some kind of fuckin’ caveman?”

“Bro, chill, I didn’t mean anyth—”

Abbot cuts him off with a glare, “I’m not your fucking bro.” 

His volume doesn’t grow, voice still even, but there’s a certain strain to it, the same strain you see in the muscles of his neck, feel in the flex of his bicep. 

This shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, and you are no fucking damsel, but having Abbot stand up for you—get mad for you… 

“Old man lookin’ for a fight?” Brayden challenges, pushing his chest out in an over the top, alpha male way that would make you roll your eyes if it weren’t for the way Abbot’s hand twitches against your hip. 

You glance up at him, that sly smile nowhere to be found as he works his jaw, tongue sliding behind closed lips like he’s counting his teeth in some grounding exercise. 

You’re about to murmur to him that it’s okay. You’re okay. He can take a breath and calm down, but then you’re joined by yet another patron, this one much more level headed than the men staring each other down. 

“Walk away, man,” Robby says, “this guy may be old, but I guaran-fuckin’-tee you, he’ll drop you. You really want that?” Brown eyes are narrowed from the way he scrunches his face up, almost cringing on the other man’s behalf. “You really wanna get your shit kicked in, in front of her?”

Chandler’s eyes flit between Abbot and Robby before he raises his hands in surrender, grumbles something about, “no bitch is worth this bullshit.”

You hear something between a grunt and a growl resonate from Abbot’s throat, his arm around you growing tighter, and at the same time, Robby takes a single step forward, hands still in his pockets, his shoulders pulling back as he bows up on the guy. 

Abbot may be able to control his volume, but Robby sure can’t, basically barks at Broderick, “what the fuck did you just say?” and you look between all three men in complete disbelief. 

What is happening? You’ve got one of your attendings doing everything he can to keep you plastered to his side while another looks like he’s about to knock this guy’s teeth into the back of his throat. 

The sense of security is, admittedly, very nice and oddly endearing, but neither of these men can afford to, a) spend a night in jail, and b) fuck up their hands. 

“Okay, boys,” you call out, slipping out of Abbot’s grip only to grasp him by the forearm (his thick, thick forearm), your other hand reaching out and curling into the back of Robby’s hoodie, “that’s enough, time to go.”

Looking at Chad/Brad/whatever the fuck his name is, you advise, “if I were you, I’d make myself really fucking scarce right about now.”

He looks between all three of you, eyebrows pinching together as he shakes his head. Thankfully, he walks away, likely swearing the whole time. 

You drag both of your bosses out of the bar, claiming, “you two need some fresh air,” then nudging both of them to lean against the wall of the building. 

“While I appreciate the whole white knight thing, you guys did not have to do that. Like at all,” said wide eyed and serious. “I know I’m probably just some baby resident to both of you, but I promise I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

Robby laughs through his teeth, turning his head to look over at Abbot then back at you.

“I wasn’t saving you, sweetheart. I was saving him from stepping into some deep shit.”

“That fucker deserved to get his shit handed to him, and you know it,” Abbot spits back. It’s the first time you’ve heard him like this, genuinely upset, and with that anger comes a different vocal inflection—his words are rough and colored with what you think might be a California drawl. 

Strange. You’ll have to ask him about that some time. 

“Not arguing that,” Robby sucks his teeth, “be really fucking inconvenient if you got hauled into the police station, though.”

Abbot releases a humorless laugh, “ever the pragmatist.”

“Someone’s gotta be.”

You watch their back and forth, caught off guard by how weird it is. You’ve only seen them interact during shift changes, and whenever they do you’re certainly not around—what, with your whole avoiding Abbot mission. 

That seems sort of impossible now. In fact, after that whole display, you don’t think you even want to avoid him anymore, and that poses an entirely new problem. 

•

Jack’s little game has backfired horribly. 

He really should’ve had the foresight to anticipate it happening, but he didn’t. Caught up in his own amusement as well as your flourishing in the EC. 

It’s all been harmless, and if you ever told him to back the fuck off, he would have. He still will. 

It’s just… it’s a lot harder to leave you alone now. 

And, he doesn’t have some savior complex, no unjustified possessiveness. The problem lies with the fact that Jack can’t fucking get your body out of his head, or really, the way it felt against his. What it felt like to hold you. What it felt like to have you let him. 

Sure, he’s had fun riling you up here and there. Watching you get all cute and flustered has brought him a little too much satisfaction, but the dynamic has changed. The rug has been pulled out from beneath him. 

The events that transpired at Robby’s birthday get-together (Jack almost strangling another human) caused a shift in you. You’re more comfortable around him, willing to engage and even banter with him, which is great except Jack experienced a shift within himself as well. 

The game has changed. The goalpost has been moved. He doesn’t care about working you up as much as he cares about making you laugh, seeing your smile, made even better if he’s the cause of it. 

He still stares, and you still catch him, but when you do his characteristic smirk is missing, replaced with a clenched jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows thickly. 

He still stands too close to you, and you still roll your eyes, but you also bite your lip. You don’t move away. Not even when Jack’s fingers brush your arm in a way that could be accidental if he didn’t do it so often. 

He does not come up behind you in the exam rooms, though. Despite having never been bothered by it before, the forced proximity that comes with most traumas lights his every nerve ending on fire—painful zaps that travel from his fingertips and spread through the rest of his body. 

He’d made the mistake only once, and it was during the shift that immediately followed that night at the bar. Jack moved close enough to look over your shoulder, ready to give feedback and praise for really any reason he could find, but an ultrasound machine getting rolled into the room and into his space had him leaning forward even more until his chest was flush with your back. 

Up until this point, you would’ve gone still, maybe curse him under your breath. Not anymore, though. No, this time, with Jack more or less on top of you, all you’d done was glance back at him, lip caught between your canines, then focus your attention back on the patient. 

He had to stay in that position for a solid five minutes, if not longer, and by the time he was able to move away from you, he’d gone through almost all of the breathing techniques his therapist had taught him. 

So, it goes without saying that this newfound desire is pretty inconvenient. 

Also, he’s fucking delusional to call it that—newfound. It’s not new at all, it just wasn’t so obvious, even to him. 

Jack has been kinda sorta really fixated on you for a while now. He’d been bothered enough to confront you about what he had thought was an issue of intimidation, then interested enough to play with you, for lack of a better term. 

Plus, he’s always found you attractive, cute when stuttering around him, beautiful when you intubate, crouched and squinting as you visualize vocal cords. Downright mouth watering when you scoff at Jack after he says or does something ridiculous (to get your attention), arms crossed with a hip cocked out. 

Enamored doe eyes can narrow into a glare in the flash of a second. Shaking hands can cut through flesh with both strength and precision. A frown can brighten into something that glows so brightly, Jack could swear he feels it in his chest. 

Long story short, he’s fucked, even more so when you ask him about it. 

“You’ve been weird the last couple weeks,” as you sidle up next to him at the central hub. 

Jack looks from the forms in his hands. “How so?”

“You haven’t been nearly as annoying lately,” you tell him with a snort. 

Feeling his mouth twitch into a smile, Jack looks back down at the papers. 

“Don’t tell me you miss it,” he teases, and there’s something oddly comforting about the way you shift on your feet beside him, a habit of yours from back when he could still give you butterflies (or so he assumes). 

“I am definitely not saying that,” you click your tongue, and Jack chuckles. 

“What are you saying then?” 

He signs the last of the paperwork, lines every sheet up then taps them on the counter, straightening them out to near perfection before turning to face you fully. 

“Does someone miss having my undivided attention?”

Your jaw falls open in offense, but a short laugh still bubbles out of you, so Jack isn’t too worried. 

“You, sir,” you jab a finger into his chest, and he burns at the tiny point of contact, “are just a little too bold, you know that?”

His mouth twists from one side to the other, and Jack can literally feel his eyes light up with mischief. 

He tries to keep it inside. Tries to stamp it down, but oh, he needs to see the look on your face when he tells you—

“You really think callin’ me sir is the best idea?”

And, it’s so fucking worth it when that stare grows into something wide, and your shoulders drop to open up your posture and your little hands fidget where they hang by your sides. 

You take a deep breath, then, without even meaning to, flip the script on him when you mumble his name—his first name— “Jack…” so, so quiet he almost misses it. 

But, he’s watching your mouth so he sees the way your lips form that single familiar syllable, and something is trying to escape his throat, a groan or a shout, he doesn’t know what. 

He can barely believe his fucking ears when you deliver the next line, just as quiet, timid as you used to be, “you have to stop teasing me if you’re not gonna follow through.”

You may sound like your former, mousy self, but you still manage to hold his gaze, meaning you see the way his mouth opens in surprise for just a moment before he quickly clamps it shut again. 

“At this point you’re just being kinda mean,” you continue. 

Jack has to exercise every ounce of his self control to keep from surging forward and catching your pouty lips with his. His hand flexes at his thigh, all five fingers stretched out then curled into a tight fist. 

“I didn’t know you were ready for me to start being nice,” he breathes. 

You’re speaking in innuendo, right? He isn’t reading this wrong? 

You make a self-deprecating sound and shake your head. “I’ve been ready for so long it’s humiliating.”

Jack doesn’t know what to do. He knows what he wants to do, but it is not an option right now, and because of that, because he can’t move to touch you, all the potential energy stored in his hands gets released through his mouth instead. 

“Sleep with me after work,” he blurts, and what the fuck—what is wrong with him? “I mean, shit,” Jack laughs at himself ‘cause if he doesn’t, he’s gonna take the stairs two at a time to get up to the roof. “Come to my house and sleep in my bed,” he tries again.

It’s still not graceful, and definitely worthy of a good, long cringe, but it’s out there, and damn, when’s the last time he felt genuinely nervous? He’s survived fucking war zones, but right now, those pale in comparison to the threat of you laughing in his face. 

“I…”

“You can tell me to fuck off,” he quickly adds. “I probably deserve it after being such a pain in your ass.”

Your eyebrows are still high, but a smile smug enough to rival his own spreads across your face, “oh my god, wait… That’s what it is.”

“What?” He’s breathing too hard. 

“All that, everything you’ve been—” you fucking giggle, and the sound of it makes Jack dumb. “Was that just you, like, pullin’ on my pigtails?”

Jesus, that… yeah, that’s exactly what it was. A schoolboy with a crush, craving the attention of the prettiest girl in the class. 

He has to shut his eyes, clenches his teeth so hard, his molars might splinter under the pressure. 

“That’s one way to put it,” words coming out clipped, as if his jaw is wired shut. 

“And, how would you put it, Jack?”

“Me being a stupid son-of-bitch, something along those lines.”

You hum, hand by your face with your index finger curled against your bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m inclined to agree.”

A few beats of silence pass, and Jack spends every one of them trying not to shake. 

Then, his whole body relaxes when you add, “I guess I could go for a nap after work.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, thank God, praise him or her or whatever might be up there. This is truly a blessing.

“Yeah?” he asks, just to make sure. 

Your smile remains mirthful, but there’s also a softness to it as you nod, “yeah.”

•

Jack’s house is a small, one story not too far from the hospital. It’s about what you’d imagine for a single man in his forties. His military background can be seen in the tightly ordered bookshelves, the sponge and scrub brush by the sink being perfectly aligned, the containers of flour, sugar, and whatever else pressed against the wall from tallest to shortest. 

You thought you would be terrified if ever given the chance to see this very personal part of him. Hell, you’d been terrified of him in general not long ago. 

Now, though… Now you scan your surroundings with a tilt of your head, taking it all in and learning new things about the man you’ve been pining over for too long. 

“You’re making me nervous just staring like that,” he says with a quiet snort. 

When you look back to him, you raise an eyebrow, “nervous, you say? Welcome to my life for the last couple months.”

Jack curls his lip over the bottom row of his teeth, looks sheepish, which is not something you’re used to. On one hand, you feel oddly validated that he’s getting a taste of his own medicine, but you’re not entirely sure you like seeing him… ‘insecure’ isn’t the right word. At a loss, maybe. 

You sigh and step toward him, extend a timid hand to take his, and he lets you, watching as you play with his fingers. 

You’re ready to explode and ready to melt. Want to scream and want to cry in relief. Confused at how you got here but so relieved that you did.

All mixed up over him, like you’ve always been. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you better,” you admit, eyes flicking to his face before returning to calloused, freckled hands. “All I’ve seen is the Jack at the hospital. Dr. Abbot.”

He hums. “That guy’s alright, I guess.”

You grin, and he can probably hear it in your voice when you reply, “yeah, but he’s kind of a badass in the trauma room, which is super fucking annoying.”

“What a dick.”

Giggling in a way you’ve never actually allowed him to see, you find him looking a little dazed. Hazel clouding over, the side of his mouth keeps twitching, smile not quite forming almost like Jack can’t feel the muscles activating, like he’s no longer tethered to himself.

“Can I shower before we lay down?” 

He doesn’t answer at first but eventually blinks a few times. “Huh? Oh, right. Shower. Yes.”

His fingers curl around yours and as he leads you further into his home, you’re wrapped in a certain comfort. This is good. You are safe. He is right.  

Those are inside thoughts, though. No reason to let him know how far gone you are. He has enough of an idea as it is. 

“Let me grab you something to wear. Is—are you alright with one of my T-shirts? And, I have… basketball shorts that should—”

“If you just have a pair of boxers, those’ll work. I don’t like that athletic material.”

Jack stares at you with an intensity you haven’t seen in a couple weeks now. You watch his throat work over a gulp, and he takes a deep breath before croaking, “yeah. Boxers. Got it.”

It’s hard not to shoot him a mocking grin, able to recognize the struggle he’s going through, but you are much more merciful than he is, choose to simply squeeze the hand you’re still holding. 

You enjoy the shower alone, inhaling the familiar scent of Jack’s body wash, his shampoo, the conditioner that keeps those curls looking so soft, and you’re hit with the idea, the excitement, that you might actually be able to feel them, run your hands through his hair, feel his stubble against your palm. 

You didn’t necessarily come here to have sex. If that’s what ends up happening, then you definitely won’t be disappointed, but you mostly followed him home to spend time with him. To learn more. And, maybe you’d get to cuddle with him. Maybe. 

Friends, lovers—whatever this may turn into will be fine with you. Jack has always been attractive to you, even with his incessant teasing, but more than that, he’s always been admirable. 

The most capable person you’ve ever met, cool in a crisis, sturdy and sure. He is a pillar, a titan, a leader, but he’s also witty and goofy and mischievous. 

There’s a reason you fell for him and a reason you keep falling for him. 

The white t-shirt he left smells like him, soft and baggy, and the boxers fit okay once you roll the waistband a couple times. Your hair is wet, and your eyes are dark from fatigue. You don’t feel particularly pretty, but the open domesticity of this whole encounter encourages you to step out into the hallway. 

You’re not here to be pretty. You’re here to sleep. And stare a lot. 

Jack’s room is right across from the bathroom, and you walk into it you find him sitting on his bed wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. He’s in the process of doffing his prosthesis, and you watch what seems like a ritual. His fingers move and massage scar tissue, and there is a voice at the back of your head, a want—to one day be the one to do this for him. To get the blood flowing again, to soothe any aches or chafed skin. 

Probably not quite there yet. You aren’t even sure he wants you to witness this, don’t know if he’s self-conscious about his leg or not. 

With this in mind, you step a little louder to announce your presence, and Jack looks up quickly, doesn’t say anything for a moment as his hands falter in their movements. 

“Uh… probably should have told you…”

You frown at him. “Did you—did you think I didn’t know?”

Mouth pulled downward in consideration, Jack shrugs, “it’s never come up in conversation, and it’s not like I’m using my crutches at the hospital.” He briefly changes the subject, nodding to the clothes in your hands, “you can toss those in the basket if you want.”

You do just that before approaching him, careful not to knock into what is likely very expensive hardware. 

“It didn’t have to come up in conversation. And, you didn’t have to use crutches for me to notice.” He regards you curiously, so you continue slowly, trying to choose all the right words. “You don’t have a limp. You don’t move awkwardly. But, there’s a certain… rhythm… to the way you walk. A kick, I guess, that one leg has that the other doesn’t. It’s really, um… it’s really subtle.”

Jack blushes, but he also smirks. You roll your eyes before he can open his mouth to poke fun. “Yes, I’ve stared a lot. Yes, I’ve watched you like a freak. Fucking sue me.”

“Do I need to file an HR complaint?” 

With narrowed eyes and extreme caution, you slowly slide into his lap, draping your arms over his shoulders, making sure not to put all your weight on him. 

He’s obviously taken aback, stifles a little cough, but his hands still settle on your waist without hesitation. 

“Do you want to file an HR complaint?” 

He’s comically quick to answer, “fuck no,” the words rough as they fall from lips you’re zeroed in on. When his tongue darts out to wet the corner of them, you shiver. 

Jack moves first, but you’re right behind him, meeting him halfway in a kiss that starts with a deep inhale. Your fingers rake through the hair at the back of his head, travel to finally, finally feel those curls, and when they’re just as soft as you imagined, you hum happily—a sound that turns desperate when Jack cups the back of your neck and somehow pulls you even closer than you already are. 

His stubble, though scratchy against your skin, is just long enough to keep from hurting, pleasurably stimulating rather than rubbing like sandpaper. 

You tilt your head, open your mouth, and Jack swiftly slides his tongue against yours, a deep grunt sounding from his chest and reverberating in yours. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Want to touch him everywhere, want to feel everything. He, however, knows exactly what he wants, keeps holding your nape while his other hand curls around your hip and guides you to fully sit in his lap, traps you there as he grinds against your core, and fuck, oh fuck—he’s hard. He’s hard and he’s big and he wants you. 

Jack swallows your little mewl, groans when you roll your hips, but breaks away from you before either of you can get carried away. 

“This isn’t,” he’s already so out of breath, and the fact that you’re the cause of it makes your body flush hot, makes your pussy ache. “It’s not why I asked you to come home with me… contrary to popular belief.”

You refuse to stop playing with his hair even as you speak, “well, I wasn’t—I mean, I wasn’t not expecting it, but it wasn’t my plan either.”

His thumb is stroking over your hip bone, very distracting as you try to keep yourself from shoving him back on his own bed. The hand that was previously on your neck is caressing your cheek, smoothing over the bone, moving to your jaw, the space right below the curve of your lip. 

“You are,” Jack swallows, huffs through his nose, “you’re incredible, you know that?” 

It takes you by surprise. Praise like that from someone like Jack Abbot is something people crave, whether they’re attracted to him or not. He’s never been one to hold back from encouraging younger doctors, one of the reasons everyone enjoys working under him, but… incredible?

“And, beautiful, obviously. Brilliant. Patient—”

“You don’t have to butter me up, you already have me in your bed,” you play, rolling your eyes as if you’re not eating this up. 

“I’m not buttering you up—I’m telling you everything I should’ve when I was too busy pullin’ on those pigtails.”

And, then, for whatever reason, he beams at you, a grin so wide and crooked that it spreads to every one of his features, changes the very shape of him. You see dazzling white teeth all the way back to his molars, and you sort of want to cry into his shoulder. 

He’s—he’s so fucking handsome, it hurts, and you can’t look at him any longer, holding his face in both hands as you kiss him again. 

And, again. 

And, again. 

And, Jack refuses to drop that damn smile, still wearing it even as he twists and turns to maneuver you onto your back. 

It’s finally happening, oh god, you’re finally getting—you finally have your hands on him, sliding under his shirt, lifting and pushing it off entirely. 

His arms, what the fuck, his arms, and his chest, his stomach, his freckles… freckles everywhere, dusting his body like one huge constellation. 

You’re so ready to worship him, only you can’t because Jack is too busy with you, mouthing down your neck to nip at your clavicle, fingers dancing at the hem of his shirt. 

Looking at you through unfairly pretty eyelashes, he questions, “may I?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, “knock yourself out.”Jack laughs, helping you sit up so that he can tug the t-shirt from your body, and once it’s off he bites his lip hard enough for the flesh to redden. “Talk about a knockout.”

Part of you wants to ‘boo’ the cheesy line, but it’s hard to criticize when he’s staring at you the way he is, even harder when he leans down to pepper kisses over your chest, sucking on one of your nipples until it hardens on his tongue, then caring for the other in the same way. 

Your tits rise and fall with every breath you take, shiny with his spit by the time he begins his descent again. 

Jack leaves marks on your rib cage, a bruise sucked into the soft skin right below your belly-button, one on each hip as he hooks fingers into your waistband and pulls the material down little by little. 

The hickeys don’t stop, numerous dark spots littering your inner thighs, each one making your cunt pulse with arousal, and once the boxers are discarded and Jack is between your legs, he examines his handiwork—bruises first, then your dripping pussy. 

Warm breath cascades over you, a few short puffs followed by a languid lick from your entrance to your clit. 

“Haah—ah—Jack, oh…”

His resounding groan vibrates through you, and you immediately find purchase in those silver curls again. 

His facial hair scrapes your thighs so deliciously, stubble on his chin and around his lips making you gasp and writhe, and you would love to hold him still and ride his face, but you want something else even more. 

“Feels, fuck, feels so good, but—” your back arches when he nibbles on your clit, soothing it with his tongue afterward, “—I want, God, please, want you in-inside.”

And, with those words, Jack fucking whines for you, eyebrows pinched together as he works his jaw, stuck between a rock and a hard place (with a rock hard cock pressing into the mattress). 

He wants to fuck you, good God, he wants to bury himself in you, but your cunt is so sweet and so wet, drenching his face and fluttering just for him. He could do this for fucking ever, quit his job and eat your pussy for the rest of his life. 

But, your hands are urging him back up your body, and Jack really has no business or desire to deny you anything you want from him. 

As soon as he gets to a certain position, one that gives you enough force and leverage, you shove him onto his back and straddle his hips, crushing your lips against his and no doubt tasting yourself on his tongue. 

“Do we need… do we need a condom?” you question, follow with, “I’m clean, I had a—a physical a couple weeks ago—”

You’re asking if he can fuck you raw. Shit, Jack is not well enough equipped to deal with this, to deal with the increase in his heartrate and blood pressure as you start working his boxers off of him. 

You slide down him quickly, but stop at his legs, and when he feels you press what can only be described as a loving kiss to the scar tissue of his residual limb, Jack sucks in a breath so sharp it might lance him right open. 

It’s fleeting, not something you draw too much attention to, but the sensation and the care will stick with him until the day he dies. 

“Healthy as a horse,” his voice cracks when he finally responds to you, and he clears his throat in the vain hope that it’ll heal his grated tone. 

Both of you stripped of every garment and inhibition you slink back up his frame, another question glimmering in your eyes. Jack raises a hand to push hair out of your face and nods. Yes. Please. I’m entirely yours. 

Your hand wraps around his cock, pumping him and making Jack press his head back into his pillows when you run your thumb over his tip to smear the precum drooling from it. 

“Gonna kill me,” he whispers, gazing up at you in awe, his jaw dropping even further when you line him up with your entrance and begin sinking down. 

Your pussy is hot and tight around him, taking Jack deeper and deeper, and the feeling of you squeezing his cock paired with the way you’re moaning for him has his eyes rolling in his head. 

“Fuck, you’re too goddamn good for me,” he groans, and he means it. “Too fuckin’ good.”

But, you disagree with a laugh and a shake of your head right as you settle onto his pelvis. 

He is fully inside of you. Sheathed. Surrounded. Buried just like he wanted to be. 

The thought nearly does him in, and Jack bucks up into you, the action making you bounce, keen, then start your own rhythm. 

Lifting up over and over, you ride him like you were fucking born to, raising yourself and dropping on his cock, then falling to your forearms to work him at a different angle. Your ass bobs up and down, and if he cranes his neck just the right way Jack can see the jiggle of round cheeks. His fingers dig into your plush skin, groping and pulling and using his grip to move you up and down on his cock. 

He’s lost to you, lost in you, and he’s fucking ecstatic about it. Uncontrolled grunts and growls leave him without his knowledge, creating a cacophony of lewdness when mixed with your melodic moans and squelching pussy. 

You brace yourself on his chest and piston your hips, the pace growing into something frantic as his cock rubs against your g-spot. 

Head thrown back, tits pushed out, nails digging into his skin, you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. 

“That’s it, take what you need, baby, I’ve got you,” he tells you, though it’s really Jack who needs the reassurance. Needs to know you won’t disappear from his grasp, here one second then gone the next. He has you, he’s holding you, and just the idea of letting you go drives him insane.

No. No. 

He coats his thumb in spit before pressing it to your clit, holds it there to apply a steady pressure for you to control more than him. 

Mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut, you cry while shifting on top of him, an endless dance that eventually has your muscles locking up, your pussy starting to spasm, and Jack can’t tear his eyes away as your orgasm builds, build, builds, his own right alongside it. 

You teeter on that edge for so fucking long, face stuck in the same expression of utter desperation as your body moves almost robotically, your lower half snapping to keep his cockhead against your g-spot, his thumb against your clit, and then, with a beautifully broken moan, your orgasm plows into you, taking Jack along with it. 

In hindsight, he should’ve asked if it was okay to finish inside of you, but he has no control as you milk it out of him, squeezing thick ropes of cum from his cock, his seed flooding your pussy until it starts leaking out around him, leaving a mess between your bodies. 

You take several deep breaths, fuck-drunk eyes heavy and locked on one another until you fall forward onto Jack’s chest. 

He wraps both of his arms around your back, fingers of one hand clasped around his opposite wrist. Your head hangs over his shoulder, face turned into his neck, and Jack angles to kiss your forehead before resting his cheek against it. 

“Mmm, that was… yes,” you say, still mindless. 

Jack chuckles, “yeah, it was.”

“Can we… is that something we can… hm,” you struggle to finish the thought, drowsiness sinking its claws into you. A 14 hour shift and earth-shattering orgasm will do that. 

Lucky for you, Jack knows what you’re trying to ask and answers, “we can do that however and whenever you want.”

He feels you smile into his neck. “Not a one-time-thing, then?”

“Do I seem like a one-time type of man?” 

You make that wordless ‘I don’t know’ sound, “how’m I supposed to know? You could just be teasing me again.”

His arms tighten enough to push some of the air from your lungs. 

“I may be a tease, but I am also” his lips brush the corner of your eye, “a selfish prick—one of my many charming personality traits.”

Instead of being put off by his half-joking, mostly serious confession, you nuzzle into him and gently suckle at a place on the side of his neck long enough to leave a bruise and make Jack’s very tired dick try to twitch back to life. 

“I really enjoy… hm, what am I trying to say? I like that—I like that you want me, I guess. And, I want you to be selfish. And, I wanna be selfish too.”

His chest rises with a short laugh. You could have anyone you set your sights on. Stunning, smart, funny, talented, Jack could go on and on. The fact that you have feelings for him, have had these feelings for longer than two seconds, is nothing short of a fucking miracle. 

“I’m yours for the taking, babe—your loyal dog. I’ll even sit at your feet if you ask me.”

He unlocks his hands from your back to rub his aching eyes, the toll of last night and this morning weighing heavy on his limbs. 

“Will you wear a collar too?” you tease, finger tracing over his Adam’s apple. 

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me shower and sleep for a couple hours.”

You do, joining Jack under the spray where he leans against you, your arm looped around his torso to keep him stable, and if he weren’t so damn exhausted, he’d probably insist on independence, but he feels like maybe it’s safe to let his guard down. Maybe he doesn’t have to surround himself with trauma or distract himself with little games. Maybe he can just be. 

With you. 

As the morning sun shines through his curtains, Jack falls asleep with your head on his chest and a content smile on his face. 

[whispers-of-starlight]

Alight With The Sparks | M. Robinavitch

Summary: Jack and Samira open a dating account for Robby, and furious Dr. Robinavitch goes to shut down the poor girl they have managed to charm, only for the night to take a turn and change his mind.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut(only one scene), VERY VERY PLOT HEAVY, so much pining urgh, Robby falls hard and fast and first, he is smitten alright, Alcohol consumption, blind date trope, lots of fluff and kisses and just cutesy things, English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 8.4k+

an: so I know I said I didn’t wanna write the blind date idea but here I am with this HEAVY fic! I hope you guys like this pleaseeeee comment and tell me what y’all think about it! Also, shoutout to @m-robinavitch & @pxpecxdy for helping me with this fic!!! ALSO THE PICS DO NOT REPRESENT THE READER!! She is written as neutral as possible with NO details about her appearance! She’s just shorter than Robby!

no beta<3

“Jack, he’ll kill us.”

  “I’ve had enough of his grumbling.” Jack unlocks Robby’s phone, opening his gallery to find at least one good picture of him. “He doesn’t say it, but I can see how lonely he is.”

  “And your solution is to open a dating account without him knowing?” Samira hisses, sitting down next to Jack on the couch, glancing at the bathroom door in the hallway in panic, “Stop— what if he finds out? Oh, great, now you’re snooping around his gallery.”

  “Sweetie, listen,” Jack whispers while airdropping the few pictures he has selected from Robby’s phone, glancing up at the bathroom door before he looks at Samira, “Heather has moved on, all his exes have moved on, and he is sitting alone in a bar drinking while having a midlife crisis. He needs to go out; it’s good for him and my sanity.”

  “You already have a girlfriend, stop digging your nose into his life, maybe he doesn’t— shit, shit, he is unlocking the door!” Samira snatches Robby’s phone, standing up anxiously before she rushes toward the kitchen, dropping his phone face-first on the counter, and busying herself with filling a glass of water.

  Jack clears his throat, looking down at his own phone, a barely visible smirk on his face as he opens the dating app and uploads Robby’s photo without looking suspicious. 

  “What do you want to have for dinner?” Samira asks, smiling awkwardly at Robby, who gives her a reassuring grin in return while he reaches for the tissue box on the counter next to his phone, “I don’t feel like cooking, so…”

  “We’ll figure it out, honey, don’t worry,” Jack, finally after the harsh glare Samira gives him, turns off his phone resting his head on his hand on the back of the couch as he waits for Robby to join him, “It doesn’t matter as long as Robby stays here with us.”

  “Yeah, about that…” Robby drops the crumbled tissues inside the trash, putting his phone in the pocket of his jeans before he gives a soft apologetic smile to Samira, “I think I should leave. You gotta enjoy your time with him now that he’s moved in. I’ll come another day.”

  “You know we are more than happy to have you over,” Samira replies, following Robby to the door, pulling Jack up by his hand to say his farewell, “But no pressure! You’re welcome anytime!”

  “Thank you, Samira,” He gives her a half hug before he pats Jack’s back when he is pulled in for a deep embrace, “Good night, brother.”

  “It’d have been great if you didn’t run away from having a solid conversation with me.”

  “I don’t need you to scold me about my perfect life, I’ve heard enough,” Robby shakes his head as he bends down to put his sneakers on, sighing deeply when he sees how Jack and Samira — both — give him an unsatisfying look, “Don’t even think about talking. I’m outta here.”

  “We want what’s best for you—“

  “And that, Jack,” Robby hits the elevator’s button before he looks back at his friend with a defeated smile, “Is to keep your head out of my business. ‘M not trying to sound mean, I’ve done everything, maybe that’s how it’s always supposed to be.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Samira asks, stepping forward, looking at Robby with a soft frown, glancing back at Jack, who is mimicking her conflicted thoughts.

  “I’m not exactly the best man to date,” Robby shrugs, running a hand through his hair as he waits for the elevator to reach the floor, “I’ve been told, and I don’t disagree. I’ve tried everything—“

  “Not everything.” It is comical how Jack and Samira both say it at the same time, and in that moment, Jack understands she is on board with his plans.

  Robby chuckles, his shoulders go rigid as he waves at them one final time, “I have, trust me. I’m destined to be alone, and I’m fine with it. You should be, too.”

  As soon as the elevator doors are shut, Samira pushes Jack inside the house, slamming the door before running her hands down her face, groaning loudly.

  “Get out your phone, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she grabs Jack by the elbow, pushing him down on the couch as she crawls next to him, “Find him a date as soon as possible. He is becoming an insufferable old man.”

  “See? My idea is fucking brilliant!” Jack grins at her, unlocking his phone to open the dating app, “We gotta make sure we talk exactly like Robby so when they go on the date, she thinks it was him all along.”

  “We’re basically lying, but sure, thank you for your brilliant idea,” Samira sighs, shaking her head in disappointment, but deep down, she knows this is the only path Robby hasn’t taken; maybe something good will come out of it. She can only hope.

  “Okay, choose a picture— definitely not this,” Jack angles his phone so she can take a better look at the photo. The first one is a group photo of Robby and his day shift team; he isn’t looking the happiest and cleanest, and more importantly, he is looking at Heather. So nope, this one has to go.

  “Something that shows his face better,” she snatches his phone from his hands, leaning against his chest as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, “Okay… what about this?”

  “Not bad, but it’s a group photo again— does he even have a picture of himself? Like a solo one?”

  “That’s…” Samira stops, pouting a little when she thinks about it, “That means no one’s ever taken a picture of him. No wonder he feels so drained; he doesn’t have one single picture of himself! Jack he is so lonely.”

  “I’ve been telling you, honey,” Jack kisses the crown of her head, “He needs to find his match again. He found it once, he can do it again.”

  “This app better give us someone worth his time— oh, okay, this selfie isn’t that bad, huh?”

  “He’s holding up a book,” Jack cringes, scratching his jaw as he stares at the photo, “Okay, urm, it’s not too bad, but he looks like a grandpa. We just have to find girls who are into him and whatever category this picture is a part of.”

  “He’s had bunch of relationships before, we’ll definitely find someone,” he watches as she adds his name, making sure she puts down ‘Robby in short’ so his future hypothetical date doesn’t call him by his first name, “Add his height, his job… urm, what else?”

  “What does he like? Besides books, obviously.”

  “Women.”

  “Jack,” she gives him a look that screams as if we don’t already know, “Focus! Hobbies. What does he do when he is out of the hospital?”

  “Drinking, reading… he goes to this really, really old record shop— he’s such an old man, he’s going to die soon—ouch, what?”

  “You are barely any younger than him,” she pinches his arm, rolling her eyes as she adds the things he told her, “Any sports? Football, basketball, baseball?”

  “I think he plays basketball with Jake a few times a week when he isn’t exhausted, which is rare, you should add that he is so tired—“

  “Listen, babe,” Samira turns around, cupping Jack’s face and he takes the opportunity to pecks her lips, “You had a stupidly amazing idea, now don’t fucking ruin it. Let me handle it, alright? Alright.”

  She settles against him again, putting the location on Pittsburgh before she presses ‘done’ and starts going through the options the app is offering in this city. They like some of the profiles, delete the others, and the game of finding Robby a match starts.

  •••••••

  “Hey, man,” Jack strides inside the hospital, backpack slung on his shoulder as he hugs Robby, taking a look at the board before he looks back at Robby, who gives him a sympathetic nod, “Looks like you guys had a rough day.”

  “Yeah, hope your shift is better than ours,” Dana sighs, tucking her glasses inside her bag, “It was a shitshow. A school bus crashed into a tree… a bunch of terrified children ran in here.”

  “That’s the worst you got today? You should hang around and see how much—“

  “It’s not a game of who has it worse, Jack,” Dana chuckles, swinging her bag on her shoulder as she leaves the station, “Enjoy the night, I’m sure you’d love the screaming children who’ve got hand surgery at three in the morning.”

  “Have a good night,” Jack squeezes Dana’s hand as she passes him, looking back at Robby, who is leaning his hand on his forearm on the Central, “Go home, you need rest.”

  “Yeah, I will,” Robby scratches the back of his neck, “I’m thinking of taking a few days off, just to sleep. I know I won’t, but trying it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Take Friday off,” Jack replies quickly — almost too quickly — before he clears his throat and pulls his phone out of his cargo pants, “So you know, you can have your weekend and a day more off in a row. Please text Samira and tell her I got here, the car’s hers for her next shift.”

  “Sure,” Robby frowns a bit at Jack, watching him go after Jack, and hands him his phone. Robby, hesitant and nervous, unlocks Jack’s phone — yeah, he knows his password, it’s a requirement in ER because they trust each other enough and someone has to get inside this thing in the time of emergency — and he finds Jack’s messages with ease, Samira’s name pinned on top with a picture of her smiling.

  It’s one second, he is too quick, he shouldn’t be this quick, but he is. He catches a glimpse of his name in one of the recent unread messages. He stands frozen, looking at the contact’s name, color draining from his face.

  Robby’s date

  “What the fuck?” He whispers, opening the message without thinking twice, reading the only text available.

  I’m so excited to finally meet you this Friday, Robby!

  He thinks he might drop dead in the middle of the ER. If he puts his hand on the side of his trachea, he would feel how insanely fast his carotid pulse is. He is sweating on his forehead, his back, and his hands. He doesn’t think he can hold the phone any longer.

  He takes another look at the message, and it seems the words are taunting him. A date. Robby. A date he doesn’t know anything about. In Jack fucking Abbot’s phone. 

  Robby walks to the locker room, phone clutched in his hand as he pushes past people to find his friend, Jack, might not be his friend any longer after this conversation — and finds him pulling out his stethoscope from his bag.

  “I’m gonna ask this once, Jack,” Robby squeezes his eyes shut as he holds up the phone, “What the fuck is this?”

  “Wha— oh.”

  “Oh is right, my friend,” Robby glares at Jack, who just shrugs and shuts his locker door, sighing deeply before he grabs his phone and locks it. “Robby’s date, seriously? Are you cheating on Samira—“

  “Woah, woah, okay, man, take a fucking breath,” Jack raises his hands, giving Robby a look that shows if he talks more he might pull out his knife and slice his friend in half, “I would rather lose all my limbs than cheat on her, one. Two, that is your date. See the name, Robby’s name? That’s you. You think I’m that desperate to impersonate you? You’re not half as handsome as I am.”

  “So what is it then? I have a date and I didn’t even know about it?” Robby pushes his hands into his hoodie, turning around to lightly bang his head on the lockers, “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Thursday—“

  “A day before the date? Wow, this is fucking thrilling,” he rubs a hand down his face, leaning on his side on the cold metal, giving Jack a defeated look while crossing his arms over his chest, “Why’d you do that, Jack?”

  “Because I’m fucking worried about you,” Jack hisses, walking closer so he doesn’t need to shout and alert the entire floor, “You’ve been neglecting yourself, I can’t stand that.”

  “You’re talking like a Victorian prince, spit it out, I’m one second away from banging my head on this damn locker.”

  “You are lonely and instead of fixing it, you’re letting it destroy you,” Jack says, putting his hand on Robby’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly, “I know what I did was… unethical, so to say, but you need to get out there, brother. You have to stop letting these destructive thoughts ruin your life, and no, before you say it, you deserve a good life.”

  “I’ll go to that date to shut that poor girl down,” Robby whispers, shaking his head slightly as he takes in Jack’s words. “She’s probably excited to meet me, and I’m gonna go tell her how it was not me. Bravo.”

  “It’s a step even if you tell her no,” Jack shrugs and gives him a soft smile, “But go there, you never know what might happen.”

  “I’m still fucking pissed at you so don’t push it.”

  ••••••

  Robby is nervous. It has been too long since he has felt this way. Nervous about meeting a woman? The confident Dr. Robinavitch, who handles a chaotic emergency department for twelve hours on his own? It doesn’t sound like him.

  What is worse, though, is that Jack didn’t budge for a second when Robby asked him to show at least a picture of his date so he could easily find and send the poor girl home. He already feels responsible for her excitement that he is about to ruin; he feels bad that he has to do this. But there is no other option either.

  He is all dressed up, per Samira’s request; nothing too extravagant, but a dark green fitted shirt with rolled up sleeves and his jeans. He doesn’t know if it is a good look, he shouldn’t care because he isn’t going to stay at all — says hi, shakes your hand, sits down to explain what his idiot friend did, says goodbye, and then be on his way.

  He walks into the restaurant with his hands in his pockets, nervously looking around before a waitress notices him and asks about his reservations. He doesn’t know which name Jack gave them, but a soft voice interrupts his thoughts before he makes a fool of himself.

  “Robby?”

  What he doesn’t except, is for you to be fucking ethereal, as if they have pulled you out of fairy tales and sat you in front of him. If he blinks one more time, he might be able to see you glowing under the soft lights of the restaurant.

  You are smiling at him, standing up to greet him. The dress you are wearing makes his mind go blank. The color matches your skin, and the fabric clings to all the right places that have his mind spinning. And it only breaks his heart that he has to tell you the ugly truth about how you both ended up here — he wishes he could do something to change his unbelievable fate.

  “Hi,” you reach to shake his hands when he walks to the table, beaming at him with such enthusiasm he has never felt, “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Likewise,” he clears his throat, smiling back awkwardly before he rounds the table to pull your chair back, tucking you in gently before he goes to his seat.

  “You’re late,” you whisper, as if you’re scared he might run out of this place before you get the chance to say something else. 

  “Yeah, about that,” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at you with soft eyes, knowing what he is about to say might ruin your entire night — the thought makes his heart twist, you are far too beautiful to be hurt because of Jack’s stupidity, but if he doesn’t tell you, he will never forgive himself — so he leans forward on the table with his forearms resting on the tablecloth, “I’m deeply sorry for what I’m about to say, I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Oh…?” You sound small, and he hasn’t even spoken the words. This is going to break him, he is sure, cause your bright eyes are slowly losing the glimmer in them the more he keeps quiet.

  “The person you texted was not me.” The cat’s out of the bag now. “It was my friend, he wanted to get me to start dating again, and he thought whatever he was doing was to help me. I had no idea I was going to have a date until a few days ago, and… he even refused to show a picture of you.”

  “So you’re not here for the date.” You take a deep breath, huffing out a slow laugh, “It’s alright, I wish I had known sooner so I wouldn’t spend hours getting ready for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Robby hides his face in his hands, embarrassment washing over him as he hears you. Fuck you, Jack. “For whatever’s worth… You look incredible. You look fantastic, so… so pretty.”

  “Thank you,” you give him a halfhearted smile — at least that’s a start — and reach for your purse, “I think it’s best if I leave—“

  “Wait!” What the fuck, Robby? He doesn’t know why he is stopping you, he is here to shut this stupid date down and prove to Jack that he doesn’t need to date to have an amazing life, but he already feels like someone has stabbed him when his eyes fall on the little pout on your lips, “Listen, um, I hate that I’m the reason you feel your efforts are wasted, so… let me buy you dinner. This is the least I can do to apologize for this inconvenience.”

  “Are you sure? I mean,” you chuckle, looking down at your hands, “You don’t even know my name.”

  “I can learn your name,” he shrugs, his eyes giving out the subtle hint of his admiration, “If you’d like me to.”

  “Well, I’ve liked you for a few weeks, although now I found out it wasn’t you, but… I’m not opposed to a friendly dinner,” You explain, resting your chin on the back of your hands, gazing at Robby in a way that makes his heart leap into his throat, “At least someone gets to enjoy my outfit tonight, even though it isn’t the Robby I wanted to.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the real one more enjoyable than the one you talked to,” he smiles, wrinkles deepening as he looks at you, “if it makes you feel any better, the one you were talking to was my friend and his girlfriend.”

  “You’ve got a tough competition then,” he knows you are flirting, he should shut it down, he should tell you to stop, he should stop his heart from racing when you blink and grin at him, he should most definitely look away to stop his cheeks from turning red. 

  “They don’t have you looking all dolled up in front of them,” fuck, fuck, fuck, there it is, “I think I can manage.”

  “Wow,” you chuckle shyly, glancing away for a second before looking back at him, “Smooth, I like it. Definitely better than all the flirting your friends were doing.”

  “See? Real Robby is the real deal.”

  “Don’t take yourself too highly, you might trip and fall,” you grin, “Besides, this isn’t a date, right? Your words, not mine.”

  “I don’t know about that anymore,” Robby looks at you, the heavy feeling in his chest making his lips stretch into a broad smile, “Maybe… we could ignore what happened and start over? And I get the chance to take revenge on them.”

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  “In taking revenge or turning this into a date?” He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for your answers as he drags his eyes over your face. Jesus, you really are beautiful. How did those two idiots managed to get you to like him only with texts is beyond him. 

  “T-the date,” he can see how you get flustered a little, stuttering when your gaze locks with his, “Other aspects don’t concern me, nor should it bother you.”

  “I can’t just let it slide,” Robby shrugs, “but I’m also too old to get back at him. I would rather focus on things that matter.”

  “Like what?”

  You know what, but he isn’t going to ruin this, not now, not when, after so many countless dates, he is actually feeling something. Robby beams, resting his cheek on his palm as he trails the length of your arm to your face, his grin matching yours.”

  “Like you.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be here—“

  “Yeah, yeah, well I’m a man, and I’m not immune to what I see,” he cuts you off gently, reaching to grab the glass of water on the table, trying to hide his flushed face behind the cup.

  “And what is that?”

  “Don’t play coy with me now, you know what I’m talking about,” he rolls his eyes at you playfully when you laugh quietly. And he soon finds out he loves that sound, and he would do anything to hear it again, anything.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to say it, you know,” you bite your lip, waiting for him to reply, “I like expressive men, there, I gave you a hint.”

  “Then I’m the worst person on earth for you to go to a second date with,” Robby winces as the words leave his mouth, thinking of how insecure he must have sounded instead of funny, but you don’t cringe, you don’t frown at him, only chuckle and shrug.

  “I’ll be the judge of that, but you need to answer my question first.”

  “Which question?”

  “What changed your mind?” 

  Robby thinks for a long moment. He doesn’t know what it actually is: your beauty? Probably, you looked like an angel waiting for him, and he is glad he could wipe the quick frown he forced on your face when he told you he didn’t know about the date. Your humor? Possibly. But in all senses, you in whole changed his mind, you feel like the person he can speak to, the only one who wouldn’t make fun of him for all the vinyls he has collected.

  “You,” he says, scratching his beard, looking down at his fingers as he clears his throat, “you did. It’s been a long time since I went on a date, and every time I did… something felt wrong. You don’t feel wrong.”

  “You don’t feel wrong either.” You say it with so much grace to him, so soft and pliant that he can’t believe it is directed at him, as if he deserves it, “I’m glad you didn’t stand me up.”

  “I would never,” he tells you, sighing deeply like you have offended him, “and to show that I am truly interested, I’d like to take you out again.”

  “You don’t even know my name!” You laugh, glancing at the waitress as she makes her way to you, before looking back at Robby, who runs his hands down his face, shoulders shaking as he chuckles.

  “What is your name?”

  ••••

  You agreed to come, you replied to his text, and agreed to come. Not once, not twice, not even three times, but ten times in the period you were apart. He asked for your name, got your number successfully without making a fool of himself. So there is no reason you shouldn’t show up. Right? Right.

  But why are you late? Was it all… a fun night for you? Then why did you tell him you were on your way ten minutes ago? You will come, yes, you will, you have to, there isn’t anything stopping you from coming to this date. Maybe his favorite fucking recordshop wasn’t the best choice to take you out, but you begged him to show you a piece of himself, so here he is.

  Stupid, he should have listened to Jack and taken you to the cinema.

  “Robby, oh my gosh, finally!”

  He turns around so fast he thinks he is about to get dizzy, but a giant smile covers his worry as he finally sees you, practically skipping over to him, panting when you reach him.

  “Hey,” you hold onto his biceps as you catch your breath, his hands automatically coming to your arms to hold you steady as he mutters a soft ‘hello’ and squeezes you a bit, “It took me half an hour to find this place!”

  “I thought I sent you the location,” he gives a questioning look, “I did, didn’t I? Samira helped me, and no, I know how to use my phone, but I was never required to share a location. Don’t make an old man joke.”

  “When have I ever?!” You gasp dramatically, laughing when his face turns red, “No, don’t worry, you did send me your location. But it wasn’t exactly the right one.”

  “What?” He is going to die from embarrassment; he is sure he will drop dead on the hot bricks under his shoes, “I’m sure I shared it right…”

  “You chose two streets down this place… It’s all good now! I’m here, late, which I’m so sorry about, but I’m here!” You straighten your back, giving him one of those radiant smiles he has grown quite fond of, before you wait for him to lead you inside.

  “I guess I was nervous… sorry,” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat spreading down to his chest as well, “but yeah, I’m really glad you could make it.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have lost the chance to get to know you more! Of course I’d show up!” 

  “I’m glad,” is all he can say, before he notices how much his cheeks are hurting from smiling back at you. He manages to walk a few steps ahead, opening the door and waiting for you to enter, “Ladies first.”

  “What a gentleman,” you walk past him, waiting for him to join you as you step to the side, suddenly looking out of place, “Show me around?”

  “Of course, we should go upstairs,” he walks side by side with you, “I’ve been coming here since I got hired in The Pitt, it’s one of the oldest shops in the city, and sells vinyl only.”

  “That’s so cool! To be fair, I’ve only been to record shops a few times, so I don’t know much about them,” you shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, bashful and grinning, “So I’m sorry, you have to explain everything to me.”

  “Gladly,” he replies and pushes the door to the shop open, watching with amusement as you wait for him to enter this time, “Alright, come on.”

  He walks inside, giving you enough space to join him. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, enveloping you both in its entirety, and Robby feels instantly at home. The colors are brighter, the music feels more vibrant than ever, and you… Your beauty blends so nicely with your surroundings — like you belong there with him.

  He shakes his head a little, leading you between rows of different Vinyls, stopping when he reaches a room full of records on the walls, shelves, and two rows in the middle with record players in the corner.

  “A room full of one dollar records, one of my favorite places to spend time in—” he explains, but soon he is cut off guard when you slowly grab his hand, looking around the room like you don’t know what you have done. 

  Robby stops dead in his tracks as soon as you wrap your fingers around his hand, head slowly turning in your direction, only to find you innocently shrugging and pulling at your bottom lip.

  “I can— if you’re uncomfortable—“

  “No, no, absolutely not,” he stops you before you can say more, smiling as his cheeks turn red again, “I… like it.”

  “Good, show me the rest.” You squeeze his hand, and he tugs it forward gently, pulling you inside the room.

  He feels like a freaking teenager again. He is fifty, fifty for fuck’s sake, yet he is explaining everything about these records to you, trying to stare at you all the time because if he does, he would melt under your gaze.

  “I’ve always wanted to have this,” he says, showing you a record of Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground at the end of your tour in the shop, “I don’t know why I’ve never bought it, probably because I have tons of untouched records at home.”

  “I buy it for you.” You gently grab it from his hands, pulling him towards the cash register, handing them the vinyl before Robby has the chance to snatch it out of your hand, “No complaints!”

  “I can’t let you do that,” he reaches for his wallet, but you grab his other hand as well, stopping him from moving, standing forward to lace your fingers through his and looking up into his eyes, “I’m serious.”

  “So am I, you paid for my dinner when you were forced to come, the least I can do is to buy you a simple record,” you tell him, letting go of one of his hands to pay the cashier, pulling Robby behind you as soon as you hand him the bag, “Thank you for today, I loved it!”

  “Thank you for coming, honey,” he says, smiling softly when you come closer, craning your neck to look up at him. “I… I’m glad you had fun.”

  “Couldn’t ask for a better date,” you grin at him, letting go of his hand to wrap them around his waist, laying your head on his chest, hiding your smile when you hear how hard his heart is beating, “When’s our next date?”

  “Whenever you’d like,” he wraps his arms around you, too, kissing the crown of your head, sighing softly as he smells the scent of your shampoo, “I’d like to get to know you more.”

  “I’ll think about it,” you beam at him, standing up on your toes to kiss his cheek, pulling away before he can react, leaving him blushing and smiling like an idiot, “Call you later?”

  “Yeah, please do.”

  ••••

  “Robby! Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m not, honey,” he chuckles, hugging you back just as tightly when you jump into his arms, “You said you wanna go and well, I had the day off.”

  “You had the day off, or you found another attendee to fill in your place?” You ask, hanging from his neck, and he rests his palms on your waist, rubbing your back and dragging his eyes down your sundress, “What do you think?”

  “Fucking beautiful,” he breathes out, pulling back a little to take a better look at you, closing the distance so he can press a soft kiss on your forehead, “I can never get enough of you.”

  “Juuust how I like you,” you caress the nape of his neck, leaning up to kiss his cheek before grabbing his hand, threading your fingers through his, before you both walk inside the gallery.

  It has been a good four months since your first date, and Robby, true to his words, made these four months worth your time. He always manages to call you during the chaotic shifts he spends in the hospital to spend dinners at your place. He has kept the date at his house still on hold so he can treat you as best as he can.

  Pet names have become a regular thing in your relationship, he loves how you get flustered and shy as soon as he casually drops another pet name to you, he adores your rambling behind the phone when something in particular annoys you at your work, or when you’d cuddle him to sleep when he reads to you — apparently his voice is ‘magical’ so you say.

  “Jack’s covering for me, he owes me,” he shrugs, pulling you inside the gallery, turning around to glance at you, “Don’t say you feel bad for him, he deserves it.”

  “Take it easy on him, will you?” You step next to him, resting your chin on his chest, “If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be here together.”

  “I hate to admit that he did this,” he rolls his eyes, hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb caressing your cheek before he pulls back before he does something that surprises you both, “Show me around, honey.”

  “With pleasure, Doctor Robby,” you drag him inside, and he lets you walk around the room with a skip in your step, pointing at different paintings, “You know, the museum showcased twenty two of this artist’s works? It was huge, I wish I could attend it back then.”

  Robby just listens, holding onto your hand as you lead him around the gallery, voice soothing and beautiful as you give him information he will forget later, but he still listens intently, nodding and smiling when you catch him staring at you.

  “Sassetta – The Virgin of Humility Crowned by Two Angels,” you read the name, stopping in front of the painting, “It’s an Italian Renaissance painting, early fifteenth century, and it shows the Madonna sitting humbly while being surrounded by angels. I like it, I don’t know why, but I do.”

  You pull on his arm again, guiding him to another painting, talking about them so enthusiastically, and it warms Robby’s heart. When was the last time he had felt like this? So fuzzy and content? He doesn’t remember, he doesn’t care, not when you are showing him around all happy and smiling because you finally got to visit the place you wanted after a long time, and he is over the moon that he could make this happen for you.

  “Enjoying the art?”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off you when you ask him, and he doesn’t answer you either. So with a curious look, you turn around, only to find him gazing at you with such a soft expression on his face, brown eyes glimmering with love.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “The paintings, Robby,” you giggle, pulling him closer, seeking his warmth.

  “You’re more beautiful than all these paintings,” he confesses. When did your lips start to look so kissable? They are taunting him, looking back at him, almost begging to be kissed.

  It’s impulsive; he shouldn’t do it, not here, not in front of all of these people. But he can’t help himself, his self control is gone, nonexistent even. So he puts his hand on your waist, tucking you into his chest as he dips down, locking his lips with yours.

  You taste like vanilla buttercream (how the fuck it is possible, he doesn’t know and frankly, he can’t care less), your perfume is much strong now, the scent filling his senses with such intensity that he deepens the kiss as soon as you loop your arms around his neck.

  Ridiculous, he should have kissed you on top of the Eiffel tower or a boat crossing a river, or with Jack popping a confetti over your heads — but it happens now, in a moment of haste, in the middle of a gallery, after four months of growing closer and closer.

  It is the best kiss he has ever had.

  He pulls back slowly, finally dawning on him what he just did. He kissed you, in front of everyone, in a public space, but… it felt so good, so real, so sweet and deeply comforting, like he was meant to do it.

  “Robby…”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry—“

  “Don’t be, don’t—“ you press your fingers to his lips, biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning and kissing him again, “Come with me, people are staring.”

  “Fuck,” he lets out a breathless chuckle, letting you grab his hand and guide him outside, trailing after you like a puppy with his tail between his legs and a very deep blush on running down his face and chest.

  You pull him into the alley next to the gallery, trailing your hands up his chest slowly, holding the side of his neck, gently caressing his throat, thumb bobbing as he swallows. You pull him down slowly, pecking his lips so softly he thinks he might turn into dust.

  Robby, though, is losing the last shred of control he has on his body. He is trying to be nice, but he can’t, not when you are tilting your head and pulling him closer. He spreads his palm over your waist, one running down to hold you by the neck, deepening the kiss like he needs to breathe the air in your lungs.

  “Get a rooooom.”

  You and Robby pull away immediately, looking to find a disgusted teenage boy looking at you with a frown, snorting when you apologize hurriedly. He walks past you and Robby a second later, leaving the two of you heaving and smiling from ear to ear.

  You are the first to crack, biting down your fingers to muffle your laughter, only for Robby to groan and chuckle, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he tries to make himself look small, hands circling your body to hold you close.

  “Thank you for today,” you cup his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Especially for the kiss.”

  “That was spontaneous…” he reddens more, his hands going to hold on to your hips, “But I’m glad I did it, it was bound to happen…”

  “Mhm, yup,” you scratch the nape of his neck slowly, watching him closely as he sighs and leans into your touch, “Wanna kiss me more?”

  “Thought you’d never ask, honey.”

  ••••••

  Robby sighs deeply, rethinking his life choices as he chops the potatoes as best as he can. He spent hours in surgeon rotation back in med school, he even does srugery in the ER rooms for fuck’s sake, so why do his pieces look anything but sharp? He is going to lose his mind if he keeps thinking about it.

  He promised you dinner, a good one, you insisted you would bring the wine, and he caved in. Now, all he needs to do is cook these filet steaks as best as he possibly can. He doesn’t know much about cooking, but he had to invite you to his place; it only seemed right because he had slept countless nights at yours.

  So he is going to do his best.

  There is a knock on his door, a soft pattern he recognizes immediately. Robby wipes his hands on the towel he has thrown over his shoulder, marching to the door to open it for you, finding you leaning on the wall with a bottle of red wine in hand.

  “Hey there, handsome.”

“Hello, honey,” he grins and pulls you in with a hand on your hip, locking his lips on yours in haste, pressing you to the door as soon as he closes it. “Welcome to my cramped apartment.”

  “Hush, I love it!” You peck his lips, letting him lead you inside towards the kitchen, “Where’s your record stash?”

  “In the reading room, and no, you can’t go there. I had to push everything inside there to make the house look tidy since I didn’t have time to clean up like I wanted to.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t have time?” you ask, following him into the kitchen, “Robby, baby, look at me—”

  He turns around, sucking the inside o fhis cheek as you cup his face, waiting for him to say anything. He thought he would be able to hide it from you so you wouldn’t get worried, but you have grown quite well at reading him.

  “I promise I started my shift early to rest before you get here—”

  “You told me you had the day off,” he cringes at your serious tone, but soon a small smile covers his face when you rub his beard, looking at him with nothing but sympathy. “Go sit down, I’ll cook—”

  “Absolutely not,” he corners you against the counter, forearm protecting your back as he rests his hand on the edge, pressing himself into your body, “You’ve already done so much for me, let me take care of you tonight.”

  “How are you going to take care of me?” You run your fingers up his sides, hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin, “Is something going to happen tonight?”

  “Do you want it to happen?” he asks, leaning down, hovering his lips over yours, feeling your hot breath fanning on his face, his eyes drawn to your mouth.

  “Mhm,” you nod, wrapping your arms around his torso, “I do, and I want it to happen now.”

  “You don’t want to see how I ditched culinary school for medicine? Rude,” he skips your lips, kissing your cheek down to your jaw, “Forget dinner, I wanna taste you.”

  He feels you suck in a sharp breath, tilting your head to the side to give him more space as he mouths at your skin, biting and nibbling and moving down to your pulse point, making you hiss into his ear.

  “Robby—“ you gasp when he bends his knees a little, grabbing the back of your thighs to pick you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he walks to his bedroom, kicking the door open before he lowers you on the bed gently.

  You close your eyes, feeling him grabbing the back of your leg to take off your heels, pressing a gentle kiss on your ankle when he drops your shoes on the floor, moving his lips up the path of your leg, tapping your thigh so you would scoot up on the bed. 

  “Open your eyes, honey,” he whispers, settling on his stomach between your thighs, “Need you to look at me, come on.”

  You slowly open your eyelids, biting on your lip as you find him reaching your side to pull down the zipper of your dress, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric to feel the curve of your breast.

  “Take it off for me, please,” he sounds wrecked already. He has imagined this moment in some dark moments when he would allow his imagination to wander freely, “I have to see you.”

  “Okay,” you let out a shaky breath, sitting up after you throw your legs over his shoulders, pulling your dress off and lying back on the bed, only in your underwear, breasts exposed to the chilly air in the room.

  Robby’s eyes darken with desire, hands moving up your belly to grope your tits, muttering a low ‘fuck’ as he pinches your nipple, pushing his shoulders under your thighs to spread your legs more.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he groans, nipping at the skin around your belly button, sinking his teeth into the flesh to earn a gasp from you, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, honey.”

  “Please do,” you sit up on your elbows, reaching for his head to run your fingers through his hair, “Don’t keep a girl waiting, baby.”

  He smirks, fingers pulling on the hem of your underwear, slowly taking it off before he locks his eyes with yours and starts kissing your inner thighs, moving to where you need him the most with patience.

  You look like heaven itself, and taste even better when he licks a fat stripe from the seam of your pussy, humming as he closes his lips, genuinely enjoying the way your hips twitch under his touch.

  “Oh…” you sigh when he starts sucking on your buzzing clit, flattening his tongue on your folds as he drinks your essence. You push his face into you a bit roughly, closing your legs around his neck as he moves faster, lips drawing patterns with an enthusiasm that has you throwing your head back.

  He smiles against you, his beard burning your pussy in the most delicious way, and he knows with the way you are gasping and moaning, he knows you are feeling the euphoria slowly building up in your core.

  He grabs one of your thighs, pushing it against your belly so he has room to push a finger inside without detaching himself from your cunt, thrusting the digit inside with so much care as if you will break.

  “More,” you dig your nails into his scalp, bucking your hips to his face, moaning louder when he adds another finger, curving them both inside you. His fingers are thick, thicker than you expected, and they stretch you out just beautifully. 

  You feel the knot in your stomach breaking, your elbows giving out as you drop back on the bed, legs shaking around his head as you arch your back, releasing all over his face.

  Robby buries his face into you, smothering himself as he laps up your wetness eagerly, drinking you like a nectar. He keeps your hips pressed to the mattress while he fucks you with his fingers through your orgasm.

  “Shit, baby, that was… fuck,” you laugh breathlessly, pulling him up by his neck, “Take off your clothes, you’re too dressed for my liking.”

  “You good?” He chuckles, kicking off his shoes and pants, unbuttoning his shirt only for you to push it down hurriedly, pulling him down on top of you to chase his lips into a passionate kiss, tasting yourself on his beard.

  “Don’t make me wait, I swear if you do—“

  “I won’t, I won’t,” he says, pushing his boxers down in haste, making home between your legs, grabbing his cock in a tight grip, stroking himself, “Fuck, I can’t believe we waited this long.”

  “Jesus Christ, Robby,” you swallow as you look at his dick in his hand; fat, hot, heavy and ready to fuck you into oblivion, “You’re big.”

  He turns red, bright and beautiful, but he soon closes the distance and kisses you, guiding the red tip of his cock to your entrance, gently rocking his hips forward, inhaling sharply as he pushes past the first ring of muscles. 

  You moan into his mouth, hands flying to his shoulders to ground yourself as he pushes inside you, filling you with all he has got in him, caging you under his weight with his belly pressed to yours.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, hiding his face into your neck, pulling out halfway before easing his length inside your puffy cunt again, “I’ll keep you on my bed forever if I could.”

  “You can, baby,” you gasp, nails scratching Robby’s back as he picks up his pace, no longer as sweet as he thought he would go, but now faster, rougher, more urgent and needy. The lewd sound of his hips slamming next to yours echoes in the bedroom, only adding to the fuel of your desire: “You can keep me here as long as you want.”

  “Fuck, ‘m not gonna last long,” he whispers into your ear, holding himself up with his forearms around your head, moans and deep breaths filling your hair as he fucks you harder.

  You whine in his throat, pressing your lips into his Adam's apple as you feel your walls clenching around his girth, crying out when he angles his hips to hit your sweet spot, groaning as you quiver beneath him.

  Wailing, you cling to Robby’s body as you gush around him, waves of pleasure hitting your body as he follows you closely, growling at the sensation of your cunt clamping around him tightly.

  He pulls out, fisting his cock a few times before he comes on your stomach, groaning from the depths of his chest as he empties his balls on you, and you hold him through it.

  “That was amazing,” you kiss his forehead, holding him close as he shakes on top of you, gently lowering his weight on you to catch his breath, “You were amazing.”

  “I love you.”

  There, out in the open, three little words that he has wanted to say for the past six months ever since he set his eyes on you. Pulling back a bit to look into your eyes, he doesn’t regret it, he had to say it, utter the sentence softly so he can make his feelings known.

  “I love you, too.” You cup his cheek, pulling him closer, “I love you, Robby, so so much.”

  He kisses you again, this time soft and endearing, full of unspoken promises. He swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, pushing the muscle into your mouth, exploring your taste deeply.

  “I’m gonna go clean up, I’ll come, honey.” He lets go of your lips with a lewd ‘pop’, kissing the corner of your mouth. You nod, scooting up to lie on his pillows, watching as he walks stark naked into the en-suite bathroom to clean himself up, coming in with a warm rag to wipe you off as well.

  “Wine?” You ask, jumping off the bed as soon as he agrees, running to the kitchen and coming back with his phone and the bottle you brought earlier and a corkscrew, “There you go.”

  “What’s the phone for?” He looks at you, grabbing the bottle from you as you crawl into his lap, popping the cork before he puts the wine aside to breathe, hands coming up to hold you by your hips, laughing when you raise his phone in your face, “What’s that for?”

  “Pictures!” You laugh too, taking a few pictures of him, smirking as you notice a few blooming marks on his throat, “There, now you have some juicy photos to put as your profile picture in dating apps.”

  “I’ve already found my match,” he says, squeezing your flesh, smiling when you bite your lips, looking down at his chest shyly.

  “Yeah?” You lean forward, nudging your nose with his, “Plan on keeping your match forever?”

  “If she lets me,” there it is again, the fucking butterflies in his belly, “I’d love to keep her as long as she lets me. For days, months, even years.”

[whispers-of-starlight]

OVERTIME DESIRES

Star basketball player Suguru Geto gets lucky on and off the court. The last thing you should do after the team you’re cheering for loses is to fuck the rival team’s star player. Losing never felt so good.

warnings: fem cheerleader!reader, basketball player!suguru, semi-public/locker room sex, hair pulling, breeding kink, praise, swearing, reader does the split on it

wc: 3.2k

One of the biggest games of the basketball season has your entire school on edge. Jujutsu University, your school’s number one rival, is visiting tonight. It’s your first year here after transferring from another school, and you can’t figure out why there’s so much chaos. With the student body riled up, your squad is even more tense. That’s why your captain is reiterating the rules directly out of the sacred Cheer Bible.

“Let’s begin,” she says, clearing her throat. “No posting thirst traps while in uniform. No hooking up with an athlete while they’re in season. If you break up, pretend he’s dead. And for today, absolutely no ogling the opposing team.” 

The silence that follows is heavy. 

“Did you hear that? I’ll say it again and again. I don’t care that the Jujutsu boys are … you know. Do. Not. Engage.” 

You turn to Yuki. “Is this necessary?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, just lifts her phone and shows you the Jujutsu roster someone posted on Twitter. Pictured on the screen is their captain and point guard, Satoru Gojo, grinning like he owns the planet. 

You blink. “I guess I understand the hype.”

“Please,” Yuki says, “You should see their shooting guard. He’s Gojo’s right hand man and every girl’s wet dream.”

Before she can swipe to his photo, your captain disbands the meeting. 

“Get to stretching. And remember ladies, keep it tight, keep it classy, and keep your drama out of the locker room!”

-

The pep band blares. The crowd roars. You’re adjusting your ponytail when the arena lights dim, signaling the arrival of the visiting team.

Jujutsu University enters like they’ve done this a hundred times—which they have. The entire student section rises to their feet to boo, and yet somehow, it sounds more like worship.

Gojo’s the first one in, of course. He blows a kiss to someone in the bleachers and points finger guns at your mascot like he’s flirting with a cartoon. You roll your eyes. 

And then he walks in, and you immediately know he’s the one Yuki was talking about. Suguru Geto. 

His jersey has a number 3 on the back, and his sharp eyes look like they’ve seen too much and care too little. He’s not showy like Gojo. He doesn’t need to be. He walks with the quiet confidence of someone who knows he can drop thirty points without cracking a smile. His hair is tied back in a low bun, ink trailing down one arm, and a black compression sleeve on the other.

The world doesn’t exactly stop—but it tilts. It’s not even lust at first, not really. It’s curiosity with teeth. Sharp, intrusive, and a little unhinged.

Yuki nudges you. “Told you.”

You say nothing, still staring as Suguru jogs to half court, gives Gojo a low five, and eyes the place like he’s ready to destroy it.  Just when your gaze flicks to his face again, he looks right at you.

Not long. Just long enough to make your stomach drop and your skin burn and your body suddenly very aware of itself in your uniform.

He doesn’t smile. Just tips his chin up a little, like he’s clocked you, and he’s made a note of something he likes. He turns away just as fast.

Yuki’s already smirking at you.

“Oh,” you say, trying to sound unimpressed. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yuki scoffs. “That man is the reason this entire campus is foaming at the mouth. Gojo might run his mouth, but Geto? He ruins people. Quietly.”

You shake your head and turn away, but it’s too late—you’re curious. And that curiosity only festers when game time comes and the gym turns electric.

-

When the second quarter ends, your squad breaks for water before the big halftime performance. The gym is loud—too loud. The score’s tight, and everyone knows the second half is going to get bloody. You wipe sweat from your brow, trying to focus on your breathing, on your formation for the next routine.

But your focus is shot. Suguru hasn’t looked at you again since that first glance. And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re standing just off-court near an exit, waiting for the rest of your squad to return, when a shadow passes into your peripheral vision.

And there he is.

Coming off the court alone, towel slung over his shoulder, jersey clinging to him in all the right places. You freeze, rooted to the floor like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even though you haven’t done anything but smile and wave your pom poms.

Suguru doesn’t say anything as he approaches. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t slow down. Just as he passes you, close enough that your arms almost brush, he tilts his head down and murmurs, voice low enough that no one else could hear:

“You shouldn’t stare so much. People might think you want something.”

Then he’s gone.

You don’t turn around. Your thighs are clenched, your pulse is racing, and there’s no doubt in your mind now—you do want something.

And if the look in his eyes said anything? He already knows.

-

The game is a blur of sweat, sneakers, and chants. You know enough about basketball to follow along, but even someone who’s never watched a game could tell that Suguru Geto was good. When he dunks on your captain, Suguru just walks away as his teammates stop your own team from chasing him down. 

The score is tied with three seconds left. Someone passes the ball to Suguru, and everything slows. There’s no rush, no panic. He plants his feet, looks at you, and shoots. He sinks the three and it’s chaos. 

The buzzer goes off as the crowd goes wild, and your squad disbands in every direction. Bodies brush too close in a storm of adrenaline and frustration. You should react, but all you can feel is the heat of his stare still burning on your skin, long after he’s turned away. It takes you a moment before you snap back into it. If you’re going to get what you want, now’s your only chance.

The Jujutsu team is already on their way out, but you spot Suguru looking over his shoulder at you. He tilts his head in the slightest, and you smile, more to yourself than for him.

-

The guest locker room is dimmer than yours, and quiet. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead. Your sneakers squeak against the tile as you step inside, heart hammering in your throat.

There he is. Sitting on a bench, legs spread wide, his jersey peeled off and tossed to the side. His skin glistens with sweat, chest rising and falling slow and deep. A single strand of hair clings to his temple. The rest falls loose around his shoulders, like he tugged the tie out without thinking.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He just drags his gaze up your body, slow and deliberate, and lets it settle on your eyes.

You feel it like a touch. Like being pinned in place.

“Lost?” he asks, voice low, lazy. You don’t know what you expected his voice to sound like, but it suits him.

You open your mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes shuts down every excuse you had rehearsed. It’s reckless. It’s probably against three different rules in the Cheer Bible.

“I figured you’d come.” 

“Are you always this cocky?”

“You followed me,” Suguru replies, mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Why?”

Your throat is dry. “You looked at me.”

He chuckles, quiet and wicked. “So I did.”

He leans forward, rising to his feet slowly. He walks toward you with a confidence that steals air from the room. Each step measured, heavy, controlled.

And when he stops just in front of you, his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger at your jaw, his thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

“What do you want?” he asks you.

“Like you don’t already know,” you retort, trying not to roll your eyes. 

“I want to hear it, pretty girl,” Suguru responds. 

Instead, you grab the front of his shorts and pull him into you like you’ve already made up your mind.

Your lips crash into his before either of you speaks again.

Suguru catches your waist instantly, pressing you back into the row of lockers with a low grunt, like he’s been holding back all night. His kiss is rough, unhurried, all control. His hands travel down your thighs, gripping them with purpose, lifting you like it’s nothing. You wrap your legs around him as your back hits the lockers.

“Knew you wanted it the second I stepped on that court,” he breathes against your mouth. 

You drag your fingers through his hair and tug just enough to make him hiss.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to win,” you joke.

He laughs, deep and dark, then walks the two of you toward the bench behind him. He sits, spreading his legs wide, dragging you with him. You straddle him, your skirt already bunched up, breath shaky as he palms your ass through your spandex.

“You gonna ride me like your school pride depends on it?” he murmurs, voice gravel thick.

You press your forehead to his and whisper, “If you ask nicely.”

Suguru looks at you like you’re being ridiculous. “Didn’t I earn this?”

The only response you give him is your hips rolling against his hardening member. He groans under his breath, grip tightening on your hips as your body grinds against him. There's heat in every part of your body, tension stretched taut like a pulled rubber band about to snap.

"Keep that up," he warns, voice low, lips brushing your jaw, "and I won't be gentle."

You grind down again, slower this time, relishing the twitch of his muscles beneath you. “I don’t think you wanted me because I looked gentle.”

Suguru leans back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes dark, amused, hungry. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.

“You looked at me first,” you remind him, breath brushing over his lips.

He tilts his head, runs his hands up the line of your waist, thumbs grazing under your top. “Yeah,” he admits, voice softer now. “I looked. Couldn’t help it.”

You kiss him again, less messy this time, and so much more deliberate. You want him to feel the intention behind it. Suguru cups the back of your neck just as his tongue enters your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize your taste. His hand finally slides under your top, large palm hot against your spine.

“You gonna keep teasing me,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or are you gonna show me what those legs can really do?”

“Tell me you want it.”

He exhales, and you can see his control thinning.

“I want it,” he says, gravel low. “I want you.”

You pull your skirt off with haste, tossing it behind you. The look on his face when you pull his cock out of his shorts and line yourself up is almost reverent. 

“No foreplay?” he asks cautiously.

“Been wet the whole game,” you confess. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Alright. Take a breath,” he murmurs, voice dark and low.

You do, and then he pushes in. Your mouth falls open instantly—your fingers clutching his broad shoulders as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. It’s thick, slow, impossible to ignore. Every inch drags against you like he’s trying to leave a permanent impression inside your body.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “You’re… you’re big—”

Suguru grins at that, eyes blown with lust. His hands tighten just slightly around your waist, dragging you down the rest of the way.

“You’re a cheerleader, ” he says, voice honey-smooth, taunting. “Aren’t you used to stretching by now?”

You whimper something incoherent against his neck, nails digging into his skin as your hips sink the last inch, fully taking him in.

Suguru groans at the feeling, head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin. 

He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, allowing the full sensation to sink in. Then he pulls back just slightly—just enough to make you whine—and snaps his hips up once, slow and deep.

“Still think I’m cocky?” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw.

You press a finger to his lips. “Don’t waste your breath,” you whisper, breathless yourself. “You’ll need it.”

You plant your feet wide on each side of the bench, sliding into the kind of practiced split your body knows by muscle memory. Suguru swears under his breath like a prayer.

A sound escapes him, low and guttural, as his grip on your thighs becomes a silent plea.

“Show-off,” he mutters, breath ragged as he grips your hips tighter, guiding your rhythm.

“Maybe,” you pant, “But you like it.”

“Yeah,” he growls, tugging on your hair at the scalp. “I do.”

You move together like you’ve done this before in another life—frantic and fluid. His hands slip beneath your top while your teeth graze his neck. Sweat builds, your thighs start to shake, and he leans back just slightly, admiring the sight of you—drenched in heat, split wide open on top of him, owning it.

With his hands firm at your hips, he guides you down onto him—slow, deliberate, watching every twitch of your face like it’s gospel. Each thrust steals the breath from your lungs. You cling to his shoulders, moaning quietly against his ear.

Suguru’s jaw is clenched, eyes half-lidded. “Fuck… look at you.”

Your movements lose control as you chase your high, using him for your pleasure. When you start to unravel, he pulls you flush to him, burying his face in your neck. 

“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” 

When you clench around him, he muffles his groan against your skin. You're still catching your breath when his hands tighten again, anchoring you in place. His lips drag along your shoulder before he pulls back, breath hot against your skin.

“Turn around,” he murmurs.

You blink at him, still dazed. “What?”

He stands, towering over you now, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. 

“You heard me.”

Your body obeys before your brain catches up. He helps you down, steadying you as your knees shake slightly. Then he turns you until your chest presses against the cool metal of the locker. The contrast between the chill of the surface and the heat of his body behind you makes you shiver. One of his hands flattens against your lower back. The other traces up your spine and slides into your hair, gently gathering it to the side.

“You feel that?” Suguru murmurs, pressing close, his voice a low rumble. “How bad I want you?”

You nod, lips parted, cheek resting against the locker.

“Use your words, pretty.”

“I feel it,” you whisper. “I feel everything.”

He hums, low and pleased. “Good.”

Suguru’s mouth grazes the curve of your neck as he enters you again, pulling the neediest moan from you. Your hands brace the lockers as his rhythm builds. His grip never falters. Every breathless sound you make only seems to push him further.

“Still think I’m cocky?” he murmurs.

You try to answer, but your voice catches. It’s too much—his control, the pressure, the way he knows exactly how to push you to the edge without letting you fall.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says, voice wicked.

Each motion leaves you shaking, boneless, lips parted against cold steel. And when your knees nearly give out beneath you, Suguru holds you steady, murmuring something you barely catch. 

“You with me?” Suguru asks again. 

All you can do is nod.

“I asked where you want me to cum,” he repeats.

You whimper, constricting around him absentmindedly. “Inside,” you plead.

“Fuck, pretty baby, are you sure?” 

All you can do is nod against the locker. “Need you to fill me up.” 

Suguru cums the way he plays basketball—silent, but explosively controlled. There’s no wasted breath, no dramatics, just a low grunt with a clenched jaw. You moan at the feeling of his cum spurting inside of you, mixing together with your overflowing wetness. His arms lock tight around your waist like he’s holding himself together with sheer force. His orgasm rolls through him like a wave, powerful and controlled, but you can feel it in every part of his body.

His chest heaves against your back, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder, almost like an apology for how hard he took you, for how badly he needed it. For a long moment, neither of you moves. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs brushing gently now, as if grounding himself in the aftermath. As the haze clears and your breathing slows, he presses a final kiss to your shoulder, then leans back with a lazy, satisfied grin.

You let out a breathy laugh and glance at him over your shoulder. Then, quietly, like he just remembered where you are, he chuckles.

“Your squad’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s only if they find out,” you tell him simply.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Worth it.”

Suguru grins, all lazy and beautiful, eyes dragging over your face like he wants to memorize the way you look wrecked and flushed.

Then he reaches for the towel in his duffel bag. It’s already a little damp from wiping sweat during the game, but he uses the clean corner anyway. You flinch at first, sensitive, but he moves slowly and with a gentle touch. He brushes your inner thigh with his knuckles as he works, and his voice drops low.

“Didn’t think you’d really follow me.”

“I didn’t think I would either,” you admit, catching your breath. “This never happened.”

He hums, then folds the towel and tosses it to the side. “Or it can happen again during my home game.”

You start to shift, but he tightens his hand on your waist. Suguru reaches up, eyes locked on yours, and removes the cheer bow from your hair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half amused, half dazed.

He twirls it around one finger before stuffing it in the pocket of his bag.

“Souvenir,” he says with a wink.

You gape at him. “You’re stealing my bow?”

“Borrowing,” he says. “You can come get it back.”

You give him a look. “That’s not how borrowing works.”

“It is with me.”

You shake your head, finally managing to stand, though your legs are a little shaky and you absolutely hate that he notices.

Suguru sits back on the bench, admiring the view as you fix your uniform and tighten your ponytail.

“Still staring?” you tease.

He licks his lips, not bothering to deny it. “Yeah. And?”

You toss him a look over your shoulder as you head toward the door. “You’re cocky for someone who barely won.”

“Mm,” he calls after you. “You didn’t seem too mad about it when you were bouncing on—”

“Bye, Suguru.”

He laughs, full and unbothered, as the door swings shut behind you.

Your heart is still racing. Your skin still tingles. And deep in your bag, your phone buzzes with new messages from your squad wondering where the hell you are. You’re definitely looking forward to next month, when your school will travel to play his. You know you’re not done with Suguru Geto. Not even close.

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[whispers-of-starlight]

You swear Satoru pretends he’s not as strong when he’s around you. The man will let you shove him and then immediately collapse to the floor, whining that you’re just sooo mean to little ol’ him :(

So, of course, when he’s about to leave for the day, expecting his usual morning kiss, and you’re not exactly giving him what he wants (just those quick, annoying little pecks), he starts getting that look.

That stupid grin.

Big and dopey, blue eyes crinkling as his snowy lashes flutter, leaning in closer each time you try to pull away, chasing your mouth like a fool in love. “Nooo, come back. You know what I want.”

And obviously, you’ve had enough.

You grab him by the front of his jacket, spin him, and pin him up against the wall. One hand cupping his pec, because if you’re gonna do this, you’re gonna do it right, and the other curling around the sharp line of his jaw as you lean in and kiss him.

Sloppy. Messy. Tongue sliding into his mouth, breath warm and close, and you swear you hear a moan slip from the back of his throat.

You murmur against his lips, “This is where you're weak, right?”

And it’s like you hit a pressure point. His legs buckle slightly, spine curving like you knocked the air out of him. If you weren’t holding him up, he’d probably be sliding straight down the wall. His fingers twitch like he wants to grab you, anchor himself, but all he can do is giggle breathlessly against your mouth, brain clearly buffering.

When you finally pull back, he’s flushed. Blinking like you just smacked him. The tips of his ears are pink, his lashes fluttering as he stammers, “What the hell was that, baby, no, nuh uh, you come back here and finish what you started.”

And now he’s whining at the door like the poor, lovesick puppy he is, mumbling about how he’s gonna be thinking about that kiss all day.

You change his contact to 'Masochistic freak' after he finally leaves to go on some random mission.

[whispers-of-starlight]

being in a bad mood and jack abbot helping you by fucking it away.

the man's got you pinned at the edge of the bed and pounds into you from behind, rendering you gasping for air and all but helpless.

he had spotted it instantly–your bad feelings in the form of frown-twisted eyebrows... tense shoulders... short, clipped tone and even shorter fuse. whatever trepidations had wiggled their way onto you nerve, latching and eating at your mood, jack shoos them gone with ease.

both of your arms are pinned behind your back, held snug by jack as you groan with every pummel of his hips. stoke by stroke, it's all stripped away. the layers of anger peel themselves from you, leaving only the full feeling of his cock slicking itself deep inside your hole. stretching you with a sweet burn and nudging at the spot that steals your breath with no intentions of returning it.

the bed rages beneath you, clunking and shaking almost as bad as your wobbling legs. jack senses the balance you're loosing with a single scan, pausing balls deep inside you to shift you closer. he tugs you right up against him, front pressed into your back, arms wrapping tight to hold you steady.

"'ve got you, sweetheart," he promises, voice gravelly thanks to the way you flex around him even tighter like this. choking his cock and making it weep as it squelches along your walls. a kiss plants at your shoulder, lips remaining in a wet press against your skin as jack resumes his thrusts, your ass clapping against him in unhurried, filthy smacks. "just keep taking it, yeah? lemme keep makin' it better..."

when the speed starts to pick up again, it's almost too much–just what you need. you feel the thick of him all over, your entrance starting to cream and spasm, engulfing you inside an intense wave that makes you feel as if you're touching another universe.

jack plucks your peak from you with quicker but deep thrusts and a slew of praises.

there we go. there you are. bein' nice and sweet for me again, just how i like. needed someone to fuck you nice and deep, huh? take your mind off things...

after you come, you're putty. weeping and begging jack to keep fucking you because you need to come again and wanna feel him stuff you full of the load you know he's been holding back. he shushes your tears with soft coos, forcing his thrusts to reach a new, relentless depth inside you.

jack rambles lowly the entire way to the next finish, promising that he'll fix whatever it is every time. just come to him and he'll make it better. clear the clouds away and return the sun to your skies with an endless lasso and sturdy tug.

he finally releases his load with long groans, dragging another leaking orgasm out of you as he clings to your figure with a reassuring embrace.

the two of you collapse onto the bed, jack atop you in a warm smother as you struggle to remember why you were so upset in the first place...

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[whispers-of-starlight]

How it feels to read a really good fic and find the author has dozens more like it