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projectionistwrites · 2 years ago

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FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 2

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Marc Spector x afab!psychologist!reader (11.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, squirting, creampie, bondage, intense edging, reader is very mean, facesitting/riding, 69ing, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: time for everyone’s favorite babygirl. again, i really hope i did marc’s character justice. also, you can’t tell me marc wouldn’t look so pretty crying for you. i kinda went feral on this one. <3 DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

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CASE STUDY: MARC SPECTOR

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Host / Apparently Normal Part

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Fearful

CHARACTERISTICS: cocksure, standoffish, pensive, calculating; resilient to a fault; views himself as irredeemable in the face of his past, unworthy of forgiveness or compassion; must be in control of every situation in order to feel secure.

SPLIT FROM HOST: N/A

TRAUMA RESPONSE: tendency to run when facing emotionally distressing situations

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: dominant, assertive, deliberate, practiced, indulgent; derives majority of satisfaction from his ability to draw pleasure from his partner; cognitive blockages that are reminiscent of self-sabotage (undeserving of release or pleasure).

“You’re early, Doc.”

Marc teased—he was leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk on his face, successfully blocking your entrance into his flat. You felt your face heat up beneath his devious gaze.

“I know.”

Your words were softer than you’d intended them to be, more hesitant—Marc’s eyes narrowed at your wavery response.

He wordlessly stepped to the side, allowing you to finally slip past him and into the threshold of the apartment. You paused in the entrance as the door clicked shut behind Marc. He narrowly avoided colliding into your form as he turned, his arms jutting out to brace himself against you to prevent either of you from stumbling. His hands gripped your biceps, his chest pressed against your back. Your body tensed under his touch, and he let out a low chuckle, slipping past you and further into the space.

“Jesus, you’re touchy today. Everything okay?”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you. The movement was so easy, so casual and relaxed, as if this was just like any other time you’d hung out at his place—as if you weren’t there just to get into his pants. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced down at your worn sneakers. It felt...different, this time. With Steven, you knew there would be a learning curve for both of you. You knew that, to some extent, you would be the one calling the shots, making Steven feel safe and comfortable. But now...you were intimidated. And ashamed to admit it.

You must’ve been quiet a beat too long, because the next second, Marc was in front of you, standing toe-to-toe. When you didn’t meet his eyes, his left hand came to nudge your chin upward, forcing your gaze upon him. You gulped, but his dark eyes were softened with concern.

“Hey. You gotta talk to me, Y/N. What’s on your mind?”

You blew out a breath.

“No, it’s nothing, I’m just—”

“—nervous?”

Marc finished for you, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to prevent yourself from seeing the satisfied look on his perfect face.

“Yes, Marc, laugh it up. I’m nervous.”

“Hey, I didn’t even—”

“Yeah, but you were gonna.”

You snapped with a glare, but you felt guilt punch through your gut when a look of hurt crested Marc's features. You sighed.

“Shit, Marc, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I am, too, you know.”

You blinked once, then twice.

“You’re...what?”

He rolled his eyes, huffing out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if he thought you were toying with him. When he saw the genuine confusion on your face, he threw his head back with a groan.

“You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed, but when you finally realized what he meant, you felt a small smile creep onto your face.

“Wait—you’re nervous?”

Marc shrugged sheepishly, and you could see a bit of color rise to his cheeks—was he blushing?

“You’re telling me—Marc Spector is nervous?”

“Yeah, and who’s laughing it up, now?”

He quirked a brow, giving you an accusatory look, and you giggled at him, the tension melting away from your body easily.

“I’m not laughing at you, Marc, I’m just—why would you be nervous? Especially around me?”

He shook his head at you incredulously, taking a few steps closer. You felt your back press up against the door behind you, successfully trapping you in Marc's vicinity.

“S’that so hard to believe? A pretty girl like you, coming over to study how I am in bed—even if it’s just for science?”

Marc wiggled his brows theatrically, and you laughed again, shaking your head. Still, there was blood pumping loud in your ears as he spoke, and you could feel electricity crackle in the air between you, charged with energy.

“Yeah, for science. But—you have pretty girls over all the time to see how you are in bed.”

“Yeah, but s’never been you, has it?”

The words were barely audible, muttered lowly beneath his breath, but you felt your jaw slacken at his quiet confession. Your eyes flitted up to his, and there was that cheeky, self-satisfied grin on his face again—fuck, he was too handsome, you just wanted to—

“Can I just fuckin’ kiss you, already?”

He was close, now, his warm exhales mingling with your own. His brown eyes glittered onyx as he drank you in, lips parted just slightly, the tip of his nose barely brushing your own. You felt faint, the proximity dizzying as temptation sank its teeth into your flesh. With the faintest nod of your head, Marc took the plunge.

You’d never had a kiss quite like this one before. Of course, Steven’s was great, but it was exactly what you’d expected—a desperate clash of teeth and tongue, the two of you battling your insecurities to fall into a steady rhythm. But this—this was fucking special. Marc’s hand slipped behind your head to thread through your hair, his other arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him. You were frankly surprised at the tenderness with which his lips found yours, starting with a barely-there brush of his mouth. It was sweet, and raw, intimate, and you felt his lashes flutter against your cheek when he pulled away too soon.

You were breathless, your face following his as he drew back, desperate to maintain the contact. He chuckled at this, but remained close, eyes finding yours again.

“Still nervous?”

He asked, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes seemed darker as he smirked down at you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Your eyes flitted down to his mouth, your breath catching in your lungs at the sight. Something resembling a squeak involuntarily escaped your throat.

“Marc. Please.”

You whined, big doe-eyes glimmering, and Marc scrunched his face up as though he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut tight as he groaned. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Shit. You really gonna make it that easy for me, baby?”

He practically hissed, and a breathy laugh blew past your lips. Marc captured your mouth with his again, harder this time, the hand that was in your hair reached up to brace himself against the door above your head, successfully caging you in. You hummed against him as his tongue passed through the seam of your lips, sinking into you further. Your desperate hands reached up and clawed at his chest, gripping the navy blue fabric of his cotton t-shirt in your fingers as you held him close. He pressed himself into you, and you could feel the hardness of his bulge flush against your lower abdomen. A moan escaped you at the feeling of his arousal, your body instinctually thrusting into his hold. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Yeah? You feel what you do to me, huh, baby?”

He teased against your lips, and you tossed your head back, thudding against the door behind you. You looked down your nose at him, through your lashes, panting slightly, your hands still twisted in the material of his shirt.

“Fuck, Marc, want you so bad, just—”

Your words died on your breath when his arms abruptly slid beneath your butt and hoisted you upwards, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. One of his large hands stayed firmly squeezing the flesh of your ass, the other roamed the length of your back as he pressed his lips against yours again, turning to walk you further into the apartment.

“Jesus, this is gonna be fun.”

He mumbled at your eagerness and responsiveness, your hands threading through his brown curls as he brought you towards the bed, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You gasped when he threw you back onto the mattress abruptly, your body bouncing once at the contact, causing you to giggle. But then Marc was stalking over your body, hovering above your body with a predatory look in his eyes. He licked his lips as you blinked up at him.

“Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl. Gonna absolutely ruin you.”

You impatiently pulled his face back to yours, and he didn’t resist, kissing you back with equal fervor and desire as your own, but the moment you lifted your hips to seek friction from his body, he pulled away, tutting at you condescendingly.

“Ah, ah, ah. Relax, baby. Don’t torture yourself.”

He smirked, fingers dancing across the skin of your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt. You reacted immediately, lifting your arms above your head to allow him to pull it from your body.

“Look at you—so obedient.”

His patronizing tone normally would’ve pissed you off, but there was something about the look in Marc's eyes—completely enraptured with you, ready to give you the world—that made you want to do whatever he said. He reached behind your body to undo your bra, fingers nimbly unhooking the clasps as he yanked it off of you, his face immediately sinking into your cleavage. He groaned, lips frantically attaching themselves to the flesh between your breasts, wandering across the expanse of the newly-exposed skin and wherever they could reach.

“Oh, baby. Got such pretty tits.”

He growled, teeth playfully sinking into the skin at the top of your right breast, earning a yelp from your mouth as he quickly soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue, smirking up at you. The heat of his mouth was enough to briefly distract you from his wandering hands, but then he was yanking your pants down your legs in one fell swoop, leaving you bare save for the plain pink cotton panties you’d worn today—they weren’t particularly sexy, as you had been trying to prevent your apparel from serving as a confounding variable, but Marc still looked like he wanted to devour you.

His rough hands ran up the plush skin of your thighs, over your hips before squeezing at your tits, making your back arch up and off the bed. A dark chuckle sounded from above you.

“So eager.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your mouth, and you felt his hands travel down your body again, teasingly fondling at the waistband of your underwear as you sighed. You let your own hands travel beneath his shirt, running your hands along the warmth of his toned abdomen, coaxing him out of the material. You were happily surprised when he honored your silent request, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. His expression flickered for a moment as you admired him, his eyes briefly shining with a certain warmth that you couldn’t decipher. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft, sweet kiss, but when he pulled away, the wicked gleam in his eye had returned.

“Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want me to touch you?”

Your nod was frantic, your head pressed back into the pillows as you forced your body to stay still beneath him, even as you desperately wanted to rut up against his jean-clad thighs.

“Yeah, you do, huh? Bein’ such a good girl for me, baby—you gonna keep behavin’ yourself? Gonna let me take care a’ you?”

You whined, desperation starting to pulse through your limbs, making you want to squirm.

“Yes, Marc, yes, just—please—”

He shushed you, his lips pressing hotly beneath your jaw before continuing down the column of your neck, down your sternum, across your breasts, and finally stopping above your navel. He hummed into your skin, the vibrations causing a chill to pass over your spine, goosebumps rising in their wake. He lifted his hands to spread your legs further apart, granting him the space to lay between them so he was face-to-face with your clothed core.

“Fuck, baby—soakin’ for me already.”

You could feel his hot breath against the cool, damp material of your panties, and you jolted when his fingers lightly pressed against the wet spot, the pads of his digits just barely swiping over your folds. Your toes curled and legs tensed, trying hard to withstand Marc's slow, relentless teasing. He seemed to be enjoying it, a dark chuckle escaping his mouth at your reaction.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

He requested lowly, hands pressed against your inner thighs to hold them apart in front of him. You tried to make your voice steady.

“Marc, please, just—”

His fingers harshly curled into the flesh of your thighs, creating divots in the soft skin as you flinched. He gave you a warning glare.

“You never struck me as the bratty type. C’mon, baby—tell me what you want.”

“You, Marc, fuck—want you so bad. Always wanted you.”

You flinched at your own confession, but Marc responded with a throaty growl.

“Oh, yeah? Thought this was just for research, hm?”

You felt his nose brush against the crotch of your panties, and you whimpered, your hips lifting of their own accord. Marc’s hands gripped your waist tightly and slammed your ass back into the mattress, pressing you down firmly.

“That’s enough.”

He warned, suddenly strict, and you swallowed, trying hard to resist the urge to sink your hands in his hair and force him towards where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ greedy little thing. I’ll give you whatever you want, pretty girl—just wanna hear you say it.”

You bit your lip defiantly, feigning confusion at his request, and he growled again, teeth sinking into the flesh of your hip right above the waistband of your panties. You jumped at the sensation, letting out a sharp cry, and you felt the vibration of his chuckle through your skin.

“Go on, Y/N. Tell me the truth. Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your resolve shattered.

“Want you so bad, Marc. Wanted you since the day I met you. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in my office, wanted—wanted to get on my knees for you right there on the bus. Got off to the thought of you fucking me so many times, Marc, shit, please, would you just—”

He practically ripped the panties from your body as his mouth finally surged forward to steal a taste of your sopping cunt. You yelped in surprise when his tongue swiped through your folds, and Marc wasted no time in sinking two fingers into your throbbing entrance, already beginning a relentless pace within you.

“Oooh, FUCK, Marc—”

You exclaimed, hips thrusting upward at the sudden stimulation, and Marc’s strong arm reached up to press down on your stomach, forcing your movements to halt.

“Sit fuckin’ still—want you to cum all over my fingers, baby.”

He muttered against your clit, lips wrapping around the bud to suck harshly. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching already, the pleasure mounting and mounting with each sudden thrust of Marc’s thick fingers, each move deliberate and practiced. You were mewling beneath him, back arched harshly as he continued his pace, dark eyes watching as your face contorted into a look of pleasure.

“That’s it, baby, can feel you squeezin’ my fingers, fuck—you gonna cum for me?”

Your climax peaked easily and you let out a long sigh as you let the waves of pleasure overcome your senses, only acutely aware of Marc’s gentle praises being muttered against your throbbing cunt as your became pliant beneath him.

Your muscles began to loosen after your sudden and intense orgasm, but the sensation didn’t last for long—Marc wasn't stopping. His tongue had replaced his fingers, thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, his nose nudging at your clit in a move he must’ve learned from Steven, the cheeky bastard...

“Fuck, Marc, shit, I can’t—”

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, but he held you down securely, not allowing you to pull away from the intense stimulation he was still offering.

“Color.”

The sound was muffled, mixed in with the sinful slurping noises he was making, and your cloudy mind took a few moments to process his request, but as his fingers pressed harder into the divot of your hipbone, you threw your head back to respond. Stoplight.

“Green, Marc, but—God, fuck, s’too much, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.”

Your eyes met his from his position buried in your mound, and the sight of his hungry eyes and the tone of his demand were enough to send you rapidly toppling over the edge yet again. The high-pitched wail that you let out was shameful, but Marc didn’t pause, watching you closely as you came apart on his tongue yet again.

As you came back down to Earth, he finally offered you a moment of reprieve, coming up for air to press a bruising kiss to your lips. The tangy taste of your arousal on his lips made your face flush hot.

“Taste so sweet for me, baby. Gonna give me another?"

You hummed, mind still foggy with bliss, but then his fingers were ghosting over your swollen clit, swiping carefully in circular motions on your tender flesh. Your head lifted to press into his shoulder, and he chuckled wickedly, increasing his pressure as you writhed beneath him.

“That’s it, baby, doin’ so well.”

He praised, hot lips pressed to your ear, and you could feel heat pool in your lower belly, red and hot and seething. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, hard enough that you could taste the metallic tinge of blood on your tongue as Marc sped up his pace. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him away, but his muscles flexed beneath your hold, and the overstimulation quickly made way for yet another stuttering orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing as your teeth sank into the flesh of Marc’s shoulder, body twitching uncontrollably. You heard him hiss from the bite to his skin, but it quickly evolved into a groan as he turned his head to the side, littering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses as sweat dappled your face.

“There we go. Good girl, baby. Good girl.”

He cooed, finally pulling his hand away from your core. He lifted his slick-coated fingers and pressed them to your lips, and you absent-mindedly obeyed, sucking his digits into your mouth and lapping up the residual arousal from his knuckles. He hummed in approval, your face utterly fucked-out and eyes hazy. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose before sitting upright above you, his hands making quick work of his belt buckle as he pushed his jeans and boxers down simultaneously.

“Think you’re ready for my cock, pretty girl?”

Your legs were still quaking with aftershocks, your thighs sticky with wetness from your prior orgasms and Marc’s saliva. Still, even with exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, the sight of Marc’s cock standing at full height, ruddy and weeping, was enough to inspire a nod of your head.

“Want you—fuck, Marc, want you inside me, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby.”

Marc crept forward on his knees, stroking his cock with practiced precision as he slid between your split legs. You felt the head of his member slide experimentally through your folds, nudging at your clit. You bristled, the heat of his hardened length jostling your shot nerves. You nearly cried at the contact, hips pressing into the mattress and away from the pressure, but then the tip notched at your entrance and you wanted nothing more for him to sink into you. Before he pressed further, though, he slipped fingers beneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. Your lip was quivering with want.

“Color?”

He rumbled, brown eyes gentle, and your ass lifted upwards, trying to force his cock further into your awaiting channel, but Marc pulled away completely, drawing a long whine of protest from your chest.

“Easy, baby. Say the word, and I’ll fuck you just how you want. But I need to hear it.”

You swallowed, fingers sinking into his curls, and your voice was hoarse when you spoke.

“Green, Marc. Fuck me, please.”

Your swollen folds made way for his thick length as it sank into you quickly, bottoming out in one swift thrust as Marc groaned throatily.

“Oh, fuck.”

He growled, eyes squeezed shut tight at the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him. His balls pressed firmly up against your ass, and Marc reached down to grip one of your ankles, hoisting your leg high above your head so the front of your thigh was to your chest. He offered a slow roll of his hips, his cock nestling tightly into you as he snapped them forward.

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby—so fuckin’ tight.”

His pace started to build, and soon he reached for your other leg to hold it above your head, effectively folding you in half. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper within you, the head of his cock prodding at something devastating. You were moaning shamelessly, now, incapable of forming coherent words at this point as Marc continued to pound into you, his teeth bared as his hips pistonned forward.

“Always wanted to fuck you like this, baby. Knew you’d make the prettiest noises for me, knew you’d let me do whatever I wanted to you. You gonna gimme another one, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?”

A sob ripped through you at his words, your hips thrusting upwards to meet his strokes. He had one hand wrapped around each ankle, braced over your head as he railed you into the mattress, the bedframe creaking under the strain. You felt your stomach coiling yet again, but your body was resisting, so overstrung and sensitive that your muscles felt like they were on fire. Still, Marc’s pace was relentless, and you couldn’t stave off the overwhelming need for release as you started to fall apart.

The groan that Marc offered was animalistic as your pussy clenched down on him, hard, throbbing rhythmically as you surrendered yourself to the onslaught of shockwaves that pulsed through your core. You felt faint, weightless, the crux of heat in your center exploding.

“Oh, fuck me, baby, oh my God, did you just—”

His words dissolved into a growl as he pounded into you harder, and it was only as you slowly regained your bearings that you could feel the slickness coating your thighs and Marc’s abdomen—you’d squirted all over his cock.

“Jesus, not gonna last much longer, baby, so fuckin’ good.”

His head was bowed, curls falling into his eyes as he rammed into you, balls slapping against your asscheeks with each thrust. Punched-out moans passed through your lips surreptitiously as you tried to maintain your focus, although your consciousness was slipping away.

Marc’s left hand released your leg and you felt his fingers swirl over your clit again.

“Gonna cum for you, baby, but you gotta gimme one more, first.”

You sobbed, body lurching off the bed as if you were possessed, your knee curling over his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck, Marc, I can’t, s’too much, please, just want you to—”

“Not gonna cum until you do.”

He spoke through gritted teeth, a hardened determination glinting within his crazed eyes. You drank him in—sweat dripping from his curls, nostrils flared, lips pulled up in a snarl, veins in his neck straining beneath the skin with his effort. His pace abruptly switched, his rapid thrusting replaced with a few slow, deep, and fucking bone-rattling plunges within you, the sound of his skin roughly slapping yours filling your ears. The change in tempo was too much, you were spiraling, and with a guttural cry of his name, you felt a blissful numbness erupt from within. Marc threw his head back as you clenched around him once more.

“Oh, fuck, baby, yes, yes, so fuckin’ good, God—”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled out of you hurriedly, hand reaching down to jerk his cock rapidly as he finally allowed himself to reach his release.

“Fuck, gonna cum all over you, baby, yeah, you ready? You want my cum?”

You nodded, whining greedily, your legs settling down on either side of him as you raised your hips towards him so you could feel his knuckles brush over your pubic bone with each rapid stroke of his cock. The desperation in your eyes is what hurled him over the edge.

“Fuckin’ take it, baby, I’m cummin’ for you, oh, fuck—”

His spend spilled all across your mound, spraying upwards over your stomach and some droplets even landing themselves atop your tits as he continued to jack himself off above you, deep grunts passing through his parted lips with each spurt of cum that he coaxed out. He was panting heavily, watching his white seed ooze across your skin and down his knuckles as he finally slowed the pace of his hand, squeezing one final drop of pearly liquid from the tip as he groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours to catch his breath. You hummed, unable to open your tired eyes, but the intimacy of the action was welcomed as his lips just barely brushed over your own, a silent ‘thank you’ in the aftermath of an intense moment of passion.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel simultaneously weightless but so heavy at the same time, your limbs sinking into the damp sheets beneath you as you attempted to catch your breath. Marc nestled his face into the crook of your neck—an action vaguely reminiscent of Steven’s habit of nuzzling into you—and you felt him take a slow, deep inhale against your clammy skin, his warm breath fanning out along your collarbone.

You tried to stay awake when you felt his body peel itself from atop yours, but he returned moments later with a cool damp cloth to wipe away the evidence of both of your orgasms. You whined when the cold came in contact with the swollen, sensitive folds of your cunt before he moved up to wipe away his own release—Marc easily shushed you, pressing soft kisses against the skin after he wiped each spot clean. When he was finished, he haphazardly tossed the towel aside, crawling up towards you yet again.

Marc liked to be smothered. If you could take any one thing away from this moment, that’s what you saw—he laid down beside you, flat on his back, before rolling you over on top of him, your face pressed up against his pecs as your body settled between his legs. You hummed at the new position, his arms curling protectively around you, fingers of his right hand playing with your knotted hair. Your ear was pressed up against his chest and you listened to the steady rhythmic thumping of his heart, and you easily could’ve fallen asleep in an instant. Still, you wanted to enjoy the tenderness of the moment for a bit longer.

“You okay?”

Marc finally asked, and the vibrations from his throat reverberated down through his ribcage for you to feel. You breathed in long and deep, the feeling of his soft, warm skin comforting and familiar.

“’M great.”

You whispered, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. There was a small adoring smile on his abused lips, his brown eyes sweeping over your face in a way that only Marc could do—calculating, observant, as if he was looking straight through you. Sometimes, his unusual skill for reading people made you uneasy, but now, you felt completely relaxed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. It would be hard not to, when his eyes glowed as if you’d hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“…was that okay?”

Marc rephrased, and it was only then that you caught on to the insecurity he so desperately tried to mask. The crease between his brows betrayed him, making his concern for you evident. You smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Marc, it was great. You were great. You are great.”

Maybe it was the post-orgasmic bliss that had you feeling sappy, the endorphins boosting you higher into your serenity. The look on Marc’s face was heart-wrenching—the gratitude that shone in his beaming smile, the glow of his face as it lit up with pride, the—dare I say—love, in his eyes, as he gazed upon you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, and the hand that was resting against your back reached down to pull the duvet up and over the both of you, cocooning you in its warmth. You let yourself settle further into Marc’s welcoming embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you let your exhaustion take you. You quickly spoke before you found yourself dozing off.

“So…what’s your typical post-sex ritual look like after this, hm?”

You questioned, lifting your chin slightly to see his face. His eyes blinked open to look at you, and he frowned, pursing his lips.

“Believe it or not…with most of my, uh, hookups, I—uh, I have the tendency to leave in the middle of the night so I’m not there when the girl wakes up—gotta leave ’em wanting more, y’know?”

You laughed breathily at that, but hoped to hide how crestfallen his admission made you feel.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to sneak out after you fall asleep—”

His arms tightened their grip around you, and there was a sort of pleading look in his big brown eyes as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t have to do that, really, I just thought you should—”

“It’s really okay, Marc, I don’t mind.”

You assured with a shy smile, but he shook his head more firmly this time.

“No. You aren’t just a hookup, and you aren’t just some girl.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes searching within his to try to gauge his thoughts. He seemed genuine, insistent. Your heart practically melted in your chest.

“But, I don’t—”

“Please, just stay?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, and certainly hadn’t meant to plead—this was more vulnerability than he’d ever displayed to you before, something you’d ached to see for as long as you’d known him. For him to open up to you, to trust you, to finally let you in.

You mustered up whatever strength you had left to lift yourself up and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. You gazed up at him through tired eyes, face aglow from his apparent affections.

You didn’t give him a verbal response—you didn’t need to. Instead, you settled back in against him, curling your head into his shoulder, pressing your face against the warm skin at the side of his neck. Sleep came easy for both of you—Marc felt lighter having finally let his impermeable facade yield to you, even if just for a second.

Tomorrow, you intended to convince him to drop his guard completely.

POINTS OF CONTENTION: - relinquishing control - embracing uncertainty - asking for help

TREATMENT: - practice submission - express vulnerability - communicate needs

You briefly got déjà vu when Marc opened the door to his apartment for you, a familiar cheeky smirk adorning his handsome features. This time, however, your expression matched his own as you stood on your tiptoes to plant a peck on his lips, pushing past him and into the flat as if you owned the place. He was startled at your forwardness, and he would be lying if he said your surge of confidence didn’t make him slightly uneasy—what had gotten into you?

“Back for more?”

He managed to quip, quirking a brow at you as he shut the door behind him. You approached Gus’ fish tank and tapped the glass a few times to get his attention, leaning over to watch him swim around aimlessly for a few seconds—it gave Marc a perfect view of your ass through your yoga pants as you bent down, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared unabashedly.

“I can see your reflection in the glass, you asshole.”

You jabbed, a teasing smile lighting up your face as you met his gaze in the mirrored tank, but he didn’t stop his shameless ogling—instead, he watched you with darkened eyes, a wicked grin on his lips.

“At least I don’t have to hide the fact that I stare at your ass every time I see you, anymore.”

Your brows lifted at his confession, and you carefully straightened up, turning to face him at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hands found your hips as you studied him with an amused expression. You stood across from him in challenge.

“So you admit that you’ve checked me out? Even before this little experiment?”

Marc fought hard to keep the smirk off of his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, sizing you up carefully to gauge your seriousness. You were clearly teasing him, but he offered a subject change nonetheless in an effort to avoid the fact that he just admitted he’d been eye-fucking you since the day you’d met.

Instead, his eyes flickered down to the small black paper bag that you had set by your feet, his brow raising in question.

“I see you brought props with you, this time?”

He closed the gap between you with two large strides, bending down to snatch the shopping bag from your feet before you could protest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he peered inside, but his eyes widened when he realized what you’d brought.

“Jesus, Y/N. You dirty, dirty girl.”

His fingers reached in to pull out a pair of black silky restraints—it didn’t go unnoticed by Marc that the receipt was in the bag and the fabric still had a tag fastened to it. You must’ve bought them just for this occasion.

The expression on his face was practically carnal as he smirked at you, but something about the look in your eyes made him hesitate. You looked up at him shyly, reaching forward to thumb at the fabric before settling your hand into his open palm atop the silk.

“They’re not for me.”

Four words, and Marc was stunned into silence. His face fell, eyes wide as they studied you, expression bemused and slightly fearful. You swore you could actually see his face drain of color.

“We don’t have to, Marc, I promise—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just spring this on you out of the blue, I’m sure it’s not something you’d normally—well, I mean, not that I know what you’re into and everything, but I just thought it might be—”

“Slow down, baby, it’s okay. I just—took me by surprise, s’all. Wasn’t—wasn’t expecting it.”

You looked up at him thoughtfully, now hyperaware of the trepidation in his features. He avoided your eyes.

“Come on.”

You grabbed his wrist softly and guided him over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and gesturing him to follow suit. He sat down beside you and carefully turned to lay out the two black restraints on the mattress behind him. Then, he turned back to you, eyes gentle. You reached over to pull his hands into your lap.

“Marc.”

You started softly, and his eyes flitted to you nervously, an uneasy lopsided smile on his face.

“Listen to me. We really, really don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. I know it’s—it requires a lot of trust, and—well, I don’t know.”

You fell silent, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Marc was giving you that familiar calculating stare, taking you in and analyzing every breath you took. You grew impatient with his lack of response.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

There was an apprehensive edge to your tone, your eyes round and full of worry, afraid to offend him or make him uncomfortable. You could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered.

“And this... of anything in the world you could possibly want to do with me, to me... this is the one thing you’d choose?”

You carefully nodded your head, squeezing his hands in your own.

“I think—I think this could be good for you. If—if you’re up for it, of course. No pressure.”

He hummed at your reply, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You blinked once, then twice, surprised at his easy response.

“Wha—really? Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

Maybe those words were just that—words. But you couldn’t help feel your eyes grow glassy as the gravity of his admission weighed on you, your heart soaring in your chest as you smiled widely at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. The glow radiating from your face made Marc’s shoulders roll back with pride—he would do anything just to see you smile at him like that.

Apparently, that really did mean anything.

You leaned over and kissed him deeply, hand sliding to cup his face as he pulled you against him, sliding you atop his lap easily as he sucked at your bottom lip.

You settled down onto his thighs, your core easing over his hardening bulge as you pressed your front into him, your pebbling nipples brushing against his chest as you kissed him feverishly. His hands held a bruising grip on your hips as you grinded against him, feeling his hold tighten with every brush of your clothed core over his growing erection.

He hummed when you pushed on his shoulders, coaxing him to lay back against the mattress as you pulled his shirt over his head easily. You guided him towards the headboard as you continued to kiss him, settling him carefully onto the pillows in the center of the bed. You drew your head back quickly, your breath catching in your throat as you drank him in—his dark umber curls a stark contrast to the white downy pillows beneath his head, his brown eyes darkening as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, spit-soaked lips parted. You’d never seen a prettier sight—and you knew how to make it even more enticing.

Your fingers traced up his chest and danced across his shoulders. You kissed him to distract from you sneaky movements as you reached behind yourself to retrieve the pair of restraints that had been discarded earlier. You let your nails skate across his nipples, causing him to hiss, before you gently pried his hands off of your hips. You grabbed each wrist carefully, intently watching his reaction as you guided them over the top of his head and towards the headboard.

You grinded down against his cock once more in an effort to relax his body—he groaned quietly, and you reached for one of the restraints, pulling his left arm straight out to the side and carefully winding the fabric around the bedpost before reaching to fasten it around his wrist. You watched his jaw ripple as you carefully looped the silk over his skin, tightening it just slightly to prevent his hand from slipping out. You tugged at the fabric lightly, testing its resistance, before you leaned back down to peck his lips.

“That okay?”

You asked carefully, nose brushing against his, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tugging against the binding before offering you a soft nod. You smiled at him graciously before repeating the action on his right arm, successfully rendering him incapacitated beneath you, his arms spread wide on either side of his body. You allowed yourself to draw back once more, the sight of him splayed out atop the mattress, completely at your mercy, caused a wave of arousal to rush straight between your legs. He must’ve felt the clenching of your thighs from where they caged his hips in, because he let out a breathy laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?”

His voice was low and hoarse, and you kissed him again, nodding against his lips.

“Yeah, Marc, I do. So pretty for me.”

You felt the warm huff of air that he let out at your praise, and you knew he secretly loved your verbal affirmations, even if he’d never admit it to you. You offered him one last kiss before slowly dragging your face back—his head followed your backwards movement, chasing the feel of your mouth against his, but he jostled at the feeling of his movement being restricted. His eyes opened suddenly at the sensation, as if he was surprised to find the restraints actually lived up to their name. You couldn’t help the tiny grin on your lips as he accustomed himself to his limited range of movement—you could feel the tightness in his muscles, his biceps flexing and tensing as he mindlessly fought to gain control back.

“Easy—you’re okay, I’m right here.”

You soothed, running your hands up his torso as his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. There was sweat beading at his hairline, his jaw grinding rhythmically as he finally opened his eyes to look up at you, forcing himself to inhale a steady breath in an effort to calm himself down. Your fingers rubbed at the tension in his shoulders and you felt him soften under your touch, becoming pliant beneath you as he allowed himself to settle back into the mattress, finally coming to terms with his current situation. You rewarded him with a kiss, leaning yourself forward so your front was pressed to his.

“Before we start, I need you to promise me something.”

His eyes followed you when you sat back upright, and he nodded for you to continue. You breathed.

“Marc. You have to swear to me that you will use the safe word if you need to.”

He rolled his eyes in response, but you squeezed your thighs together in response, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his hips. He glared at you, but you gave him a stern look.

“I’m serious, Marc. I don’t want you to think—to not use it just because you want to make me happy, or because you wanna seem like a big tough guy. You do make me happy, and I know you’re tough, regardless of whether or not you choose to tell me to stop. Okay?”

He could hear the sincerity in your tone, the genuine concern lacing your words. He swallowed. He wasn't going to lie and say it wouldn’t be hard for him to safeword—he didn’t like admitting defeat, showing weakness or cracking under the pressure. But this wasn’t some mission or fistfight with an adversary, he reminded himself—this was you. He was safe, and he trusted you, and he was supposed to enjoy this. Finally, he nodded at you, and you mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before pulling yourself off of him completely.

He watched you like a hawk, eyes trained on you intently, analyzing your every move in anticipation. You carefully reached for his waistband, and he obliged, lifting his hips from the bed to allow you to undress him. You pulled his briefs down in the same motion, discarding Marc’s final two articles of clothing and leaving him bare before you.

His cock was at full mast, resting atop his navel as he drew in slow, deliberate breaths, trying not to feel bashful beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You were still trying to fathom the fact that you had this Adonis of a man splayed out in front of you, completely surrendering himself to you.

He really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

“Color?”

You asked, kneeling back on your heels from your position beside him, one hand resting on his abs, just above where the head of his cock was patiently waiting. He breathed out a chuckle.

“You haven’t even done anything yet.”

You raised a brow, and at your persistence, he offered a roll of his eyes.

“Green.”

“Good.”

You smiled, fingers sliding down from his stomach to ghost over the tender skin of his shaft, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. You were careful to take note of just how his body reacted to each ministration—the way his breath hitched when you finally wrapped your hand around the base, the barely-audible grunt when your thumb swiped the bead of precum from his slit.

You removed your hand briefly just to spit into your palm before you were back on him, beginning a slow and gentle pace of stroking him. He hummed at the motion, his heels digging into the mattress as he threw his head back into the pillows, fingers wrapped around each restraint tightly to give himself something to grip. Your other hand reached over to fondle his balls, and his hips jerked just slightly at the added stimulation.

“S’that feel good, baby?”

You purred, your hand gradually picking up speed as your jerked him. He groaned lowly, nodding at your question.

“Shit, yeah.”

You smirked, carefully shifting so you were kneeling in between his legs, lowering yourself down to lay on your stomach. He watched you closely, bracing himself as you leant forward and suckled one of his heavy balls into your mouth, your other hand continuing its steady pace.

You hummed around his sack and he grunted, abdominal muscles flexing as you popped it out of your mouth and traded it for his other bulb, tongue swirling around the flesh and listening to his small moans of pleasure.

He was trying to stay quiet, you noticed. You didn’t press him on the issue—you knew he wouldn’t be quiet for much longer.

You pushed yourself up and licked a long stripe from base to tip, tongue flicking over his frenulum which caused his hips to quake. You offered a few kitten licks to his slit, tasting the salty precum as you continued to stroke him steadily.

“Fuck, baby—just like that.”

He whispered, eyes squeezed shut at the sensations. He was holding himself back—you wanted him to fall apart.

You carefully drew the head of his cock past your lips, bobbing your head up and down over just the tip, matching your pace to that of your hand. He growled, and your eyes flitted up to watch his biceps strain as he tugged on his bindings, desperately wanting to bury his fingers in your hair. You sank your head lower, taking him deeper, lewd choking noises escaping your lips as you swallowed him down. His hips were weakly thrusting upward, now, his feet planted into the mattress to seek leverage in a sorry effort to fuck into the heat of your mouth. You didn’t stop him—you let him cling to the sliver of control he was desperately seeking, removing your hand to sink your head down completely, allowing him to thrust his cock into the back of your throat with his shallow movements.

“Oh, fuck, baby, fuck.”

He moaned, and you could see the muscles of his stomach clenching as you reached to fondle his balls again. You were breathing in carefully through your nose as he continued to abuse your throat, his length sliding in and out of your mouth sloppily. One sharp thrust caused you to gag and he let out a deep groan from somewhere in his ribcage—you could feel his balls tightening up, thighs flexing.

“Yes, baby, gonna cum in that pretty little mouth, yes—”

You sat up abruptly with a gasp, pulling your body from his completely as his limbs involuntarily jerked beneath you, his back arching at the sudden loss of contact. He yelped, and you could see veins bulging in his arms as he harshly pulled against the restraints.

“Jesus fuck!”

He cried out, hips falling back down into the mattress, defeated. You sat silently, watching as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked the bleariness from his eyes to fix his stare on you—there was a somewhat sadistic shine in your gaze as you met his eyes challengingly. When you didn’t back down, you were surprised when he let out a bark of a laugh.

“So this is your game, sweetheart? You gonna edge me? Really?”

He was trying to intimidate you—you could see right through him. He was mocking you, hoping to berate you into submission, into backing down. It wouldn’t work.

When you didn’t respond, he shook his head lightly, feigning composure as he lazily closed his eyes.

“Go on—have your fun.”

He offered, a small smile on his lips. You felt anger briefly flare up inside you, but you quelled it down with logic—you were in control, right now. You had all the power.

It didn’t matter how disciplined Marc’s psyche was—his body betrayed him. It told the truth. Your hand reached back up towards his shaft, and his cock jumped beneath your touch, thighs tensing just slightly. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from giggling with satisfaction—Marc’s face was set into a look of quiet concentration, lips pulled into a straight line.

You started again, the same way you had before, with your spit-soaked hand slowly escalating until your lips joined in. His noises were subdued—they came from deep within his chest, escaping through barely parted lips only when he was powerless to stop them. He writhed beneath you, responsive to your touch, and when the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm began revealing themselves again, you ceased your movement.

“FUCK!”

He yelled, back arching off the bed as he attempted to curl into a sitting position, but he was snapped back into complacency by the fabric bound to his wrists. There were veins bulging in his neck as he seethed, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline. You blinked up at him innocently as he glared at you, eyes dark and filled with disdain.

“So fuckin’ pleased with yourself, huh, baby? This what you wanted? To rile me up? God, if I wasn’t tied up right now, I’d—”

“You’d what?”

He blinked at your interruption, your voice showcasing your defiance.

“What’re you gonna do, Marc? Nothing. You’re not gonna do anything. You’re gonna sit back, and fucking take it, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

His jaw clenched down tightly, his face practically trembling with rage. His nostrils flared as he stared at you, trying to win the silent battle between you, in complete denial of the fact that you were completely in control. He wasn’t backing down, unwilling to admit that he was powerless—so you reached forward and scratched your nails down the length of his shaft. He shouted in protest, hips jolting backwards to retreat from the uncomfortable sensation, and he growled lowly in his throat before sagging back into the mattress—his eyes were still on you, but his lips were sealed shut.

“That’s what I thought.”

You antagonized, leaning down to take his cock back into your mouth. It was taking increasingly smaller increments of time to get him to the edge, and you continued—once, then twice more. On the third round, he’d nearly lost it, but you squeezed around the base of his cock tightly to force the orgasm to dissipate as it peaked.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

He snapped, and the words seemed to surprise him just as much as they surprised you. A heat of the moment utterance, offered in a second of desperation—but he didn’t take it back. Maybe you should feel hurt—instead, you felt pride swell inside you as you stared down at him wickedly.

“Such mean words from a guy who can’t even see me through his tears.”

It was true—there were tears streaming down either side of his face, eyes red and puffy as he fought viciously against your torture. He shook his head at you, overwhelmed with anger, but he couldn’t hold back the sob that practically pulled itself from his lungs when you gave a single lick up his shaft.

“Oh, fuck you, fuck—”

“You can cum whenever you want, Marc. I’m not stopping you.”

You tone was even and steady, expression blank as you studied him. His brows furrowed, his eyes suspicious as his breathing slowed again. You smiled coyly at him, innocently, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips—he didn’t kiss you back. He just watched you as you carefully resumed your position between his legs, waiting to hear your stipulation.

“You just have to beg for it.”

Marc’s venomous laugh was replaced with a long whine as you took his cock in your hands once more, stroking him a few times before simply holding him there. He sneered at you.

“I don’t beg.”

“Then you don’t cum.”

You shrugged easily, releasing his throbbing member from your grasp and allowing it to drop back down against his stomach. You could see every muscle in his body fighting for release—his heels digging into the mattress, his arms continuously straining against their restraints. You tutted at him condescendingly, your eyes mocking sympathy as you stood from the bed. He studied you carefully as you began to remove your clothes until your were completely naked. You rejoined him on the bed, loving the way his eyes turned ravenous as he admired your body.

“If you wanna torture yourself, Marc, that’s your choice.”

You purred, crawling up until you were straddling him. You watched the way his breath hitched when you were hovering over his cock, and you felt it jump beneath your cunt—but instead of dropping down, you crept further upwards until you were straddling his ribcage. He looked at you, confused.

“So what are you gonna do?”

His voice was gravelly and hoarse, raw from the moans you had been pulling from him. You leaned down and shoved your tongue into his mouth—he whimpered at the intimacy, but you pulled away soon after.

“I’m gonna ride your face, and you’re gonna be a good boy and make me cum on your tongue.”

The whine that he let out was carnal—you’d never heard anything like it in your life, and Marc might’ve been embarrassed if it weren’t for the painful arousal that was burning a hole through the bottom of his stomach. He tilted his head back as you began to position yourself over him, lips already parting in anticipation of tasting you, but you paused, your eyes turning gentle. Your hand reached down to stroke through his damp hair, and he pressed his head into your touch.

“Color?”

You whispered, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat at he swallowed. He breathed in once, then twice, before meeting your eyes again.

“Green.”

You settled your knees on either side of his head, your folds already soaking from your time toying with Marc—you shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your awaiting cunt, and with trembling thighs, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself onto his mouth.

You lurched forward at his eagerness, his tongue immediately breaching your entrance and slurping up the arousal that was flooding your pussy. You yelped in surprise, arms reaching forward to grip the headboard as you tried to keep most of your weight off of him, allowing your face to just barely skate over his features.

He mumbled something into your core, and you lifted yourself from him in concern, worried that you'd hurt him.

“What?”

You asked for clarification, brows furrowed, but when you met his eyes from between your legs, they were dark and gleaming savagely.

“I said, sit the fuck down.”

He growled again, and you could feel the headboard bend as he strained against the fabric on his wrists, obviously wanting to grab your waist and pull you down onto his mouth with full force. You let out a breathy laugh before you eased your way back onto him, allowing yourself to relax more against his face. The thick muscle of his tongue immediately began fucking into you and it wasn’t long before you were grinding against his face, his nose rubbing up against your bundle of nerves and his mouth savoring your juices. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, and Marc watched you from his position between your legs as you came apart on his tongue, quiet cries of his name leaving your lips as your rode out your high on his mouth.

Marc greedily lapped up all you had to offer, and he almost whined in disapproval when you began picking yourself up off of him—but then you were turning around, and he got a perfect view of your perfect ass as you slowly settled your cunt back down to his mouth and—

Fuck. He nearly cried into your pussy when he felt your lips attach themselves to his cock, and he jostled against you, hips jolting upwards of their own volition. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, trying to fight the orgasm that he was already teetering on the edge of. You hand came up and squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, helping stave off his climax.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You hissed, and Marc gulped before diving straight back into you cunt, his lips wrapping around your puffy clit as he suckled it into his mouth and flicked over it with his tongue. You moaned, you fingers beginning to stroke his cock again. When you turned your attention back to his length, however, his mouth immediately stopped its movement. You sank against him, rolling your eyes in theatrical annoyance.

“Jesus, you really can’t multitask, can you?”

“Y/N.”

He spoke your name lowly and with a warning edge, and you craned your neck to look at him—his head was peaking out from behind your asscheek, eyes desperately searching yours. You could see he was struggling to maintain his composure, but he kept his voice level and steady.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

He voice cracked at the very end of his statement, but you appreciated his honesty with you. You swiftly removed your hand from where it was wrapped around him and he let out a long sigh, steeling himself before attaching himself to your clit once more.

Your second orgasm came easily, creeping up and washing over you without warning as Marc continued to lavish your clit with his tongue, the obscene noises he was making only adding to your arousal. He slowed his movements as you came down from your high, lapping at your release as you slowly pulled you cunt away from his mouth. You pulled yourself off of him completely, kneeling at his side and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against his lips. His face was coated in your slick and his eyes were alight with a sort of lovesickness, as if he’d completely forgotten the torture you’d been putting him through simply because he got to watch you fall apart on his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his for a moment before you swung your leg over his hip, finally settling yourself where he needed you most.

Anticipation flickered in his dark brown eyes, his body tensing beneath you as you reached between your legs to stroke his cock, using your dripping arousal as lube to give him a few tentative strokes. He hissed, his hips jumping at the touch, but he immediately froze when you pressed the head into your entrance. He held his breath.

“I’m gonna ride you now, okay?”

You asked, although it was less of a question and more of a statement. He nodded vigorously, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side as he braced himself for the feeling of your hot channel swallowing him whole.

“Marc.”

You probed softly, and he winked one eye open, looking up at you where you were paused, right in the moment before sheer bliss. You eyed him warily.

“Color?”

He smiled softly up at you, more relaxed than he’d been this whole interaction—finally, finally relinquishing his control and allowing you to take the reins.

“Green.”

The duet of moans that filled the room was intoxicating as you slowly eased yourself down onto his rock-hard length, the stretch offering a sting that was just painful enough to be pleasurable. Marc’s head was thrown back into the pillows as he began to ramble incomprehensibly.

“Oh, God, oh, fuck yes, so fuckin’ good, fuck—”

You braced yourself by planting your arms against his sturdy chest, raising up your hips until just the tip remained before slamming yourself back down, burying him to the hilt within you. A wrecked sob sounded from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, God, I can’t—”

You settled into a steady pace, angling your hips backwards just slightly so his cock rutted up against that place deep inside you that sent you reeling. You keened, grinding back and forth against him as he moaned wantonly, knuckles turning white as he pulled on the restraints with every ounce of his strength. You orgasm was rapidly approaching, and with each careful plunge of his cock into you, you felt the coil tightening.

“Fuck, Marc, gonna cum on your cock, baby.”

You whimpered, throwing your head back as your walls clenched down around him. You must’ve blacked out for a moment, your vision going bright white as pleasure speared through you—when you regained your bearings and sensation over your limbs, your ears were blessed with a sound you weren’t sure you’d get to hear.

Marc was falling apart.

“Please, oh, God, Y/N, baby, please let me cum for you, I can’t—can’t hold it anymore, please, please, please, baby, please let me cum, pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

There were sobs ripping themselves from his lips as tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched so tightly you thought he might sprain something. The fluttering of your tight walls against him was unbearable, truly torturous—he couldn’t do it anymore.

His eyes blinked open to watch you as your hands crept up the length of his strained arms, fingers deftly untying the knots that held him hostage to the bed. His arms fell limp at his sides when released from their hold, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, glassy with tears.

You pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Been so good for me, baby. Go ahead and take what you want, Marc, it’s yours. Cum for me.”

Something snapped inside of him. A vein throbbed in his forehead as his hands flew to your hips, planting you firmly against him as he began to thrust up into you at a rapid pace, his hips slamming against your thighs loudly and roughly. You yelped in surprise at his sudden burst of energy, and he was staring intently at the place where his cock was splitting you open, hips relentlessly pistonning upwards into you as he slammed your body down against him to meet each thrust.

You didn’t expect to cum again, but the harsh drag of his cock inside of you as his hands grounded you firmly sent you hurling across the edge, your cunt clamping down on his aching length as you pulled him across the threshold with you.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, gonna fill you up, baby, cummin’ so hard, fuuuck—”

Each harsh pump upwards was punctuated with a grunt as he spilled inside of you, his cock pumping you full of his white hot seed as he continued pounding into you relentlessly. Even as you came down from the climax that had blindsided you, and even after he’d completely emptied himself inside of your slick walls, he continued rutting up into you, his face contorted in a look of pain and determination as he gritted his teeth.

“Woah, Marc, hey, hey, slow down—”

You urged, reached to wrap your fingers around his wrists from where they were still firmly attached to your waist, the wet sounds of his cock still pumping in and out of you filling the room. His eyes finally looked up to you, the haziness clearing as your worried face settled on him.

“It’s okay, Marc, you’re okay.”

You assured, and he finally let your full weight rest down onto him, his body slowly rolling to a halt as the aftershocks of his intense pleasure pulsed through his limbs, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating against his ribcage harshly, but his eyes watched you as you smiled down at him, reaching forward to cup his jaw in one hand as the other ran through his sweaty hair.

“There we go. There you are. There’s my handsome boy.”

All at once, he collapsed into a fit of sobs again, sitting up to pull you against his chest impossibly tight as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt your heart break as you coddled him, one hand stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing patterns into the bare skin of his back. Years and years of internalized vulnerability spilled out of him in your embrace, and you held him there until his stuttering cries turned into shaky exhales, his face buried in the crook of his neck. He fell back into the pillows, pulling you down on top of him and keeping you snugly pulled against his body.

His cock was still nestled deep inside of you, and you could feel Marc’s cum leaking out and creating a stickiness between your thighs and atop his hips. When you shifted to move, he tightened his hold, his breath wavering just slightly.

“Please, don’t. Just—stay with me. Like this. For just awhile longer. Please.”

He whispered against your temple, begging for this brief moment of reprieve, of absolution, of solace. You sank into his chest, breathing in his heady scent and allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of this moment, too—a moment of comfort, of safety, of resolve.

Marc had one final thought before sleep overtook him.

Is this what being okay feels like?

TAGLIST: @kezibear143 @gingermous @josephquinncore @steven-grants-world @am-3-thyst @fanofverymanythings @vaneyvfs @theboggyman @belladri @roserfz27 @nowayhomerry @justanotherkpopstanlol @bagsy-not-it @elles-mind-palace @pimosworld @winterbiip @moonmoonboys @icuminurbutt @spxctorsslxt @fandomqueen74 @freerangesweets @wumpsquill @wordacadabra @lunaleah @hornkneeforbucky @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

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makochi-furin · 5 months ago

Note

Hii hii! I hope your doing okay today or tonight, I was wondering if you could write something for dazai (idm if it’s scenario, hc or mix of it and if you add another character you really want to write about).

The request basically is; a reader who finally told Dazai about their past abuser, how they got away with no consequences (who reader mentioned seeing sometimes in the city) and later said abuser goes to the agency on behalf their company to investigate missing items.

Stuff like this is really comforting for me so thank you if you do it :D I hope I put in enough detail for you to work with.

DAZAI AND CONSEQUENCES

A/N: baby, I’m so sorry, but this is long asf and I got a lil carried away💀 I’m also sorry it took a bit to get out. I work in a nursery, so I work 12 hours shifts, and this got to me slam in the middle of my first one (out of three in a row). If this isn’t what you wanted, you can send me in another ask :) But I hope you like it

WARNING(s): reader was in a physically abusive relationship in the past, mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence, mentions of panic attacks, pissed off dazai, reader is a girl

—I'm gonna assume this is like a pt. 2 of this writing, but it can stand alone, too :)

—We all know Dazai is megamind over here. He sees EVERYTHING. Nothing goes unnoticed by him (which you probably find a little annoying, tbh, but oh, well). It's especially annoying when he knows things about you that you don't necessarily want him to know

—HOWEVER, if it's something that you physically and emotionally feel like you cannot talk about, like it brings you distress and discomfort, he's very unlikely to push you about it. Let's be honest, this man's probably never even told you the name of his parents. You don't even know if Dazai Osamu IS his real name, so he knows he hasn't got room to talk

—I feel like if Dazai noticed something about your mannerisms, or the way you act that very obviously speaks to past trauma, he'd ask you about it, like in my previous writing. If you're unable or unwilling to talk about it, he drops it. He SO desperately wants to know, but he cares for you too much to put you in any sort of emotional distress by pushing it

—When you do decide to open up to him, he's all ears. He knows how hard it is to speak about the shadows of your past, and he honestly is just so flattered that you trust him (he can't believe it, lmao. Like, three people in his life truly trust him) enough to tell him about it

—You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub in Osamu's apartment, absently watching him comb through his wet hair. The two of you had showered together, and you couldn't help but notice over the months of your relationship how much he had changed.

Osamu was flighty at first, and very distrustful. He wasn't a fan of placing himself in vulnerable positions. Not just to you, but to anyone. Yet, when you'd gently brought up his lack of self care, and how it made you sad to see the person you loved think so little of themselves, a change happened.

You helped, of course. At first, you reminded him to brush his teeth when he forgot, and then you began combing his hair. You'd point out when it was time to change his bandages, and call him to bed at an acceptable time because you knew he'd just stay up until the early hours of the morning (if he slept at all). Together, you two had even begun cooking meals, and he'd started to fill out a little bit.

Now, he made sure to do all of those things, even if you didn't remind him/cook with him, because he felt better, yes, but also because he could see how happy it made you.

He was still suffering from chronic depression, of course. You knew you couldn't fix that, and were thinking about gently bringing up a therapist to him, but he had gotten so much better. Even his coworkers noticed it.

Osamu dragged a comb through his brown waves, eyes narrowed as he focused intently on it. It meant so much to you. How could he not focus on it?

You knew it, too. He would've never made these changes for himself, but he had begun to trust that you had his best interest at heart. A few weeks ago, he'd even opened up about some of his own traumas surrounding Mori and the Port Mafia, about his best friend, Oda Sakunosuke.

Osamu trusted you.

That was why it felt so wrong to keep your own past from him, because he was finally starting to open up. You feared if you didn't return the favor, he'd wilt again. More so, you'd recently been catching yourself let parts of the story slip. Subconsciously, you wanted so badly to tell him.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" He asked lightly, brown eyes sparkling with so much affection that it had your breath catching. Osamu was watching you from the mirror.

You blinked, realizing you'd been out of it for a moment, lost in thought. In your lap, you fiddled with your fingers. Part of you wanted to shut down as your heart plummeted at the thought of reliving the worst of it...

But the way he looked at you, like you hung the sun and the stars, like he felt such fondness for you that 'I love you' simply didn't cut it...

It was time to tell him.

"Can... Can we talk?" you asked, surprised by the softness of your voice. It was almost ashamed, but you knew you shouldn't feel shame for what had happened to you.

Only, you were so scared he'd feel ashamed of you.

Osamu was a great aim, and he was smart as a whip, and he was oddly strong for his thin figure. He'd never let himself stay in the sort of situation you did. He'd fight back.

You felt so small.

He turned to look at you, leaning back on the bathroom counter. His eyes were gentle and knowing, and you couldn't tell if you were upset that he already knew what this was about, or relieved. "Of course," he said with a little smile, squatting down in front of you and taking your hands in his. "What about?"

You gulped, knowing there was no turning back now. If you told him this, you'd be trusting him with probably the worst part of your life. Even imagining it, the past with him, made you sick to your stomach.

You knew you'd backtrack if you didn't just rip it off like a bandaid.

"I overreact to things sometimes," you whispered, and he squeezed your hands. "I'm sure you've noticed it."

"I wouldn't use the word 'overreact.'"

You chewed on your lips nervously, staring into his eyes. Thankfully, all you saw there was understanding, but it was still so hard. "My ex beat me. For years... Anytime I did... anything, pretty much. It was bad." Your voice cracked as you continued, tears welling in your eyes. "I couldn't see my family... I ended up in the ER a few times. He broke me, Osamu. He had me convinced I'd never trust another man."

You waited with baited breath for his reaction, trying to hold in the tears. Your eyes stung and your breathing was speeding up into gasps, because you hadn't even told your family or closest friends the full extent of it.

Osamu looked oddly calm, but at the sight of your fallen tears, he got up to sit beside you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he pulled you in close, flush against him, and kissed your temple. "Breathe, baby. It's all right now," he whispered, squeezing you close.

You couldn't stop it now, though. What had been building up since you left your ex was being released right here, right now. There was no turning back. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks and clouded your eyesight. Subconsciously, you grabbed his shirt in a tight grip and squeezed until your hand ached.

"He beat the shit out of me, and nothing ever happened," you continued, the anguish in your voice now laced by anger. "He broke my collarbone... my jaw—my ribs and my wrist. He made me feel like an ant, like I was so small, and I still feel that way now, and even after I left him... I'm still suffering, but he gets to go about his life like it was nothing. I couldn't even go to the police—he said he'd kill me," you got out through gasps, squeezing your eyes closed as your vision had started to darken at the edges, anyways.

Osamu's eyes flashed with something you didn't recognize, but all he knew to do was pull you in tighter. He placed a hand on your head and pulled you into his chest, and you certainly weren't trying to resist.

"It's not fair," you added, knowing how childish you sounded. Nothing was ever fair. Here you were, saying all this to a man who had probably done much worse than just break people's bones, complaining about fairness.

You weren't a child. You knew life wasn't fair, but that didn't mean it didn't fucking suck that it wasn't.

"Sometimes, I still see him, you know... In town, I—" You had to stop, otherwise you'd make it worse for yourself.

He held you close, rubbing your back and gently scratching your scalp as he whispered for you to breathe. Osamu knew you were about to land neck deep into a panic attack.

Eventually, he did get you calmed down. He got you to bed, made you a mug of hot chocolate, and read to you for about thirty minutes before you were able to catch your breath, his smooth voice calming you better than any benzo could.

In the end, you two lied down together, your back pressed to his front. The bandaged arm that was wrapped around your waist felt like a safety blanket. You were sure you'd be embarrassed about your outburst tomorrow, but for right now, you simply soaked up the feeling of him wrapped around you so snugly.

"You're not small," he whispered to you, and that was the last thing you remembered before passing out.

—Dazai doesn't seem different to you afterwards, in that he doesn't act differently towards you. You were worried at first that he'd see you differently, that he'd see you as being as weak as you saw yourself, but it was the furthest thing from. He respects the hell out of people who can go through such terrible things, and yet come out so kind, so good

—While he doesn't seem different, inwardly you can bet he's raging. Dazai is PISSED OFF, more than he's been in years. He's made great progress, but let's not forget that Dazai can be a cruel mf. He's got a darkness in him that he doesn't want you to see, but it is definitely there

—He doesn't press you for anymore details, but he can't help himself. He digs. He uses his brilliance to find out who the guy is, who his name is, and any time he feels even a slight bit of guilt at digging into your past life without your knowledge, he reminds himself of the injuries you listed.

—You thought he'd forget the things you admitted during your confession? PLEASE. He needs to know everything about this fucking piece of work. If he has a photo, he might even text it to Chuuya, along with a message "wanted alive," and you best bet Chuuya takes it seriously (even if he hates Dazai, lmao) because just by LOOKING at the photo of this guy, everyone can tell he's an asshole. And you still see this mf sometimes? Man is RAGING

—Dazai stands on business, because seeing you so torn up about it physically hurts him. It makes his heart ache every time he remembers you in that state. He can't fucking stand it, and he has to do something about it

—Your words about it being unfair haunt him in his nightmares. You're right to a degree: the world isn't fair. However, Dazai knows that if it takes him a million years, he's gonna make this shit fair

—Then, what do you know, one day he's at the office and Atsushi comes strolling in with a Manila folder and the piece of shit, himself. There he is, practically served to Dazai on a silver platter

—"This is Tanaka Jiro," Atsushi chirped, missing the way Dazai's eyes widened when he saw the new client. "He's here on behalf of the engineering company that got broken into last night."

Dazai sat up in his chair, staring right at the man who had the gall to make you feel small and weak. His eyes darkened, and then he slowly smiled. It wasn't happy or gentle, or even playful and teasing.

He smiled like Mori smiled.

In that moment, if his coat was black instead of tan, he'd look the picture of his younger, crueler self. He supposed that part of him never went away, always there just at the edge of his subconscious.

He promised Odasaku that he'd push it away, that he'd do good. However, he felt that even Odasaku, his kind friend, would understand the necessity of it now.

Immediately, he jumped out of his chair and made his way over. His hand landed on Atsushi's hair, giving it a playful ruffle. As he looked at him, his eyes softened. "Maa, Atsushi-kun. You work too hard, you know. I'll take this case for you."

Atsushi stared at him with obvious shock, eyes wide and jaw on the floor, because Dazai never, ever volunteered to work. If anything, he complained about it like a child.

"D-Dazai-san?" he breathed, in disbelief. It looked like he thought someone had killed the real Dazai, and was now acting in his place.

"Ah, ah," Dazai chirped, shoving Atsushi away. "Go do normal teenager things. Flirt, make friends," his voice trailed off as his gaze slid to Tanaka, your ex, and the smirk lifted his lips once more, eyes flashing dangerously, "all of that."

"O-Okay," Atsushi mumbled, still in shock. He recovered quickly, smiling brightly at Tanaka. "Dazai-san is a very good detective, Tanaka-san. You're in good hands!" he promised.

Tanaka smiled back, and seeing the bastard have the audacity to smile had Dazai seething internally.

Maybe, he'd take all his teeth, so that he could never smile again.

"Thank you for your help, Nakajima-kun," Tanaka said, nodding.

As Atsushi walked off, Dazai tilted his head to the side, his plan already formed. "Follow me to answer some questions, and then I'll begin investigating right away."

—For Dazai's plan to pay off, he needs to figure out who broke into the company. It wasn't a planned event, and he quickly figured out the guy who did it probably had no connection to the company (probably just a low down thief looking for some quick cash), which made it more difficult. It was the sort of not-really-a-big-deal crime that the agency would usually put on the back burner (the only reason it even came to them was because the thief was figured to be gifted), but Dazai worked tirelessly at it

—He interviewed people, looked over documents from dusk to dawn, and just generally put in a hell of a lot more effort for this than he usually would for some petty theft

—You probably even notice how hard he's working. There are bags under his eyes and he's back to not taking very good care of himself, but when you ask about it (obviously worried), he just smiles gently, kisses you, and assures you that he'll have this case figured out in no time. He doesn't want you anywhere near this

—When he does find the criminal, their interaction goes something like this:

"I know you did it. Give me the shit you stole, and I'll let you off."

"Bet."

—He has this part meticulously planned out. While your ex is in work one day, Dazai plants the stolen items in his car, and then calls the company security

—He watches with glee as he's dragged from the building, kicking and screaming like an enraged toddler, and fired on the spot. Your ex's livelihood? Gone. Phase one? Completed

—Dazai sat at his desk with a satisfied smile, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he counted down in his head. Everyone else is entrenched in their own workloads, barely even noticing the malicious sparkle in Dazai's eyes.

Soon enough, the door bursted open, and your ex came running in. His eyes were rimmed red, like he'd been crying, and he was flushed all over from rage. "What the fuck did you do?!" he demanded, pointing at Dazai.

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently, standing and walking over with the same smile.

Everyone else stopped what they were doing, watching the scene with widened, or curious eyes. This sort of thing didn't happen much at the ADA.

"You know what the fuck I mean, you piece of shit!" Tanaka screamed in his face, and it only made Dazai's smile widen. When he saw this, he hissed, "I think we should take this outside."

"Hold on," demanded Atsushi, immediately standing from his desk, along with Kyouka and Kenji.

Dazai didn't even look at them, staring into Tanaka's eyes, as he held up his hand to stop them in their tracks. The smile melted off his face, replaced by a cold glare and lips pressed into a line. "I'm fine," he assured them, light tone not at all matching his expression.

"But—Dazai-san," Atsushi mumbled, eyes flickering between Dazai and Tanaka.

"You guys are so dramatic," Ranpo said with a roll of his eyes, absently watching the scene from his desk, which his feet were propped up on. "Dazai-kun said it's fine."

Dazai tilted his head mockingly at Tanaka. "Are we going outside?"

That, they did. Tanaka stomped down the stairs and through the cafe, out onto the crowded streets of Yokohama.

Dazai followed, of course, even as Tanaka led him towards a darkened alleyway, obstructed from the view of the general public. Inwardly, he thought that this guy was making it way too easy. He was an idiot.

Tanaka stared at the dead end wall for a minute, and then let out a cry of rage, turned on his heel, and began running at Dazai with his arm pulled back and his hand clenched into a fist.

Nonplussed, Dazai side stepped it, loving every minute of the surprise on Tanaka's face. "What? Did you think fighting someone your own size would be as easy as beating on a girl?"

That had Tanaka freezing immediately. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he growled out, and Dazai almost laughed at his attempt to be menacing and scary.

Right on time, a black SUV pulled up. He might not be in the mafia anymore, but Dazai had plenty of contacts from it. When masked men jumped out of the vehicle, surrounding Tanaka, Dazai smirked at the look of pure terror on his face.

"Don't play dumb. You aren't handsome enough to pull it off," he said lightly, and then laughed as Tanaka tried to call for help.

He was knocked out before he could.

When he awoke, eyes all bleary and with a searing headache, he was in a big, dark warehouse. It was old and beaten, with leaking pipes and creaky doors. He was sitting in a chair, hands cuffed together behind him.

Tanaka screamed.

Dazai walked in front of him casually, hands tucked into his pockets. "Scream all you like. No one will hear you," he said.

"Why are you doing this?! Who even are you, man?!" Tanaka cried, the tears falling down his cheeks. He looked so pathetic.

Dazai loved every second of it.

He hummed, walking forward until he was right in front of the bastard, footsteps echoing around the wide open space. Grabbing a fist full of Tanaka's hair, Dazai yanked his head back, so he'd be looking up at him, so he could see the icy glare, the hate.

"You hurt someone I'm very fond," Dazai said softly, tilting his head. "You hurt someone I love... And ever since she told me, I've been thinking of ways to make it fair for her. It's all I've thought about.

"She's not like you and me, you know. She's kind. She's sweet. She's good. You," Dazai scoffed, "you're pathetic. A man who has to beat defenseless women to feel good about himself is no man." When he leaned in close, so his lips were inching his ear, Tanaka whimpered. "And me? I'm the worst of the worst."

Now, all Tanaka could do was cry and plead, but Dazai wasn't having any of it. He let go of Tanaka's hair, letting his head fall limply, enjoying the sounds of his uttered prayer. "No god can save you from me," he told him in a pleasant voice, taking a few steps back.

Dazai crossed his arms and hummed thoughtfully, making a show of it. "I thought I could just kill you, but that's not really fair, is it? She has to live with what you did to her, and I think the fairest thing would be if you have to live with what I do to you."

"You're fucking psychotic," Tanaka whispered.

"Ah," Dazai agreed easily. "I've always been more of a proponent of revenge, rather than justice. See, she probably just wishes you'd have gone to jail." His casual tone melted into something deeper and smoother, deadlier. "Whereas I'm more of an eye-for-an-eye kind of guy, so..." He pursed his lips in faux thought, looking up at the ceiling. "What was it she said?"

Tanaka stared at him in horror, especially when Dazai stared him straight in the eye and smiled.

"Right. Broken jaw, collarbone, ribs, and wrist!" He said, snapping as if he'd just remembered it, as if your broken confession hadn't been causing him physical pain this whole time. "I have plenty of history with breaking jaws, so I guess we'll start there. What do you say?" he asked brightly.

Tanaka screamed again, the sound becoming a cry of raw terror as Dazai began walking towards him.

An hour later, Tanaka still sat in his chair, still handcuffed, but he was bloody and bruised. Every injury he inflicted on you, Dazai returned tenfold. He was delirious with pain, and in and out of consciousness.

Dazai grunted when he looked down at his hands, seeing the blood that absolutely coated his knuckles and bandages. He'd have to clean that up before coming home to you.

"You up?" he asked, walking closer.

When Tanaka immediately flinched back, Dazai hummed with satisfaction.

"I won't kill you," he said, as if he was doing Tanaka some great favor. "You're going to go about your pathetic, little life with no job, and every time you look at yourself, you'll remember this pain. You'll finally feel at least a fraction of what she did."

Tanaka just whimpered. It was hard to speak with a shattered jaw.

Dazai smiled at the sound, crouching down in front of him to force Tanaka to look him in the face, in the eyes. "The men who kidnapped you are going to drop you off at a hospital. They'll ask what happened, and you'll be tempted to tell them. So," his tone lowered into a hiss, breaking the somewhat casual facade now that Tanaka had physically felt his anger. There was no point hiding it now. "I'll tell you the same thing you told her at her lowest point, that defenseless girl who didn't stand a chance against a piece of shit like you: tell the cops, and I'll kill you."

Dazai stood, jaw clenched. "And I'll be watching you from now. Step a toe out of line, hurt anyone else, and I'll bring you right back here. Only, that time, I'll probably just go ahead and do the whole world a favor, and shoot you in the head.

"I bet no one would miss you at all, because that's how small you are."

With that, he walked away.

—I know that was pretty brutal, but to be honest, y'all, Dazai was a whole ass executive in the PM (the 'demon prodigy'). He tries to hold it back in the ADA (per his promise to Oda and his care for the others), but let's not kid ourselves. The guy does have the capacity to do some really evil shit, and I think if he'd do it for anyone, it'd be you

—It just pisses him off so much to feel helpless, especially when it comes to you. He couldn't save you, then, but he can damn well set the record straight. In his head, he had to do something. At the very least, he had to stop this guy from doing it again

—You were eating dinner with him that night, and hadn't really noticed anything out of the ordinary. Both of you were just sitting at the counter, digging into some instant ramen, and you probably wouldn't have noticed if you didn't pay such close attention to him.

There was a speck of blood on the collar of his coat.

"Hey, what happened?" you asked, concern pinching together your brows. Worried eyes scanned him over, looking for any sign of injury. You found none, though.

"It's not mine," Osamu answered, and then took a bite of his food, looking pointedly away from you.

You pursed your lips, tapping his wrist. "We don't lie to each other, O-sa-mu."

He couldn't help but smile a little at your tone. His eyes finally met your's, and he tapped your wrist back. "It's not a lie. It's-not-mine."

"It's a lie by omission if you don't tell me what happened."

You were terribly confused when his eyes softened, and then he gently pressed his hand to the back of your head, bringing you closer until your foreheads were touching. "What's wrong?" you mumbled.

"I can't tell you everything," he admitted slowly, eyes shut. He looked so peaceful, like he was where he was meant to me. Honestly, when Osamu was all soft like this, it took your breath away.

"Then tell me part of it," you breathed, reaching up to cup your hand around his neck. "Did something happen?"

He stayed quiet for a long time, though you didn't know how long. It was like he was contemplating something serious, and that both confused and worried you.

When he finally did speak, it felt like time froze. Everything froze.

"I made it fair. He won't ever hurt anyone else again. I made sure of it."

The words were a whispered promise, and you automatically knew what he was talking about, of course. He was mysterious, and he had been distrustful at first, and you knew he had once been in the mafia, but he was also the person you trusted the most in the world.

Osamu always went above and beyond for you, and you didn't feel as safe anywhere as you did with him.

You believed him wholeheartedly, and found that this admission was enough. You didn't need to know the details, and probably wouldn't want to.

The relief you felt was enough.

"Thank you, Osamu."

—Look, he's so bby girl with you, but he don't play when it comes to your abusive ex💀

—Just... just honestly don't fuck with the people this guy loves, okay? He's gd diabolical, and he can be so cruel to those that hurt who he cares about, so... Just watch it if you're tryna show out to his girl, okay, lmao

#dazai osamu x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x you #osamu dazai x you #dazai x you #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #makochi’s hc/scenario mix

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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years ago

Note

HERSCHEL BROKE YOUR TOOTH?!

My Special Little Ham Man is 42lbs of concentrated power of friendship, which he uses to give himself unnatural propulsion powers, and launches himself at anyone that so much as looks at him with extreme joy, like a short, hairy weeping angel.

Anyway, it's been an emotionally intense two weeks for Herschel because I got spayed and couldn't have him in my lap and we also closed on a house, so from his perspective I was suddenly very ill and refused to snuggle with him and I kept VANISHING off to parts unknown. Very distressing. So two nights ago, when I was satisfied that my stitches had healed and let him jump up for Lap Time, he was so overcome with joy that he put too much juice into the bounce and smacked his concrete-reinforced little noggin directly into my mouth, and broke the root of my right incisor.

(He'd do it again)

Anyway, while I am largely financially stable and have dental insurance, the surgery and move mean the family is a little strapped for cash and the dental insurance doesn't cover much, so if you've got a spare dollar to toss at my Ko-Fi, I'd extremely appreciate it. (today's date is 2/7/2023, so people don't feel compelled to donate next year or something if this ends up in circulation.)

#dogs #dental trauma #signal boost

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serverusslaype · 1 year ago

Text

Shameless, pt. 5

snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

HEY YALL!! oh my lordddd this was so fun and emotionally draining to write lowkey, i had o children on repeat at the end and i was in my BAG, that song destroys me.

if you're still here and still following this series, thank you very much, i truly do appreciate your support - that means all the likes, follows, reblogs, comments - everything and anything <33 if you are new, hello, welcome, hi, the beginning chapters will be on my blog, just scroll down, this series is the only thing i have posted, i'll be adding the part links in tomorrow as i want to go to bed hehe

i love u guys so much :) pls make sure you drink enough water today!

this is a very long chapter by the way so pls prepare yourself for potential spelling mistakes!

alright... away we goooo!!!

As you sprinted down the corridor, it felt like it was never-ending. You were almost out of breath as you reached the scene, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you stared up in horror at the second bloody message. It eerily read: 'Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever'.

"Oh my…" You breathed out shakily; the loudening sound of a crowd of hurried footsteps began to get closer and closer to you. Looking to the right, you spotted the other teachers - McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Flitwick, Sinistra, Snape and the caretaker, Filch. They all looked as distressed as you did, even Snape who is usually devoid of any emotion.

"The heir of Slytherin has left another message," McGonagall stated apprehensively, gesturing to the defamed wall with an outstretched hand as the other teachers gathered around, all sporting the same worrisome look. "Our worst fear has been realised. A student has been taken by the monster, into the Chamber itself." The Head of Gryffindor's voice was shaky, it sounded like she was about to burst into tears. You glanced at her with sad eyes, and she beckoned you to come to her with her other arm. You padded over to McGonagall as she laid an arm around your shoulders comfortingly, her thumb gently rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Being the youngest of the teachers, you were taking this rather hard. Most of all, you were worried for the rest of your students. "What do we do Minerva?" You asked quietly after a moment of silence as the group of you stared at the wall in disbelief and what felt like denial. "The students must be sent home… I'm afraid this is the end of Hogwarts." She announced, her brows knitting together in a dramatic show of despair. You felt your stomach drop. The end of Hogwarts?…

Before you could get another word in, a familiar, cocky face appeared. "So sorry. Dozed off. What have I missed?" Lockhart asked over-enthusiastically with his signature million-dollar grin, bouncing on his heels as he clasped his hands together behind his back. You clenched your jaw in anger at him, your eyes narrowing into an unwelcoming glare as you stared at the man.

"A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Your moment has come at last." Snape said bitterly, standing tall.

"My m-moment?" Lockhart replied, stumbling over his words like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?" Snape quipped as the speed of sound, his tongue laced with venom. You glanced at Severus for a quick moment, your stomach doing somersaults. Instantly, Lockhart's grin disappeared. You swallowed thickly as he dared to glance at you, his mouth parting slightly in shock. Your jaw clenched again as you shuffled in your spot, resisting the urge to curse the man. McGonagall's comforting hand tightened around your shoulder.

"That's settled. We'll leave you to deal with the monster, Gilderoy." McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "Your skills, after all, are legend." She added, not hiding the smugness in her voice at all. The corner of your lip quirked up the tiniest amount at her words. Lockhart's face was the pure definition of shock for the last few seconds before he quickly returned to his fake, proud grin.

"Very well. Uh, I'll just be in my office getting err… getting ready!" Lockhart announced, feigning excitement. Did he think you were stupid? All of you could see through his brave act and see his true cowardly self. As you all stared at him, he spun on his heel and turned around, almost sprinting back in the direction of his office. You couldn't help but scoff quietly as he turned the corner, rolling your eyes at his pathetic self as you looked back at the message messily scrawled out on the wall. Your stomach twisted at the thought of one of your students being brutally slaughtered at the hands of a beast. It felt as if someone had just pushed you from a great height.

"Who is it that the monster's taken, Minerva?" Madam Pomfrey asked with inquisitive yet cautious eyes, pulling you from your thoughts. Professor McGonagall looked away for a moment, blinking slowly.

"Ginny Weasley." McGonagall replied gravely, sharing a glance with Madam Pomfrey before walking away, presumably back to her office. You'd been nurturing your Mandrakes with precision, but this whole debacle spurred you on to do as much as you could, even if that meant destroying yourself in the process. The students of Hogwarts' safety meant the world to you. You couldn't imagine the fear that was probably streaming through them all right now.

Ever since you were called by McGonagall to the second-floor corridor to witness the final bloody message scrawled against the wall, you'd been awake almost twenty-four hours a day; sleeping in your greenhouse at your desk to ensure you were there the exact moment your Mandrakes were ready to be stewed and made into juice for the Mandrake Restoration potion. Dark purple rings had appeared around your eyes as you worked day and night, fertilising, feeding and watering the Mandrakes, guaranteeing that the they were at their best when the time came. The threat of more students being attacked or snatched kept you awake most of the time.

Nothing of the sort had ever happened at Hogwarts before, and deep down, you were a little terrified. Though you refused to show it, it would only scare the students more. You had also heard through the grapevine that Hagrid had been arrested on suspicion of opening the Chamber of Secrets, which broke your heart. That man would never do such a thing, and you were positive he was being set up for it. It was a blistery, cold and frosty winter night and you had nodded off again whilst caring for the Mandrakes; your head drooped in the cradle of your arms on top of the table with your hair falling over your arms like a waterfall. You stirred awake, and it was a brutal war to open your eyes as the chilling air bit at your bare arms like a rabid dog. Shivering, you quickly blinked, rubbing your sore eyes with tired fingers, a gasp leaving your lips as you laid your eyes upon the scene in front of you. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Before you had fallen asleep, the Mandrakes were in their own pots. Now, they had moved into each others. They'd finally matured! All those early morning and late nights you'd slaved away had paid off. Your chest was bursting with pride as you grinned to yourself. It was a bittersweet moment for sure.

"Yes!" You exclaimed, the rush of excitement fuelling you to stand up from your chair. You clasped your hands together eagerly, staring at the nesting Mandrakes like a baby who just took their first steps. You were so proud.

Humming to yourself, you stood there blankly. If you were being honest, you had to wrack your brain for a moment as the lack of sleep was starting to get to you - your brain was a little foggy. Yet, you pushed through it, retrieving your wand from your robes, but to your surprise it wasn't there. Your brows furrowed as you looked down at your empty pockets. It must have fallen out when you nodded off. You bent down quickly, scanning underneath the table with tired eyes, and sure enough, there was your wand. Sitting all by it's lonesome. You retrieved it with nimble fingers and stood back up with a whoosh, aiming your wand at the root of a Mandrake in front of you. "Diffindo." You spoke clearly, flicking your wand in a up-and-down motion, watching carefully as a thin white light severed off a thick piece of Mandrake root. It fell and landed on the table with a muffled thud. Quickly retrieving it, you placed it into a dark brown woven bag to the left of you, sealing it closed with the ivory-coloured drawstrings. Now, it was time to pay the Bat a visit. Hopefully he didn't cause you much… stress.

You sighed quietly, turning around with a whirl to have a quick look in a old, dusty mirror that had been overgrown by some vines of ivy. Merlin, you had really been neglecting yourself. You grimaced as you stared at your unrecognisable reflection, noticing the purple circles around your eyes. "Yeesh," you grit your teeth, fingers coming up to trace the lines forming at the end of your eyes.

It's not like you were there to impress Snape anyway, you were going there to drop off the Mandrake extracts and help him with the potion. That was it. Nothing else. Your chest tightened slightly at the thought, of course you wished it was different, but this was Professor Severus Snape you were talking about. The man was emotionless, he had no time for such childish things. A soft, strained groan slipped from your lips as you shut your eyes for a moment, just imagining what it'd be like if did feel the same way you did. Perhaps he'd make you tea in the mornings, visit you during your breaks, maybe even bring you small, meaningful gifts. Sighing defeatedly, you shook away your fantasy from your mind, slipping back into gloomy reality.

You made your way out of the greenhouse, but not before readjusting your dress and brushing through your hair with your fingers messily, a quiet 'ouch' falling from your lips as you reached a knot. Feelings or not, you wanted to at least look presentable. Falling asleep on your worktable didn't really do you any justice.

The obsidian night-sky had taken over from the blue one earlier, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful the stars looked twinkling in the sky tonight. You stopped for a moment and admired it, quickly spotting your favourite constellation, Aquila. It took you back in time for a moment, remembering the fond times you had teaching students in Astronomy. You still loved Astronomy, but Herbology is where you truly belonged.

As you bid the night a silent farewell, you carried yourself into the castle, ensuring to be as quiet as possible considering it was around eleven o'clock at night, perhaps even midnight. You hurried to the spiral staircases leading down to the dungeons, that familiar, vile damp smell hitting your nose once again. Your nose scrunched up in disgust. As you continued down the path towards Snape's classroom, you spotted it; a warm amber light flooding out from underneath the door. It wasn't exactly a surprise that he was still awake, you knew he was usually out patrolling each night to catch students out of bed past curfew. You rolled your eyes at the thought and proceeded to rap on his door with your knuckles, awaiting his response, bag in hand.

"Come in." Came an agitated voice. You cringed slightly at yourself and opened his door and wandered in. As your eyes glanced around his classroom, you were instantly transported back to the times you'd served detention in here, scribbling rather inappropriate things on scraps of parchment. Looking back to Snape, you noticed he was sat at his desk, nose deep in what you assumed to be assignments. Your stomach suddenly felt rather light.

"Hello," you said sheepishly, stopping in front of his door as you shut it behind you, "You're up late." You commented, offering him a polite smile. Severus looked up confusedly from behind his desk, his brows furrowing as he noticed it was you and not a student. As his eyes connected with yours, they sent an anxious, shivery rush through your body.

"Y/N," Severus greeted you, his face still adorned with his infamous scowl as he looked at you directly for several seconds, scrutinising you as he tried to comprehend what you were doing at his office at such an ungodly hour. "What are you doing here?"

"The Mandrakes matured," you said excitedly, holding up the bag in your hand. Snape's gaze fell to your hands, eyeing the bag with an ounce of curiosity. "We can start the potion now to cure the students." You added happily.

Severus leaned back in his chair, looking back down at the assignments in front of him. You were a little bummed that he didn't look happier. "Brilliant, you may put them here." He said blankly, patting the empty space on his desk next to his pile of assignments. After several seconds, he spoke again with a curious tone. "…You said 'we', Y/N?" He stared at you. The way he said your name made your face redden.

"Erm, yes, well, I don't want you to over-stew the Mandrake root," You said with a cheeky smile. You were trying to lighten to glum mood. It was risky but worth it. High risk, high reward, you thought. "I thought it would be best if I did for you, since I was the one that raised them." You explained, shrugging sheepishly. Severus could sense the swelling pride in your voice, but he didn't mention anything, he wasn't sure if he'd say something awful and hurt you. It was rather pleasant to see you smiling in his presence instead of the usual upset and angry side of you.

Severus sat for a moment and pondered before speaking once more. "Very well." He said, that cold tone still very present in his voice. You bit down a little too harshly on your bottom lip out of nervousness, padding forwards to set the Mandrake roots down on a desk in the middle of the classroom. As you glanced around the classroom once more, fond memories of you and your friends whispering and sneaking notes to each other in class began to flood your mind, a nostalgic smile tugging at your lips.

"Are the cauldrons still in the same place?" You asked Severus, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him.

"Yes." Was all he said, nose still buried deep in his work. You rolled your eyes softly at his ridiculous work ethic. Every time you came in this room, he was always working hard. Of course, you admired his industrious nature, but you thought he would at least give himself some leeway and put the assignments down, maybe read a book or do something a little less work-related. Though, you weren't one to judge, perhaps he enjoyed it.

"Nothing changes around here." You chuckled quietly to yourself, a small smile spreading across your face as you wandered in the direction of Snape's storage cupboards, your fingers wrapping around the handle. Pulling it open with a exhausted squeak of the old and worn hinges, you let your eyes roam over the equipment, searching for a spare cauldron. As you had your back turned, Severus sneaked a glance at you over his assignments, his eyes narrowing vaguely as he stared at you for a short moment. Before you turned back around with the cauldron in your hand, he'd already returned his gaze to his desk.

Walking back to the desk you'd chosen to stew your Mandrake root, you let your eyes flick over at Severus for a quick moment, indulging in his appearance. Your eyes lingered, and you realised you loved the way his hair fell around his pale face like a pair of old curtains, a single strand curling onto his prominent nose. A tiny, bashful smile fell on your lips as you looked back to the cauldron in your hands, stopping at the desk to place the cauldron down. Whilst you were setting it up, you kept sneaking cautious glances in the direction of the broody Potions Master, your heart beat speeding up each time your curious eyes landed on him.

You retrieved your wand from your robes and cast a spell on the cauldron, watching as water suddenly filled it three quarters of the way up. After that, you cast another spell to boil the water, your face relaxing a tad as you reached for the bag of Mandrake root to your right, opening it and retrieving said ingredient. You dropped it in the cauldron with a satisfying plop, observing it carefully. Now, you had to wait fifteen minutes for it to stew, keeping an eye out for when it turned bright green.

You looked up at Severus, who was still scratching away at assignments with his quill. "It'll be around fifteen minutes." You announced, not really expecting a reply. He merely grunted as a weak sign of acknowledgment. That was the best you were going to get currently. You sighed quietly to yourself and decided to take a stroll around his classroom to kill some time.

Heading towards the shelves of jars and containers of rather vile looking ingredients, you clasped your hands together behind your back, stopping to have a look at a jar of rat tails. You grimaced at the sight, quickly moving on to another row of less disgusting looking jarred items. A content hum left your lips as you spotted your powdered asphodel root, placed neatly in a small glass container to the right of a phial of Phoenix tears.

"I see you have a surplus of powdered asphodel root," You commented, turning around to glance at Severus, who to your surprise, was already staring at you. A flash of butterflies shot through you. "You won't need anymore for a while, then?" You cleared your throat, chewing on your bottom lip out of nervousness.

"Not until I brew another Draught of Living Death." Severus replied slowly and coldly, his eyes scrutinising you. You turned around, nodding, tearing your gaze from him, continuing to walk slowly and peek at each jar nosily.

"Do you ever miss certain students?" You asked, catching Snape off-guard. His brows furrowed at you slightly, partially confused at your question.

"Not particularly," He replied slowly again, his mind racing through countless ideas as to why you'd ask such a question. "If that's your way of asking if I miss having you as a student, my answer may hurt your feelings, Y/N." Severus's lips quirked up at the corners into a small, reluctant smirk. In lieu of the familiar rush of irritation surging through you at his comment, you instead found yourself smiling. You were a little surprised at yourself, you half-heartedly expected to take offense at his dig. Severus was surprised at your reaction too, but he did not show it.

"Understandable," You laughed quietly; the butterflies fluttering like a storm in your stomach. "I wasn't the best student for you, if my memory serves me right." Another soft laugh left you. Severus felt himself almost smile at the pretty sound that slipped from your lips. It was a little jarring to see such a change in character in you. He'd prepared himself for you to yell at him again, or at least insult him back.

"No." He agreed, still staring at you. "However, you weren't the worst."

"Who was?" You looked at him this time, genuinely curious. Severus grunted at your question.

"I believe you know. Or, perhaps, can guess at best."

A cheeky smirk perked up on your face. "Benjamin Bluewater?" You stared at Snape, waiting for his answer. He only tilted his head at you, raising his brows a tad. You took that as a yes from him. "Yeah, he was a menace." You hummed amusedly, thinking back to the times Bluewater had caused Snape grief. One time, the boy had set off a rather foul-smelling prank in Snape's classroom, rendering it useless for that period. Snape almost had the boy's head that day for that mischievous mishap. Bluewater was insanely lucky to have another teacher walk by, diffusing the situation.

"Yes," Snape sighed exasperatedly, leaning back in his desk chair. For the first time, you felt comfortable in his presence. It wasn't tense, nor uncomfortable, and you weren't on edge, waiting for an insult. "I don't think I've ever met someone so… distasteful." You frowned at him, obviously in disagreement.

"Lockhart, surely?" You offered. Severus cocked his brow and tilted his head, nodding frankly at you, as if to say 'Yes, that's true'. You laughed and turned around, starting to head back towards your cauldron as it was starting to hiss. "Yeah, he's insufferable." You said as you reached your cauldron and retrieved your wand, using it to stir the stew.

There was a few seconds of silence between you two, only the hissing and bubbling of the cauldron echoing in the classroom. "I'll be sad to see him go." Snape said finally. Your head whipped up at him, a look of shock and confusion on your face. "I won't have the honour of coming across you threatening him in a corridor late at night anymore." He added, his lips quirking up slightly again. A dry laugh left your lips as you turned back to your Mandrake stew. "It was always a thrilling experience each time I neared a corner in a corridor when patrolling at night."

"Funny." You scrunched your nose up, trying to hide the amused smile that was painted on your face. With your attention on something else, Severus couldn't help but let his eyes linger on you for a few more seconds, silently admiring the way your hair fell over your shoulders. "I think it's done, Severus."

"You think or you know it's done?" He quipped, standing slowly to walk over to you, his majestic cloak billowing out behind him. He halted himself beside you, peering into the cauldron.

"I know it's done." You rolled your eyes at him, earning an eyebrow raise from the Potions Master. You had to bite back a smile. "Would you like me to do the potion as well?" You asked jokingly, daring to glance up into his dark, almost black eyes. That was a mistake, your cheeks flared up immediately. You quickly averted your gaze back to the cauldron, hoping he didn't notice.

"I believe I am the Potion Master of this school," Severus glared at you like he was offended you'd even offer that. You tried to hold back your laugh. He was so demanding at times. "Considering your… messy history with potions, I think it would be best if I handled this part." He added with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"You make a great point, Severus." You rolled your eyes and stepped back, awaiting instructions. "Can I at least get the ingredients?" You asked eagerly, sounding like a child. You cringed a little at yourself. "Very well." Severus sighed, his eyes still glued to the cauldron. As he finished speaking, you spun on your heel and headed to where you were strolling earlier. You paused for a moment, realising that you had no idea what the ingredients were. Before you could ask, Severus was already on the case. "Dandelion root, Phoenix tears and purified water." He listed, almost tiredly. You blushed furiously at the fact you'd embarrassed yourself yet again in front of Snape.

"Okay…" You trailed off, eyes frantically searching the shelves. My asphodel root was next the Phoenix tears, you thought, shuffling to the right slightly to reach for the phial of Phoenix tears. Dandelion root must be placed with the other Herbology based ingredients, surely? you wondered. Sure enough, you were right, your eyes landed on the jar of dandelion roots; hand reaching out to grab it. Erm, purified water, purified water… you thought, eyes scanning the shelves, quickly stopping as you spotted it pushed behind a container of fish eyes. "Ew…" You muttered, pushing the fish eyes aside to grab the purified water. Severus had the tiniest amused smile on his face as he watched you search the shelves for the Mandrake Restorative Draught ingredients, he was thoroughly entertained.

As you turned around to look back at Snape, ingredients in hand, your eyes caught his, and you noticed the smile on his lips. It almost made your knees buckle, you'd never seen him smile like that before, let alone at you. Immediately, the smile was wiped from his lips as your eyes connected. It made you a little sad that he felt he had to hide his true emotions from you.

"You are an expert at dawdling, Y/N." Severus commented, his eyes returning to their usual cold and harsh nature.

"Well, not that it's obvious to you, but I don't tend to come in here very much anymore." You quipped back, arching your brow at his words. It was intriguing to you to see just how fast he could just switch expressions. Snape offered you a condescending gaze as he brushed off your sassy reply. "Here, I've got everything you need." You said, placing the jars and vials on the desk in front of the two of you. "Brilliant." Was all Severus said as he barely acknowledged you, his shoulder-length mop of raven-black hair acting like a shield to his face. He was much taller than you, so you couldn't see past it whilst standing beside him.

"Can I watch?" You asked sheepishly, making Snape turn around to look at you. His brows knitted together, observing you silently. With a soft sigh, he turned back around to the cauldron and proceeded to pick up the jar of dandelion roots.

"If you must." Severus replied, a hint of curiosity in his voice. A small, appreciative smile fell on your lips. He glanced at you once more from beside you, sending butterflies soaring through you. You focused your attention onto his hands, watching how his quick and skilful fingers opened each jar gracefully, preparing them for each step. You watched as Severus took a pinch of the dandelion root, gently adding it into the cauldron, careful not to disturb the Mandrake root. After that, he grasped the vial of Phoenix tears with a cautious hand and poured it into the mixture, his eyes lighting up at the bubbles that started to form on top of the potion. Severus reached for the final ingredient of purified water. Dropping it in slowly, the mixture quickly shifted to a muted tone of green.

"Now, let it simmer for a minute or so, then stir it once clockwise, and then twice anticlockwise." Severus instructed sternly, picking up the empty jars and containers.

"Right," You nodded, a little nervous. You couldn't screw it up, right? Stepping forwards, you watched Severus stalk away to the shelves, glass jars and containers in hand. You looked back to the potion and waited for a minute and a bit, before using your wand to stir the green mixture once clockwise, and then twice anti-clockwise. A soft blow of air left your lips as a sign of relief.

"Well done. If only you could have been this competent when you were a student." Snape said sarcastically, peering into the cauldron, his brows raising in approval as he threw a side-ways glance at you. You rolled your eyes at him, fighting the urge to say something back. "Keep rolling your eyes, perhaps you'll find a brain back there." Snape quipped, obviously growing tired of your eye-rolls. It was impossibly hard not to roll your eyes at him right then and there, it was so fitting to do so. "I believe it's ready." He said, nodding once. A happy, proud and prideful grin broke out on your face as your stared at the draught, a sense of accomplishment washing over your small form. As Severus glanced down at you again, he couldn't help but stare at your happy little face, an odd and unusual sensation stirring in his chest. He swiftly turned away from you without saying anything else and headed back to his desk, leaving you alone, hiding his face as the smallest of smiles picked at the corners of his lips.

You had brought the draught to Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary at once. She was ever so grateful and thankful towards you, however, you were rather adamant that it was Severus she should be thanking. "Thank you so much, Professor L/N!" Madam Pomfrey cried with the Mandrake Restorative Draught in her hands, a gasp of relief leaving her lips as she lead you around the corner of a curtain, your body freezing as your eyes fell on a Petrified student. It was Hermione Granger.

"You should really be thanking Severus," You chuckled awkwardly, clasping your hands in front of your hips. "It wouldn't have been made without him, considering he is the Potions Master after all." You said, a hint of a laugh at the end of your sentence. "I only grew the Mandrakes." You added.

"Of course, but the Mandrake is the most important ingredient, do you not agree?" She said, turning to glance at you as she administered the potion to the skin of a Petrified Hermione. It stinged you a little to see a student of yours frozen and paralysed, almost lifeless. So you looked away, your eyes finding an interest in the floor.

"I suppose, but I wouldn't have been able to brew it myself, even Severus himself said I shouldn't." You hummed. Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes softly at you. You pursed your lips.

"Don't believe anything that gloomy bat says, Professor L/N, you're more than capable of anything if you put your mind to it." She said sternly, her long dress gliding across the floor elegantly as she moved away from Hermione and to the next student behind the next curtain to your left. She left you alone to your thoughts, and perhaps she was right. Maybe you were capable of brewing the potion, but even if you were, you would still rather have Severus do it, especially since it was an urgent requirement. It had to be perfect.

A few days had passed since you had distributed the antidote to Madam Pomfrey and today was Friday, the last day of term for the students before they left Hogwarts to return home to their families for Christmas. Mixed emotions stirred within you as you sat at the table with the other professors, your eyes glazing over the House tables sat in front of you. This term had been full of unusual and unexpected moments, and you were hoping it would simmer down the next term. You weren't too sure whether you'd survive anything like that again. In fact, you were almost positive.

"Hello, and good evening to all," Dumbledore announced, wandering up to his beloved golden Owl Lecturn, his long and worn fingers latching around the wings. "Before we begin to indulge in this excellent feast, let us have a round of applause for Professor L/N," The Headmaster said, almost making you snap your neck from the speed you looked up. You were not expecting Dumbledore to publicly thank you. "Madam Pomfrey, whose Mandrake juice has been so successfully administered to all who had been petrified." He finished, and your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. You didn't do well being in the spotlight, let alone being thanked by the entire school for something so miniscule in your eyes. You smiled sheepishly and gave a gracious nod at everyone who suddenly erupted into a chorus of cheers and applause. Looking to your right, you caught the eyes of Severus, who, to your surprise, was gazing at you proudly, a small, hesitant smile on his face. You smiled back at him and nodded once, resisting the grin that was itching to break out.

"Also, in light of recent events, as a school treat, all exams have been cancelled." Dumbledore added, which encouraged an even louder round of applause and further cheers. You allowed yourself to grin this time, relishing in the happiness of the students and teachers surrounding you. It was such a pleasant atmosphere, and all you could feel spreading through you was a homely-like warmth. Hogwarts had always been your home at heart, but this seemed to cement it.

Suddenly, the cheering and clapping ceased as the doors creaked open, revealing a very tall, very large bearded man with long, frizzy chocolate hair. He sported some raggedy matching brown clothes, and from this you could easily guess it was Hagrid. Mainly from his sheer height, but the beard and hair was also a dead giveaway. "Sorry I'm late," he announced, glancing around awkwardly, "the owl that delivered my release papers got all lost and confused. Some ruddy bird called Errol." He said, widening his eyes in a tired, yet joking manner. You couldn't help but smile at his comment, and a few quiet giggles fell from some first and second year students.

You leaned to Flitwick who was seated beside you. "Do you know who's owl that is?" You whispered curiously, glancing between the shorter Charms Master and Hagrid. Flitwick looked at you with an amused smile.

"Ron Weasley's owl, of course." He chuckled softly, returning his attention to the scene unfolding in front of him. You hummed. Of course it was, the bird matched his owner very well, you thought, another joyous smile gracing your lips.

"Without further ado," Dumbledore's raspy, wise voice boomed through the Great Hall, capturing everyone's attention. "Let us begin!" He cheered, a wide grin spreading across his bearded cheeks.

Instantaneously, plates upon plates of delicious, mouth-watering food materialised right in front of your eyes. Glorious and juicy roast turkey adorned with all the helpings sat temptingly in front of your placemat, a bowl of golden and crisp roasties to the right of it. Steaming hot green veggies sat to the left of the turkey, and you just couldn't wait to dig in, your stomach was growling like a chained up wolf. You let out a soft gasp at the beautiful sight, your eyes twinkling with delight. After all this chaos in just a few months time, you were all well-deserving of such gorgeous food.

"The food looks absolutely delicious, Dumbledore, thank you." You poked your head past Flitwick, looking at the older wizard with a grin, who had settled himself down in the Head seat. He casted his wrinkled, yet sparkling and wise eyes to you, and nodded graciously. "You are most welcome, Professor L/N." He smiled politely. You returned his smile without a beat and turned back to your plate, using the supplied silverware and utensils to serve yourself some of the rich and brilliant food in front of you.

Conversations and cheerful laughter surrounded you, and you couldn't have felt happier than right now. Whilst chewing on a piece of asparagus, you sneaked a glance at where Severus was sat, however, you found he was not there anymore. A sad frown pulled your brows together, and you swiftly glanced around the hall for a tall, black figure, but nothing caught your eye. You swallowed your mouthful and placed your utensils down on the plate with a soft clink. You turned to Flitwick again.

"Did Severus leave?" You asked quietly, careful to keep your voice down.

Flitwick turned to you, munching away happily on a hot roastie. He nodded before swallowing. "Yes, he tends to avoid these sorts of things. Each year he never fails to leave right before the big feast." The Charms professor explained. A sad knot twisted in your stomach at the thought of him being alone on a such a happy occasion. Though, it wasn't all too surprising. He does seem like the type to prefer to be alone instead of spending it with people he… works with. You pondered on your thoughts for a moment, before deciding to stand up.

"Excuse me." You smiled at the shorter professor beside you, grabbing your plate and loading it with some extra turkey meat, potatoes and some vegetables. Flitwick looked up at you with another mouthful, a little curious as he chewed and watched you get extra helpings with inquisitive eyes. With a full plate in hand, you quickly downed your goblet of wine. Flitwick didn't press you for answers to the nosy questions that were circulating inside his brilliant mind as he watched you head towards the door to the right of the dinner table. You gave him a small, coy smile and bid him a silent goodbye, wandering to the dungeons.

As you were walking in the direction of where Snape lurked, you got those same doubts again, wondering whether he would actually appreciate this act, or be appalled by it. You hoped it'd be the former, but you weren't very confident in that. Swallowing the bubbling anxiety in the back of your throat, you pressed on down the corridors, finding that familiar spiral staircase. You cautiously walked down it, a little wobbly from balancing the plate of hot food and also from drinking that goblet of wine in one go - you weren't a common drinker so in hindsight you probably should have thought that silly idea through a little more. As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you saw that same warm, amber hue of candlelight flooding out from underneath the door of Snape's office. Your heart began to pound in your ears as you neared his door; knees trembling a little bit.

You knocked on his door with your free hand and waited patiently for a reply.

"Come in." Severus said, sighing. You could sense the muted irritation in his tone, your fingers reaching reluctantly for his doorknob. You grasped it and turned it and opened the door. As you sauntered in, Severus didn't bother to look up, his eyes and nose still buried in what looked to be more… assignments. Does the man never give himself time to relax?

"Hi." You squeaked out awkwardly, leaning back against his door, the plate of food still held carefully in your hands. Severus's head shot up almost instantly at the sound of your voice, his brows furrowing together in what you hoped to be confusion rather than annoyance. "Erm, I brought you some food."

"I'm not hungry." Severus protested with a grunt, looking back down to the assignment in his hand. He must be lying, since you don't recall seeing him at breakfast, nor lunch.

"When did you last eat, Severus?" You asked, shuffling in your spot, attempting to hide the caring tone that accidentally slipped from your lips with a pathetic cough. Snape's brows furrowed deeper, a dark crease forming between them.

"What do you want, Y/N?" Severus groaned, his eyes glued to his desk still. You cleared your throat, demanding his full attention. A deep, exasperated sigh left his lips as he reluctantly tore his eyes away from his work, meeting your concerned ones. "Why does it matter when I last ate?"

"Because human beings need to eat." You arched a brow at him. He didn't seem to appreciate the tone you took with him. "I'm not a normal human being, Y/N." He blinked at you.

"Normal or not, you still need some sort of sustenance." You said matter-of-factly, tilting your head at him, silently ending the debate between you two. You padded towards his desk, pulling up a chair from the side of the room at the same time. You were definitely sure that the wine was encouraging your boldness, you even noticed the slight surprise in Snape's eyes as he continued to stare at you. "Will you eat, please?" You asked with a soft sigh, plopping yourself down in the wooden chair with a muted thud. You held the plate of food out in front of you, almost shoving it in Severus's face. His lips twisted for a quick moment, thinking.

"If it means you leave faster, then yes." His eyes narrowed at you like blunt daggers. The hostility was there, but it wasn't intended to be hurtful. Severus hesitantly took the plate from your hands, and slid the assignments out of the way on his desk, sitting the plate down in the middle.

"Oh!" You exclaimed softly, glancing at your dirty cutlery. "I almost forgot. Scourgify." You pulled out your wand and flicked it at the silverware, watching happily as the muck and grime dissipated from it like ice melting under the sun. Severus looked at you with suspicious eyes, scrutinising you, attempting to comprehend why you had paid him of all people a visit. "How come you left so early?" You queried, sitting back in your chair with your hands in your lap.

"Dinner parties aren't my forte." He replied, spiking a piece of turkey breast with the fork. A small smile painted your lips as you watched him place it in his mouth, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly at the divine taste that painted his tongue. "Perhaps I was mistaken…" He mumbled, glancing down at the plate of turkey, potatoes and green veggies, looking rather awestruck due to the glorious taste that was exploding in his mouth as of right now.

A proud smile slipped onto your lips as you looked away from Severus for a moment, letting your eyes wander around his dimly lit, and rather glum looking office. The bricks were a dark, worn black, with a beige cement sitting between them. He had shelves upon shelves of books, about everything you could ever imagine. Name it, and it's most likely there. So, he was a book nerd, you thought, smiling to yourself. Then, your eyes fell on the most beautiful record player you'd ever seen. Obviously, it was all black to match the whole aesthetic of Snape's office. It sat prettily upon a table in the corner, a small collection of well-kept records were leant up against it.

"You listen to music?" You questioned, a dry laugh escaping your lips as you stood up, drawn to the beautiful object.

"Why is that a surprise?" Snape asked, a little offended that you were shocked by such a revelation.

"Well, you don't exactly give me a music enthusiast vibe," You chuckled softly, glancing at Severus with glossy eyes. The wine had gone to your head slightly. "I can't imagine you listening to music." You added, allowing your chuckle to burst into a soft, hushed laugh. Severus rolled his eyes at you and turned back to his desk, shovelling another mouthful of turkey into his mouth, picking up an assignment with his other hand.

You turned your attention back to the record player and let your fingers trace the beautiful grains and grooves of the wood, the pads of your index and middle finger ending up on his record collection. You let your nosiness kick in as you flicked through them, spotting some seventies rock bands, classical compilations, and… Frank Sinatra?

"Frank Sinatra?" You queried with a curious, amused smile, glancing at Severus over your shoulder. Butterflies exploded like storm in your stomach when you found him already staring at you, though the look on his face wasn't what you wanted. He looked a little miffed. "I like Frank Sinatra." You quickly added, wanting to avoid any sort of conflict. You glanced back to where your fingers where dipping into his record collection, a furious pink blush tinting your pale cheeks. As you slipped your hand away, the end of your finger caught the play button, and suddenly the room was filled with a dark, melancholic and slow rock song. Your eyes widened in panic as you tried frantically to turn it off, however, nothing was working.

"Leave it, I… like it." Came a voice from behind you, immediately halting you in your desperate, albeit poor attempts to pause it. Severus was still sat at his desk, but he was sat back now, a little more relaxed.

"It's nice," you commented quietly, after a beat of silence, braving a look at Severus. His eyes were glued to his desk, the plate of turkey and vegetables pushed messily to the side. He seemed to be battling something. You swallowed thickly and sauntered over to him, your heels clacking against the brick floor. You stopped in front of him and held out your hand. "…Dance with me?" You asked, voice still quiet. The Potions Master looked up at you for several seconds, his harsh, dark eyes flicking to your open palm. Your heart was thumping so loud in your ears you were worried you wouldn't hear his answer.

Luckily for you, he didn't give you one. He just plainly accepted your hand, standing slowly, almost reluctantly. You backed away from his desk, one step at a time, his large, calloused and cold hand still in yours. You stopped in the middle of the room, gently pulling Severus closer to you. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up to meet his cold gaze, placing his other hand on your hip. You began to sway side to side to the slow beat of the song, his fingers flinching slightly as you moved. Severus found himself lost in your eyes as you stared up at him. He wondered why someone like you had offered to dance with someone like him; it felt wrong almost, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin, good and bad. As the chorus got going, a bright grin broke out on your face as Severus lifted his arm up to twirl you around, the skirt of your dress blooming outwards like a flower. His chest tightened as you stumbled slightly, your hand slipping onto his chest to steady yourself.

"Sorry." you muttered almost inaudibly, looking up at Snape through your lashes bashfully. He didn't reply, he only danced with you more, and you saw his the corner of his lips quirk up in a small, almost miniscule smile. Your heart fluttered at the sight and your smile was back on your face.

The two of you continued to dance carelessly to the song playing in the background, and any worries and anxieties had been long forgotten ever since the two of you touched palms. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes as Severus twirled you around again, a loud laugh leaving your lips as he brought you back towards him, his eyes half-lidded with admiration. You lifted your hand up this time and attempted to twirl Snape around. He almost fought against it, but the sad pout on your lips ultimately broke him, and so he let you twirl him around.

Severus didn't know what he was feeling as his hands found your waist, his stomach was in knots and his chest was tingly, it wasn't normal, and it worried him slightly. But his buzzing, worrisome thoughts were soon calmed the moment his dark, troubled eyes met with your bright, carefree ones. The sound of your laugh made him feel things he hadn't felt in years, and your beaming, gleeful grin sent shivers down his cruel spine. It felt so wrong, but it felt so right having you in his arms; having you this close to him. A few months ago, he wouldn't have dared to dream of feeling so… vulnerable. And with a Hufflepuff no less. Snape had always despised them, he'd believed them to be the weakest house, but your utter resilient yet soft nature had totally swayed him. He'd be lying if he said your beauty hadn't completely captured his attention too, though he would never ever admit that.

You reminded him slightly of Lily, and that's what frightened him. He let himself fall in love once, and he wasn't sure he was going to let himself do it again. Actually, he was adamant. He couldn't bear to deal with that pain again, it almost killed him. He wouldn't be able to stomach seeing you lifeless on the floor, your eyes dead and lifeless. Your life was not worth risking for his sake of happiness. Suddenly, Severus switched emotions like the speed of sound. He immediately released you from his grasp, you grin and laughter silencing immediately. It felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart the second your laughter ceased.

"Get out." He said coldly, pushing you backwards. Your brows furrowed at his words, confusion painting your face.

"…What?" You blinked at him, trying to comprehend what he'd just said.

"I said get out." Snape seethed. His tone was angry, relentless, cruel, uncaring. Before, it felt like you'd just opened another door with him, inviting you into his world, and then you'd been kicked out and sent to a different one.

"But… Severus…" You swallowed thickly, your throat tightening as tears began to burn your eyes. Was it something you said? Something you did?

Little did you know, it was something you did. You'd made him happy, you'd made him feel human again. After so long of shutting off his feelings and building a fortress around his emotions, encasing them in metres and metres of thick, impenetrable concrete, you'd broken through so easily, and it terrified him. His mind instantly shut off, almost like a defence mechanism the moment it felt anything other than hatred or resentment for another person.

Gods, it fucking hurt to see you cry because of him, but he couldn't show it, he refused to let you get hurt, or worse, killed because of his own selfish thoughts. And so he turned his back on you, his black cloak acting like a shield as he leant against his desk with white knuckles.

It felt like everything you'd done to get to know Severus had just been broken down a million times and thrown back in your face. It felt like… betrayal, almost, but you weren't sure why.

Hot tears were streaming down your face now as you stared at his back. He's shut you out. That's it, all those days, months you spent trying to get to know him went to waste. You sucked in a shaky breath and turned around, rushing to the door. You hesitated for moment, glancing over your shoulder. You'd hoped he might've changed his mind, but Snape still had his back turned to you, his head dropped in front of him. A strangled cry left your throat uncontrollably as you stomped angrily out of his office, wiping away your tears with harsh fingers as you stormed back to your quarters. Thank Merlin it was Christmas break now. Perhaps it was for the best.

part 6

ok pls dont hate me for the end lmaooo i just couldnt help myself LOL </3

let me know if you enjoyed this chapter, the next movie i'll focus on is prisoner of azkaban aka my favourite hehe, however that wont be for another few chapters i think. another update wont be due until tuesday or wednesday <3

thank you for all your support i honestly dont deserve it :') <33

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mins-fins · 23 hours ago

Text

beyond the moon !

"you aren't about to lose such a worthy position to some hunky nepo baby".

synopsis: breaking news: the worst possible person you know is actually more than half decent in bed. of course, it's an easy slam dunk. you will begrudgingly admit that jaemin is pretty nice on the eyes—even if he has the personality of a barbed wire. it's a match made on this soul sucking earth. it's only a little perfect.

pairing: na jaemin x male!reader

genre: alternative universe, main hospital scenery, somewhat grey's anatomy fusion, interns the fic, strangers to rivals to rivals who hookup to friends who hookup to lovers, fluff, some angst, slightly suggestive tones, humor, crazy ass pining that's barely realized until 10k words in, some background relationships that provide other drama

warnings: swearing, explicit language, so many mentions of sex, almost tiptoes into borderline smut like five times, sexual humor, reader and jaemin are both equally emotionally underdeveloped and horny, drinking, the impending stress of the medical field, mentions of death, a bunch of medical jargon you probably don't care about, mentions of surgical procedures, some blood.. i think thats it

word count: 16.7k

notes: hello, merry christmas, happy one year anniversary to my hyuck work which started my whole nct saga on tumblr.. im afraid i am very mentally ill 😓 so!! surgeon jaemin!! originally surgeon jaemin was a serial killer but then i lost wave of that draft over the summer and i tried to do it again 😚 this was half based on early greys anatomy because why the fuck is that show so long and um my own life lowkey?? ofc im not sleeping with my fellow interns but i have seen too much of a hospital i have begun to see the white corridors in my fucking dreams.. save me please life has not treated isa mins-fins well 😭😭 and NO dont listen to user junjiie this is not a self insert i swear!! im still going to the hospital later today soooooooo i lost anyway 🤷‍♂️ lowercase intended as usual and last long work of the year 💖

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 1: do ethics matter when the dick is good? (hyperbole.. actually not)

frankly, it began on a mundane tuesday.

well as mundane as a tuesday for you could be, a week following getting dumped would typically be dedicated to mourning but guleum grace hospital is equally as busy each particular day. you did not underestimate the sheer amount of regular patrons at hospitals, your internship was all about that in fact, pouring your blood sweat and tears into some amateur surgery you had about a twenty five percent chance on performing correctly, however, any chance was any chance.

it isn’t as if you were some lunatic brisked with insanity who valued his work in an irregular fashion, you’d surmise that you were a regular workaholic, the epitome of an overworked medical student stereotype, it all sucked the soul out of you, though your scrubs remained spotless and the eye bags stuck in a much acquainted manner.

unfortunately, your heart attack inducing student debt won’t allow for you to simply quit, neither will your pride, your extent of competitiveness, and your bright need to prove your overbearing parents wrong.

getting into a deathly inviting internship program is enough, what’s shit is surviving, and surviving would be easy if not added on by such a nuisance.

what nuisance? you may ask, well the nuisance that so happens to b—

“present the case l/n”.

you somehow retain your sigh, if the distress is displayed through any means of visibility then doyoung merely doesn’t give a shit. “uh— samuel lawson, fifty two, has been in and out of hospitals four times in the last three months with complaints of sporadic, mild to moderate pain in his chest. we picked up on a heart murmur and his echo showed left ventricular hypertrophy with a repolarization abnormality”.

“what would you recommend?”

“the best course of action is to replace his aortic valve with a porcine valve and prescribe anticoagulants to improve the prognosis”.

“good, and why do we want to pay attention to his kidneys in this situation?”

“his kidneys?” you echo, former exhaustion manifesting in the unscathed widening of your eyes. there’s a whistle, lee donghyuck opting to feign forgetfulness to your very presence, as if he even knows the answer.

you aren’t as easily absentminded, you’ve been hard of thinking recently, read all those printed words yet none of them stuck to the confines of your brain. there’s then a sigh, you initially assume from doyoung, but of course it isn’t.

“ah dr na, how kind of you to join us, perhaps you could remind me of the answer?”

arms folded over his chest, jaemin doesn’t miss a beat. “since his heart isn’t functionally effective his kidneys work as a compensatory mechanism, we’ll need to take increased renin and aldosterone secretions into account when considering general anesthesia and how soon he can go into surgery”.

“i see somebody has been doing their homework” you graciously avoid his eyes, glowering in jaemin’s direction as he offers a meager eyebrow raise. “good job na, you’ll definitely be scrubbing in”.

you pray for his early death.

it’s a seamless lesson whilst interning, competition is everything; you love competition, you live for it even, and na jaemin just so happens to be the nuisance which troubles your every week.

it’s something to even survive your first year of interning, let alone in time for when the seven year residency rolls around. only the best become surgeons, a perfectly manufactured system that is definitely not flawed and has most likely not been the cause of many related mental breakdowns.

you’ve had some undisclosed issues out with na jaemin since the beginning of your program, his awareness manifests in his knowing glances, if swiping cases from under your feet and making your life as hellish as possible is equated to diverting entertainment, na jaemin is elated. at least he has the familial connections to ensure the acclaim, the regarded son of na kiwoo, one of the most well revered orthopedic surgeons in the country. now you aren’t petty enough to spew the claim that na jaemin is bad at his job, he isn’t, however, you are petty enough to state the fact that him getting extra time to redo the practical board exam would’ve never been granted to anybody not with the same fucking last name.

and you suppose somebody else could also reign as worthy competition, but you’re conceited, unabashed in the likeness of your own smarts, you didn’t brave the trenches of medical school to lose such a worthy position to some hunky nepo baby.

it’s about half past twelve when huang renjun stumbles into the on-call room.

“you drinking on the job?”

he glares, you smile, there’s something concerning his anger which gets a satisfying kick out of you. you were sat at a desk, overloading on coursework you’d give not even a mere glance toward once you got home, the placid diagrams of human arteries burned into your brain. you spent most of your day, resounding to most of your shift, hanging about downstairs in the E.R, handling skimpy stitches from those who couldn’t help but do something idiotic on a saturday morning. who knew? you’re aware dr. kim probably holds a much lowered opinion of you; however, you still preserve hope that he’ll allow you to scrub in on that upcoming LVAD replacement he has scheduled for later in the week.

“can you believe who got to scrub in on that corpus callosotomy?” his undertone indicated irritation, you did not have to take a glance backward, you could distinctly picture the snuggle frown tugging at his lips.

“can i buy a vowel?”

your response earns a hefty scoff, the ghost of a smile lingers as you take in his much visible exasperation. it appears he wants to look intimidating, but his docile like features do not sell such a point home. “kim wonil, can you believe it!?”

“oh really?” you click your tongue, the raise of an eyebrow paired with the raise of a nearby head, it’s lee jeno’s, you make out. “wow, maybe i should start sleeping with mark lee too”.

“well it’s not like anyone knows if they’re sleeping together— he’s basically just his protégé” what a gentleman lee jeno is, feigning unawareness at the whole thing.

“uh huh, me when i’m fucking the only attending neurosurgeon” you seethe. “seriously, you think he’s taking any under the table offers?”

“you’re an asshole”.

you simply blow renjun a kiss.

whilst renjun may be adamant on the whole civilized pursuit, you would say that sleeping with one of your bosses basically equates to getting favored treatment, you suppose your wavelength on that won’t ever change. “is that coursework?”

your eyebrows raise once renjun leans over your shoulder, you don’t make an effort to nod your head. “that’s coursework, what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m not about to have a splitting headache at home, trying to keep my sanity intact, you know”.

“more like wither your sanity— oh, hey jaemin”.

“hi” jaemin allows renjun the decorum of a smile, because for some reason renjun is the only other intern he has the gall to treat in the manner of a regular human being. he settles in the bed across from you with a look and doesn’t even try a glance in your direction, muttering a small greeting to jeno.

“do you want ibuprofen? i have some in my locker” renjun mutters softly.

you wave a dismissive hand. “no, i’m seriously about to max out on painkillers right now”.

“maybe it’s a tumor” jaemin unexpectedly adds, he doesn’t look up from a book.

“you wish”.

“i do”.

“it could be a caffeine headache” jeno helpfully reckons from where he is across the room, leaning up on his elbows to give you a sympathetic look.

“or the stress” renjun decides. “or your just sleepy because of the stress, i’m getting tired because of the stress” he then makes his way over to the dormant bed and flops right onto it.

“tumor~”.

“why the fuck do you care?”

“i most certainly do not”.

“drop dead asshole”.

“guys..” jeno weakly begins, glancing between you two as if silently picking a side.

“sorry” you feel little remorse towards the tumor hopeful fuckface, simply for everybody else. “the exhaustion is making me mean”.

it appears that a nearby zhong chenle utters the insult of you’re always mean somewhere above you, and then the room grows claustrophobic for you in about five more seconds.

when your chair emits a high pitched screech, renjun’s head rises. “where are you going?”

“gonna find something to do”.

then you shuffle out of the on-call room, feigning ignorance at na jaemin’s continuous stare.

later that week, the one person you observe when you walk into the on-call room on wednesday for your mid-shift nap is na jaemin, the current bane of your existence. you’ve been bumping shoulders in the O.R for the past week, and you’re beginning to think that the world is attempting to kill you early, those mystifying forces rambled about in storybooks manifesting whenever his name happens to appear in your mind.

you pause once you step in, meeting his eyes for a charged second before clenching your teeth, they’ll probably begin bleeding soon. you starkly consider backing out, but you can’t surrender your pride to this guy, that would be letting him win, so you sigh and lean your back against the door.

“i’m just here to sleep,” you voice. “waving my white flag”.

“you should be thanking me”.

you’re baffled. “excuse me?”

“i’ve saved your ass like twice this week, god kim would’ve literally eaten you alive if i weren’t around”.

your mouth dries up, jaemin seemingly revels in such a factor, swinging his legs sideways and out of the bed. “you’re terrible under pressure it’s a wonder you even made it through medical school”.

your left eye twitches, the one singular time you try to be civil, he just— he just decides to..?

“you’re so infuriating and arrogant and selfish—“

“oh really? love it when you talk down on me..”

“and you’re so— annoying god why does everyone like you? i hate you, hate you and your stupid privilege and i couldn’t care less what you think because you’re a fucking suck up! stop backing me up if it makes you so mad”.

jaemin then blinks, slow. “finished now?”

“yes” you drop your arms at the side, breathing having gone shallow as pure fury swirled in your ribs. you hate what jaemin does to you, whatever the fuck this is and why is the rooms temperature skyrocketing? that should be impossible in a hospital of all places, but you shouldn’t give it much thought because jaemin will probably begin over analyzing the singular movements of your facial expressions.

you hate feeling like you’re losing, you feel like your losing even if there’s no prevalent competition, it’s just.. jaemin.

that’s really why.

“good” jaemin replies. “i hope you don’t mind”.

and when he pushes you up against the door you think exactly three specific things in the second it takes for him to do that. 1; jesus this guy goes to the gym how the fuck are his forearms so huge? how is he finding time to hit the gym with such a consistent shift? 2; you should’ve gotten more words in cause oh he got the last laugh, and 3; you suddenly remember you never followed up on that post-op for patient 3109– but then all of those thoughts fly out the window when jaemin leads forward to kiss you.

na jaemin is kissing you, full on lips, hands-on-your-waist kissing you, and all you can do is suck in a breath as you then release a soft sound.

jaemin is ridiculously good at this, all soft despite his rough edges, how funny. he pulled off, taking your bottom lip with him before diving back in.

“i meant everything i said” you pant, even as jaemin pressed you further into the door and your arms wrapped around his shoulders in an effort to continue. you exchanged in a similar manner, frenzied and practically leaning half of him backward with your sheer force.

“i know” he grunts, so effortless in all he does, thumb finding the gap in your uniform which he very much decided to exploit. “but you want me anyway..”

“fuck you”.

so smart y/n, you’re getting into heaven with that one—

he chuckles as he mouths against your neck, light open mouthed kisses along your jaw, tugging at your shirt which acted as an obstacle. “that’s the goal”.

“smart ass”.

“well..”

it was the first and only time.

it actually should’ve been the first and only time, but then again, your decision making is particularly fuzzy.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 2: he’s a hotshot, so unfortunately a hotshot..

you’d been skilled enough to pick out your friends at guleum grace hospital on your first day. frankly you had met a good chunk at the intern mixer the hospital had held a week before you were all due to start, but you were the slightest bit nervous with the whole before day apprehension. lee jeno was an easy one, his timidly boyish attitude made for good company, smile replicated by his eyes as he hung around the refreshments table. he laughed at every single one of your jokes, he was sympathetic to your family predicament, much too familiar with such a thing.

lee donghyuck was similarly not a struggle, he seemingly mirrored many of the traits you found stuck to you and carried around throughout your turbulent adulthood. he clung to your side and assigned you the duty as his titular “person”, whatever that meant.

then there was huang renjun.

it isn’t as if he was unapproachable, per say, he was simply perpetual to consistent avoidance. he exchanged regular smiles yet didn’t divulge any further, somewhat unfriendly and argumentative, especially when donghyuck got on his nerves.

trivially, the only true reason you two became friends is because you assisted him in vomiting up his guts after he’d got a lashing for a mistake in the earlier days. your hand remained on the small of his back for the entire fifteen minutes, and when he finished unleashing his true extent of vulnerability upon you, he threatened you to keep your mouth shut, that threat just so happens to be the bow which ties the knot to your relationship.

renjun is able to refer to the patients as the human beings they are, sensitive and overly stubborn sure, but he’s decent under all the sour looks paired with plentiful insults.

zhong chenle? in a completely different league.

“fifty bucks y/n’s little conquest works at this hospital” he opts to enter, sliding into the spot beside you and exchanging a few looks as if he dumped his life savings onto the table for you to gorge on.

“fifty bucks my wha— how’d you even..?”

“aeri likes to gossip” chenle replies, full of cheek. “and a little birdie told me they saw you leaving the on-call room all flustered”.

“a little— who?”

“i can’t tell you my sources”.

“what if i just had a really good nap?”

“thirty bucks it’s an intern” renjun decides to add on, and you blink his way in sheer betrayal. yes they’re right but you didn’t divulge your weeks ago on-call room hookup story time to anybody, you just.. thought about it.

“that’s what yizhuo was saying! you know we have a bet right?” he digs through his pocket before pulling out an unscathed piece of paper. “let’s see we have dr suh from plastics, yeonjun, dejun, and our very own nepo baby na jaemin, pretty good don’t you think?”

“why is jaemin on the list? take jaemin off the list,” though you swipe for the paper, chenle’s got some fast ass hands.

“no no hear me out, okay? he has my vote because the tension is undeniable but i’m on your side and i don’t think you’ll give into his whims”.

“what whims?”

“his seduction tactic including starting petty fights?” renjun recalls, blinking in your direction as if attempting some newly discovered form of communication. “he probably gets off on that..”

“oh he does!”

and then they begin, you simply sigh as you make the effort to finish your lunch, acquainted with the leftovers you again had to heat up because there was little time for you to actually cook something new.

“jaemin’s a freak, wonil said—“

“we can’t trust anything he says, he’s literally fucking dr. dudebro” you steal a fry off chenle’s plate, humming along with your bite.

“i thought they broke it off?” renjun asks in denial, though his gleaming ‘i knew it’ look would completely beg to differ.

“oh come on! everybody knows they’re still fucking, no mystery, no thrill”.

renjun crinkles his nose at the display of crudeness, you don’t forget to recall the thirty bucks he entered into this godforsaken betting pool. “can i kill him?”

your hands raise in mock surrender. “not in front of me, we swore an oath of peace” you rise from your place and keep your plate in your bag. “besides there’s no mystery, no thrill”.

“don’t leave me with him!” renjun squeaks. “where are you going!?”

you do not let up the walking, however, you allow him at least one reassuring smile.

“to see a guy about a thing!”

in a rare act of perfect timing, you’re just able to sprint to the elevator as soon as it’s closing. by the power of the universe’s most evil, jaemin is the only one inside, and he blankly stares as you hold your folders out to hold the door before ducking in. you hit the button for the sixth floor and begin panting as you lean against the wall.

jaemin barely spares a glance, but his smile says everything. “back for more already?”

“did you tell anyone about us?”

he opts to chuckle at that one. “us? we sleep together once and you’re already thinking there’s an us baby?”

“shut the fuck up, na, like half our class is in a betting pool for when i’m going to let you into my pants so i swear to god if you told anybody i’m going to ship you to the O.R and harvest all of your fucking organs”.

the threat shines brightly above him, smile shimmering. “i’m sure you’d love to do that”.

his smile is endless and the point by which his stare begins is simply dark, it’s that stupid dead-eyed stare that could murder anyone just by one mere glance. if looks could kill, your insides would’ve been splattered all over this elevator currently.

finally, jaemin rolls his eyes.

“christ, relax, no i didn’t, i definitely don’t know anything about a bet either”.

you let out a much needed breath and again allow yourself to lean against the wall of the elevator. the only worse thing than people thinking your friends with jaemin is people thinking you’re actively sleeping with jaemin. well— okay you suppose there are worse things to be known for but being pegged as the intern banging na jaemin is definitely up there.

“i meant what i said by the way, that was a one time thing”.

“of course”.

“stop fucking smiling like that”.

it appears to be his innate need to ensure your irritation, his smile barely resists the clear urge to grow at the sight of your frown. “god, thought you liked my smile?”

“it’s never happening again” you insist. “no more sex, not with you anyway”.

“great” jaemin replies. he finally does turn to face you. “so when you say never again are you actually making a definite final decision or are you simply playing hard to get?”

“what do you think?” you retort, you’re two floors away from your destination, the lab reports you’re clutching much vicely resulting in sweaty palms.

jaemin licks his lips, all high and mighty. “i’m sure you don’t want to know what i’m thinking”.

you look up to meet his stare in a singular effort to glare equally as hard, it’s futile. jaemin’s got the eyes of a predator, as if he’ll pounce if you attempt a single move out of this elevator, it’s striking, his eyes trail all the way up from your terribly expensive shoes and up your body, stopping at your mouth.

he seems pleased with himself, tipping his head forward when the elevator dings at your floor.

you allow a squint, briskly leaving him behind. it’s only three steps out of the elevator that you realize you left him without an answer, therefore leaving him with the last word, but you conclude you’ve walked too far to shout, yet it seems jaemin has no qualms.

“you know where to find me!” he calls.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 3: good sex is addicting! healthy? eh..

naturally it happens again..

and again,

and once again.

if you were in a better place of mind, perhaps if you didn’t contain loads of work on your shoulder and slumped with courses of continuous caffeine, you’d find the right mind to chide yourself for making such a stupid decision, but you’re simply a selfish and desperate man. this is like�� the best sex you’ve had since undergrad, not that there were many good examples to be the judge of that one anyway (with little offense given to shotaro, he’s a sweetheart but you two barely ever got it on as it is).

the thing is, you’re beginning to have a little fun with it. sure, you’d felt as if you were betraying yourself after the second or third time but it’s now become its own little adventure. sneaking around and whispering in the hallways in tandem with disappearing into random storage closests is fun.

jaemin is merely jaemin when it’s all over, barbed wire esqe jaemin with a personality you’d liken to some miserable children’s movie villain.

but it works, it isn’t as if you’re doing this because jaemin has a to die for personality, you’re doing it because you’re stressed, despite the fact that he is probably the main contributor of such stress, he at least helps you relieve that stress.

“somethings up with you,” jeno makes apparent when he walks past the couch, casual, conversational.

droning on the television is some nature documentary you don’t recall turning on, acting as background noise as you observe the surgery dr. kim assigned you. you technically aren’t allowed to bring your work home but you’ve also always enjoyed poking holes into rules, you bring your teeth down on a goldfish cracker that you’ve had between your fingers for about five minutes.

“what?” you finally reply.

“you seem different” jeno rewords graciously. “brighter, less.. porcupine-y”.

“i can be mean if you want,” you decide. “you want that puppy?”

jeno turns red, continuous head shaking as he clears his throat. “i just meant— i don’t know, you seem a little less miserable than before, not all grouchy, i’m happy for you”.

“pfft— thanks, always knew you loved me nono”.

his chagrin at such a nickname manifests in his much particular nose scrunch, his arms folding over his chest stubbornly. “don’t call me that.. so anyway, what changed?”

“hm?”

he leans over the couch, staring you down suspiciously, unnaturally nosy. “you can’t just decide to not be miserable overnight, what happened?”

you tilt your head up at him. “i’m getting to scrub in on proper surgeries, and i’m getting laid!”

jeno appears surprised, though gladdened anyway. “oh really? so who’s the guy then?”

you squint at him. “chenle put you up to this?”

“what?” he seems taken aback, but equally completely caught. “no?”

you open your mouth to rebut that clear lie, yet you’re both interrupted by lee donghyuck barreling into the room, looking too good for a regular saturday night, fancy overcoat draped over his arm that he definitely stole from renjun.

“stop looking at me and help me put this on” he motions towards his empty wrist and a fancy looking bracelet.

jeno simply whistles lowly.

“where are you going dressed up like this?” you inquire in the manner of a scrutinizing parent. “you got a date?” you don’t miss his avoidance of eye contact once you actually fasten the thing around his wrist.

“..yes”,

jeno applauds happily, much too excited, as if he were the one going on a date.

“give us a spin” you chide.

“seriously?”

both you and jeno nod in unison.

donghyuck begrudgingly obliges.

“you look good” jeno states.

“very good” you ruffle his hair irritatingly, and he hisses as he bats your hand away, muttering his small thanks. “have fun!”

you make sure to blow him a kiss on his way out, donghyuck makes sure to slam the door on his way out.

jeno then turns to you. “can i guess your guy’s name?”

“no!”

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 4: secrets out eventually!!

you suppose you had to eventually tell your friends at some point, of course that would include admitting zhong chenle is right and that sucks the life out of you for a much identifiable reason. the other three are bound to find out about jaemin soon enough, because whilst you’ve never been a talker, it’s getting annoying to do the constant walk of shame to jaemin’s apartment.

“i’m really trying to understand what your problem with me is” jaemin grins, all teeth, perfectly straight purely white fucking teeth. you’re back in the closet again, you can’t help but surmise that there’s a joke in there somewhere.

“i thought you didn’t care?”

“i don’t, it’s simply so cute how you get angry, kinda turns me on”.

you decide to ignore that one, wiping your mouth over with the back of your hand. you then focus on getting your shirt back to its original, somewhat normal looking form, god you’re so reckless.

“i’m just saying.. if you put effort into actually getting to know me we’d actually be pretty good— fuck ow!” he winces in the manner of a kicked puppy, all because you twisted a piece of skin between your fingers.

“i’m not interested in getting to know you, thought i made that clear” you voice.

“only thing you’ve made clear is that you believe it’s your god given right to hate me since no one else does”.

“oh you make me feel so special, i’m sure there’s someone else in this world who hates you as much as i do”.

“sure y/n” jaemin begins, “i find it hard to believe you actually do hate me” he nips at your ear, you really shouldn’t let jaemin kiss your neck, but you don’t push him off, he’d throw a hissy fit.

just as his hand begins venturing downward the closest door creaks open, and you two jump apart as if you’ve been caught, standing in the doorway is none other than lee donghyuck.

“what the fuck?” he whispers, quickly closing the door behind him. when he steps into the dingy white light, you notice the wet tears against his eyelashes, everything else is erased from your mind.

“hey” you begin, voice soft. “what’s wrong? did something happen?” you smooth over your scrubs.

“nothing” his voice gives it away. “we can’t cry mid shift anymore?”

no, but donghyuck hasn’t cried over a patient in a while, that’s typically your prerogative.

“it’s wonil” he sniffs. “stupid fucking kim wonil,” he sits down on an upturned bucket, once you kneel beside him, he pulls you into a hug to bury his tear streaked face against your neck. “i’m gonna have to change my name and transfer to gwangju instead!”

you look over donghyuck’s trembling shoulder at jaemin, who appears just as clueless as you are. he instead opts to patting the small of his back in support, rubbing soothing strokes. “could i have some elaboration, babe?”

“he used me” he says, holding onto his sobs. “took me on a stupid fucking fancy date and then i caught him with mark lee— oh my god, he.. he lied to me, he said they broke it off months ago but that obviously wasn’t true and he kept scrubbing in on the important surgeries, i thought he— we were going out for months and i just, fuck i feel awful y/n”.

well that’s.. not what you expected to hear at all. your head spins.

“wait— wonil? that’s who?”

“can we not talk about that part right now?” he simply allows for the tears to free fall, you attempt to wipe them as best you can.

sure, it’s nothing.

“did he tell you? how’d you even find this out?”

“no he didn’t i saw them” he covers his face with his own hands, distraught. “and he didn’t even care..”

“then none of it is your fault” you assure, patting the side of his arms. “he’s an asshole”.

it doesn’t quell donghyuck enough, his shoulders continuously quivering. “i had a bad feeling, i really should’ve known better—“

“he’s a cheat, he should know better, don’t beat yourself up over this”.

“i fucking loved him y/n” he rests his head onto your shoulder, something twisted and horrible lodged in his throat, tears endless.

it’s raining because of course it’s raining.

“it’s storming pretty bad” jaemin quips, conversationally. “do you not want me to call you a ride?”

you simply allow a small breath to escape your lips, hair tousled as you slip your jacket on through your arms. “nah, the bus works just fine” you say, wiping your hands on your pants despite your much irritation.

“and i’m guessing you don’t want to wait until it’s let up either?”

“i have to get home cause jeno’s working late and— hyuck’s alone, don’t want him to be..” you mutter, glancing down at your watch as you crinkle your nose at the time. “he’s been baking since the whole wonil thing happened, need to make sure he doesn’t burn down the apartment”.

jaemin doesn’t have to put anymore work into convincing you. “alright, have fun”.

you do the typical before leaving checkup, you have your keys, your phone, cash, and a bus pass, good. it’s silent, awkward, not much of a regular conversation when he isn’t bending you over a table.

but there’s something you really need to know.

“hey jaemin?”

“hm?” he doesn’t look up from his phone.

“should we talk about.. this?”

“well talking about it makes it weird”.

you consider your next words very carefully. “i’m lonely, you know”.

jaemin then puts his phone down. “i’m lost”.

you’re unaware of why exactly you feel the need to divulge context about whatever your relationship happens to be, you keep thinking back to donghyuck and you remember the liabilities caused by workplace relationships. you’re afraid you can’t stomach another complicated relationship, situations that wrap around your head in a nauseating fashion. not that jaemin is boyfriend material or anything but—

“the first time we hooked up? in the on-call room? i did it because i just got off a bad breakup and i was stressed and.. you were my first option”.

jaemin remains frozen in his place, gaze pointed, chest perfectly accentuated in his shir— stop looking there y/n. “what i’m trying to say is that i was desperate and it’s important you know that because—“

“get to the point”.

“i don’t want this to.. you know, be more than what it is, like.. domestic and shit”.

“oh jesus, okay y/n” he pinches the bridge of his nose, as if you irritated him. “you’re asking me not to fall in love with you right? you could’ve just said that then”.

“it sounds stupid”.

“and your other option sounded better?”

“whatever, i’m going, good talk”.

“great talk”.

“stop trying to get the last word in”.

“i’m not trying to do anything”.

“goodnight”.

“don’t say things you don’t mean”.

“fine, i hope you have a terrible one, i hope your roof catches on fire and you sleep through it and it all comes crashing onto you so your death is all slow and painful, happy?”

jaemin smiles, waving you off with each of his fingers as you storm out of the door, into the pouring rain, slamming it shut behind you.

you take a short walk and an even shorter bus ride home, yet when you enter your apartment you’re absolutely drenched.

the whole house smells of sugar and semi-baked sweets, it almost reminds you of home, back when you’d fuck shit up with your sisters in the kitchen. the now added on pain is the continuous ringing of the fire alarm, donghyuck standing at the counter fanning smoke with an empty box of brownie mix.

you sigh as you kick off your shoes.

“what the hell did you do?”

“i have it under control” donghyuck whines.

“hyuck—“

“don’t step any closer” he threatens, butter knife in hand.

your hands raise in mock surrender, a flat look sent his way. “you’re being ridiculous”.

“sorry” he puts the knife down, breathing labored. “help me?”

you two sit down on the kitchen floor and have brownies and ice cream for dinner, an ironic feat for a pair of medical professionals, but this is simply one of those things licensed under free will you have as an adult, the kind of thing that makes you think maybe parental supervision is a good need. besides, sugar is good for heartbreak.

“i don’t wanna go to work tomorrow” donghyuck mutters, beginning to consistently tap his head onto the counter, as if attempting to bash his brains out. “this is so stupid”.

“it’ll be fine, i’m sure no one will question you up front”.

he glances upward. “my former sort of boyfriend is fucking the most popular attending neurosurgeon, and people think i was homewrecking whatever the hell they have going, you think people just forget that?”

you lick your spoon clean. “yeah it’s not looking good,” you admit, scratching the back of your head. “but i’m here to help you through it, and samoyed will be there to bark at anyone who looks at you funny”.

donghyuck gives a weak laugh and leans his head onto your shoulder. “yeah yeah, whatever..”

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 5: fuck the domestics, fuck na jaemin.

of course because the universe has a really good sense of humor, mark lee and kim wonil are the first people you and donghyuck see when the elevator dings on the first floor. wonil looks at a loss for words, you’d pride him on such amusement if you weren’t looking to cause him bodily harm.

“uh” mark starts.

“we’re taking the stairs” and since you’re a good friend you do not complain when donghyuck drags you up four flights of stairs.

in his valiant efforts to stay away from neuro, donghyuck gets assigned to obstetrics for the day, whilst you end up back with dr. kim in cardio, which is always a simultaneous blessing and curse. the patient you’re seeing—kiara— has been going back and forth on getting the surgery for a while, and doyoung seemed more than relieved when you showed up with those signed consent forms.

you worked your ass off to get onto this case. you stayed up late all night reading into the procedure, designing a diagram which detailed the surgical process despite the fact that you wouldn’t be carrying it out yourself. observing a complex surgery like this is a rarity for interns, so you intend to soak up every bit of knowledge you can.

so, by design, you’re also standing beside the operating table when her pulse dips, her clutched hand falling dormant in your hold. after the frenzy of orders getting called out and defibrillators charging, there’s nothing but the long, insistent beep of a flatline.

dr. kim calls out the time of death.

realistically, nothing could have been done. she’d waited too long to take the surgery, her vascular walls were weak. it was the best surgeons in the room, and if they couldn’t save her then maybe it was just her time.

you break down in the tunnel despite all of that, you’re sitting on one of the beds against the wall, aware of your own ridiculousness, yet allowing for the tears to brim up anyway.

the only reason kiara was terrified of getting that surgery was because she was afraid of dying on that table, she was scared of dying, and you’d held her hand while they put her under, promising she’d be okay.

that was the mistake.

patient outcomes are never promised, and as much as they remind you, as much as you’re aware that this is in your line of work, death just so happens to spring up on you instantaneously, you can never really fully prepare for it.

“she was going to die anyway” you don’t have to glance up to meet the face behind the voice, simply acquainted with the sight of jaemin’s shoes.

“i know”.

“so why are you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?”

you sigh, massaging a finger to your temple, your head hurts, it all hurts. “go away” another sob pushes itself up out of your chest, another sniffle, more snot.

but would na jaemin ever genuinely listen to an order? absolutely not. he did not go away, he stepped closer, a hand gracing your shoulder.

your own shoulders slump, you’re completely and utterly disappointed in yourself.

“i don’t need you to say anything,” he breathes. “i’m just telling you that it’s okay..”

“it’s not okay” you seethe. “would you have made the same mistake? would you be in my position if it was you?”

you take everything too personal, you need to start thinking like a surgeon, there’s no room for sensitivity in a field like this, dr. kim had said. he made you break the news to her family, have to watch the washed over expressions and the chorus of sobbing as you attempted to contain your own.

“well i wouldn’t have gotten attached..”

and it sounds so condescending, lowly, superiority reigned over your head. you’ve had a terrible day, and all you can do is sob in your own pity as jaemin just stands there.

it’s so easy to get swallowed up in your pride, tout your pigheadedness in front of jaemin on a regular front with spouted curses and illusions high. you suppose jaemin doesn’t have the best standards for you, you didn’t even do anything, but the fashion of your personality you’d displayed was enough of a case.

“y/n” jaemin calls, soft, you almost don’t hear him. the mattress dips with his added pressure, a hand coming to touch the side of your face, fingertips cold as they tuck strands of your hair behind your ear. jaemin’s hands are always cold. “y/n, hey”.

you don’t respond, can’t do anything but let jaemin pull you against his chest. it’s an odd feeling because it’s the thing you needed from the last person you expected to give it to you. you exhale shakily, closing your eyes and reveling in the prospect of being held.

“you suck at this” you sob, on principle of course.

“hush” jaemin murmurs. he rests his chin atop your head, and he says nothing more, doesn’t even pull away either. you cry until you have no more left to give, your shift isn’t quite over yet, you have charts to finish and labs to read over. you push at jaemin to let you go.

“m’fine” you sniffle, posture straightening as you wiped the tears from your cheeks. you feel reckless, embarrassed, like a child. your face is burning hot, but at least you feel better. jaemin is staring, as if he’s experiencing a certain thing for the first time.

you look away.

“i’m fine” you repeat. “don’t look at me like that”.

jaemin clears his throat as if snapping out of an episode. “i know you don’t care for my opinion, but i think you’re doing great”.

“you what..?”

jaemin nods, doesn’t elaborate on any of it, it’s awkward.

your pager beeps, and once you glance down at the location, you silently curse at the location being half across the hospital.

��right, um thank you, i guess i’ll.. uh, see you later?”

“you know where to find me”.

jeno seeks you out first once your shift is over, apprehensive as always.

“you okay? i heard what happened..”

“yeah m’fine” you pause before the doors to allow jeno to catch you, donghyuck and renjun won’t be done for another hour, and it’s once again pouring outside. “i just need to shower and sleep for fifty hours”.

jeno is already looking at you when you glance over. you’ve heard your fair share of stories concerning surgical failures, much too close to one when in your childhood, but experiencing one firsthand just really took it all out of you.

“i’m going to get better at this surgeon thing right? i have to?” you ask.

“you will” jeno replies, silent. he links your fingers together, a warm feeling. he then nudges you, the slightest bit of comfort in the affection laced gesture. “we both will”.

there’s a small switch flip after that.

jaemin remains jaemin. perfectly polished jaemin, hardened in the face of death, all precise and unphased, yet you lay your heart bare for it all, fortitude at the forefront of your emotions.

occasionally, you find yourself looking over at jaemin when he’s too engrossed in his work or conversation to notice.

when you observe him, you attempt to figure out where the fortitude of his beating organ lies. it appears jaemin acts in kindness when he thinks no one else is looking. you wonder if that’s a true display or if that’s simply another mask he wears around for the hell of it, getting into the sweet spots of littler kids is a spectacular move. then again, it takes a special kind of evil to be mean to kids. sure, jaemin’s a bit of an asshole, but he isn’t all bloods evil.

that isn’t such a hard concept to grasp.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 6: running out of terrifically timed titles

the tumultuous disarray of your life provides solace, somewhat regular sex escapades with jaemin continue and donghyuck is often too tipsy once you get home from your shifts later in the week. you surmise he’s simply coping with his situation in manners he’s accustomed to, though both you and jeno would love to chide him for the unhealthiness, you two also can’t talk, ever since you found that unlimited espresso machine in the second floor cafeteria, it’s basically become your life source. jeno will scold you for that one when he eventually finds out, though it’s good to know jungwoo doesn’t mind, simply passing you with mild apprehension whenever you go grab another cup.

you guess you can’t talk about anything, but you also can’t help worrying about your friend.

“l/n, did you follow up on those scans i asked for?” dr. kim unabashedly ambushes you whilst you’re in the middle of a good speed powered walk, files almost tumbling out of your bundled arms.

“uh— yes, they redid them so they aren’t blurry, and i also put in that psych eval you requested, i have all of them here”.

“nice work, will you be available to scrub in tomorrow morning?”

you blink at him, baffled. “i— oh my god yes, thank you um..” you honestly didn’t expect that one after the prior incident with kiara. you assumed for sure doyoung would stand between you and the O.R for a couple of months.

“is there a reason you’re still standing in front of me?”

you blush, embarrassed. “i’m sorry i just.. i know you don’t think i’m cut out for this so I’m unsure of why you chose me”.

for a slim moment, there’s genuine in doyoung’s eyes. “well i’ll have you know opinions can change, will you move out of my way now”.

you pause. “of course, sorry, thank you, i appreciate it”.

“you’d better” he beams, placing yet another stack in your arms. “could you drop these off at the nurses station for me?”

you make your way back downstairs, still reeling from the previous words said to your face, when you hear a familiar voice.

“is dr l/n here? well, no— he’s an intern”.

you look up from the nurses station immediately, catching a glimpse of osaki shotaro’s identifiable tuft of hair, golden blonde, still dyed. he hasn’t changed since you last saw him, well you suppose a few months really don’t provide anything substantial in the area of change.

“taro?”

when he glances up, he breaks into one of his bright smiles and he parts (hyperbole) the hallway to get to you. “y/n, hey, hi”.

“what— what are you doing here? is everything okay? is your mom oka—“

“i’m fine, everyone’s fine it’s just.. i mean— i don’t know actually i was just nearby and i wanted to see you? i know i’m the one who broke up with you and all but i was sure there was a high chance you’d be here instead of.. well anywhere else”.

“yeah” you laugh. “yeah that is true”.

“it’s nice to see you” he fiddles with his bracelet, reaching over to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, a natural habit, you grab onto his wrist before his fingers can grace your skin. shotaro pauses for a moment, cheeks colored pink in embarrassment as he slips from your hold.

“sorry— i um.. can we just talk actually?”

your face warms rather quickly. “uh..”

“oh hello” jaemin appears—literally out of nowhere—“are you here for a patient?”

“no actually he was just leaving—“

“i’m shotaro” he tilts his head to read jaemin’s id card. “you’re.. dr na?” he extends his hand for a handshake, jaemin ignores it. you almost want to tell him off for such a thing.

“yes, you must be the boyfriend”.

“ex boyfriend” you both say.

jaemin inhales a bated breath, handing you a stack of files. “jungwoo said to give these to you, the chief needs all the records manually inputted before you get off your shift today”.

“but—“

“we’re all splitting work, that’s your stack and this is mine”.

“i’m supposed to be having lunch” you frown.

jaemin shrugs, nothing of helpful. “do them after, i don’t care, i’m just the messenger”.

“it was nice meeting you”.

“sure” jaemin flashes a noncommittal smile, then, as quick as he came, he’s gone.

“is he always like that?” shotaro inquires, you sigh, much loudly.

“yeah, kind of, at first glance..”

“so lunch! can i treat you?”

you chuckle. “well i can’t leave so i hope you don’t mind hospital food”.

it’s (surprisingly) a very enjoyable experience for you.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 7: coupling 1000

on tuesday, lee jeno walks into the locker room looking slightly askew, yet completely elated, brightened in some unusual fashion.

you let out a low whistle. “now what the fuck has you so happy?”

“nothing”.

“is it a guy?”

“no!” jeno refutes, the bright red hue paired with the shrill squeaked ‘no’ do naught for his argument. “it’s not that”.

“you have that after guy glow”.

“you’re insane”.

“he’s right though” jaemin wraps an inviting arm around his shoulder, jeno full on pouts. “you look awfully stunning this morning, jeno”.

“fuck?”

“you’re okay”.

“damn, why’s it feel like every intern in this hospital is getting some but me?” donghyuck grouches, you instantly share a look with renjun.

at the inevitable silence, donghyuck groans again. “don’t answer that”.

“yeah cause you’d only be told the obvio—“

“good morning~” kim jungwoo sings, much too delighted for the time of day. “glad to see all of you interns actually in on time, l/n and na you’ll be helping mark prep his patient, zhong and lee one you’ll be in the pit, and.. huang and lee two on charts, any complaints? wonderful! get going!”

mark lee has the discontented mannerisms of a teenage boy, awkward stutters and all, you often neglect to recall that he’s a revered surgeon prided for performing some of the best brain operations in the country, technically your boss.

you haven’t spent much time around him, you actively avoid kim wonil for the sake of donghyuck’s (and your own) sanity, looking into the eyes of mark lee, he appears bashful, shyly boyish in a manner akin to a formerly stranger lee jeno.

“guess he’s still avoidant”.

you snort, jaemin sucks his teeth, you then sigh with your tongue prodding at the side of your cheek. “well he can’t look at you without thinking about..”

now that you think about it, you’ve never really had a conversation with kim wonil, what’s even with the guy?

“oh” his face drops in that distinct kicked puppy fashion, you merely sigh.

“just give him space, okay? he’ll surely come around”.

“space.. really?”

“space is good” jaemin chimes in. “and either way he’s not your intern, we are, can we go now?”

he’s always been ever so impatient.

yang jungwon is a twenty year old college student with a tumor pressing down on his frontal temporal lobe. “it’s affecting his impulse control,” mark warns. “so if he says something a bit forward, that’s why”.

“forward?” you question.

when mark, you and jaemin walk into jungwon’s room, his mother is sitting beside his bed, smoothing over his sheets with her hands. mark bids them good morning and introduces you two as the interns which will be overseeing the surgery, the first thing jungwon says is:

“jesus you all are hot, is that requirement here? why are you all so hot? are there more of you?”

“jungwon” his mother softly chides.

forward, you hum, jaemin only makes an agreeing noise beside you.

“sorry, was that rude? i’m very sorry”.

“he’s usually shy” his mother explains. “he doesn’t mean to be offensive”.

“no offense taken ma’am, that’s probably the nicest thing a patient has said to us in a while” mark replies. “how are you feeling won?”

“my mom’s nervous so now i’m nervous and the food here sucks by the way, i don’t really wanna have brain surgery but i have to be optimistic so yay!”

“that’s the spirit!” mark cheers. “okay, dr. l/n here is gonna run a couple of tests to make sure everything is okay, dr. na will handle all the paperwork, if you still want to proceed i can have you scheduled for O.R two bright and early tomorrow morning, i’ll make sure everything goes smoothly for you okay?”

“can i get snacks from the vending machine to make it go smoother?”

“i’ll do it” his mother offers. “don’t give dr. l/n a hard time, okay?”

mark leaves with jaemin and mrs. yang to grab snacks and necessary consent forms, you begin putting on your gloves to give jungwon a routine examination.

“dr. l/n can i ask you a question?” jungwon asks.

you remove the stethoscope from your ears, giving him a small smile. “go ahead, i’m all ears”.

“well it’s more of a personal question” he twiddles his thumbs, smile stretched widely as he tilts his head towards you. “are you two like.. together?”

“me and who?”

“the other, other hot doctor with all the teeth, the one who was in here just now”.

“me and.. na?”

“yeah, is he your boyfriend? he was looking like he wanted to eat you, i was honestly getting worried by how intense he was staring”.

that shocks a fit of laughter out of you. “no no, he wasn’t—he’s.. he’s not my boyfriend”.

“oh okay, well if nobody’s told you yet then i’m a hundred percent sure he wants to jump your bones, and also be your boyfriend”.

you clear your throat, flustered by jungwon’s sense of earnesty. “we’re not together, just coworkers”.

“do you have a boyfriend?”

you sigh and lean forward, pressing two fingers on either side of his neck to feel for a carotid pulse. “you’ve said the word boyfriend an awful lot in these past few minutes,” you pause. “no i don’t”.

“okay” jungwon says. “this is going to sound a bit presumptuous, but if i survive the surgery, will you go out with me?”

you skillfully sidestep such a question. “that’s not presumptuous, dr. lee is one of the best brain surgeons in the country, he’s going to make sure you come out just fine, your most likely outcome is positive”.

jungwon stops, blinking up at you, galaxies in his pupils. “i think we might be soulmates”.

“yang jungwon”.

“that’s me”.

“you’re cute, and sweet, and funny— but i absolutely cannot go out with you”.

“is it the brain damage thing? i’ve been told that’s a dealbreaker”.

“don’t be cheeky, how old are you again? twenty?”

“twenty going on twenty five”.

you laugh. “you have your whole life ahead of you to find a soulmate, people don’t really have a good time dating me, you’ll be dodging a bullet”.

“what, why not?”

“won—can i call you won?”

“you can call me anything you want..”

“won” you stress, “i spend about eighty hours a week in this hospital, i barely have time to eat or sleep or even think about anything that doesn’t include cutting someone open, my last boyfriend dumped me for that reason, i couldn’t do that again, and i definitely don’t think you want to”.

“ah i see” jungwon says, he’s silent for a while before he asks: “you’re saying it would make sense for you to date someone who works as much as you do, like another doctor, right?”

“well that wasn’t the point but i guess that makes sense then”.

jungwon smiles as if he’s figured out something. “so do you like dr. na then?”

“dr. na is standing right there” jaemin chimes in. you two both turn to see him standing in the doorway, “i have consent forms, i already went over the procedure with your mom, i’m aware mark probably covered it with you, but if it would make you more comfortable i could go over it with you myself”.

both you and jungwon stare at him.

“what?”

“is he always like this?”

you smile in his direction, giggling as you ruffle his hair. “yeah”.

“didn’t peg you as the type to flirt with patients” jaemin utters later in the nurse station whilst you two idle around in feigned ignorance as if you don’t have mountains of work weighing on your shoulders. jungwon had personally asked for you to scrub in on his surgery, and it’s clear jaemin was just the slightest bit envious, you would be too if in his shoes. mark’s surgeries are always the most fun to watch.

“i wasn’t flirting, he was simply asking invasive questions so i entertained him, he’s a nice kid, it’s called having good bedside manners”.

“are you saying i don’t have good bedside manner?”

“your words, not mine”.

“i don’t care, you were definitely flirting back”.

“i thought you didn’t care?”

“i don’t”.

“well there’s your answer”.

jungwon comes out just fine, you and jaemin however, you take a while to recover.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 8: well i guess he’s fine..

at the end of the week you typically only prefer to gorge on the junk food remained tucked in your refrigerator and embrace the warmth of your bed, but everybody knows you don’t always get the things you want, especially you in your kicked rock of a life.

“are you ready?” renjun bounces on his heels, changed out of his scrubs already, breathing down your neck in an effort to fasten your process of changing.

“what are you all doing tonight?” jaemin inquires, suddenly nosy.

“well i wanted to go home to eat ice cream then sleep all night, but since it’s the last wednesday of the month and we have tomorrow off renjun wants to go do karaoke at the local bar”.

“it’s kind of our tradition!” jeno offers, he’s sat down on one of the benches, lacing up his dunks. “you should come with us, drinks are half off until midnight”.

“you should come! it’ll be so fun, y/n has the voice of an angel”.

your cheeks color red in embarrassment. “well actually—“

“stop trying to be humble now, just admit it” renjun then turns to jaemin. “please? you literally never hang out with us”.

you can’t see renjun’s face, but you know he’s using that pleading puppy look to sell his point.

you watch jaemin crumble in real time.

“alright, guess it couldn’t hurt”.

what hurts is your throat after demolishing a flurry of early 2000s hits. now your ears are beginning to pain as renjun, donghyuck and chenle go head to head, they’ve rapped to super bass three times in a row, and donghyuck continuously doubles over in laughter whenever chenle messes up a single lyric. you aren’t complaining though, this is about the happiest you’ve seen donghyuck in the week, it makes you feel all warm seeing him laughing and all full of bashful insults.

jaemin has been nursing the same beer since you’ve arrived, tucked away on the couch in an effort to not participate in such nonsense. it dawns on you that you normally don’t hang out with him outside of the hospital much, and you wonder if he even has friends outside the hospital.

before you stop yourself, you’re wriggling out of jeno’s lap and making your way over to jaemin. he looks over when you get close, eyes traveling from the loose neckline of your shirt to your face.

“hiii”, you greet.

“hello, you’re drunk”.

“just a little” you giggle, hiccuping on nothing. “you look all moody and broody in the shadows, are you not having fun?”

“i am, you guys are just..” jaemin pauses, again glancing back at the scene before seemingly taking back a few words. “i am”.

you hum, whistling in the air. “i need some fresh air, come with me?”

jaemin nods, following behind you in the manner of a shadow out of the establishment. you two end up sitting on the sidewalk, chilling air offering you solace as you attempt to sober up.

it’s chillier than it was before, but you bask in the cold instead, short sleeves acting as nothing of a barrier.

“that was quite the performance back there” jaemin says quietly.

“thank you, yeah i can’t compare to donghyuck but singing is.. you know, just a hobby”.

you shiver offhandedly, jaemin observes for a while before offering you over his jacket, caging it around you in his lingering warmth. you yearn to comment on it, he practically dares you to, so you take it in silence.

“you know what would be amazing? a hot spicy bowl of kimchi jjigae”.

it’s been a while since you’ve been able to cook a genuine meal, the shifts take it all out of you and turning on any kitchen appliances gives you anxiety after a long shift. eating is a whole shove and go sort of a thing, you don’t pay much mind to it anymore. “now why would you put that in my head? i’m hungry” you whine.

“i know a good spot near the hospital, their stuff is like home”.

you ignore the mention of home.

“you’re just making it worse”.

“sorry” jaemin is not sorry. “maybe we can go together after work sometimes”.

“oh, like with the other interns? that’d be nice..”

jaemin looks caught, he swallows down nothing. “no i mean.. just us”.

you freeze. “oh”.

“what? having sex with me is okay but dinner is completely out of the question?”

“no” you reply defensively. “it’s just— us, you know? we can’t even go a few words without arguing, we don’t do dinner, the only thing we have in common is that we’re stuck up surgeons, we don’t do dinner”.

jaemin presses his lips into a flat line, the kind of thing he does when he’s looking for something nice to say. “we’re friends”.

you almost lurch forward, perhaps drinking was not a good idea. you blink, completely knowing of your upcoming decision.

“you know what? yeah, let’s get dinner”.

“right now?”

“no time like the present!” you shout, holding your hand out for jaemin as you rise from the sidewalk. he takes it, intertwining your fingers as you haul him off the ground,

“what about the others?”

“they’ll be fine” you excuse. “come on”.

you realize belatedly that it’s about midnight, which means most, if not all restaurants serving kimchi jjigae are closed. you two end up at the popular twenty four hour ramen spot instead, and you take time to sober up as you two wait in line. hanging off jaemin’s arm, you simply allow your head to lean against his shoulder, the other making no room for little complaints, you’ll regret being all clingy in the morning, but for now, it’s all up in the air. the waitress who seats you eyes you in that knowing way, she thinks you two are a couple, you decide to not correct her, there’s no benefit, she ensures a comment about how cute you two are.

“first thing i want to do after getting my license is..” jaemin begins. “treat the uppers at one of these places, like a celebratory dinner”.

“ramen for surgeons?”

“basically”.

you hum, tongue hot, all warm. “you wanna split this with me?” you inquire, referring to the takoyaki before you on a plate.

“can you even eat all that?” jaemin poses, clicking his tongue as he eyes the spread of appetizers. you aren’t a quitter, especially after a week of subpar meals you didn’t even bother turning on the stove to create. you raise your plate in his direction, offering a takoyaki ball which he takes a stab at.

“have you always wanted to be a surgeon?”

jaemin sighs. “we don’t have to do this”.

“do what?”

“the thing where we ask each other questions and pretend to care about the answers”.

“i do care” you press. “aren’t we friends? answer the question, minjae”.

“is that supposed to be a nickname?” jaemin grumbles. you’ve always had a knack for nicknames, jeno your main victim. “it sucks”.

“answer the question”.

he sighs again, but this time he’s smiling. “i mean, guess i always had the feeling, i was obsessed with that surgeon game when i was younger, i would sneak into my dad’s office and read up on all of his procedures, i read a lot of his stupid textbooks and was hooked forever”.

“oh”.

“yeah”.

“well it probably helped your family’s full of doctors huh?”

he pauses. “not really”.

you stop for a moment. “your dad is na kiwoo, he’s crazy good at his shit, he invented a whole new way to transplant bone marrow! your uncle is literally the chief of surgery at the hospital we intern at!”

you probably appear nerdy, you scratch the back of your ear, somewhat embarrassed. jaemin stares, clearing his throat. “my parents didn’t want me to become a surgeon”.

you are absolutely gobsmacked, jaemin goes through the effort of physically putting your jaw back in its place. “seriously?”

“absolutely, they did everything to make sure i wouldn’t get into the medical field, wanted me to get some bullshit sports scholarship, they refused to pay my tuition and basically said i ruined their dreams of having an olympian son so i went no contact”.

you scoff. “god”.

“right” he grins, though there’s little genuine. “i tried so hard to get into any program that didn’t have to do with guleum but look where i ended up”.

you blink as you attempt to process the influx of information. “but you’re destined for greatness— you’re your parents’ legacy”.

he dismissively waves. “it would be great if they cared, they have their noses buried in their work, can’t believe they thought i wouldn’t take it personal”.

“you’re still mad?”

“what do you think?”

and then he chuckles. you deliver a small smack to his shoulder, along the lines of an affectionate gesture. “they’re dickheads, you’re gonna be one of the best surgeons in the world, besides me”.

jaemin is now the one who’s surprised. “did you just compliment me?”

“hm.. think you’re hearing things”.

“sure” he stops. “so what about you, then? what got you into this program?”

your nose scrunches. “my sister, she always had complications growing up but she had to get a lobectomy when she was young because she had a tumor, after that she couldn’t talk for a while, we spent a lot of time at the hospital so that’s where the interest came from”.

“i didn’t know you had a sister”.

well you didn’t exactly care. “i have three, never a moment of peace”.

“oh i bet”.

your expression falters for a moment. “dad and mom didn’t want me to, get into the medical field that is, they thought i couldn’t do it, said it was a future depicted in failure and that i’d quit at the first loud shout”.

“you? quit?”

he appears genuinely shocked by such a revelation. “are you surprised?”

“kinda” he mutters, opting to glance directly at you. “you’ve always been so persevering, can’t imagine you quitting anything”.

you shrug. “they weren’t around much, i had to kinda fend for myself with three girls running around”.

“well you did it didn’t you?”

“yeah, all those my little pony reruns and sugar cookies” you muse, shaking your head. “i should not know as much as i do about that show”.

jaemin laughs at that one, and you can’t help the pride which swells in your chest. you belatedly realize that you’re enjoying this conversation, you two haven’t had a petty fight in a while, go figure.

“you aren’t that bad”.

“surprise”.

“so why are you so hellbent on proving it then?”

“preconceived notions go a long way, people hear my last name and think seven thousand different things, it gets tiring trying to prove them wrong, i don’t care anymore”.

but if his voice is anything, then he definitely does still care.

“okay so how exactly do you plan on getting home?” he inquires to you, leftover bags swinging in the light wind.

“the night bus”.

“you don’t drive?”

“i would kill myself” you blurt, and jaemin snorts. “don’t laugh, highways are terrifying, besides, the bus is empty at this time”.

“do they really run now?”

you stare flatly. “of course they do, i memorized the running hours”.

he has half a mind to giggle at that one, you then grab onto jaemin’s hand as you drag him towards the nearest bus stop.

your building lights remain blindingly bright once you finally reach your stop, jaemin following behind you in the fashion he always does.

“you really didn’t have to walk me”.

“i needed to make sure you’re in safely” he emphasizes, as if that makes any sense, he opts for an eye roll to sell the stubborn bit.

“aww, what a gentlemen you are minjae”.

he grumbles at the nickname, though his smile threatens to jump up at every glance.

for the first time since you and jaemin eloped, you take a glance at your watch, shocked at it being half past two already. “don’t you have work today? why didn’t you say anything?”

jaemin shrugs, flatly, very jaemin. “you guys were having fun, my shift’s at noon, it’s fine”.

“okay well, goodnight?”

“goodnight,” jaemin replies, and he leans forward for a peck, it’s short and sweet, by the time he’s done, you realize all too late, cheeks gone red as you instead blink.

“uh” you begin, very intelligent y/n, stellar. “that was.. um—“

“you okay?”

“no! i mean— yes i just, that was nice it was nice..” you exhale, “can i have another one?”

jaemin gives in, cupping your cheeks and drawing you in for another kiss. it shouldn’t go on for as long as it does, but you’re much too embarrassing to admit such a thing, instead you let him do it again, and again, and again, all soft against your lips.

“we probably shouldn’t do that again because..” your lips attempt to twitch up, you try to fasten that sincere expression on your features. “well you know—“

“right, no domestic shit” jaemin smiles, all teeth, so cocky.

you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a smile, turning towards the entrance in order to hide it. “goodnight”.

“goodnight” jaemin lingers for a moment, as if he wants to say something more. however, it appears he changes his mind once you glance back at him, he mirrors your turn back and begins walking off.

it’s not until you put the leftovers away and begin undressing for your shower that you realize you forgot to return him his jacket.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 9: the crush-not-crush phase

jaemin does the friend thing exceptionally well, he relays obscure anecdotes that you giggle at and sneaks in slight jabs when doyoung’s in the middle of an important sentence that has you nudging him in the stomach with your arm.

like right now, he’s droning on about a moment when a nanny almost burned down his parents house whilst trying to cook for him and you’re very much interested, sneaking snorts under your breath.

renjun, jeno and donghyuck all arrive, tapping you on your shoulder, you turn to glance with the slightest confusion.

there isn’t an exchange of words, they simply observe jaemin until he smiles, making up a story about having to go check up on a patient.

they all silently watch him leave.

“why’d you scare him off?” you complain, almost tapering off into whining territory.

“i just want to know what’s up with you two” renjun finally says.

you groan, donghyuck pushes as he takes a seat beside you. “we are not having this conversation again”.

“is he your friend? your boyfriend? an eight month conquest? your shotaro replacement?”

“why does everyone think we’re dating—“

“i ran into him when he was leaving your room this morning” jeno drawls, flat, irritated in that soft way he always is. “i’m about to ask him to start pitching in on the water bill”.

“he’s not over that often”.

your argument falls flat at donghyuck’s eyebrow raise. “he has been this month, do you like him?”

“okay— i hook up with him a few times doesn’t mean i like him”.

“you two keep sneaking off every time we hang out, you basically made him our new pseudo roommate and you were doing that thing you do when you like someone”.

“what thing?”

“you get all giggly and playfully mean—“ donghyuck tucks his hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes, squealing in what you suppose is a high pitched imitation of your voice; “oh jaemin you’re sooo funny!”

you land a punch, neither renjun or jeno reach to stop your action despite donghyuck’s extensive complaints.

“i’m not— it doesn’t matter, how could i like jaemin? he’s a fucking shark, do you not remember what he did to me in my our first month?”

renjun glances around, as if searching around for a better excuse you could tout. “your point?”

“i don’t like him, i’m not dating him, it’s all for sex”.

“how long has this been going on again?”

you wrack your mind for an answer. “we started right after i got dumped so.. around late august?”

“oh my god” donghyuck says, his eyes blown out dramatically. “you’ve been sleeping with na jaemin for THREE MONTHS!?”

you decide to assault him again. “can you not be so loud?”

“and you haven’t killed him yet? ew, you do like him”.

“i don’t— what does—“

“oh you totally do! holy shit, is the dick that good!?”

when you take a liberal pause, renjun immediately crinkles his nose. “don’t actually answer that”.

“i wasn’t going to”.

“you were having sex flashbacks!”

“was not, get over yourself” you snark.

donghyuck looks one mouth opening away from speaking when mark lee suddenly shows up, plopping himself at your table. “is this seat taken?”

“yes!” you and renjun yell in unison.

donghyuck clears his throat. “actually, you were just leaving weren’t you?”

“we were?” you ask dumbly, donghyuck nods, tipping his head towards the door.

oh, you realize what he’s trying to do.

“right” you begin slowly. “just leaving, just going”.

“me too” adds renjun.

“i haven’t finished my sandwich yet..” jeno pouts, and renjun sighs as he grabs ahold of his collar, dragging him away from the lunch table where you’ll leave mark and donghyuck alone. “c’mon, they have something to fix”.

when you enter the kitchen the following saturday, donghyuck offers you a mere glance from his book before sighing. “jaemin’s?”

“yep” you pop the p, crouching down as you open the fridge, offering a squint as if your aid will magically appear given your gaze. “are we out of grapes?”

“jeno ate em all, why?”

“nothing, guess i’ll just starve”.

“are you gonna sleep over?”

“i don’t know..”

“sounds close to a yes”.

you glare, donghyuck chuckles.

“practice safe sex youngling!”

you flip him off, he offers you a kiss instead. “sure”.

“enjoy your weekend off!”

you pause before the door and turn back to give him a look, itching to ask a question you’re aware doesn’t have a definite enough answer. “so.. is everything good between you and mark now?”

“i’m working on it” he says, “just working on it”.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 10: blurring the line just a bit

you stumble into jaemin’s room and fall into his bed with your legs tangled. you feel warmth encapsulate you instantly. there’s lightheadedness, as if you’re drunk, intoxicated by the familiar scent of simply jaemin. his hair is in his eyes, yet for a long moment he simply stares. you doubt there’s a definitive way your imperfections could be glimpsed at in the vague orange lamplight, a small frown tugs at your lips.

“what?” you whisper, tentative.

“nothing” jaemin replies, equally silent. “it’s just— you’re just.. you look pretty like this”.

you blank for a moment, brightening yet attempting to shove it downward, reddened. “good, thought you were about to change your mind”.

“hush”.

when jaemin leans down to kiss you it’s soft, and your brain does that stupid malfunction thing once again, you sort of don’t know what to do with it. it’s syrup slow, the way jaemin licks into your mouth and his fingers trail up underneath your shirt, like you two have all the time in the world. you take in a long breath, tugging impatiently at his shirt which acts as a hurdle for you. he chuckles, you feel his smile against your own growing one.

you frown, such an expression heartens jaemin to no end. he’s torturing you, pressing slow soft presses against your soft skin, each press marked by his growing smile as he drags his mouth across each particular edge, exponentially leisure, nothing of vigor and more of attention to specific details. you squirm gradually, jaemin digs the pads of his fingers into your hips to hold you still in place, there’s a gentle edge to it that makes your head spin.

“hey” you tug at jaemin’s hair, and when he glances up at you there’s that huge urge to punch him, or maybe kiss him, do a crazy combination with the grin he’s sporting. “could you— fuck speed it up”.

“don’t you rush me y/n” he drawls, blinking up at you through his terribly beautiful eyelashes. “today is special”.

“it can be special when you get to it”.

“so bossy, maybe you should be in control then”.

despite his clear amusement, lingering insults on his tongue, jaemin again leans down to kiss you. it seems he enjoys that aspect, you don’t let go of his hair, hand on the back of his neck pressing him closer. it’s a good kiss, the slightest bit scary to you. you think you could get used to this, get accustomed to the sight of his dirty blonde hair and his hands pressing into the skin of your hip, possibly leaving marks.

it seems a little scary, but it also seems.. well, it makes you have all those mushy feelings you shouldn’t be having, feelings you’d have a heart attack at having three months ago.

you suppose you are blurring the lines a bit here, teeth ground and face buried into his neck, as if you were attempting to crawl into his skin. jaemin holds you and talks you through it like a lover would, it does terrible things to you, terrible terrible thoughts swirling around in your brain.

in the morning, you awake alone. you lie there for a moment, sunlight peeking through the curtains, then you allow your head to fall once more, taking in a deep breath which inadvertently means you’re smelling jaemin’s pillow. you shake your head instantly at such a thought, it’s really all over for you.

you settle for a moment before finally rising from your place, more of rolling off jaemin’s bed and almost breaking your bones with the fall on the floor.

you go through the motions, brushing your teeth and attempting to fix your hair, eventually just leaving it half done. you then venture into jaemin’s closet, grabbing at a random black hoodie and pulling it over your head.

you hear a commotion, head whipping in the direction of the door. you blink, poking your head out of the bedroom door. “jaemin?”

“i’m fine, it’s all fine! nothings burning down”.

you shuffle your way out of his room, feet mute against his bare floor. jaemin has his back to you, in nothing but a practically see through white shirt. “what’s this?”

“breakfast” he muses, eyes seemingly jumping when he catches a glimpse of you.

you lean over his shoulder, nosy as ever, his face is flat. “what?”

jaemin squints. “do you not like pancakes?”

“what kind of question is that? everyone likes pancakes” you reply, breakfast is one of the most foreign meals to you, you haven’t had an actual real breakfast meal in a startling while. “i thought you didn’t like strawberries”.

“they’re not for me” he says, nose scrunched. he uses a fork to cut up the pieces, getting an equal amount of each ingredient before holding it up to your face. “open up”.

“i know how to use a fork myself, you know”.

“open up”.

you drop your mouth open and allow jaemin to feed you, he observes you eat like a hawk. “good?”

you nod enthusiastically.

jaemin smiles, a real, toothless smile that blossoms alluringly over his features. “alright, eat breakfast, then we can go back to sleep”.

you pause, chewing. “i could’ve helped make breakfast”.

“well i didn’t want to wake you” you’re unaware of when he got closer, you opt to not question it, simply allowing his arms to circle around your waist and for him to kiss you once again. his presses are slow, lazy, warm, his sigh in tandem with him pushing you up against the counter.

“can’t i eat?”

“you look good”.

“my hair looks like shit..” you mumble, in response he ruffles it, which earns a grunt as you attempt to escape his hand by leaning backward. “and you just ruined it again”.

“i didn’t do anything” he’s got that smile on again, the one without his teeth, you found you enjoy capturing glimpses of that one much more than you’d ever gloat. “now eat, lord knows how long it’s been since you’ve had breakfast”.

he makes it up to you by helping you wash your hair in the shower, practically putting you to sleep with his ministrations, hand motions paired with a warm stream of water a dealing blow. he lets you do the same for him, sneaking in kisses between rinses to make your time a bit more difficult, water flicked your way resulting in slight squeaks. you spend the afternoon on the couch, bickering over what to watch before eventually settling on a drama you’d been recommended, cuddling closely, though napping quickly overtakes you. jaemin is heavy against your chest, and when you wake up past sunset, there’s a noticeable cramp in your arm, yet it’s the happiest you’ve felt in years.

it’s no wonder things change after that.

you see jaemin in the hallways of the hospital, messy hair paired with eye bags and your heart starts beating erratically. it remains in such fastened motions whenever he sends you a smile at lunch, or when you’re around the rest of your friends and can’t help but just.. stare. your chest warms inexplicably whenever he purposely bumps into you in the locker room or leans against you once he’s worn out, in the manner of a mind reader who knows what exactly such things to do your weak heart.

you’re still hooking up, obviously, but it’s become so ridiculously domestic that you’re unaware of when such lines began blurring.

jaemin brings you coffee, placing it atop the nurses station and patiently awaiting your response, smile akin to a cat bringing their owner a dead rodent as a gift.

you blink at it, then up at him, smiles all high. you recognize the doodles on the cup as from the cafe down the street, yet your mind is still the slightest bit woozy from a frankly terrible three hour sleep. “what’s this?”

“a little pick me up” he replies. “can’t just keep throwing back espresso shots, that’s unhealthy”.

how jaemin even figured that out is something you neglect to mention, you presume he’s some sort of alien mind reader, completely inhumane. you would’ve bitten back with a snarky remark a few months ago, yet it appears your mind is full of gray static now. you shake your head and go back to reading over the patient notes.

“i can’t drink that”.

“it’s your order” he drawls, and your eyes again shoot up.

“what.. uh— shit”.

jaemin pokes at your shoulder, sliding the cup over and encouraging you to take a sip. you’d argue with him, if you could with how he’s staring.

he was right, it is.

“how’d you even..?”

“i have my ways,” he brightens.

“thank you” you whisper.

“it’s nothing” he leans in to dart a kiss to your temple. “take it easy, okay?”

and your world successfully tilts on its own axis, you really need a word for that one.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 11: desperate times desperate looking man

“i feel like i haven’t seen you in ages,” renjun whispers. you’re sneaking into the NICU between patients, like you typically do when swallowed with work. the tiny preemie babies are so cute, they’re simply giving it their all to survive, it encourages you to keep going in the slightest bit. also did you mention they’re absolutely adorable?

“are you finally moving out? are you taking jeno with you? am i free?”

“i’m not leaving, stop trying to divorce me” you say, smacking donghyuck’s shoulder in retaliation to such words. “has jaemin been acting any weird around you?”

“you mean like— weirder than normal?” donghyuck raises an eyebrow, renjun distracted by cooing at the sleeping NICU babies. you always wondered the extent of dreams infants have, constantly intrigued by such a thing.

“no not really” he replies, nudging renjun slightly in an effort to get him back on track. the older startles out of his admiring daze, blinking in your direction.

“jaemin? jaemin’s always been weird, why are you asking?”

“i don’t know he’s acting.. different, i’m a little worried”.

“different how?” renjun does his award winning judgmental gaze, amping up your consciousness.

“well you know how i slept over at his place last weekend—“

“and spared me the ear bleeding noises yes”.

“shut up, this morning he got me coffee before rounds started, he kissed me and told me to take it easy, since when has jaemin cared about that?”

renjun and donghyuck exchange one mere glance before the latter speaks up; “you know what that sounds like? i think you sucked and fucked your way into a relationship”.

“don’t swear in front of the babies!”

“and don’t ever say sucked and fucked again” renjun glares, nose crinkling in disgust.

donghyuck sucks his teeth, though ignoring renjun’s distinct complaint. “seriously y/n, if you can’t see with your huge fucking eyes that jaemin has something for you, that might be a huge problem”.

your arms drop at their sides, readying up some terrible rebuttal when your pager goes off, you immediately sigh once jaemin’s name pops up. “speak of the devil” you muse.

when you walk into the E.R you spot him immediately.

“hey, what’s up?”

“just need you to come look at something for me” he immediately says. “i have a theory, but i need a second opinion”.

a smug smile creeps onto your face. “are you asking me for a consultation right now?”

he rolls his eyes. “don’t act coy, there’s a lady with glitter glue in her ears, you seriously have to see this”.

you let him lead the way.

it’s eerily quiet in the intern locker when you walk in to grab your phone, one single being in the room, that of na jaemin, lying back on one of the benches, leg propped up. once he catches sight of you, he sits up.

“hey”.

“hi” you reply.

“out or in?”

“out, apparently i hit my eighty hours for the week, jungwoo cut me off”.

“that sucks, i’m on call tonight”.

“that does suck” you hum, shoving your phone in your bag as you eye the suspicious way his leg is propped up. “what’s up with your leg?”

“nothing, it’s just— my knees a little sore, that’s all”.

you frown slightly. “let me see”.

“you know i’m an adult, right? i can take care of myself”.

“hush” you respond, flatly staring as jaemin sits back on the bench, allowing you to poke at the wrap around his knee.

“it’s an old injury” he says. “it’s supposed to be fully healed but it still troubles me sometimes”.

your mouth drops open in a silent ‘ah’, “speed skating, right”.

“yeah, i was just telling choi about it, i don’t know why everyone is so surprised i used to speed skate”.

“you’ve been telling everyone about your secret past? i don’t feel special anymore, na jaemin” you tease. you sit up on the bench, satisfied jaemin wasn’t lying about wrapping it up properly. you’re supposed to go meet your family after this, but you don’t want to leave jaemin’s side just yet, call it obsession.

“relax” jaemin drawls, giving you a salacious wink. “they all know i only have eyes for you”.

you ignore the heat rising in your ears. jaemin has been much more forward with his advances lately, unabashed, little shame, which reminds you—“everyone thinks we’re dating, you know? you’re fueling the fire”.

“you know i don’t care what people think of me”.

liar.

“well i care” you answer. “about us, about.. uh— well, people always talk, you know? makes me anxious”.

“you sure you want me to stop flirting with you? really?”

“yes” you have an airy undertone lacing your voice, eyes sliding towards jaemin’s mouth, you realize lately that all you want to do is kiss him. you’re about fully prepared to when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

“you got somewhere to be?”

you shoot off a text to your younger sister to assure her that you will indeed not be late. you meet jaemin’s eyes and hesitate for a moment, though you’re unsure of why. “yes actually i have a reunion, well— not exactly a reunion but my parents want me to come home for some reason, probably gonna try to set me back up with my ex like they do every single time..”

there’s a small shift in his expression. “oh? didn’t they try to do that last week? or was that something else?”

“shotaro offered last week and i couldn’t turn him down, they’re trying to push me back to another ex”.

“ah”.

you pick up your bag and stand to head out of the door.

“i promised my sisters i wouldn’t be late, can’t leave them alone at home, if they make anything good i’ll bring around leftovers” you look over your shoulder. “text me when you get home?”

jaemin neglects to respond, you squint as you look at him.

“jaemin?”

“what? oh yeah, yeah, i’ll text you”.

jaemin does not end up texting.

you’re aware of that because you continuously glance over at your phone whilst your parents mutter on their meticulous jargon, sneaking in less than vague insults pertaining to your character. you keep checking for some sort of ping, a rogue emoji or videos of his cats that he enjoys sending so much. you only get texts from donghyuck asking what kind of pasta noodles he should buy for dinner, nothing else.

“are we boring you?” your youngest sister inquires, her head leaning against her head as she takes liberal glances towards your own phone.

you sheepishly put your phone away, you have no idea what anybody has been droning on about for the past few minutes, and you’re much too embarrassed to ask. “sorry no, please continue”.

later, you get home and crawl into your sheets, swiping the notification bar one last time to see if jaemin sent anything. disappointment. you tossed and turned for a moment, uncomfortable in the air of your room. it’s late, jaemin clearly had a long day and crashed as soon as he got home. he isn’t obligated to text you everyday, especially when you’re both equally busy in your own right. nevertheless, you briefly entertain the idea of showing up at his place just to see how he’ll react.

that would be crazy, you freak, is what your inner conscious speaks. he’s not your boyfriend or anything.

you do wish jaemin were here, though, he warms your presence in just the slightest.

you get up one last time, grabbing a dormant pusheen plushie left on your floor and pressing your face into it, a silent scream escaping your lips. you peer over at your phone one last time, finally deciding to take a leap.

goodnight, you text, pausing. you take a few moments, typing out i miss you a good six times before deleting such an idiotic message, you two saw each other no more than a few hours ago, why would you even send that? your hands are clammy.

maybe he caught something?

in the next minute, you practically jump up on your feet as your message is registered as seen. you sit up on the bed, observing text bubbles pop up and disappear for several minutes. eventually, jaemin settles on simply hearting your message.

he didn’t even say it back, but your heart is racing, and an irreversible warmth encapsulates you. the sides of your mouth curve upward involuntarily as you think of jaemin, his stupid jokes and his wide smile and his messy blonde hair, lying in bed deciding over how to respond to a ‘goodnight’ text. it’s just a text. a mere reaction even, nothing of a true response, yet this is a feeling you haven’t had in a long time.

lovesickness, you realize.

oh lord.

THE ETHICS OF COWORKER HOOKUPS 12: and zhong chenle was right in the end

“fucking finally” chenle’s mouth does that swivel upward and he beckons renjun closer. “pay up”.

“what? no, this doesn’t count, he hasn’t even told jaemin how he feels yet” renjun argues.

donghyuck taps his feet onto the floor, nudging you with his shoulder as he shares a knowing look, you stick out your tongue, though completely anxious about your upcoming circumstances. “told jaemin how i what?”

chenle sighs as if the whole world rests atop his shoulders. “jaemin romances you every single day, cooks for you, buys you cute gifts, asks for free consults and you’re still wondering how he feels for you? you sure you were at the top of your class back in university?”

jaemin walks in then.

“jaemin!”

you internally wince at the extent of your excitement, tone overwhelming. “um.. hi”.

“hey”.

“you never texted”.

“must’ve slipped my mind”.

“cool— uh, listen” over jaemin’s shoulder, chenle gestures you a thumbs up, renjun making a cut throat motion across his neck whilst donghyuck simply observes the whole thing in the manner of daytime entertainment. “uh.. i’m— we’re ordering in tonight, pizza and a movie are you down?”

jaemin opens his locker and doesn’t look at you. “sounds a little boring, sorry..”

“we don’t have to watch the movie” you suggest, screw shame, you’re as desperate as they get.

he blinks over at you, as if attempting to keep himself grounded though looking into your eyes.

“i’ll pass, have fun though” he replies, “see you all tomorrow” then he’s picking up his jacket, rushing out the locker room in an instant, cutting you off quickly. he practically runs into jeno on his way out, startling the other into donghyuck’s personal space.

“what’s up with jaemin? he looks like his cat just died”.

you turn to renjun and chenle. “he just rejected me, right?

“that money is literally mine” chenle grits his teeth.

“you’re all useless”.

by the time you make it to the lobby, jaemin is about finished with his daily wrap up talk with the receptionist, bag over his shoulder and head pointed towards the door. you’re fully aware of how pathetic you must seem currently, but you suppose nothings worse than not getting the truth out of him.

“hey.. hey, jaemin, slow down?”

jaemin blinks again, the irritated furrow of his eyebrows jumping out at you immediately. “what do you want?”

“i want you to talk to me”.

“what’s there to talk about?”

“you— gosh, you’re so confusing, you know? i can’t read minds, can’t you just tell me what i did wrong?”

and how you ended up outside is beyond you, perhaps it was the better decision, after all, arguing in front of the front desk lady is about as embarrassing as it gets.

jaemin scoffs, glancing down at his watch as if he’s unaware of the time, his apple watch lights up and the background is a picture of his cats, the wallpaper is helplessly adorable, it endears you to no end.

“you didn’t do anything”.

“well you don’t exactly make that obvious with how you’ve been avoiding me, you’ve been weird ever since i told you i started hanging out with shotaro again”.

“that— that has nothing to do with it, what you do out of work is none of my business”.

you try not to feel hurt by that one, you’re aware of what jaemin is trying to do. “so what is it?”

jaemin bites into his cheek. “can’t you drop it?”

“no” you refuse, slightly blocking his way though he could probably carry you on a bad day. “you’re going to have to tell me or get through me”.

“are you insane?”

that almost earns a well deserved fit of laughter, you suppose you are at this point. “you’re being immature, we have all night”.

jaemin gives a long hard stare, and you actually think he’s about to push you out of the way, leave you rejected on the cold sidewalk, but then he sighs, picking at the ends of his hair before breaking into a sigh. “i let you down, you know?”

you blank, arms dropping at your sides as you instead give continuous blinks. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

jaemin looks a crossbred of punching you and kissing you. “of course you don’t remember it’s— god you say things and barely even mean them cause you just talk so much, you know? you make me mad cause you do these little things that just piss me off and i just don’t understand you, you care about people so much and you’re so bossy but you’re also so.. cute, and nice, and you’re funny and you always do these things that make me realize i’m stupidly in love with you, there, that’s it”.

your heart resounds like a drum in your ears. “jaemin—“

“i fell in love with you, okay? and i know you told me not to, didn’t want us devolving into any domestic shit but.. i am, present tense, i’m in love with you”.

oh, you suppose there’s always a catch.

“you done now?” you ask.

“am i— yeah” jaemin laughs, dry and all. “i’m done, are you happy? can i go home now?”

“no” you pull him by the front of his jacket to kiss him, it’s cute that jaemin is clearly surprised by it, the broken whimper he allows to escape when you bite into the swell of his bottom lip is even cuter. his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and for a few sweet moments you forget you’re in front of your building of occupancy. you pull away with your cheeks hot as you rest your foreheads together, suddenly amused.

“thought you would’ve let your parents set you up with your ex”.

“and you didn’t think to ask me?”

“i mean— we never talked about.. this”.

“because you said it would be weird!”

“oh so i’m the bad guy now?”

“yes! yes you are!”

“i told you i was in love with you all you had to say was—“

“shut up” you snap, cupping his impossibly perfect face between your hands. “lord i like you so much, love you an excruciating amount and i miss you all the time even though i see you everyday, you’re so annoying and you have that addicting smile and it’s— you piss me off”.

“as you’ve said before”.

“but.. you know, guess it wouldn’t hurt to try”.

he kisses you again and you can’t help how you smile against his own lips.

“you wanna come back with me?”

jaemin pretends to think it over, as if your fingers aren’t entwined and you don’t already have butterflies alive in your stomach. “i’m worried, what happens if my helmet swallows your tiny little head whole”.

“so romantic na, i’ll have to give you an award for that one”.

“aww, really?”

“no”.

jaemin sticks out his tongue, one last peck given to your lips before you two were off.

when you get back to your place, jaemin falls asleep on your lap midway through the movie like an exhausted old man, or maybe just the young surgeon subjected to the torturous work hours at guleum grave hospital just trying his best. you can’t believe how fond you are, gaze brazen in a manner that renders you nauseous. unable to resist, you reached out to tuck strands of his hair behind his ear.

you hate yourself, it’s just the slightest bit terrifying, you’re fearful at the oncoming future and the enigma of na jaemin in his all. you just want to make sure he wants this, the mushy and sticky feelings which come with the whole process. he is a mystery, yes, but he’s also kind, and patient, and so full of boundless devotion that he probably isn’t even sure he retains.

jaemin jerks awake once jeno flicks on the lights of the living room, but he settles down quickly once he realizes he’s in your lap, you run your fingers through his hair, quietly aching.

he blinks up at you slowly. “i missed the movie”.

“you did” you murmur, “wanna go to bed?”

“yeah” jaemin grabs ahold of your hand in his hair, fingers intertwined, beginning to leave light kisses on your wrist, just above your pulse. he’s so cute like this, so soft looking with his delicate feeling lips and soft all around the edges. you might get sick from the absorbent amount of love you happen to be feeling, his eyelashes flutter in your direction, a smile tugging at his lips which you mirror.

it’s a match made on this soul sucking earth. it’s only a little perfect.

#na jaemin #nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #nct dream x reader #jaemin imagines #jaemin drabbles #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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eddygoldarm · 1 month ago

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I drew some younger Belles and Byrons. Being the black sheep of the Starrs, they only had each other, but to put it lightly, because of their drastic opposite personalities, their relationship was very conflicual.

Belle was the only one to try to reach out to him, but no matter what she did, he would stay emotionally stunted. So much in fact, that he struggled to comfort his sister when SHE was in distress.

Today, while he still can't truly connect with Belle, Byron shows he cares about her by helping anyway he can. To this day he still watches over her son.

To compensate for his shut-in attitude, he started to play this grandiose snake-oil salesman character, which he finds incredibly compelling and fun, compared to "acting normal". While doing it, he doesn't have to make actual conversation, he just has to boast about the merits of his products and impress the gallery. He may look like a crazy lonely old man, who's life's been ruined by his selfish sister, but today, he's the happiest he's ever been.

#brawl stars

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xoxoavenger · 1 day ago

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Let It Snow

pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N and Sam aren't very close, but having to share a cold room could change that.

word count: 3176

warnings: canon typical violence

I'm so sorry this is so late I am trying to get the last 12 days fic out today!!

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

Y/N isn't sure how she ended up with the Winchester brothers. She was a good hunter - a great hunter - but they had saved her from a hairy situation with a Rougarou. She felt stupid as soon as it happened, but it did happen and she couldn't go back in time and stop herself from stepping into the trap. Of course, the Winchester brothers had come to save the day.

Dean she didn't mind as much. She wasn't particularly fond of his 'save the damsel in distress' attitude, but once she got closer to them and realized it was clearly his coping mechanism for losing his mother so young, for feeling like he had no control, she could handle him a lot better.

Better than his little brother, Sam, who she wanted to punch at least once a day.

She lived in the bunker with the brothers, since it wasn't like she had a home to go back to and she had been with them when they got the keys. Dean had insisted there was plenty of space, but apparently Sam didn't like this plan. He had rolled his eyes, asked Dean to talk in a different room, but she had still heard the yells from down the hall where she was trying to block it out. She chose that room, the one at the very end of the hall as her own, and Sam had chosen the room Dean vacated after their fight as his. Complete opposite sides of the hallway, Y/N tries her hardest not to run into Sam. He clearly didn't want her here, so she doesn't eat dinner with him, she doesn't watch movies, research in the library, anything. She either takes one of the old cars and spends a couple days God knows where (giving Dean a heart attack every time by the way he blows up her phone) or she spends her time with the mountain of books in her room, taken and returned to the library when Sam's out on hunts.

Which is another problem that makes Dean want to rip out all his hair - the three of them can no longer even go on hunts together. It's always Dean and Sam or Dean and Y/N. And Dean loves to hunt, alright? It's in his blood. But between Sam and Y/N each finding cases, he's exhausted. He can't say he's surprised when he gets sick.

"Dean, I can't just let these people die." Sam says bitchily, and Dean wants to slap his brother. He would, if he wasn't shaking under the mountain of blankets he's piled on his bed.

"I told you to go with Y/N." Dean says. He wants to kill his brother for dragging out his thing with Y/N. She's a sweet girl, and she deserves better than Sam's emotionally inept abuse that he doesn't even realize he's giving.

"She hates me." Sam says with a sad face that rivals a puppy.

"Sam, I'm going to throw up on you right now if you tell another lie." Dean says, and he truly means it.

"Dean!" Sam screeches, moving out of range. "I'm being serious! She avoids me at all costs! She'll have meals with you and watch movies with you, but the second I walk into the room she suddenly has to leave? You tell me what that means."

"I am way too sick for this." Dean groans, because usually he's not the one who has to explain things to his brother like a toddler. "Have you ever thought that maybe she does that because the first day we were here you threw a tantrum about her staying with us?" He asks, head flaring in pain. He closes his eyes and turns, because he doesn't want to ever listen to his brother's voice again.

"But," Sam starts to say, and Dean actually has to tamp down the urge to scream as he pulls the covers his face.

"Sam, leave my room right now and go on this hunt with Y/N. And please, for the love of God, do not text me or come back to this bunker until you have talked through your shit." Dean's voice is deadly, and Sam knows he has to comply. He leaves with an annoyed 'get better soon' and goes to his own room, because he doesn't want to go to Y/N's room.

She's reading in her room, some sort of fiction that she's been waiting for free time to read. Sam knocks on her door, and she figures it's Dean, because Sam has never been in her room.

"Come in!" She calls, putting her book down and watching the tall ass man walk through the door.

"Hey," Sam says, and Y/N chokes down the urge to tell him to fuck off and leave. He looks so out of place, eyes flitting around her room because he can't look at her for some reason.

"What do you need?" She asks flatly, leaning back.

"There's a case in Minnesota." He explains, voice low. He still isn't looking at her.

"Minnesota in January? You've got to be out of your mind. Ask Dean." She goes to grab her book again, and Sam sighs.

"He's sick." Sam finally meets her eyes when she looks up, and they're both silent for a moment. "Please, I can't do this alone." He is practically begging, and he knows how pathetic it sounds.

"Fine." She agrees, taking a deep breath. "When do we leave?"

They realized that maybe they should have left this case to more local hunters the second the heating in the old car they had decided to take went out. Sam had gotten out and tried to fix it while Y/N stayed bundled in the car, wondering why she decided this would be a good idea when she doesn't like Sam and he doesn't like her and it's minus degrees and snowing. Even the coats she stole from Dean aren't doing much, so when they get to the hotel after a car ride of silence Y/N is ready for sleep. They had chosen a fancier hotel than they normally stay at, because they needed a room with heat.

"Two rooms, please." Sam says, and Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes because of course he can't just share the room with her.

"We only have one available." The lady says, and Y/N suddenly thinks that maybe Sam wasn't being too overreactive. Just the thought of sharing a room with him makes her want to drive all the way back to Lebanon.

"What?" Y/N can't resist saying. "How do you only have a single room left?" She asks.

"There's a wedding here tomorrow, and half the town lost power. I'm surprised we have the one room left." She shrugs, and Y/N wants to yell at her. She knows there's no use, however, because this receptionist can't magically make another room available.

"That's fine. We'll take the room, thanks." Sam hands her the fake card Charlie programmed along with the matching fake ID, and then he's given the keys.

"You'll be on the fourth floor, room four twenty-eight." The receptionist tells them, and the two smile at her before walking to the elevator.

When they get to the room, immediately Y/N knows something is wrong. She pauses in the door, and Sam runs into her back and causes her to stumble.

"We need to go back down." She says. "This is wrong."

"Oh," Sam says as he looks over her shoulder. "But there are no more rooms left." He says it so simply, she wants to hit him.

"There's only one bed." She says, as if Sam can't see this himself. He squeezes past where she's still stuck in the doorway, and goes over to the thermostat.

"It's freezing." Sam changes the subject, because there's nothing they can do about their sleeping arrangements. They know it's too cold to go out and find a new hotel room, which may not even have room since the receptionist said that half the town didn't have power.

"Well, turn the heat up." She can't help but be bitchy, because the year she's spent on the other side of the bunker, avoiding him at all costs, has made her unable to even be in the same room as him.

"It's not working." He grunts, fiddling with it even while he understands the truth.

There's no heat in this room.

"We need to find another fucking hotel." Y/N mutters. She goes to grab her stuff, but Sam grabs her arm.

"The snow is coming down too hard. We don't even know where another hotel is, and we're going to freeze in that metal ice cube." He gently lets go over her arm, but she can feel the tingles from where his hand was.

"We're going to freeze here." She says, but she knows that even this cold room is better than the way the car felt.

"The water is probably warm." He tells her. She rolls her eyes.

"Great, so we can get wet and then freeze our asses off as soon as we're not under the water." She says, and he just blinks.

"If we run hot water, we can create steam and hopefully it'll give off some heat." He explains, and now she feels stupid.

"I'm gonna go downstairs to see if there's any extra blankets." She tells him.

And of course, there's only one.

"I'm so sorry." The lady says, like she genuinely cares that Y/N is going to have to share the bed with the man who hates her in a room that feels like it's below zero. "If anyone leaves, or as soon as someone checks out, I will call your room." She promises, but Y/N knows it's a lost cause. No one is leaving, at least not tonight. Y/N and Sam are stuck without power, and only one extra blanket.

When she gets back to the room, the shower is running, steam coming out from the open door. It isn't until she sees Sam's naked back that she realizes that they have to keep the door open to heat up the room.

She turns to the bed, feeling her cheeks heat.

"I'm back!" She calls, putting the extra blanket on the bed. It does feel slightly warmer with the steam, but she can't help but wonder how long it'll last.

"The water is nice and hot!" Sam calls out, and she can hear him getting out of the shower but not turning it off. She is grabbing her own stuff for the shower when Sam walks out, wearing only a towel around his waist. "I figured we should keep it going for a long as possible, since it's the only thing heating the room." He tells her, and she just nods as she looks at his eyes and his eyes only, ignoring everything else (like the tattoo on his toned chest, the water rolling down his abs where a trail of hair leads under the towel).

"Sounds good," She manages, then goes into the bathroom. It's then, as she turns toward the room, that she realizes they need the door open to let the heat out.

Sam is out of the eye line, so she quickly strips and gets in the shower. The glass is now fogged, so she can't see much of the room and he can't see in. Still, she showers quickly and gets out, not getting her hair wet so she doesn't have to deal with being in the cold room with wet hair. She towels off, then changes as quickly as she possibly can so that Sam can't see anything. But his back is turned the whole time, now with pants and a long sleeve on to sleep. She's glad she brought a hoodie (which may have been Dean's at one point) so she won't absolutely freeze.

"How long should we keep it running?" She asks, walking into the room and putting her old clothes back into her bag.

"I guess until it goes cold." Sam shrugs, and then it goes back to silence. She grabs her book, going to read in the bed before sleeping. When Sam, all six feet five fucking inches of burly man, gets in next to her, she wants to start crying. He takes up over half the bed, and she just knows how this is going to end.

It's going to be a long night.

"We woke up cuddling!" Y/N whispers into her phone while Sam talks to the victim's family. She had stayed in the car, deciding to research more since they hadn't been able to look at each other all morning, much less talk to each other.

"That doesn't surprise me." Dean tells her honestly, making her groan. "And not just because I already heard about this." Of course Sam told his brother about the cuddling incident.

"How am I supposed to go back tonight!" She cries, knowing she's being dramatic but also knowing there's nothing worse than Sam, who already hates her, not even being able to talk to her.

"I'm sure it was just cold. I mean, you slept fine, right?" Dean asks, and she can tell he's eating and talking with his mouth full.

"I slept like a fucking log, Dean. That's the problem! And your brother hates me, so I don't even know why he would cuddle me in the first place!" She tells Dean as she skims the book in her lap, not finding anything remotely related to their case.

"He doesn't hate you." Dean tells her, and she just shakes her head.

"I'll just have to take your word for it, since he avoids me like the plague." She mutters. She looks over and sees Sam walking out of the house, so she says her goodbyes and gets off the phone.

"I think we're dealing with some sort of spirit, not a demon. It seems to be haunting the barn, drawing people in." Sam informs her. They had known that the abandoned barn had been a part of the case, but they had thought it was a demon due to the nature of the killings.

"Like the spirit of George Hanover, the kid that was killed there during a hazing ritual in the eighties. We can go a library and see if the deaths match with the way he was killed, maybe interview people who knew him." Y/N suggests, and Sam nods.

The ride, of course, is quiet.

It's late at night and freezing cold when George finally shows his face in the barn. Y/N and Sam just needed whatever he was tied to, because they didn't want to burn down the entire barn. If it came to that, however, they were prepared.

What they were not prepared for was George to put up such a fight, and Y/N is thrown into a snowdrift headfirst. She doesn't move, but Sam doesn't have time to check on her. He has to dig through the dirt covered things in the corners of the barn while dodging attacks until he finally finds a jacket, which he hopes is George's. Once it's burned and the spirit is taken care of, Sam is instantly on his way to Y/N.

"Y/N!" He yells, digging through the snow that she was buried in. He finally gets her out, unconscious but breathing, face flush from the cold. He touches her face with his bare hand, and he knows she is way too cold.

He picks her up and carries her the short distance to the car, then puts it in gear and drives as fast as he can through the snow to get back to the hotel. He blasts the heat, but Y/N doesn't move the entire ride and her face doesn't return to its natural color.

"Come on," He says to no one, carrying her to the room and putting her on the bed. He takes off her shoes and jacket before putting her under the blankets, then grabbing a small towel and running it under warm water. He puts it on her forehead, then kneels at her side, unsure of what to do.

He waits five minutes, then takes the towel off and throws it to the ground. She still isn't awake, but her face seems less pale and her hand, which is in his, is less cold. He tells himself it's to keep her warm, make sure she's not cooling down, but he knows why he's holding her hand.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, not knowing why he has to confess. He just feels the need, even if it won't help, even if she won't hear it. "I'm sorry I made you think that I hate you. I don't, I could never. In fact, I care about you more than I should. It's why I try not to talk to you, try not to get your attention. I don't want to get attached, in case something happened. I didn't think I could stand it if you didn't feel the same, or if you did feel the same but something happened. But now, something has happened, and I've wasted all this time ignoring you. I've wasted months of our lives because I was scared, and now I'm more terrified than I have ever been and it's all my fault. If we were able to talk to each other, if I had been able to at least be nice, maybe I could have prevented this." He's crying, and he can't believe he just poured his heart out to this unconscious woman. He feels so stupid, but just as he takes his hand away her's squeezes his fingers. His head whips to her face, where her eyes are finally open.

"Nothing could have prevented that." She tells him, and he can't help himself from hugging her tight. She hugs back, and when he leans away he has to ask.

"How much did you hear?" He's not sure what he wants the answer to be, not sure if he's prepared for it.

"All of it." She tells him honestly. "Well, everything after you saying that I hate you, but I think that was all of it. Which is wrong, ya know. I don't hate you." She smiles, scooting over. The room is a little chilly as Sam toes off his shoes and takes off his coat, sliding into bed next to her.

"That's good to know." He says, trying not to freak out. She puts her head on his chest, letting his arms come around her the same way they were when the two of them woke up that morning.

"I care for you a lot too. Even though I thought you hated me." She says, and he squeezes her.

"Yeah, let's not do that." He says, kissing her on the forehead. She nods, feeling warm in his arms even in the cold hotel room. The snow outside has started to turn into a storm, but neither of them could be bothered to care, too wrapped up in each other.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @lyarr24

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfic #sam winchester fanfic

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cattimeswithjellie · 7 months ago

Text

Liveblogging Doc Stream VOD, 6/8/24

(Just as an important contextual note for this stream, Doc is _always_ joking when he vows revenge or eternal hatred on somebody in these streams. He has assured everyone on a number of occasions that his petty rage is a bit and neither he nor the other Hermits ever take it seriously.)

Doc Stream, 6/8/24

9:20 Doc opens the stream by claiming that some crimes are so heinous that they require immediate retaliation. Someone has touched Doc’s redstone, and he is Not Amused. He tells chat that he was emotionally distressed to the point that he killed Cleo’s pig, but insists that the pig is really the victim of whoever touched the redstone. He offers a plea in the alternative that the pig was looking at him funny and it was really a case of self defense. Chat is divided on whether this is a compelling argument, but most of them are still busy saying hello.

10:38 Doc switches camera to Hermitcraft. He is in his base. He tells chat they will investigate swine crime later. He recaps last week’s stream where he broke 5k subscribers and says that his wife does not believe him about his number of subs. Today’s sub count is 4788 as a result of some gift subs lapsing. He needs to make it to 10k subs so he doesn’t notice as much if he loses a few. He thanks some subs and donos. Someone in chat mentions TCG and Doc is happy to be able to talk about it at last. He also admits that he has finally solved his considerable lag problem but is embarrassed about it.

14:50 Doc tells Chat that Beef has been working on TCG behind the scenes, and Joe Hills has been cultivating an IRL TCG community to play the game. The Hermits decided a TCG expansion is in order and artists have been hired for the new work. All the artists are under NDA, on pain of goat-slapping. Several of the DCP artists are part of the project. Doc was barraged with questions from his team on what sort of art he wanted, and insisted he wanted the artists to make the decisions. He was forced to join a Discord and actually talk to the artists, which is clearly terribly painful to him (in a clearly joking way.) He thanks more subs,.

17:55 Doc shows off the new smoothness of his improved FPS. He admits that for weeks he was whining and complaining about lag, but the solution was simple: a vacuum cleaner. When he finally cleaned the dust and yuck out of his computer, his overheating and lag problems were magically solved. He is embarrassed but pleased. He still has not set up his new PC.

20:45 A chatter asks how Doc’s day is going. He says it is brilliant, that he set up a tomato house and needs to end the stream on time because he has a delivery of garden equipment coming in. Home growing of cannabis is legal now in Germany and now it is quite difficult to find home gardening equipment at the shops. At the moment his plants are growing very well. He has 30-40 plants for sure this season. He is very excited about his tomatoes.

22:45 Time for work! The beacon is broken again. He thought he fixed it, but has a suspicion something else is broken. He needs to be on the server tomorrow at 6:55am to see what happens at that time. He talks about some redstone stuff involving the beacon that is beyond the ken of this livestreamer, but the upshot appears to be that the beacon is getting loaded and unloaded during server reset and that breaks it. There is supposed to be a workaround involving a hopper clock but it is not working. He wants to be online and watching what happens at the next reset. Doc thanks more donos and gets attacked by phantoms who shriek “Time to Shreep!” in Bdubs’ voice. He sleeps.

26:05 Doc’s job for today is to fill the machine he built last week to make armor trims. He will also investigate the heinous crime of redstone-touching. He gets a shulker box from his dispenser and begins filling it with the materials that can be used to decorate armor. Chat helps by reminding him of which materials he needs.

29:00 Doc makes the (possibly hubristic) claim that he is going to work today and no one will be able to stop him. He talks about the insanity of last week’s stream and how it was a once in a lifetime experience with the chat determined to get him to 5k subs. He is still not over it. He finishes gathering his materials then pauses to think. Chainmail armor cannot be used in the machine, but leather armor is possible. Doc asks how to farm leather. Chat suggests murdering horses and he calls them murderers. He raises the possibility of finding a hoglin farm or possibly bartering. He goes to the nether.

31:50 A chatter asks what is the weirdest fan-made thing that Doc has seen about himself. He says not to get him started. He begins to AFK the hoglin farm and demands chat do the math to determine how much leather will be needed. Chat doesn’t know, but is pretty sure it is more than 3. Doc settles on 96. He says a lot of fanart is pretty weird, especially the shipping fanart of him and Ren, though he has always said he doesn’t mind. He is not going to address the fanfiction but describes it as really far-out weird. Chat immediately calls him out (good-naturedly) for calling Ren his husband and then saying that ship art is weird. A chatter asks if Doc is using his new PC, he repeats his embarrassing vacuum-cleaner story. We get more details about the lengths Doc went to while chasing down his lag, including streaming to Cortex, maker of the Sodium-rendering mod Nvidium. Cortex apparently did suggest overheating might be the problem but Doc insisted with great fervor that his computer couldn’t possibly be overheating.

38:20 After recalling all of these computer misadventures, Doc decides that the story is too embarrassing to keep retelling. From this point onward in the stream, anyone who comments on the lack of lag will be told that Doc is actually using the new PC. Chat is not allowed to snitch.

40:00 Doc says that the new video got a small amount of static in the comments over the “wokeness” of putting up a rainbow beacon to celebrate his friends during Pride Month. Doc relates the arguments he has had there and on Twitter. LGBTQ issues are not a major issue in Doc’s life, as a cishet man, unless someone is going after his friends. (He makes a quick reference to the time he got in a fight at Disney because some people were hassling Bdubs, a story he has told before.) He very much disagrees with the argument that Pride is being shoved into people’s faces. He says people are just weird. He speculates that it may be a cultural thing as well, that in Germany nobody is really arguing about Pride month.

43:30 Doc arrives back at the shopping district. He says it is time to stop focusing on the complainers and get back to the really important issue, which is his redstone. A chatter points out that his mic is hot and he says he wants it that way, so that everyone can hear. He yells to the empty shopping district “YOU HEAR ME, HERMITS? A CRIME! HAS! HAPPENED!” He says he’s going to put up speakers all over the server to remind people. Someone asks if the crime was pig murder. He is not amused. He does not believe Scar or False were the culprit. At the suggestion of chat he does a quick check for snails in the machinery, saying that if he sees any, he will be getting out the strong pesticide. No snails are found. Doc says he wants to fix it very badly, but that would be tampering with evidence. He does some more shouting into the shopping district, then admits he doesn’t believe Xisuma or False, the only hermits online, had anything to do with it. False apparently is an angel, with no criminal energy inside her.

46:30 Time for work. Doc does not believe it was Cleo either, because when he killed her pig she got mad instead of confessing. He realizes that he forgot to bring the shulker box with him and it is back in the swamp. He blames chat.

47:30 Doc begins walking home, discussing potential suspects. The only Hermit he remembers tweaking lately is Scar, by laughing at the Death Scar prank and telling him he’s on Jevin’s side. He is sure it isn’t Scar, though, because Scar is a very bad liar and also would not have lied but would’ve doubled down and demanded to know what Doc was gonna do about it. He also doesn��t think it was Grian because he and Grian are cool right now and Grian hasn’t been around. He wonders if Joel might have done it just to be pesky. Chat suggests XB or Wels, and insists Joel would not mess with a build. Doc says XB is too nice. It definitely wasn’t Joe because Joe is Doc’s lawyer. He thinks Iskall is a possibility and decides to check his shop purchases. If Dark Oak has been purchased, the trail of evidence leads to Iskall. Doc declares that this is the biggest scandal on Hermitcraft since the tunnel bore incident. By now he has arrived home and collects up his shulker box and crafting table.

50:50 Back to the shopping district, as Chat continues naming basically ever Hermit as possible suspects. Doc thanks his “sugar mama” donos and does a little dance for them, then gets down into the guts of his redstone. He says that this is going to involve some brainwork. He swears incidentally, surprising some chatters, and explains that he does swear during stream. A chatter mentions that he is hotmiccing his swears into the shopping district, but Doc does not appear to notice.

55:15 A chatter says he is a fan of what Doc and the Hivemind are doing and encourages him to keep it up. Doc says his plans are to invent email on the server and maybe also do some drilling. He begins creating armor for the Tide armor trim, remembers that Tide is the name of a laundry detergent, then remembers the eating Tide Pods fad. He briefly despairs for humanity, then moves on to discussing how the armor pieces should be decorated. Chat helps Doc make various fashion choices.

59:45 A dono comes in labeled “from the ladies in the chat.” Doc says he knows 90% of his audience is ladies and that he is catering to the female audience, with his looks. Chat has many reactions to this information. Doc reiterates that he is the humble GOAT. He cannot say it with a straight face.

1:01:20 Another dono comes in claiming that a large percentage of his audience is nonbinary and should also be catered to. Doc assures them that he is also catering to the nonbinary audience, again with his looks. He cannot remember the phrase “gender goals,” but says he has been told that he is a gender role model for several fans who are transitioning. Chat assures Doc that he is indeed very gender. Doc says that he is catering to everyone with his looks. He does admit that it is hard to keep track of the often-complex array of identities and banners within the community, especially as someone who is outside of it, but reiterates that he loves all of Chat. He declares that the Jolly Roger is the flag usable by everyone, because being a pirate is the best thing you can be.

1:04:15 A chatter activates the auto text-to-speech function and makes it chant lyrics to “All The Single Ladies.” Doc is surprised, but does another little dance. He goes back to the topic and says that the most sexualization surrounding Pride comes from the people who are too preoccupied with disliking it. Back to the armor fashion discussion.

1:08:00 Doc responds to a hello message from an arriving chatter and advises the rest of the chat that if they want to be noticed by the streamer, they should use the color that this particular chatter has used, because it is very attention getting. (The chatter has chosen magenta as their username color.) A chatter asks if Doc is going to build one of every combination of armor and trim. Doc says no, that would be crazy. He is going to build a nice mix to showcase some possibilities. He replaces more armor pieces in the droppers and decides to use pink leather in place of chainmail, which does not work in the machine.

1:10:50 Doc heads for the dye shop to find pink dye. He examines Pearl’s Wordle build but finds that the dye is still in her truck shop. He accidentally visits the Purr-Purr shop before finding his way to the dye truck. Doc gets out his ender chest and realizes that he has no diamonds because he put all of them in the materials shulker box, which is back at the armor machine. He scolds chat for not reminding him to bring diamonds to the dye shop and bemoans their laziness in relying on their GOAT to remember everything. After a quick trip across the shopping district, he pays for his dye and dyes his leather armor pieces.

1:13:45 More armor fashion choices, this time for Coast trim. Doc is pleased that with the lag gone, he is getting so much done today. His anvil immediately breaks, but he has a spare.

1:15:55 Doc shows off the completed set of Coast trim armor, mostly in shades of pink and blue. He is pleased with it and wishes that he were allowed to dye his netherite armor different colors. He agrees with chat that the armor set gives a maid sort of vibe. He continues with more trims and more armor and trim color combinations, with occasional commentary. Vex trim looks a bit like a suit and tie outfit and a bit like a color-swapped version of Scar’s default skin.

1:23:14 A chatter asks if Doc would complain about sand less if it were easily renewable. Doc says of course, and that it _is_ easily renewable, you just have to make a sand duper. He begins working on the Sentry trim set, which confuses some chatters who think he is saying Sandtree. A chatter gifts a large number of subs. Doc threatens to name all the remaining armor pieces after the chatter. He is close to 5k subs again and encourages all viewers with Twitch Prime to sub now. A different chatter gifts a large number of subs. Doc insists that this gifting of subs cannot go on forever, but is clearly grateful for the generosity.

1:28:00 A chatter asks if the subscription price increase in July means a raise for the streamers. Doc says he does not know. He got an email from Twitch but hasn’t read it yet because most Twitch email is junk. He guesses that the split is usually based on percentage, so a higher sub price ought to mean more money for the streamer. He continues building armor pieces. He corrects a chatter’s misconception that partners get a 70/30 split, saying that 50/50 is the usual split.

1:31:50 A chatter says that Doc has no reading comprehension (Doc misread an earlier comment about bananas.) He says that he knows what the comment meant, but what he said was funnier. He deliberately bananifies a chatter’s name when thanking them for a dono. He talks some about how the grind on YouTube and Twitch is relentless, and that on Twitch, missing even one or two streams can cause a catastrophic drop in sub numbers. He puts together an armor set in the Silence trim, which most chatters seem to agree is the best. Doc agrees in part, but says the chestplate is too much. He does like the way the armor turned out, calling it “serious drip.” Chat suggests it looks like Optimus Prime.

1:36:50 A donor makes a donation and activates the auto text-to-speech. Doc comments that the “single ladies” (a holdover joke from last week) are generous today and says sometimes he feels like a stripper. Chat thinks this is very funny and he acknowledges that he says the weirdest things. Chat assures him that he can leave his hat on. They also attempt to summon Cub for horn acquisition. A chatter says they love Doc’s content but he should keep his clothes on because he’s got no curves. Doc takes great affront to this and assures chat that he has serious booty that he gets complimented on on a daily basis. He is favorably compared to many women’s husbands on the playground. He tells stories about this while chat loses their collective mind. Doc goes back to assembling armor pieces. He tells chat his current weight is 88kg, and that he used to weigh more when he played basketball but it’s been the same for about fifteen years.

((Liveblogger fast-forwarded through some conversation about weight loss and dieting at this point due to personal mental health concerns. Doc continues working on armor trims during this time.))

1:48:30 Doc says that he is almost done with the first half of stocking the machine. He has finished the trims up as far as the Rib trim. He begins working on the Ward trim. He says he may give Bdubs the chainmail he is taking out of the factory and that giving some gifts to the judge might come in handy. He clarifies to chat that he has all the respect in the world for single moms, having grown up as one. Chat queries him intensely on this, and he clarifies he grew up _with_ a single mom. Chat threatens Doc with more fanart.

1:51:55 Chat suggests conducting a poll on how many single ladies love Doc. Doc says they should definitely not do that, because Karin will not like knowing how many single ladies there are out there. (He is clearly joking.) He tells the single ladies to stay in the shadows, and that he knows they are there. He gives them a flirtatious waves and shushes them. He’s beginning the single ladies song again when suddenly interrupts himself with “I put it in the wrong hole again, goddammit.” Chat has the expected reaction to this turn of phrase. It takes Doc about thirty seconds to realize what he has said. He facepalms so hard he nearly falls out of range of the camera. Looking extremely pained, he tells Chat they have their mind in the gutter all day long. Chat has never been so desperately eager for Cub to make an appearance. Doc approves of the Ward armor trim samples and makes a noise similar enough to “uwu” to catch Chat’s attention again. He does not know what Uwu means, and Chat is only marginally helpful. Doc laments that life is hard for Boomers like him. Chat suggests that he should ask Gem but he refuses, saying she will just make fun of him.

1:55:00 With one side of the build completed, it is time for a short break. He wonders aloud if someone has been sneaking around inside his redstone. Chat suggests that maybe Doc is 77. Doc says that streaming is definitely not easy work, due to the CONSTANT INSULTS. Despite saying it is time for a break, Doc does not appear to be taking a break. He throws away some excess chainmail with the comment that Bdubs will not be happy about it. Almost instantly a zombie appears in full chainmail armor and tries to kill Doc, followed by another zombie with a chainmail helmet. Chat suspects this is revenge.

2:00:00 Dune trim construction. Doc sings a song about choosing armor trims. The trim comes out looking like tie dye and is declared a Renbob shirt. Doc says he is beginning to reach the unhinged portion of the stream. He sings a little more about what he is doing. Chat is unconvinced that the unhinged portion of the stream is only starting now.

2:03:10 A chatter called “Mistress of Torture” subscribes, Doc takes notice and jokes that this is one of the single moms, but a scary one. That chatter then goes on to make a large gift of subs Doc says “Thank you, Mistress” and laughs for awhile over that. Sub total is back over 5k. Doc thanks Chat as a whole for their great generosity in the last two streams. Someone in chat says they are all simps for Doc. Doc responds that just as there are Ethogirls, there are DocMILFs, which causes a substantial reaction in the chat.

2:06:40 A chatter subscribes and asks what they are signing themselves up for. Doc says they don’t want to know. A chatter suggests that now Chat knows what the M in DocM77 stands for. Doc says that his name came from his basketball friends. He could jump very high, so they said he could jump like Doctor J, but called him Doctor M because it is his last initial. He was also called Doc, he explains, because of his great understanding of and charisma with “the ladies,” who would often come to him with their problems. Doc assures Chat that he was never into chasing women, that his first long-term relationship was when he was 14, and that relationship lasted seven years. A short period of madness followed, and then he met Karin. Chat asks how he met Karin, and he says it was at a carnival party that he attended. It was a last-minute invite so he didn’t have a costume. He put a trash bag on and went as garbage. He saw Karin at the party and told his buddy that he just spotted his future wife. Despite the fact he was wearing a trash bag, he went up to her and they hit it off. Before the end of the party, he tore a heart-shaped piece of trashbag off his costume and wrote his phone number on it. She called him back. “Doctor Love strikes again, suckers,” he concludes. Karin still has the trash bag fragment.

2:11:00 Doc talks more about meeting Karin. He had been having fun as a basketball player, lots of cheerleaders, parties, etc, but he knew right away that she was different. Their friends didn’t initially believe it, but he always knew. He flies to the nether to gather more levels for trimming armor at his gold farm. Chat is disappointed that Doc did not visit Bop N Go. Chat asks for more tips about relationships, but he says there are no good general dating tips because everyone is so different. He says people enjoy the company of people who like themselves. Not narcissism, but knowing yourself and having self-confidence. Putting yourself out there to meet a potential new partner is scary, but the worst they can do is say no.

2:19:00 Doc has almost 30 levels but wants to gather a few more. Chat offers its own dating tips, including good hygiene, not being a dick, and talking to women like human beings. Doc tells chat that if you talk to women like a pickup artist or Andrew Tate, you’re not likely to get far. He offers more bits of relationship advice. A chatter asks how old Doc is, he tells them he is 19. Chat thinks that is very funny.

02:23:00 Doc leaves the gold farm. He is planning on rebuilding it bigger and better at some point, but not until after the next update. He is still being hounded by the forces that would suppress shadow poppy technology but he will never stop. He arrives back at the armor trim shop and tries to remember what trim is next. He talks with chat about the sub count and how many subs have been donated in the last two weeks. He still cannot get over last week’s stream.

02:27:10 A chatter asks if Cleo and Doc will be the first in the new courthouse. Doc says maybe, but what he is really interested in is catching the person who touched his redstone. He claims he would _never_ touch anyone else’s redstone. He believes capital punishment is the only acceptable consequence for such a crime. Doc says that stocking the armor shop machine is not the sort of chores he likes to do, but he is happier doing it on stream with chat to keep him company. He talks about a lumberjack-related television show from Canada that he he watches (Big Timber) and says he enjoys Canadian accents.

2:30:55 Doc sings again. He trims some more armor. A chatter compliments the Goatfather voice from Season 7 and Doc does a brief reprise. He shows off the pants with the Snout trim and declares the size of the belt buckle “sus.” Chat agrees that the pants belong to Texas. Doc has not been to Texas but he would like to go there and eat a gigantic T-Bone steak, drink Bud Light and talk about guns. Doc is not a gun advocate himself, he just wants to talk about them. A chatter says that Doc has Tweeted some strange stuff over the years, Doc scoffs at the possibilty of him saying anything weird.

2:34:00 Doc has been to New York before and has many basketball friends from there. He loves Brooklyn. He accidentally presses a button on the machine, which causes it to dispense an armor. He says that was not good, but the machine is not broken. He talks more about New York. He also talks about going up in the Sears Tower in Chicago and the Space Needle in Seattle. He likes anything you can climb. It has been about 10 years since Doc’s last trip to New York City, he’d like to go back and see how it has changed. He does more armor trims.

2:38 Doc talks more about changes in New York. He says the homeless situation was surprising to him when he visited, but it also happens in Germany and European cities. A chatter says it is unsafe to go to any major cities in the US, Doc scoffs at this idea and says the danger is very exaggerated. A chatter asks Doc to never say their name again because the first mention gave them a mini heart attack, Doc says it again and adds the headline “Twitch Streamer Kills Viewer.” He falls off his scaffolding several times and becomes frustrated. Doc talks about differences between Europe and the US regarding perceptions of race and interracial couples.

2:43:30 Doc thanks a new Twitch Prime subscribers, reminds other viewers with Prime subscriptions that they can subscribe for free. He pulls more armor out of the machine to trim. A chatter asks about Twitch Nitro, which reminds Doc that he wants to try running an ad. He has zero income from ads right now and wants to see what happens if he runs an ad. Chat points out that after the past two weeks, everyone in chat is subbed and will not see an ad. Doc says he needs a bathroom break but will hold it in because Chat demands it. (Chat is being fairly encouraging about running an ad.) Doc says if he pees his pants he will blame Chat.

2:47:30 A chatter asks what Doc will sell trim for. He says 6-7 shulkers of sand, to make the other Hermits regret their life choices. Chat says Scar is about to make bank, Doc agrees. ((Scar is selling sand for 15 diamonds per shulker as of Skizz’s latest stream, making the cost of a trim approximately 90 diamonds)). Doc admires his statue and its prominent booty. He says he debated with Jerome over the size of the statue’s booty, but Jerome assured him that the audience will love it. Chat generally agrees.

2:51:40 A chatter suggests using more iron armor instead of the gold and leather, Doc says iron does not show armor trims as well as other materials. Doc says he can’t pick a bad armor trim because it turns out that he likes them all. He notes a “battle of the MILFs” in the chat as two chatters make gifts of subs. Doc’s lead moderator claims victory as Chief MILF.

2:53:55 Ren signs onto the server, Doc calls him his husband. He explains that the community’s will is that he and Ren are some old married couple. Doc reaches the last set of armor trims. He asks Ren if he is streaming. Ren is not streaming, which is disappointing to Doc.

2:56:15 Doc shows off Shaper trim, the last set of trim, and reevaluates his stance that no trims are bad. He does not like Shaper because it is too generic. He accidentally hits another button. He replaces all the armor in the machine and the job is done. Returning to the surface, Doc hits some note blocks on purpose to run the machine. It produces a set of armor. Doc approves and says it looks like a superhero costume. He says the dispenser will probably need to be encased in glass because Hermits will definitely mess things up. He dismisses the armor. He talks about how to make a payment box, explaining he was deeply disappointed in Bdubs for not seeing the payment box in the wood shop. He expects Hermits to be breaking this machine for the rest of the season. The machine is taking a long time to reset.

3:00:00 Doc goes back into the redstone of the machine to troubleshoot. He figures out what happened and fishes out a chestplate that is lodged in a dropper. He’s not sure what went wrong and wishes he could replicate the error.

3:02:00 Doc returns to the surface and starts wrapping up. He is pleased with today’s progress. He tucks away his diamonds and says he is running low on loose diamonds. Returning to the studio view, he thanks the chat and the mods and looks for someone to raid to. He raids into FalseSymmetry and ends his stream.

#hermitcraft #docm77 #stream liveblogging #hermitcraft tcg #tall claims court

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eunseoksimp · 8 months ago

Text

Solace ; Lee Sohee

Pairings: Bf!Sohee x Gf!Reader

Genre: angst

Description: the struggles of trying to connect with someone who is deeply guarded and emotionally unavailable.

Warnings: reference to depression, suicidal thoughts, swearing.

solace [noun] : ‘comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness.

a/n: a very depressing true story, except he didn’t stay with me lol (not that he had to.)

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

lee sohee doesn’t know why you’re so distant.

ever since he first met you, a forlorn look continually swimming in your irises, he knew it would be hard to get you to open up.

you were almost pitiful, a broken girl, the idea of happiness a foreign feeling, something that had long since ceased to exist in your life.

there was barely anyone around you, your solitude only affirming your sorry state. what did sohee see in you?

love had blinded him of course, ‘i can fix her, ‘it’s probably only because we’re not close, ‘she’ll open up with time.’

words that used to provide him with comfort, with the rope of hope that he would cling onto, using it to anchor him whilst simultaneously moving forward.

it took a long time for you to even speak to him. often he would approach you, wide smile on his face, trying to strike up conversation. and you would just look up at him wide-eyed, slow blinking as if he was speaking a foreign language.

his friends thought he was crazy; why was he so determined to get you to open up to him? to say something?

there was something unspoken between the two of you, that he was sure others wouldn’t be able to get, but he did.

so even though there was no real gain on his part, he would show up everyday, ignoring the looks you would give him.

he would flash you the same wide-toothed grin, sitting a little too close for comfort as he continued to try and probe further and further into your life.

‘what’s your favourite colour?’

‘black.’

‘why do you always have your headphones on?’

‘because.’

‘the weather’s nice today, isn’t it. i heard that by the afternoon it’s going to be really warm.’

‘nice.’

it was always one worded answers with you, short and brief, like you didn’t have the energy to expand further. but despite this, a part of you became accustomed to his presence, constantly following you around, seemingly unfazed by your cold exterior.

‘i feel like he’s around everyday,’ your friend minjeong commented, pointing in the direction of the boy who had just left after spending the last minute explaining his favourite anime to you. haikyuu, your favourite one too.

you shrugged in response, going back to playing with the charm on your bracelet and she raised an eyebrow at you.

‘i’m just surprised you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, that’s all.’

‘he’d probably come around regardless,’ you answered, but that wasn’t the full truth.

in the weeks he had spent hovering around, there was a warm sense of familiarity, a part of your day that you were slowly growing to enjoy. what new thing would he gush about? what part of your appearance would he compliment?

would it be your raven tresses, falling messing around your face? or the new industrial piercing that had occupied the upper part of your ear.

‘your style kind of reminds me of wednesday addams you know, but a little cooler of course,’ referring to your choice of wearing various shades of black.

needless to say, he was starting to grow on you. and that explained why after not seeing him for three days, you were the one seeking him out for the first time since you two had ever met.

he was shocked to see you, shuffling awkwardly on your feet, twirling the ring on your index finger as you mumbled something he couldn’t quite hear, his friends staring in amusement.

‘i said, i thought you died or something. but clearly you’re um - very much alive so..’ unable to bare the embarrassment anymore you turn on your heels but he’s quick to grab you by the elbow.

‘so you missed me?’ there was that smile again, and you sighed, because you knew it was doomed.

perhaps if you had heeded the alarm bells ringing in your head, or pushed him away, chiding him about how ridiculous he was being, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way it was now.

sohee, after finally seeing a sliver of hope, that the possibility of you returning his feelings were not as slim, was determined to make you his.

you resisted at first, but clearly not enough. he was too charming, saying all the right words, doing all the right things.

‘you’re going to hurt him,’ the small voice in your head didn’t give up, so you pushed even harder, but he was resistant.

‘i don’t know why you’re fighting it, just let me in,’ he put a hand over where your heart resided, drawing closer and closer. you had lost this battle.

and after three drawn out months, sohee was able to call you his. yet that title seemed to only have meaning ceremoniously.

he wasn’t expecting the relationship to be smooth sailing, that there was clearly something that you were painfully holding on, allowing to reside within you.

but you were his girlfriend, which meant he would always be there for you. he wouldn’t rush you, of course, but he would let you know that you could talk to him about it when you were ready, that he was here to listen to you.

it all seemed in vain. he cared about you, enough to worry about what would make you wake up breaking into cold sweats, or the reason why your eyes were sometimes red and puffy whenever you would meet up.

it was like he was in a relationship with a brick wall. on dates you hardly looked excited, you could go some days without hearing from him and not even bat an eyelid.

but what tipped everything over the edge was the crying. he hated knowing that clearly something was bothering you, eating at you from the inside, and he felt helpless just cradling you in his arms.

what could he do to make it better? what would make his love devoid of such bitter grief?

he figured all he could do was ask, he couldn’t venture into a place he wasn’t given permission to enter.

‘i’m fine just drop it,’ you weren’t even looking at him, picking at some fluff that had fallen on his couch.

sohee sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. it was the same thing each time. watching your tearful figure, desperate to help, but he would be met with the same generic response.

‘you’re clearly not fine if you’re crying.’

you said nothing, fingers still fixated in the same spot, acting as if you couldn’t hear him. the tick of the clock hanging above the television was starting to sound incessant, mirroring the thumping of his heart.

‘please, why won’t you talk to me?’ he tried again, a little more desperate to delve into what was making you so miserable.

‘for fucks sake sohee, leave it alone,’ you snapped, already on your feet, and he didn’t have the strength to stop you. he didn’t want to argue with you anymore, to add on to the insurmountable amount of stress you seemed to be under.

‘i think i should go,’ you swallowed the lump in your throat, gulping once, then twice before taking a shaky breath. you weren’t okay, that much was obvious.

and he hated that. he weakly reached his hand out, a silent plea for you to stay, to free him from his misery. but you didn’t.

you leaned down until you were close enough to his face, kissing every mole that dotted his cheek. and then you left.

he watched you leave, sinking further into the couch, head thrown back as he silently stares at the ceiling, fighting off tears himself.

he just wanted to connect with someone he cared about, to make you feel safe enough to speak to him, to let him know what troubled you.

but you had put up emotional barriers, preventing you from truly opening up. no matter how much he pleaded for access to your heart, expressing his confusion over the reasons for the distance and wariness, you wouldn’t budge.

you spent most of your time living in your own head, like you weren’t even present, and it made him feel like he was on edge. he was barely scratching the surface of your emotional inner life, barely fitting for a significant other.

it was a complex dilemma, one which caused him to lay awake at night, contemplating what was right.

his attempts to reach out to you were always met with resistance. he knew that the distance was unintentional, that whatever had caused you to be this way had completely taken over your being.

but he wondered why it always felt like you were at war, explosive, ruthless, painful. anton had told him many times that it was not his job to get someone to open up, that a big part of relationships was healthy communication.

‘i don’t think you guys are right for each other.’

surely there was a less heartbreaking solution for your problem. something that wouldn’t tear his heart to pieces. he felt a strong desire to keep showing up, even though you never responded in the way he wanted you to.

so he’s rushing over to your house after the second day of no replies from you, ready to repeat the harsh cycle.

knocking once, then twice, he steps back, just wanting to see your face again, to know that you’re alright, to hold you in his arms.

and when the door is finally pulled open, and you poke your head around the corner, his face immediately falls at the state of you.

mascara streamed down your cheeks, the tip of your nose is red, mirroring your bloodshot eyes. he felt his heart shatter, knowing that the girl he loved was suffering so much.

‘now is not a good time,’ you sniffled, half ready to shut him out, like you always did, but his will was stronger as he held the door open, making his way inside.

‘sohee i’m serious, i’m not in the mood.’

he ignored you, waiting till he was in your living room, nostrils flaring, heart racing as he turned to you.

‘why? why do you do this to yourself, to me?’ he’s on the verge of breaking down. he just couldn’t understand why you couldn’t just let him in, practically begging for your emotional intimacy.

‘i don’t know what you’re talking about,’ you’re avoiding his eyes again, and frustration builds up inside of him.

‘are you always like this? do you keep your thoughts and feelings locked away from everyone or is it just me?’ he’s confused over your wall building tendencies. was it something to do with him? was it something he could fix?’

‘well excuse me for not wanting to come to you everytime i’m feeling sad. what would be the point of that?’ you’re combative, defensive, even though you knew that it was a character flaw of yours.

your life had progressed without having anyone reliable to depend on, not until you met minjeong, your one and only friend. human beings were evil, preying on your insecurities and vulnerabilities, and you learnt over time that some things had to be dealt with alone.

how could somebody care for you when you couldn’t even care for yourself.

it wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, you knew that. but it got you through life and it was something you felt would stick with you throughout it all.

you knew if you told sohee how you really felt, about the dark thoughts that plagued your mind, then he might be able to offer some relief. but maybe that was the part that scared you, letting go of the rapport that you had built with your depression, that had slowly morphed into a part of your identity.

you didn’t know how to let it go, and maybe you didn’t want to.

‘but you’re supposed to come to me when you’re sad, when you feel like you’re upset and just want to break down. you’re supposed to talk about your feelings, not bottle them up.’

‘ what are you, my therapist?’

‘no i’m you’re fucking boyfriend. seriously what’s my purpose in this relationship if my own girlfriend can’t even talk to me,’ he bites his lip, suppressing his tears because it’s not about him right now.

‘then maybe we shouldn’t have one. this relationship, maybe it was over before it started. i’m sorry,’ you still refuse to look at him, already ready to walk away and it pains him.

‘you’re doing it again. refusing to talk about the issue and distancing from me. please, i just need you to speak to me,’ his legs give in, hunched over on the cold floor, water splashing onto the ground, quiet sobs leaving his lips.

‘so what do you want? for me to tell you how much i think of dying? how ready i am to embrace it with open arms? about how much displeasure i feel when i just open my fucking eyes every morning? or how about the fact that despite all of that, i’m too fucking scared to do it. because what if it fails? then i’m stuck in this shitty life. every day is about enduring, just getting through another shitty day for another shitty life, without purpose, without meaning, without passion. sohee i’m so fucking tired of it all-‘

you're in his arms before you can even finish your sentence, his shoulders still rising and falling, possibly more sorrowful than you as he clings onto you, weeping as he pulls you in closer, until you are practically one body.

but it’s not like you’re doing any better. you weren’t even aware it was possible to spill any more tears, giving you had exhausted your water reserve just minutes before he arrived. but here you were, shedding tears again. only this time, it was his arms you were wrapped in.

you never truly got it, what made sohee so patient, so fixated on knowing more about you. there were no ulterior motives behind his actions, just a genuine desire to be closer to you.

it was a hard pill to swallow, that maybe out of the tens of people that had caused you to become this way, that one boy was willing to tear it all down. he was determined to tear down your whole belief system, to challenge your way of thinking, hurting himself in the process.

but why?

as if he could hear you, he lifts his head, fingers delicately moving strands of hair out of your eyes and tucking them behind your ear, hand still cupping your face.

‘i don’t want to be in your way you know. i never want to hurt you, i just want to be the shoulder you cry on. i want you to let me know, whether things are good or bad. i want to be in your world, even if it means dealing with your fears and anxieties,’ it was a heartfelt plea to his lover, to let him be the one she found solace in.

you were not okay, truthfully, and you both knew it. it wasn’t something that would magically heal itself, but to sohee you were worth it all. he didn’t care what he had to go through, as long as he could draw you near.

he knew you were scared, because he was too. but he wanted to face love together, because he only wanted to feel it with you.

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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Built for Love Part 10 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

Warnings: Depictions of violence, trauma, lots of angst, recovery

A/N: ok this one is a longgggg doozy… gonna apologize in advance cause it is really just all angst lol BUT I'm hoping there's a treat in here that'll make y'all hate me less? lol maybe?? Enjoyyyyy!

It took everything in Charlotte physically and emotionally to drag herself to the theater the next day for opening night. She was physically exhausted, only sleeping in increments of 30 minutes or so before her own screams jolted her awake. Mentally, she was hanging on by a fraying thread. She had not felt this jumpy in so long, every unexpected noise causing her to look over her shoulder every five seconds, even in the comforts of her own home. But nothing was worse than the physical pain she was in. The bruise on her side was far worse without the adrenaline of the night before pumping through her veins. The cry of pain she let out when she first moved that morning sounded more like a dying animal than a person.

The entire drive she dreaded the facade she’d have to wear all day. She did not know how she did this years ago, mustering up her last kernel of strength to plaster a stupid fake smile on her face. Perhaps because back then, it was a means of survival and this situation was caused by her own hubris. She wanted to fight, she wanted to do this her way, but this path was lonely and more difficult than she thought. And reality was sinking in fast that she was, perhaps, not strong enough to deal with him alone this time.

She did not regret staying, that was the right decision. But she just wished Michael was here. She wanted him here, not to do anything, but just to fold her up in his soft embrace. He was the epitome of safety and she severely underestimated how alone she would feel without him here, even just for a few days. She was balancing on a tightrope and the bungee cord that secured her was nowhere to be found. She already made one wrong move, she could not let herself think what risk another one would bring her.

Here he is, about to ruin another special moment for you, she thought to herself as her driver weaved in and out of traffic to get her to the theater.

He doesn’t have to, another voice spoke up louder.

She thought back to their argument in the hallway the night before. Until she found herself on the floor beneath him, she had been proud of herself. The old her would have never said a fraction of those things to him. But she had squared her shoulders, looked him in the eye, and pushed back. Sure, she could not physically win a fight against him. But last night proved the psychological power he held over was indeed gone. And despite the emotional distress and pain she was in, that small act felt like a win in and of itself.

That small win was all the strength she needed to push through. Today was her moment, something she’d worked for for years. He could not take this away from her, the bruise he gave her could not take this away from her… not if she didn’t let him.

“You look like hell. You good?” Malcolm remarked as she dragged her feet past his dressing room.

She glanced back at him and gave him a smile that was more like a pained grimace. “Remember what you told me about fighting? Well, I got knocked down… trying to pick myself back up again.”

He raised his coffee cup as if to salute her. “That’s all you can do.”

As the day went on and she did interviews with the camera crew recording footage of opening night and they did a final rehearsal of one or two of the numbers, she did find her exhaustion and pain slowly dissipate. She knew it was all in her head, she was still very much both exhausted and in pain, but she just found the strength to ignore it. The stage was her home, her domain, and she felt at her strongest here. It was the flicker of light that she could always cling to when everything else felt dark. And so she held onto it, seized it with every fiber of her being and allowed that to give her whatever she needed to get through the day.

There was no other option, no other bungee cords to fall back on. It was just her and she had to pull herself, hold herself up, and shine bright even as she wanted to fall. Besides, she had not done all this, the secrets and lying, to let him psych her out so close to game time. She could fall apart when the show was over, but until then, her own strength was all she had. And that’s what she held on to as the day passed and showtime drew closer.

By the time she slid on her dress, she felt more like herself than she had in the last two weeks. She was ready a bit early so she slipped out and snuck to the stage. As everyone hustled around her to prepare for showtime, she watched through a slip in the curtains. The audience was almost full already. Her eyes followed the front row, recognizing some folks like Malcolm’s wife, Vanessa. She did a double take when she saw who sat next to her.

“Michael,” his name came out as a breathless sigh of relief. She did not know whether to cry tears of joy or have a panic attack. On the one hand, she could already see her web of secrets untangling right before her eyes. Even if they made it through the night without Michael and Shaun’s paths crossing, the moment they got home, there would be no hiding the angry black and blue bruise that covered her side. And she knew Michael was too smart to believe any lie she could come up with to explain it away.

However, as she looked at him, her fear of his reaction did not outweigh the joy and relief she felt at seeing him. He came back to see her, to be there for her on the biggest night of her career to date. And even if all her secrets fell apart, she could not feel anything other than gratitude and love for him for sacrificing his plans for her. Every day, he chose her and made her feel loved, supported, and safe. He did not need to say a word to her and his very presence made her stronger. Knowing he was nearby made her feel lighter and more at ease. She was no longer alone and felt as if someone attached more bungee cords to her to steady her.

She returned to her dressing room and pulled out her phone. She walked around her room, texting him.

Els: Funny… I don’t remember LA looking quite like where I work? 🤔

She did not have to wait long for the response bubble to emerge and her phone to ding.

Bakari: How’d you spot me? It was supposed to be a surprise for the end of the show ☹️

Els: I have eyes and ears everywhere 😉 seriously, though something happen in LA? Not that I’m not happy to see you but why’d you come back early?

Bakari: Something told me I was needed here more. Was I right?

She nodded as if he could see her. He knew her far too well. She did not even bother lying this time.

Els: Yea you were. Thank you ♥️♥️

“Maybe I’ll go introduce myself,” a voice whispered behind her, Charlotte’s heart sinking. “I always liked him, great actor.”

She should have known he would not let the day go by without finding some way to torture her. And she knew him stopping by minutes before show time was not a coincidence. But she refused to let him throw her off her game like he did at rehearsal.

“Hit me again and I’ll scream bloody murder,” she threatened as she turned around. She could tell he did not believe her but she knew it was effective. This was just as much his job as it was hers. He would not risk someone seeing him hurt her.

He merely sneered at her and shook his head, raising his hands in surrender. “Nope, just came to wish you luck. And say I’m a bit surprised to see you. It must be hard to dance with that?” He gestured toward her side.

“I’ve performed through a lot worse, remember?” She reminded him through gritted teeth. “This was always the one thing you couldn’t take.”

She studied him for a moment as he sucked his teeth in annoyance. She could tell he seemed a bit disappointed and frustrated by that fact, by the knowledge that she was not in bed nursing her side, crying over what he had done. Instead, she was here with a smile on her face, ready to do her job.

She had always felt like he had taken everything from her, broken her and reduced her to nothing. But this very moment was proof that he hadn’t. Every time she got up and performed with bruises or broken bones or any other injury, she silently told him that this was the one thing he could never have, the one thing she would never yield to him. That she would fight through all the pain to make it onto that stage night after night, to savor the few minutes every day where she could be the version of herself he tried to destroy. This was that flicker of light and he had always tried to stomp it out. Her brain was immediately filled with recollections of all their worst fights, all of which coincided with important shows or huge moments in her career. And every time, Charlotte never faltered, she never fell down, she never broke. She just bandaged herself up and kept moving. Not even the threat of him looming had driven her away this time.

“You know, I’ve been trying to figure out why you did all this. You want your plaything back, want that control again, sure. But this,” she gestured around them. “Is a fucking insane way to get to me. But now I know why, because this was the one thing you could never take. You took everything from me for years, reduced me to nothing but a shell of a person. N-No light, n-no personality… no agency. Nothing. B-But when I went to work a-and got on stage, even if it was for only two hours a night, I became something again. Was reminded that I was more than the nothing you made me believe I was. And you hated that. This is the last piece. You take this, you destroy my career, and I’d really have nothing.”

“I already did,” he took a menacing step toward her. Charlotte did not move though, forcing her body to stay rooted like a tree. She did not know where this sudden insurgence of strength came from but she welcomed it. For the first time, she had the upper hand. And she was going to use it. “I already took it once. You don’t think I can do it again? You were nothing back then and you still aren’t. A pretty face, a famous nigga on your arm, a nice voice… None of it changes what both of us know. I’m the only one who can love you like you deserve. I’m the only one who knows the truth about you.”

And for the first time that he told her that, she thought about all the ways in which Michael and her family proved to her daily that his words were not true. And though she still did not know if she truly deserved someone as perfect as Michael, she knew she deserved so much better than him.

She sighed, taking a step forward to close the space between them.

“I lived in absolute terror of you for years. My entire world was dictated by the look on your face. Three years ago, I would’ve believed every word you just said. In some lights, I’m still terrified of you,” she admitted, taking a deep breath. “Last night proved that. But since I left you, I built myself back up brick by brick. I met someone,” she smiled. “Who holds me up when I can’t, someone who rushed back here to protect me when he didn’t even know what I needed protecting from, someone whose very being and presence reminds me every minute of every day that I am something and I deserve so much more than the scraps you gave me. And in that light, you are far less terrifying.”

He let out a low chuckle, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him. His grip was tight and painful but she still did not waver. “You keep forgetting what I’m fuckin’ capable of, Charlotte. Maybe I need to close the door and remind you?”

The prospect terrified her but she knew his hands were tied. It was just intimidation and she would not fall for it again.

“The thing is… I haven’t. You’ve shown me the worst you have to offer time and time again and I’ve survived every time. And it’s true. If you want to hurt me, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I know I’m only alive because of God and luck. I can’t win in a fight with you. So take your best shot. But you know what else is true? I’ll still never choose you. No amount of fear or intimidation or pain will make me choose you. It’s him. For the rest of my life, it’ll always be him. And no matter what happens to me, you’ll have to live the rest of your miserable life knowing that.”

She used all of her force to rip her arm out of his grip, her skin stinging, as she grabbed the sweater that went with her costume and slid it on her arms as she spoke.

“You are right about one other thing though. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve this light or the love he gives me. And maybe,” she offered sadly, “Maybe one day, he’ll realize that too and leave me. And maybe I’ll never find anyone to love me like he does ever again. But even then, I’d spend the rest of my days alone before I spend another moment of it with you. So I hope all of this time and energy was worth it. Because I’m done… I’m done giving you a return on this investment. You can’t take this and you can’t take my joy, my body, my relationship, my peace, or anything else from me again. Your time controlling my life is over.” The lights around them started to flash, signaling that everyone needed to get in their places. She took a deep breath and offered him a smile. “That’s my cue. Enjoy the show. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

She smiled before walking around him and walking out the door. She could feel his rage wafting off of him but that did not stop her. As soon as she rounded the corner, she leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. She let out a breath she had not even realized she was holding in, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She messaged her arm, another bruise she would have to explain away. But that one had been worth it. To say those things and finally say her piece… the only thing better would’ve been to punch him in the face but she refused to resort to violence as he did.

“Fuck, that was terrifying,” she mumbled to herself. “But you did it, you did it. Another win for today. Deep breaths,” she instructed herself, her entire body relaxing as she took several calming breaths. “Now let’s go get another one.”

She steadied herself for a few more minutes before getting in her spot just as the announcer came on to start the show.

***

She was in the middle of changing when Michael finally made his way backstage to her dressing room. Her after party dress was just passing her hips when she heard her door open.

She did not even give him a chance to speak, she barely held in the tears that immediately welled up in her eyes as she saw him. She just immediately rushed into his arms, her lips slamming into his. The breath of relief she let escape was muffled as she kissed him. She buried her face in the space between his shoulder and neck as he held her, forcing herself not to flinch as his arm rubbed against her side when he pulled her in for a tight hug. Her breath was shaky as she breathed him in, grateful to be in his arms again.

“I-It’s so good to see you,” she whispered. “I m-missed you so much.”

His hand cradled her head into his neck, surprised at her intense reaction. He was concerned when he arrived but the tremble in her voice and body, the way she sagged into him, only increased his concern tenfold. He could tell she was trying to hide whatever it was that was wrong, hold it back. But he could feel it, feel everything that simmered beneath the facade of a performer.

“You were amazing.” His other hand rubbed her back. “But what’s going on, love?” He leaned back to force her to lift her head and look at him. His thumb wiped one of the stray tears from her cheeks, kissing the path it trekked. He did not see a point in prolonging the question. He knew it was a special night but she needed help. What kind? He had no idea. But the version of her that stood in front of him was not her, at least, not a healthy version of her. “You’re not ok.”

Charlotte sniffled. She could not keep this in any longer. This was just not sustainable. That had been the problem the first time with Shaun, she had dealt with it utterly and completely alone. And here she was, falling back into that same pattern of isolation. No one in her corner, no one to support her or help her. And she could not survive that way. If she was going to stay here, she needed someone’s help. Even if all they did was help pick her up when he mentally knocked her down. And she had robbed Michael of the opportunity to do that, and she knew there would be anger for that. But more importantly, she had tied her one hand behind her back by doing so. She had robbed herself of safety and comfort and it showed in the hell-ish experience of the last two weeks. She had asked Michael to move with her because she needed him. Now, it was time to call that support in.

“No… I’m not. But now that you’re here, I will be.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “I need to tell you something though… about-”

The last part of her sentence was drowned out by Chris sticking his head in her door. She had not realized that Michael left her dressing room door open and glanced up to find Chris, Malcolm, and a couple other company members standing outside her door.

“Everyone’s heading over to the lounge. You two ready?”

“Umm… actually I think we’re gonna head home?”

“Home??” His tone was so filled with offense, you would have thought Charlotte quit the show. “Absolutelyyyyyyy not! The star of the night can’t miss the after party. Trust me, the sex’ll be 10 times better after a few drinks.” Chris, inappropriately so, automatically assuming they just wanted to go home to fuck. “Come on!”

She sagged deeper into Michael and rolled her eyes. She glanced at him, a silent conversation passing between them. She knew they weren’t going to take no for an answer, everyone was on too much of a high from the night. Her eyes searched for his approval to which he gave her a small nod.

“Fineeeeee, we’ll come but just for a bit,” she acquiesced, Michael’s arm not leaving her waist.

“Alrighty. You better. I have at least two cocktails with your name on it!” The man disappeared, everyone starting to head over to the party.

“You sure you’re ok with going?”

He nodded. “Yea, tonight is still your night and you should enjoy it. As long as you’re up for it. We have plenty of time to talk.”

She squeezed his hand before following him out to their car. She had no interest in staying at the party too long. She found it hard to relax at first, her eyes constantly darting around the party to see if Shaun was there. But as she and Michael had those two drinks promised by Chris (and then some additional ones), she still did not see Shaun anywhere and loosened up.

Despite the looming difficult conversation she knew she would have to have with him when they got him, she still managed to have fun. The night moved faster than she expected as she and Michael danced with Malcolm and his wife. Unlike the stuffy cocktail event from the night before, this was a true party, an opportunity to let their hair down and celebrate.

Charlotte escaped the dance floor to grab another drink, leaving Michael chatting with some of the other actors and their partners.

A hand touched her arm unexpectedly, Charlotte flinching and a groan escaping her before she could stop herself. She clenched her fist in pain. However, when she turned and realized it was Michael, her heart sank.

Fuck.

“You’re hurt?” His hand gently grabbed her arm and lifted it up to examine under the dim lights of the bar. She braced herself, his eyes flashing with rage.

“Who did that to you?” he demanded as he took in the light but distinct bruise disrupting her otherwise flawless skin. He had never seen a bruise or mark on her before.

“U-Um… no one. I m-must’ve hit it or something,” she lied. She could not even stop herself, it was as thoughtless and second nature as breathing or walking and talking to lie about an injury. She also knew this was not the venue to tell him what really happened. She wanted to tell him everything in the privacy of their own home.

“You’re lying,” he said immediately, his anger only rising. “Nothing you could’ve done would cause that. Who. Did. That. To. You? Tell me right now, Charlotte.” His voice was low but she heard it. There was no room to lie or hide the truth from him now. He would not accept it.

“I p-promise I w-will tell you. B-but can y-you just wait till we get home? I d-don’t want to talk about it here. Please,” she begged.

He studied her, his hand going to her neck to hold her gaze to him. “But you’re ok right now? Whoever did it isn’t here?” he glanced around as if he could spot the person in the moment.

“N-No, no. I promise. They aren’t here. It’s just a l-long story a-and I'd rather tell you at home. T-that’s all, I promise.”

He kissed her temple, nodding. “Ok, ok. I’ll call the car.”

“Thank you. I j-just need to run to the bathroom. 5 minutes?” She could tell he did not want to let her out of his sight but she offered him a reassuring nod. “I promise I’m ok. Just five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and kissed her on the cheek, watching as she left.

Charlotte had to take a couple turns to find the bathroom, finding it empty when she entered. She tossed her clutch and phone on the couch before going into one of the stalls. She took a few deep breaths, already strategizing how she would explain the last two days to Michael. She was almost thankful the tower was crumbling, it was too hard to hold up anyway. But she wasn’t ready for the fall out, not fully anyway. But she knew once she told him, the weight would be off her shoulders and she could breathe easy for a moment. And she welcomed that. She knew honesty after secrets and lies came with a storm but there was always calm after, eventually.

As she finished up and readjusted her clothing, she heard the door open. However, she did not think much about it until she stepped out to find Shaun standing in the bathroom.

“W-what are you d-doing in here?” She asked, taking in his staggering posture and eyes. They were red, glazed over with rage. She was not even sure when he arrived at the party. She had not seen him once since she left him in her dressing room.

“You know I tried. I fuckin’ tried so hard to be reasonable…” he remarked as he reached back to the bathroom door and locked it behind him.

Charlotte let out a shaky breath, all of that confidence from earlier vanished in an instant. No escape and no upper hand this time and she knew, when push came to shove, he would always overpower her. She wondered if anyone would even be able to hear her scream over the loud music. She knew Michael would come looking for her in a few minutes if she did not return or some woman would likely try to come use the bathroom. However, she also knew Shaun did not need long.

“But then… you parade that nigga around in my fuckin’ face?!” He slammed his hand against one of the stall doors, the force causing it to bang against the wall loudly. Charlotte nearly jumped half way out of her skin, taking another step back from him. “‘It’ll always be him,’ he mimicked her speech from earlier. “It’s me… Or it’s no one, Charlie.” His steps were measured and menacing, despite the alcohol that clearly seeped out of every pore of his being, a predator who had finally cornered its prey and was tired of the games. There was nowhere to run or go as Charlotte found herself cornered by the wall. “You choose.”

Charlotte knew what she should say, lie to get herself out of the situation alive. And if he had asked something else of her, perhaps she would have said anything to appease him. However, she could not force herself to do it, not this time and not about this. She knew in her heart and soul that Michael was it for her. And she would never deny that, no matter the consequences.

Her heart pounded out of her chest but she forced the words out, “I-It’s… it’s still him, Shaun. M-My h-heart is his, my soul is his. A-and I c-can’t give you what you want. Not anymore. If it’s not him, t-then it’s n-no one.”

He let out a few deep breaths of shock and staggered back from her for a moment as if she had slapped him. She imagined he did not expect her to answer truthfully but she could not deny Michael. She would never.

Charlotte started to peel herself off the wall, hoping this was her moment to leave and escape. However, she only made it a step before she felt a sharp sting across her cheek, the force of his slap sending her body crashing into the sink in the bathroom. She grunted as her stomach hit the hard edge of the counter and knocked the wind out of her. She used one hand to brace herself to stop from falling to the ground. The other immediately touched her cheek, pulling her hand back to find blood where his ring had cut into her skin.

“S-Shaun, p-please d-don’t… do this…”

He scoffed and shrugged, his face resigned as if she had given him no choice. “I told you. Me or no one.” He slapped her again, harder, her body falling to the ground as her head hit the cold tiles of the floor. Her vision immediately grew blurry as he appeared over her. Her arms and legs flailed violently as she tried to fight back.

She could feel every blow, his fists aiming for any part of her body he could reach. Her face, her chest, her stomach. All she could do was scream for help as she futilely tried to fight him off of her.

His hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing. Charlotte’s eyes grew wide as she realized his intentions, her fingers clawing at his skin with all her might to force him to break his grip. However, it was no use. He had strangled her before, which was scary but she always knew he would stop. This, however, was totally different. This time she knew he had no intention of stopping until he felt the life drain from her body. She could see it in his eyes, it was over for her.

The edges of her vision started to blur. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his weight and hands being ripped off her before everything went black and her last thread to the conscious world snapped.

***

Michael took a last sip of his drink as Charlotte walked away from him to the bathroom. Michael sighed as he did a scan of the party, his eyes following on a man in a disheveled suit who appeared at the entrance. Michael stared at him for a moment, something about him gave him pause but he could not place why. He watched as the man did a scan of the room before heading to the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He figured he was merely on edge as the sight of Charlotte’s arm came back into his mind. His hands clenched into a fist.

Another puzzle piece, another thing that did not make sense. Someone had clearly hurt her but he did not understand how or when or who would do that. He had only been gone for two days. Shaun did pop up in his head but he dismissed that quickly. When would the man even have shown up without Michael knowing? Michael was pretty much with her anytime she was not at the theater since they moved.

He continued to people watch for a few minutes, his eyes glancing in the direction of the bathroom every few seconds as he waited. His phone dinged with a message from Rob letting him know he was waiting downstairs. Michael glanced at his watch, realizing more than five minutes had passed since Charlotte went to the bathroom. He searched the crowd for her. He happened to run into Malcolm and his wife during his search.

“Aye,” Michael grabbed their attention. “Have you seen Charlotte?”

“Nope, not since she went to get a drink. Why?”

“Y-Yea. She said she was going to the bathroom but it’s been a minute. And she didn’t answer her phone. Figured she maybe passed by me or thought I was gonna meet her outside or something.”

“I was about to head to the bathroom before we headed out too. I’ll walk with you. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Malcolm and Michael walked the maze of hallways to the bathrooms, Michael stopping as they turned the last corner and another sound filled his ears, battling against the thundering bass of the music from the party.

“You hear that?”

“Yea. Sounds like someone screaming?”

Michael rushed up to the ladies’ bathroom door, getting close enough to hear the screams behind it. He only needed to hear one to recognize the voice. Charlotte. It was as if someone had replaced the blood in his veins with ice water. That sound would haunt him for the rest of his days, he was sure of it.

He immediately went to open the door, finding it locked. However, he did not give that a second thought as he told Malcolm to call the police and ram his entire body into the door. It took two tries before it yielded to his force and weight.

Michael did not need an introduction or explanation as he took in the scene in front of him. He had never seen a picture of Shaun in his life but instinctively, he knew who he was. Charlotte’s brief descriptions of him, her actions for the last two weeks, her nightmares, her injury, all those puzzle pieces seemed to fit instantly and paint quite a clear picture.

Michael immediately grabbed the man by his collar, dragging him off his girlfriend. He got a quick glimpse of Charlotte’s bloodied and bruised form, her eyes half closed, as he pulled the man away from her. He threw him down to the floor and kicked him in the chest, a satisfying crack filling the quiet bathroom. And he did not stop at one.

Shaun barely had time to think or defend himself as Michael channeled a year’s worth of boxing training into beating the life out of him. This man who had terrorized the love of his life for years, this man who had been the source of so much strife and pain in her life, this man who had been the reason for the rage filling Michael’s body. All he saw was Charlotte’s broken body and he lost all sense of himself.

He was thankful the loud music of the party drowned out Shaun’s screams. Every punch he rained down on him felt cathartic. Every scream and yell felt like music to his ears. Though he typically believed violence could be avoided, in this case, his soul needed this more than anything. This was the only answer. Michael had never felt the desire to feel someone’s life leave their body but he felt it in that moment, strongly, fervently. And he knew, if it came to that, he would not feel an ounce of guilt about it. This man did not deserve to be among the living, not with all he had done.

He thought about every time Charlotte screamed or whimpered in her sleep; every time her big brown eyes filled with terror and panic as something triggered her; every time she thought of herself as broken, unworthy, and unlovable - these things that were the farthest from the truth but he made her believe; every scar littering her perfect form that she looked at with disgust. He thought about it all and every time his fist connected with Shaun’s skin, he felt a bit of that rage he had bottled up since he learned about Shaun release. It felt good to finally do something with it. No longer did he have to punch the punching bag in his gym pretending it was this man’s face. The object of his rage was right there and he did his worst.

Michael only stopped when a force pulled his arm back, his savage beating cut short by Malcolm.

“It’s over, it’s over.” He whispered, holding Michael’s raised arm back. “I think Shaun understands your point. The police are coming. Charlotte needs an ambulance, now.”

Michael stopped, his hand still holding Shaun up by his collar, and glanced at Charlotte who was unconscious and propped up against the bathroom wall. He almost wanted to throw up at the blood that smudged the floor by her body.

“She’s alive,” Malcolm assured him as he took in the look on Michael’s face, Michael knew it must have looked lethal. “She hit her head but she’s alright. But she needs you right now and you can’t be there if you get arrested for killing him.”

He nodded and pulled his arm out of Malcolm’s grip. He stood and pulled the man to his feet. He was not even recognizable now, covered in blood. Michael could tell his nose was broken, a few teeth had been knocked out, and he was not even sure if the man could still see with both of eyes nearly swollen shut. And despite this damage and the pleasure he felt administering it, it still - somehow - did not feel like enough. The man was still conscious and still breathing and that did not feel fair.

“I’m only gonna tell you this fuckin’ once.” Michael’s voice was low and lethal, he did not even know his voice could sound so terrifying. He did not know who this person was, this dangerous version of him he’d never needed to pull out before. “Stay. The Fuck. Away. From. Her. If I ever see you again or you ever lay a finger on her again, I swear on everything I love, I will fuckin’ kill you. I’ll make what just happened look like a scratch. And I’ll end your pathetic life. We clear?” At his silence, Michael scoffed before throwing two back to back jabs into Shaun’s ribs, the sound of more bones cracking filling the air along with a pathetic, girlish scream. “I said, are we fuckin’ clear??”

“W-we’re c…c-clear,” Shaun forced out, the words barely audible as Michael’s arm pinned him to the wall by his neck, crushing his windpipe, was the only thing keeping him from doubling over in pain.

“Good.”

Michael removed his arm, the man unceremoniously crumpling to the ground with a groan. He could not help it but he kicked the man once last time for good measure as he shook out his hand and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were caked with blood and ached but it did not matter as he rushed over to Charlotte.

He pulled her body into his arms, propping her up against his legs. His breaths were shallow and rushed as he pressed his fingers against her neck. He knew Malcolm said she was alive but it was as if he needed to prove it to himself, assure himself. He let out a strangled sigh at the pulse he felt pumping against his fingers, strong and distinct.

She’s ok, she’s ok. Just knocked out.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here. I gotchu. You’re safe, you’re safe.” he whispered as two EMTs rushed into the bathroom. Michael did not notice the small crowd that followed them, Malcolm going over to Chris who was standing at the front, his face the picture of shock and confusion.

Michael felt as if he was just going through the motions as he rode with Charlotte in the ambulance. He merely just repeated that same refrain over and over again, holding her hand as the EMTs worked around him. They assured him none of her injuries were life threatening or severe. She took a beating but she’d be fine once they treated the head injury.

They forced him to wait in the waiting room while they rushed her to the hospital, Michael calling all of her family and his to tell them what was going on. He knew this would likely make it onto the news somewhere and did not want anyone to find out about it. Her father, who lived in Baltimore, and oldest brother, who lived in DC, promised to drive up first thing in the morning, Lauren, Jackson, and Jazz were planning to be on the first flight out of LA, and her eldest sister would be on a flight from Atlanta.

He cycled through pacing and texting her family until a nurse came to get him. He was thankful, the two hours he waited seemed to move by in slow motion.

Michael absentmindedly scratched the nape of his neck as he rushed behind the polite nurse, his ears barely registering her preppy and annoying voice. Her words were nonsensical until he saw Charlotte. He barely registered them once he realized she had little information to offer him. He knew nothing she could have said would satisfy him anyway until he saw her for himself, saw the warmth in her skin, felt the blood pumping through her veins, saw her injuries without blood caked in them, making them look far worse to his eye. He had not seen her in hours and he did not want second hand accounts that she was ok, he wanted to see her for himself.

The cycle of torture he had been on for the last few hours finally ended in front of her closed door. He took a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer before walking into the room to find Charlotte, his sweet honey bee alive and conscious. He studied the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand fidgeted with the fraying edge of her blanket. He let out a strangled breath he did not realize he was holding in. He felt as if he was breathing for the first time in hours, a weight lifted off of his heart and body. The room was completely silent aside from the beeping of machines surrounding her, her eyes trained on the glittering lights of the skyline out of her window.

He examined the injuries he could see: the bandage on her forehead, the bruises already blooming on her face and neck. He imagined more had to litter the rest of her body, the areas hidden beneath blankets and a hospital gown.

“H-Honeybee…” his voice came out as a strangled whisper, his pain and fear flowing from his words like blood from an open wound. Her eyes clenched shut as she heard his voice, and heard the emotions laced throughout it.

At her silence, his hand wrapped around hers as he sat in the chair by her bed. He did not bother stopping the tears that slowly trekked down his face as he gently stroked her forehead.

“Baby…”

“I-I’m ok… r-really, Bakari,” she croaked out, her voice sounding small and broken. She avoided his eyes but he could see the clouds of guilt, shame, and embarrassment that filled hers. He knew she likely hated that he saw her like this. But it did not matter to him. He was just happy she was alright. “I-I’m o-ok.”

“No, you aren’t. Els... baby. Look at me, please," he whispered, noting the small shake of her head as she bit her lip. He could hear her silent pleas to not push. However, he needed to see her, truly see her.

“Charlotte.” His rare use of her full name did the trick, the young woman turning her head toward him.

Her eyes still did not fully meet his, but he decided it was a start. His thumb stroked her cheek, her eyes fluttering closed at the soothing gesture. Her head lulled to the side and rested in his palm. He did not say a word, he just offered her what he could tell she needed. His presence and his gentle touch that always soothed the troubled waters of her soul. However, so much of her face was bruised that it did not take long for him to graze a tender spot and cause her to wince.

“I-I a-a-m so-so sorr-sorry…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I f-…” she started to hyperventilate, her hand going to her chest as she felt the shooting pain of her sharp breaths radiating against her fractured ribs. “I-I t-tried to fight… I-I s-should’ve t-told…”

Her words became incoherent as she tried to talk through a panic attack. Michael immediately moved to the edge of the bed, hoping he could calm her down.

“Hey… hey, shhh… baby, take a deep breath for me. It’s ok, Els. You ain’t got nothing to apologize for, I promise.”

His voice was low and soothing as he tried to get her to calm down. He took a few deep breaths, encouraging her to mimic the action to slow her own breathing. “There we go… That’s good, baby. Relax, it’s ok. You’re with me and you’re safe now.”

He watched her eyes fall down to his hands, which a nurse cleaned up and bandaged for him. She sniffed.

“You saved me?” She asked quietly.

“Yea… I c-came for you.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She winced slightly as she hit a bruised area. “You always do. Thank you.”

“Always,” he whispered, his hand wiping his own tears that started to fall. He knew he could be vulnerable but part of him battled to be stronger, despite how upset and scared he was. Right now she needed to be the vulnerable one, which meant he had to be the rock.

“I-I s-suppose y-you wanna know w-what happened?” she asked quietly, knowing he likely still did not know how they ended up in this situation in the first place.

“Yea but… that conversation can wait till we get home. All that matters right now is that you’re ok.”

She did not argue with him on that point. Charlotte’s head pounded as she laid in the bed, Michael sitting quietly next to her. Neither of them said much, she just closed her eyes and focused on his touch, his hands, strong and comforting against her skin. But cautious, she could feel that caution with every caress and stroke. She thought she had lost this forever, that she would never feel the heat of his loving touch on her skin again.

A knock at the door tore their moment of solitude away from them, both of their eyes moving to find two men in dark suits standing in the doorway. They flashed their badges identifying themselves as NYPD. The back of Charlotte’s hand hastily whisked away her tears before forcing herself up into a seated position. She forced a smile on her face but she knew with the cuts and bruises, it likely did not look like one.

“Good evening. We are sorry to interrupt. I am Detective Simpson and this is Detective Zidan. Ms. Bennett, we are so sorry for the ordeal you have suffered tonight. The doctors told us you were conscious. Would you be up for talking about what happened?”

She nodded, gesturing for the two men to come farther in. “Y-You can just call me Charlotte. And yea… Um… we were at the Purple Cat lounge, c-celebrating the opening night of our broadway s-show.”

“The Lighthouse?” Detective Simpson interjected. “My wife’s a big Broadway fan… we saw it last week in previews,” he clarified. “You were phenomenal.”

“T-thank you,” she whispered. However, even that compliment could not lift her spirits right now. “Umm, we had a few drinks… two or three I guess? But I w-was tired a-and M-Michael realized I was injured so w-we decided to go home. I went to the bathroom a-and when I came out of the stall, Shaun was there. H-he locked the bathroom door and knocked me down… hit me. A-and then he started choking me.”

“Did he try anything else?” His words were vague but Charlotte and Michael understood the implication. She felt Michael stiffen beside her.

“No, no. He didn’t do anything like that.”

“And what is your relationship with Shaun Parker, the assailant?”

“We dated for about three years a few years ago? He was abusive. I-I had a restraining order against him when I lived here back then. F-filed a police report a couple times then dropped them.”

“That’s great, very helpful thank you. That’ll establish a history of violence, pattern of behavior. How’d he know about the show? Have you had contact with him since you broke up? Any idea how he might’ve gotten access to the event you all were at?”

Charlotte clenched her eyes shut. And here goes that wrecking ball, she thought to herself. She prepared her mind and heart for the inferno of rage Michael was about to experience, this time directed at her.

“H-He showed up at o-our last rehearsal b-before previews two weeks ago. H-he’s a-and investment banker or manager and w-was working with one of the producers.”

Michael’s head whipped around in her direction, shocked that her answer was not a simple no.

“What the fuck?? He’s been around for two weeks??” He approached the bed, his brow furrowed and his heart rate increasing as his frustration skyrocketed. He was seething.

Charlotte’s hands twisted in her lap as she felt his anger waft toward her.

“I… I-It was fine at first, he didn’t really say anything o-or bother me. But l-last night, one of the investors hosted a cocktail event for us a-and he approached me… and punched me,” her voice got really small as she said that part, Michael stepping away as his rage grew to unprecedented levels. “A-and then today b-before the show, he c-came by my d-dressing room to taunt me. A-and grabbed my arm, l-left a bruise. I t-told him that I’d n-never be with him a-again.”

Michael ran his hand over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me??”

“I didn’t want you to worry!”

He threw his hands up in the air, his exasperation obvious to everyone in the room. “I don’t believe this shit,” he muttered under his breath before turning back to her. “You’re in a fuckin hospital bed, Charlotte. There was clearly a reason to worry! A-and you let me go all the way to fuckin’ LA where I couldn’t do shit to help you??”

“Michael, I-I’m s-sorry, I j-”

“Charlotte, Mr. Jordan, please,” the detective interjected. “Let’s all just calm down for a second. We don’t want to take up too much of either of your time. We know this is difficult to hear and a lot to process. Mr. Jordan, can you tell us what happened when you arrived in the bathroom?”

Michael turned away from Charlotte. His mind was on information overload, his anger pulled him in 30 different directions. But he knew the detectives were right, now was not the time. And putting this man behind bars was more important than his anger.

“It had been a few minutes and she didn’t come back, I went to the bathroom and heard her screaming. I forced the door open a-and saw him choking her. I-I pulled him off a-” Michael stopped speaking, the anger of that moment flooding back.

“Yea we saw Mr. Parker’s injuries. We can piece together the rest. Well, that’s all we need for now. Your accounts align with Malcolm Roberts’, the witness, and the scene so we are good for the evening. We’ll leave you two to get some rest.” He fished his business card out of his wallet and handed it to Michael. “If you think of anything else once you’ve gotten some rest, give us a call.”

Michael stopped the men. “And what about me?” While Michael did what he did to protect Charlotte, and did not regret it, he knew his beating of Shaun would be considered overkill by anyone with eyes.

The detective shrugged. “From my assessment of Mr. Parker’s injuries, you used necessary force to subdue him. And that’s what I plan to write in our report.”

At the raised eyebrow Michael gave him, the other detective merely winked at him. “I’m a husband… If I’d walked in on what you did… let’s just say he’s lucky he got off the floor at all. Even if he wants to press charges, given the circumstances and well, your status, the DA will likely decline to move forward and we would back that up. We aren’t here to ream you up, Mr. Jordan. You will have to pay for the damages to the door at the club but that’s it.”

Michael felt relief wash over him.

“We’ll be in touch,” the detective said before turning to leave. However, he turned back and said, “Loved you both in Creed. Take care of yourselves.”

Michael pocketed the man’s card and watched as they left before turning his attention back to Charlotte.

They sat in silence for a while, Michael’s hand rubbing her arm to comfort her. She could still feel it, his anger, but he controlled it, kept it to himself. They were both two powder kegs ready to explode. Both of them were using materials as flimsy as scotch tape to hold back the avalanche of emotions that threatened to consume them.

It took a few more hours of poking and prodding before the doctors told her she could go home. She was thankful, just wanting to sleep in her own bed in Michael’s… if he was not too angry at her to deny her that.

She pushed herself out of bed, Michael handing her the clothes Malcolm had picked up and brought over for them. She started to lift the nightgown over her head but groaned lightly at the stretch needed to do so. She let it fall back down over her legs.

“Let me help.”

She bit her lip, fiddling with the gown for a moment as her eyes bounced between him and her body, before shaking her head. “Umm no, no… I got it.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I don’t need it. I got it.”

He scoffed and raised an eyebrow at her. “You really think now is the best time to lie to me again, Charlotte?”

She covered her eyes with her hand for a moment before sighing. “I j-just don’t want you to see t-the bruises… I k-know you’re mad at me. I-I don’t want to m-make it worse. A-and I don’t want them to change h-how you see me… feel about me.”

Michael’s feet came into her line of vision before he lifted her head and kissed her forehead.

"Look at me," he quietly demanded. He rarely demanded but she heard it in his voice, it was not a request she could refuse. His hands held her face, holding her gaze to his once she looked up at him. “There is nothing in this world that’ll ever stop me from wanting you, aight? These bruises are just a reminder that you survived and that’s all that matters to me. And it doesn’t matter how mad I am, I’ll never deny you what you need. And right now, you need help. So let me help you.”

It took another moment or two of coaxing but ultimately, she relented. He kissed her cheek before his hands pulled her gown over her head, the young woman wincing at the stretch in her side. Michael’s eyes trailed up her body, happy to see most of it looked fine. Her upper half though, her chest, her stomach, her neck and her face were covered in bruises that made his hand clench into a fist.

His eyes focused on the bigger one on her side, one that clearly had been there longer than the others.

“That’s where he…” he could not even say the words. At her small nod, he took a step back from her and turned away from her. His breaths were shallow and pained.

“It’s not as bad as it looks… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, the scotch tape simply could not hold his rage back any longer. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

“M-Michael… I’m s-sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.”

“I’m upset because this,” he gestured at her bruise, “is upsetting. This nigga was terrorizing you, Els. And hurting you while you let me fly across the county to sit in bullshit ass meetings when you knew you needed me here.”

“I thought I had it handled!”

“Oh so what? You’re fuckin’ Olivia Pope or some shit?”

“Not funny, Michael.”

“I aint fuckin’ laughin’ Charlotte. If this was handled, I would not be looking at your body covered in bruises and we wouldn’t be in a hospital. He could’ve killed you. If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, he would have killed you. I mean… what were you thinking??”

“I-I s-should’ve told you,” she admitted. She knew there was no excuse for lying as she had and she would not waste his time trying to come up with one. “I-I just didn’t t-think you’d understand.”

He shook his head, a strangled sigh of frustration escaping him. “Well you’re right. I don’t understand why my girlfriend, the love of my life, the woman I want to marry and build a life with, lied to me and hid something so dangerous and life threatening for weeks. You let me move all the way here to protect you, and when you needed it most, you didn’t trust me to do it. I don’t understand why you didn’t trust me.”

All she heard in his voice was his pain. Beneath his righteous anger, she understood where it stemmed from, a well of hurt and disappointment that she did not trust him with this problem.

“M-Michael,” she approached him. “I t-trust y-you with my life. I-it wasn’t a question or lack o-of trust. I w-wanted to tell you so b-bad. T-that night when you helped t-through that nightmare, when you called me the other night from LA…in my dressing room earlier. I wanted to tell you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She sighed, she turned back to the bed and sat down. Her physical body was barely standing, barely holding on.

“I dunno… I t-thought I needed to d-do it alone. It’s a-always been me d-dealing with him… I g-guess it’s just a-all I know. A-and I-I was t-tired of losing… tired o-of him t-taking everything… tired of r-running,” she admitted. “A-and I was afraid, afraid you a-and my family w-wouldn’t understand why I would w-want to stay once I knew he w-was around. A-and I was afraid you’d try to stop me. A-and worst of all, I w-was afraid if you gave me an out, I’d be a coward and take it a-and then he w-would’ve taken something else from me. So I l-lied. I lied and kept it from you b-because I knew it would force me to handle it on m-my own a-and it almost killed me. Literally a-and figuratively. B-Because I did… need you.” She let out a small sob. “I needed you so bad. J-just to be there. A-and I deprived myself o-of that and I deprived you of the chance to help me a-and I am s-so so sorry.”

Michael unfolded his arms as he listened to her. He could hear it, her regret and the sincerity of her apology. He was still angry but the roaring rapids of anger were now more like a quiet stream. Far easier to manage and put in perspective. He understood that her scars with Shaun went deeper than he could possibly understand. It was not shocking that she had defaulted to these choices. Michael sat next to her on the bed, his hand resting on her thigh.

“I know, I know. But listen to me, Charlotte.” She lifted her eyes to look at him, surprised to find the anger gone and nothing but grace and compassion remaining. “You never have to deal with anything alone again. I’m here and whether I agree with your decisions or not, I’ll always support you and help you. I promise you that. But you gotta come to me from now on, Charlotte. This? The lying, the secrets, putting your life in danger. You can never do this again. When I saw you, I thought you were…” he stopped himself and let out a shaky breath. “You can’t scare me like this ever again. Do you understand me?”

“Never. I promise. I’m so so sorry, baby.”

He nodded. “I know you are. It’s ok. Let’s get you home and in bed, aight?” Michael still felt guilty, ashamed that he was across the country instead of protecting her. He had known something was off and still left and that would haunt him for a while. But holding her choice against her because he felt ashamed would not help either of them. He trusted that she understood him and would come to him if she ever needed help again and that would have to be enough.

***

“How are you feeling?” Charlotte’s dad asked as they settled around the living room.

Charlotte was tucked into Michael’s side as she talked with her family. She had not really left his side since they left the hospital that morning. And he kept his hands somewhere on her the entire time. She knew they were both clinging to each other, unsurprising given what all had transpired.

She was not surprised but still slightly put out to find her entire family waiting in their apartment when they finally got home. She had not slept well in weeks and had not gotten more than an hour or two in the last 48 hours. She just wanted to curl up into Michael’s chest and sleep for days. Instead, she was on hour four of her family fawning over her. It was sweet and she understood why but she had never been less excited to see them in her life. Emotionally, she was barely holding it together and she was ready to fall but instead she was forced to hold on a bit longer, remaining upbeat so her family knew she was alright.

“I’m in some pain b-but none of it is super bad. Doc said I c-could be back on stage in a week as long as this heals alright,” she answered, pointing to the bandage on her head. Her voice signaled her hopefulness that that would be the case.

“That fast?” Tiffany, her eldest sister, asked from the kitchen.

Charlotte nodded. “Yea, I was kind of surprised too. But Chris canceled a couple shows, just till Tuesday so I won’t even miss a full week. The optics of his lead almost dying at the after party weren’t the best,” she admitted. She glanced up at Michael. “Can you make sure we send him some flowers and a bottle of wine? There’s a Merlot he loves that I can try to find. As an apology. I know that’s not how he saw his opening night going either.”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

Charlotte smiled, trying to keep the mood positive as everyone’s faces still looked grim every time they looked at her. “Well in a sort of silver lining from last night, the show went really well? Reviews came out a-and Michael read them on the way home. They are so amazing. I can’t wait for y’all to come back so you can see it.”

“Oh that’s great!” Allen offered.

“As if there was even a doubt about -” CJ started to say before Jackson cut him off.

“Are you fuckin’ serious right now?” Jackson blurted out, his anger getting the better of him. Charlotte could tell he was more upset than the rest of her family as he had been virtually silent since they arrived. But she knew why. “Are we really gonna talk about that damn musical like she didn’t fuckin’ almost die to be in it?”

“Baby…” Lauren chastised him. She offered Charlotte and Michael an apologetic glance that told them she tried to head off this outburst before they arrived. “We said we were gonna talk about this later.”

“Nah, fuck that!” Jackson stood up and all the anger in him seemed to explode. “What the hell is wrong with you?? How could you be so reckless? So fuckin’ stupid to let him do this shit to you again?? What the fuck, Charlie?”

Charlotte knew her brother did not mean his words, knew he was just angry. However, in such a fragile state, she could not help the way her body folded into Michael’s at Jackson’s tone and his words. She knew she deserved it. She had kept secrets and lied to her family as much as she did Michael. She knew what she put them through was wrong.

Michael immediately stood up in front of her, using his body as a protective shield from her brother’s harsh tone. He understood Jackson’s anger, he really did. But he had made peace with Charlotte’s choices and accepted her apology. And hours removed from the shock of everything, he regretted piling onto her pain in the hospital by blowing up at her. It was the wrong time to have that conversation. And so was this. He refused to allow anyone else to do it either. She had been knocked down enough in the last 24 hours, the last thing she needed was to get it from the people she loved too.

“Aight brah. Cool it. She knows she messed up but regardless, what happened last night wasn’t her fault. You need to take a breath and calm down.”

“Like hell it isn’t. She knew what he was capable of! And no disrespect but I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with my sister. In case you forgot, I’m the one that pieced her back together after that nigga fucked her up the first time. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t even look like that if you had been here protecting her instead of out in fuckin’ LA.”

“Aww shit,” Jazz muttered as Michael took a menacing step toward Jackson, his words clearly striking a sore spot.

There was barely any space for God between the two men as they stood off, Michael ready to throw hands with anyone who stepped at Charlotte the wrong way, present company included. The other men in the room rose from their seats as well, the tension between the two men palpable.

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re tryna do. I’m the one takin’ care of her now. And I’m tellin’ you to back the fuck up and calm the fuck down. Take another step toward her or raise your voice at her in my house again and I won’t be tellin’ you shit.”

“Alright, enough, enough.” Charlotte called out. She grunted in pain as she pushed herself up from the couch and made her way through the sea of testosterone to her brother and boyfriend. “Let’s all just calm down and sit down. N-No one, least of all me, has the energy to hear either of you argue about who’s more protective.” She placed a gentle hand on Michael’s chest to nonverbally let him know she was fine. He took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. However, when Charlotte stepped in front of him, his hand still went to rest on her hip as if he would need to move her behind him again. He was on edge, everyone understood it.

She turned and faced her brother. “You’re right. What I did was reckless and it was dumb. But I know you, Jackson. Look me in my eyes and tell me if you knew what was going on, you wouldn’t have flown here and made it your mission to drag me back to LA with you?”

Jackson scoffed. “Of course I fuckin’ would’ve. Because I’m the one that nursed you back to health when you left him, the one who woke up to you screaming night after night for months. Every good day, every bad day, every horrible day. I was there. I saw what he did to you, how he destroyed you. And I never wanted to see you go through that again. But I can’t believe I would’ve even had to convince you. The fact that you weren’t on the first flight home after you saw him is fuckin’ insane, Charlie. It makes me question your judgment entirely.”

“I know I wouldn’t be standing here without you, Jackson. Y-You and Lauren saved my life. A-and I am sorry for the lying and the secrets. Truly. I-If I could go back and do it differently, I w-would have told all of you. But even though I regret that, I still would’ve stayed here and done this show even if I knew this would be the outcome.” At her family’s shocked expression, she sighed. “Question my judgement, call me stupid, I don’t care. You helped me heal but I put myself back together piece by piece and I didn’t do that to live in fear of him for the rest of my life. I did it so I could live the life I want. So I could build the life I want, so I could be free. And I don’t regret staying here to fight for that life. I almost died and it was terrifying for me a-and I can only imagine how it felt for you all for the second time. And I’m truly sorry for that. But it was my choice. And I’m not gonna apologize for fighting for what I want, for what my soul needs. You don’t have to like that decision but you do have to respect it.”

“Jackson… she’s right,” her dad, Christian Sr, interjected. “Charlie has always been smart and driven. I wish there’d been another way but I understand. I’m just glad you’re ok, squirt.” Her dad wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Same, sis. But can this be the last time you almost die on us, please? It’s getting kinda old,” Tiffany joked under her breath, CJ hitting her on the arm.

Charlotte let out a belly laugh that made her ribs ache. “Y-Yea, I can do that. I’m down to 6 or 7 lives now anyway. I should preserve them. I’m sorry for scaring everyone. Seriously.” She glanced at her brother who had now gone silent. “Can you forgive me, J? Please?”

He pulled her into a hug, his lips pressed into the top of her head. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Charlie,” he warned.

“I promise.”

“Ok, let’s all go check into our hotels and give Michael and Charlie some time alone. She needs rest. We can come back tomorrow,” Lauren remarked, shoo-ing everyone toward the door.

Charlotte mouthed thank you to her before wrapping her in a hug. If there was one person who was always a ride or die for her, it was Lauren. She never failed. Michael immediately led Charlotte into their room as soon as everyone filed out and started to help her get ready to finally rest.

“I-I think I want to shower first?”

“Whatever you want, baby. Need help?”

She shook her head. She had not been able to detach herself from Michael since they got home. But she realized after her family’s visit that she needed at least a moment of solitude, a few moments to process the last 48 hours alone. “No, I don’t think so. But I’ll leave the door open just in case.”

Michael settled into bed himself, grabbing his phone to check his email and text messages. It took him a while to make his way through all of them. He had ignored nearly every notification in his phone since he got back from LA. He clicked on one, a link to CNN from Steelo.

He wondered if he should even press play on the video but he decided to.

“And now, breaking news from Broadway. Last night, after the opening night performance of The Lighthouse, the musical’s star, Charlotte Bennett was attacked at the show’s afterparty at a nightclub in the Upper West Side. Bennett, a rising star most known for her role in the recent blockbuster hit Creed, recently returned to Broadway after a two year absence. The assailant, Shaun Parker of New York, was apprehended and is in police custody. NYPD held a press conference late this morning where they announced the state would be pursuing assault and attempted murder charges against the 30 year old investment banker. NYPD also shared that Bennett’s boyfriend, actor and star Michael B. Jordan, also from Creed, was also involved in the altercation, restraining Parker until police arrived.”

“NYPD found that there was a history of domestic violence between Parker and Bennett, Bennett having filed a restraining order and several police reports during their relationship. Lead detectives are still determining Parker’s motivation for attacking Bennett but evidence suggests it was in retaliation for rejecting his advances. Parker’s lawyers were not available for comment.”

“Guess that cat’s out of the bag,” he heard Charlotte mumble. Her body was wrapped in a towel, leaning against the door. He had been so wrapped up in the story that he had not even seen her exit the shower. He quickly closed the link and threw his phone down on the bed. She looked better to him, the light and life returning to her skin. She still looked dead on her feet but he knew only time in bed would fix that. He watched as she chewed on the side of her lip.

“I guess… I knew it’d make the news a-and people would find out. Now everyone’s gonna know how dumb I was, every stupid mistake I made.”

“Or… everyone’s gonna know you survived something awful and applaud you for it,” Michael offered as he grabbed clothes for her to change into and handed them to her.

She used his arms for balance as she stepped into a pair of his Calvin Klein briefs and he helped her pull the sweater over her body. She tried to control the grimaces and small expressions of pain but it proved difficult.

“Somehow I doubt that,” she whispered as he helped her get situated in bed. She let out a deep content sigh of relief at finally being able to relax. She looked at him for a moment and pulled on his arm to bring him close to her. “Thank you for taking care of me and for saving my life… a-and loving me.”

He shook his head. “You don’t ever have to thank me for any of that.” He pecked her on the lips.

However, as he leaned back, her hands cupped his face to stop him. Her thumb rubbed the stumble of his beard as she studied him. After a moment or two, she kissed him again and this time, they did not stop. Michael could feel it, all the pain she felt, her desperation and need as she clung to his body as if he would disappear if she let him go. However, when her hands naturally drifted to the waistband of his sweats to take it to the next level, he wrapped his hands around them to stop her. As much as his body responded to hers, he knew he could not allow this moment to go too far.

His hesitation had nothing to do with a lack of desire, his straining manhood was the proof of that. However, given how Shaun treated her during sex, Michael took great care in how he did. He vowed to ensure she never felt like she was merely a plaything or a warm body for his use. And while, after the day they had and almost losing her, he would love to bury himself inside her, he knew he could not do it even if she wanted it. Even if she chose to ignore it, Michael knew she was merely minutes away from falling apart and this would not help her hold it together.

However, the pained and disappointed look in her eyes almost made him question that resolve. And it broke his heart.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“You were almost murdered less than 24 hours ago. You’re injured and in pain. I can’t fuck you like that didn’t happen. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“But I wasn’t. And I appreciate you being a gentleman but I’m fine, I promise.” She captured his lips again.

“I-It’s not about being a gentleman. It’s about knowing you and what you need and this ain’t it.”

“ I need you,” she whispered back, her forehead resting against his. “Bakari, please. Don’t make me beg you. Please.” She tried to stop her voice from breaking, she knew that would not help convince him she was ok enough to do this. But she could not describe how desperate she was to feel something other than her current pain.

And now, his refusal only made her feel worse. This was utterly foreign to her. There had never been a time where Michael denied her or pumped the brakes. She had not even considered this outcome, figuring he would be ready to go if she was. But she supposed she could not blame him. Her bruised body was far from attractive.

He’s angry and disgusted by you, a voice in her head rang out loudly.

His eyes clenched shut as he struggled to stay steadfast in his convictions. But the need in her voice tested every fiber of his being. That voice, so vulnerable, so clearly desperate for him, made him want to relent. But he couldn’t.

“The last 48 hours have been hell. I see it in your eyes, you’re barely… you’re barely holding it together, love. You need rest and maybe you need me but I don’t think sex is what either of us need right now. And… whether you realize it or not, I imagine the things he did to you, however long ago, are gonna come back up. I don’t want to trigger any…” his words failed as she tore herself from his arms and turned on her side to face away from him in frustration.

“I-I k-knew this would happen,” she whispered to herself. “The bruises… s-seeing what he did. I d-disgust you.”

“That’s not it! Look at me. You have never and will never disgust me. I don’t even want to hear you say that shit. I always want you. But your physical and mental health is more important to me than anything else and that means we can’t do this.”

“I just want…” she whispered, unable to put her desires into words. It was not even a physical desire she craved. She just wanted to keep moving. She just knew if she laid here and sat in the stillness with him, the dam would break and she would fall apart. And she just was not ready to feel the extent of all of this yet. And she hated that Michael knew that, picked up on that so quickly. “I’m fine, Bakari.”

“I think you just want to feel something else… I think if we do this, it’ll make you feel like you’re fine when you aren’t. I know it’s hard for you to be vulnerable. But you got me, I’m here and you can fall apart, scream, cry… whatever. You can be not fine. You got me and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes went to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. “I am fine, Bakari.” She let out a groan of frustration at his silence, knowing he did not believe her. She could not tell who she was trying to convince more. Him or herself. “I’m fine.”

His hand wiped a tear that fell from her eyes as she stammered. “I promise you… I’m fine. I’m… fine,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all, the simple words being much more difficult to say. “I’m… f-” the words died in her throat as she started to sob.

“Come here.” He enveloped her in his arms as she broke down into tears, her sobs filling their bedroom. “You’re gonna be ok, Els. I promise. I gotchu and you’re safe. I promise.”

He moved onto the bed to better cradle her into his side, her face buried in his chest. They stayed like that all night, until she cried herself asleep, finally releasing weeks of pent up pain and fear. Michael watched her for most of the night, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest next to him. Every so often, she woke up whimpering softly, nightmares plaguing her sleep. And he would just hold her again and whisper the same refrain in her ears until she calmed down again. She was safe and he'd never let her feel this pain again. And he would make it his life’s mission to ensure he kept that promise.

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh @passionxwrites @gopaperless

A/N: First, if you made it through this long sad chapter, THANK YOU! I hope the savage beating of that nigga was worth it LOL If you are wondering what I envisioned, if you watched Game of Thrones, think about when Jon beat the hell outta Ramsey after Battle of the Bastards lol that sort of visceral rage and Ramsey looked better than Shaun in my mind haha… I promise y'all, our story is on an upswing from here on out lol 90% fluff from now on, I promise!

Drop a comment and let me know what you think/let me know if you want to be tagged! How do you think Bakari and Els are gonna recover from all this?

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #black panther #adonis creed #michael b jordan fanfic #creed iii

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