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salem-s · 18 days ago

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04 ── TEMPORARY TRUCE ── RAFE CAMERON (18+)

SYNOPSIS you absolutely can't stand your roommate's brother, and Rafe can't not take an opportunity to poke fun at you every chance he gets. but when you both accidentally have a jello shot infused with molly, you decide to have a temporary truce and enjoy the night. SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

WARNINGS language, drug usage (molly), fluff, nudity and suggestive content, mentions of an open wound and blood, getting staples in the head (ooooouch), incorrect medical procedures (yall I am not a doctor). 18+ mdni. please i am not condoning drug use don't take after these idiots for the love of god.

WORD COUNT 11.6k. will there ever be peace.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER nobody new by the marías

The first thing Rafe hears when he re-enters the apartment — hands cupping an unfathomable amount of condoms — is a concerning thud.

It isn't a thud that emulates a shampoo bottle knocking over or even on the off chance that the shower curtain somehow clattered to the floor. It isn't even losing your balance and slamming a palm into the wall to steady yourself kind of noise.

No. It was louder than that. Chaotic. A collapse.

He freezes by the doorway, narrowing his focus to try and hear if anything follows. Usually a fallen object or loud bang in the shower is soon followed by an “I’m okay!” or “Fuck!” that indicates that the sound is an accident, nothing to worry about, a simple miscalculation of a thrown elbow or hip knocking something over.

But nothing follows in the wake.

Rafe says your voice loudly, voice pitching up at the end as he waits for a response, waits for some sort of affirmation that he did not just hear what he thinks he heard.

When silence follows, his feet are moving. Fast.

He reached the bathroom door, wincing at the steam engulfing the bathroom. Blinking once, twice, he says your name again, in warning.

There it is: your voice low and groaning. "Ow."

His heart skips. “Baby, I’m coming in, okay?”

At his words, you give no further indication of if you hear him or not, but frankly, Rafe isn't waiting for anything else before he's carelessly tossing the handful of condoms into the corner and ripping the curtain open, eyes widening and breath catching at the very concerning sight in front of him.

You attempt to sit up on the shower floor, one hand on the ground and the other cradling the front crown of your hand, blood pooling between your fingertips and dripping down the front of your face like a fucking murder scene. You blink blearily, as if you're regaining vision, brows furrowed as your movements are sluggish. There's no doubt you're confused, and he's not even sure if you can see him right now.

Rafe's wasting no time turning the faucet off, quickly fumbling to yank two towels off the rack next to him. He loosely covers one over your body — knowing that you'd probably be significantly mortified if this is the first time he's seeing you naked — and the other pressing firmly onto the wound, gently removing your hand coated in blood down into your lap.

Although, you don't register why he's removing your hand from the wound as you distortedly paw at the towel on your head, attempting to regain some semblance of control over the matter even though you can't really see. You can only make out the figure kneeling outside the tub, looming over you, pressing the towel on your head that feels like a boulder.

"Easy." You hear, and your gut sinks when you realize it's Rafe. "It's alright, you're alright."

His voice sounds like it's underwater, and the ringing in your ears only gets louder the more your eyes blink out the blurriness and begin to pointillize on your surroundings. To ground yourself to reality, your hand curls around his wrist, nearly jolting when you feel the thrumming of his pulse, the irregular rhythm contrasting your own that's too slow, catching up to the speed of things.

The spot on your head throbs in an electrocuting way, however it's drastically unlike the airy, cloud nine type of jolt that you were feeling earlier, but more stabbing, as if lighting is striking over and over and over again in the same area.

When your vision slowly starts to come to, all you can fixate on is the angry, blaring red covering your hand, your arm, the towel loosely covering your body. You wince, panic spiking as you suck in a particularly harsh breath, grabbing his wrist a fraction tighter at the revelation of it all. You're bleeding. A lot.

Then your eyes find Rafe's, who you realize has been talking the entire time.

The ringing in your ears is slowly starting to dissipate as you focus on the way his mouth is moving, trying to decipher the words as you stare very intently. You blink and furrow your brows, the confusion gradually disappearing when you can start making out some of his words.

"-et you up, do you think you can stand for me?"

"Stand?" You murmur back, and you're not even sure if that's what you said as it comes out like an incoherent babble.

But Rafe nods slowly yet firmly nonetheless. "Yes, Star. I'm going to help you stand up. Can you hold this towel against your head?"

You blink slowly once, twice, before whispering what you think resembles a yes, hands pawing up to the towel to press firmly against the wound. Wincing at the contact, you watch as he retracts his hand, hooking that arm behind your back while his other snakes under your bent knees. The touch against your bare skin is a thousand pin pricks accupunturing your nerves, but it doesn't beat the pain throbbing in your head.

Without warning or even a countdown, Rafe is suddenly griiiiipping you tight and hoisting you up into a bridal's carry. The towel that was thrown over your body is bunched around your middle, but that's nearly your concern as you press the head towel against your wound. You shut your eyes, feeling him maneuver out of the bathroom and into your bedroom across the hall.

The contact of your bare ass against your bedspread makes you flinch at the coldness, but Rafe pays no mind to your indifference to the temperature change, instead gently tapping your thighs to get you to meekly open your eyes to look at him.

He's kneeling in front of you, as his gaze darts between your eyes and holds such a seriousness that you've only seen once from him, when you fell and dislocated your shoulder that Halloween and he was there to talk you down. The look should be comical: his brows pinched in worry, eyes glossed with concern, a permanent down-tick in his lips.

"Keep holding the towel, baby," he says gently. "I'm going to put some clothes on you, and then we're leaving, okay?"

Frankly, you don't really register the depth of his words yet nod anyway. You obey as you press the towel firmly on your wound, frowning at the pain and frowning at the way he's frowning at your wince. Yet the sight doesn't last for long because suddenly he's no longer in front of you, instead darting across the room to precariously open drawers. He plucks out a pair of underwear, shorts, a tank, and a zip up hoodie from your closet.

It's almost a relief when he's back kneeling in front of you, starting with the loose tank that he slips up your body from the ankles up, soon hooking under your arms and covering your chest. He makes sure your arms go in one at the time so one hand is always pressed firmly on the towel, which is something you hadn't really noticed he accounted for. Next, he's hooking the underwear under your ankles and shimmying them up your body. Your shorts come after. And the final touch is your zip up snaking up your arms and the flip flops slipping on your feet.

"Good girl," he says quietly, your name following on his lips just after. "We're gonna go now and get you fixed up."

You barely register that Rafe's picking you up again, but you frankly don't seem to mind as you clutch the towel tighter, burying your face in the crevice of his neck as you slowly shut your eyes. His fast pace movement is making you pretty dizzy, so all you can really do is try and focus on his voice spewing out sweet nothings as if it's his day job, focus on his alluring scent, focus on the fact that he's moving so damn fast that he could be supersonic and you'd have no idea.

The bright fluorescent lights are what cause you to blink your eyes open.

The cool-aired three block walk (more like sprint) helped you regain a semblance of your consciousness back, no longer feeling as dizzy as you were before as you start to hear everything normally again. No more ringing. No more underwater voices. No more lulling in and out of distorted babbling.

You're feeling a bit like yourself again. And you wish that you didn't because you're fucking mortified.

The ER is, thankfully, not busy and you're able to be seen right away by an older doctor whose name, honestly, escapes you as she asks you questions on what occurred. Her aide, a young medical student, pipes in occasionally. You feel pretty stupid stumbling over your words, not because of the dizziness that's no longer there or the ridiculously fluffy pink towel you're holding against your head.

No, it's the fact that Rafe Cameron is sitting to your right, gripping your hand like a life-line and answering the doctor's questions like it's a matter of life and death.

Everything you're unable to answer, he's swooping in like some modern-day Superman to fill in the blanks. You were lightheaded, you hit your head on the faucet when you passed out, and apparently you were bleeding and out of it when he arrived. All the parts that he recounts on his side of the story has your face flushing unprecedentedly hot. Such a fucking mood-killer.

You feel like an idiot, especially when the doctor asks you to remove the towel so she can inspect the damage, and everything feels like a million stabbing pains as her hands feel around the crown of your head. You feel even more like an idiot when you squeeze his hand out of comfort, perhaps a little too harshly, but he doesn't even flinch, doesn't complain, and instead gives you one, two, three light squeezes back.

"Ah, yup," she confirms cooly, inspecting the wound as if she's searching for head lice. "You're gonna need staples. Three, maximum."

Her fingers leave your wound and you nearly sight in relief, taking the temporary gauze she handed you to put back on the spot in the meantime. You blink stupidly at her, panic bubbling at the thought of literal stitches in your head from a freak accident. The underwater sense comes back to your hearing, and you don't catch a lick of what she says as you watch her momentarily leave the room, her aide following.

Your gaze lingers on the door for a moment too long, sucking in a breath at the realization of what they're about to do. Staring blankly at the bloodied pink towel in your lap, your mind spirals.

Are they going to drug you up? If they are, are you supposed to tell them you're currently tripping on an ecstacy drug that surely can't be FDA approved since your friend cooked it up in your apartment bathroom three blocks over? Is the process going to fuck up your hair? Is it going to hurt? Can you shower with them in? Will you have to sleep on your non-designated side for months after? Can you wear hats? Is it going to hurt? Are you concussed? Is the sudden dizziness normal? Is it going to hurt? Is it going to hurt? Is it going to hurt?

"Hey." You hear Rafe. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you peer over at him.

You can't imagine you're looking anything stable right now with your wide, panicked eyes, dried blood sticking uncomfortably on your face, hand nearly shaking in his. The implication nearly makes you laugh, because this is probably the least attractive thing that could've happened at the worst possible timing. You figure that's one quick way on how to lose a hard-on.

"You're going to be fine, Star," Rafe reassures gently, blue eyes swimming with such warmth and affirmation that it nearly takes your breath away. "Took it like a champ."

You don't smile. "Is it going to hurt?"

The waver in your tone makes you want to groan.

Especially when his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, holding you delicate and fragile as he skims a comforting thumb over your cheekbone. You have half a mind to tell him off, that his hands will get dirty, but truth be told, his touch is closest thing you'll get to comfort, to grounding yourself, so you let him. You let him hold you. You let him indulge on what he's been thinking about for forever.

"It's gonna be a few pinches," he says simply, "then it'll be over."

You frown, especially when he brushes a stray tear from the corner of your eye that you didn't know you had. "Promise?"

Rafe's answer is immediate. "Yes, baby."

Of course this had to happen. Of course you had to ruin this man's ten month long dream because you simply got too impatient. Of course he's the one who found you hurt, again, and had to dress-

Then, your eyes widen for the umpteenth time, heart lurching to your throat at the implication of how your clothes came to be on your body. Obviously, you didn't process it while it was happening because you clearly had bigger things to worry about. But now, as you sit here in front of him, dressed in clothing you did not put on yourself, you can't help but reel in embarrassment.

"Oh my god." You squeeze your eyes shut. "You totally saw me naked."

Your humiliation only grows when he boyishly laughs, the pleasant noise being a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Overlapped with his laughter is the sound of you groaning as you try to rip your hand away from his in a feeble attempt to save your dignity, to not have to hold onto him like a lifeline and cover your face to mask your fucking horrid mortification.

But he doesn't allow you to. Instead, he grips your hand tighter.

"Nope," he says through gleeful laughter. "I didn't even see anything, baby."

You refuse to open your eyes. "You're actually lying."

Rafe only scoffs a laugh, and you can only imagine the giant grin on his face that only forms to your detriment. "Scouts honor."

"We've established you're not a boy scout."

"Star."

"Your word means nothing."

He dramatically gasps. "Nothing?"

"Rafe."

He only responds with your name in a teasing tone, as if he's attempting the world record for how many times he can push your buttons in the span of twenty four hours. And, so far, he's close to — if not already — breaking the record. He is doing it more than ever now that you gave in, you reciprocated feelings you didn't even know that you had, he's had this gleam in his eye that makes him out to look like the happiest person on earth.

You don't know if that makes you want to puke or kiss him again.

Blinking an eye open slowly, your gaze finds his and you wished that you hadn't even taken the leap of faith, because he's staring at you with such softness that it makes your heart lurch. It also doesn't help that he's trying (and failing) to suppress a grin. But not the kind of grin that usually appears when he's teasing you or relishing in your embarrassment, but rather a genuine one.

Because now it's all in the open. He's said his piece, told you about his nearly year-long feelings for you in a way no one has ever liked you before. And you — wordlessly — said your own piece, kissing him as if your life depended on it and craving more and more of him with every second that passes. Not only craving his taste, but simply Rafe. All of him. Body and mind and soul.

That realization crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he says after a moment, softer than you've ever heard him speak. "But you are very, very beautiful."

Ignoring the way your heart practically drops to your gut, you suck in a harsh breath as the air momentarily leaves your lungs. You look for any shroud of doubt, any sliver of teasing in his eyes, but your search comes up short. His bright blues simply stare at you, wait for you to process his words. He's not expecting anything in return, especially when he's been practicing the art of patience in a way he never has. For you.

Your eyes dry up after not blinking for what feels like forever. Blinking once, twice, you're overwhelmed with emotion and stare down at your conjoined hands, attempting to remain stoic but giving away your indifference with your sheepish smile. You try and rack your brain on if anyone has ever said something like that to you before.

"I knew you looked," is all you can say.

Rafe snorts, rubbing an absentminded thumb over your skin. "I'm sorry, baby. Had to dress you."

You hum distantly, mind running amiss as you recount the evening through fragmented memories. All you can really remember is the sheer excitement of getting with him, the anticipation of being with him in a way you never thought you could have him, the realization that he's wanted you for so long. The smile slowly falters from your lips as guilt bubbles up in your chest, avoiding his eyes and settling on his comforting gesture.

"I'm sorry."

You can already imagine the frown on his face at your words.

"What?" His tone is incredulous. "Why are you apologizing?"

Granted, you feel a little stupid having the urge to apologize for everything and nothing at the same time.

You're sitting criss cross in a hospital bed, holding gauze to an open head wound while the guy you've been loathing (loose term) for a year is holding your hand with such delicacy that it makes your heart lurch. You're adorned in clothes that he put on you because you were too out of it to even form a cohesive thought, that being the first time he saw you naked, nonetheless, even though you were right about to shower together and probably do much, much more.

"I definitely killed the mood," you mumble sheepishly, especially when you see his lips twitch in your peripheral. "I didn't... There wasn't... I didn't mean to, like, ruin the night."

Your words are mumble-jumble, you both know it. Although your pathetic excuse at an apology seems to fall upon deaf ears, because he grips your hand a fraction tighter and leans forward in the dingy hospital chair that creaks if you do so much as twitch, entering your line of sight so that you're forced to look at him.

And you do.

There's nothing irritated or angry in his expression. Instead, his eyes glisten with amusement, as if he's containing a million things to say and refraining from preening with joy. This whole thing must feel like one big dream to him, you realize, because now he's (partially) got you right where he's wanted you for so long.

"Star, I've been waiting for you for almost a year," he muses low. "I think I can handle a few more days."

The first part of his sentence hits you so blindly that you barely register the second half.

"Wait, days?" You ask, sitting up a fraction to emphasize your confusion. "Why days? We're not..? When we get home? We're not gonna..?"

You stop your incoherent fumbling at his wide grin, shaking his head at you almost in disbelief that you're expecting anything after what you've just endured. For fuck's sake, you passed out in the shower and cracked your head open, and you're still thinking about fucking him? Surely the dizziness has also made you delusional. But he actually can't get enough of you.

Rafe says your name so ardently. "You have a mild concussion and you're about to get staples in your head. We are not fucking when we get back."

You frown. "We're not?"

"No, baby."

"But..." Your words escape you. "We're not?"

Rafe laughs, clearly amused by your sudden infatuation with him. "When you're better, absolutely."

You reek of desperation. "But I'm better now."

"Star."

"What?"

All he can do is shake his head, beaming at you with such delight that you don't think you've ever seen him smile like this at anyone, let alone in general. He looks so pretty that it makes your heart hurt, thumping uncomfortably in your ribcage. Has he always been this pretty? Surely he hasn't, right? You would've noticed before?

"You're killing me," he murmurs low and amused, almost to himself.

You're about to defend the case further, states your reasons and present your wants and desires as much as you possibly can to change his mind, but the doctor and her aide come back into the room with all the necessary equipment.

"Okay!" She chirps to almost cheer you on. "Ready?"

And that shuts you up almost immediately.

The staples aren't all that bad.

Your dislocated shoulder hurt way more, so you've endured a pain much worse than the staples. Not saying they were pleasant, because, frankly, they weren't. The wound was cleaned, the aide practically held your head together while the doctor did the procedure, and you tried really hard to sit through it like a champ.

Did you cuss? Absolutely. Did you squeeze Rafe's hand so tight that you felt a few bones cracked? Yes, indeed. Did he complain about it? Not in the slightest.

He was great, even. Rafe held your hand the entire time and kept you updated on what was going on: "Alright, Star. First one's done, two more to go, yeah?"

When the last one was finally in, he murmured a quiet, "Good girl" that had your head spinning. You blame the sensation on the literal staples in your head.

Once you're discharged, you and Rafe are walking side by side out of the ER, not without his hand pressing against the small of your back. You aren't sure if the gesture is done out of stability so that you don't pass out on him once again, or just out of sheer possessiveness, but either way you are not complaining about the contact and instead revel in it. At your eased demeanor, he pulls you a fraction closer.

Glimpsing at the time on the clock before leaving, you realize you've both been rolling for about four hours.

The numbers run fresh in your brain. Has it really been that long? Have you really been on your little escapade with him for four hours?

It's felt like eternity yet minutes with him, stretched and pulled thin like the tide. You couldn't believe that, at first, you thought it would be a shit show that you were going through this experience with Rafe Cameron, of all people. But he's proven to you that he cares about you more than he lets on.

Or apparently he does let it on? Because everyone knew of his feelings but you.

"I can hear you thinking."

Rafe's voice lulls you from your restless brain as you slowly stride on the sidewalk, only a block away from your apartment now. It's well into the night: there's some drunken laughter a few blocks away and the distant rumbling of the nearby bar, yet other than that, it's pretty quiet around you. But all you can really focus on is the smell of cologne, his searing hot hand on your back, how his baritone voice seems to echo off the alleyways.

"I just..." You try and find the right words. "Thanks..? For, like, carrying me and all. And for...not letting me bleed out?"

You hate how fucking stupid you sound, and nearly wince at your poor attempt to genuinely thank him for all that he's done for you in the span of a few hours.

He whistles low. "You've gotta stop scarin' me like this, Star. First the shoulder, now the head."

You groan.

"I'm gonna have to smother you in bubble wrap," he says, half joking half serious.

Without even realizing it, you paw at his arm around your back and remove his palm from the base of your spine, interlocking your fingers together in a tooth rotting gesture that nearly makes you puke, especially when he preens amusingly down at you. You do your best to stare straight forward and not give into your peripheral where he's staring right at you. You also try and ignore how fucking nice it feels to be holding his hand, how it grounds you, how it's as though his palm is molded to yours.

Not that you'd ever tell him any of this, though, because then you'll never hear the end of it.

"You're insufferable," is all you can manage.

Rafe hums. "You holding my hand says otherwise."

You only shake your head, scoffing and not trusting your words.

Yet you don't rip your hand away.

Not when you finish the last block of your walk. Not when you enter your building. Not when you make it to your apartment door that he didn't even lock on the hurried way out. Not in a million years, now that you know what it feels like.

Although you pause in front of your bedroom door, darting your gaze between it and the bathroom. You wince, seeing spots of blood in the shower and also remembering the whole reason you wanted to shower in the first place.

"I still..." You trail off. "We didn't even-"

"It's alright," Rafe says, guiding you into the bathroom and sitting you down on the closed toilet seat. "We'll still clean up, okay?"

You hate how understanding he's being, how patient he has been throughout the entire night. Starting with your borderline panic attack when you took the jello-shot to now, practically coddling you and still doting on you when he's done so much for you in the past couple of hours. He's been with you in a way no one else has before, cared for you in a sense that has your stomach churning.

As you watch him intently wash away and scrub down the tub from the prior events, you can't help but feel partially guilty that he's been putting all this work in to not even get lucky tonight. Here he is: on his knees cleaning because you want to use the tub, because you refuse to get into bed without it, because you asked for it.

"Rafe," you say quietly as he finishes getting the blood out with spray, "you don't have to do any of this."

He turns on the faucet, letting the warm water gradually fill up the now-clean tub.

Then, he turns around to face you, eyes shamelessly raking up and down your frame. Rafe takes you in, drinking up your sheepish expression and tired gaze as if he has all the time in the world to do so, as if he's admiring a portrait or looking out onto the skyline.

There's a few moments of this, of him simply staring until you feel a bit shifty under his gaze. You assume this isn't the first time he's kept his eyes on you for a little too long, but this is the first time you're really noticing, taking note of how he always is looking at you in some sort of capacity. Your eyes always left his first, always peering away to the next person or your nails or the soda can on the counter, but you could always feel his eyes still on you.

But now, since you've reciprocated his feelings without even knowing you had them in the first place, your gaze stays on him. You don't shy away from it, even if you squirm a little with the intensity of his bright blues taking in the smoothness of your skin, your cheekbones, the column of your neck.

After what feels like ages, Rafe finally moves, kneeling between your knees and placing his calloused palms on your bare thighs as if they were made to stay there. He skims his hands gently up and down your smooth skin, the contact nearly making you jolt with unfamiliarity yet nostalgia.

Is this really what you've been missing? All those times you physically pushed him away, you were missing out on the warmth yet fire of his touch?

And he doesn't look like he's letting go anytime soon, holding you in place in such a way that makes your spine rattle. Rafe peers up at you as if what he did, what he's been doing for you, is completely casual.

"I know." He shrugs nonchalantly. "I want to."

He wants to.

He wants to clean the tub for you at nearly two in the morning. He wants to wait days until you're better to finally sleep with you, even though he's been waiting for you like an uncharacteristic gentleman. He wants to touch you with every opportunity he has to make up for lost time, to make up for all the times you pushed him away before you really got to understand how nice it is to be touched by him.

He wants to.

You don't have the words. You don't even have the capacities to speak. All you can do is stare at him for a moment, soak in the meaning of what he said, and fight the urge to make him forget about not wanting to sleep with you for the next couple days. But you don't want to do that, not with him, not with Rafe. The Rafe Cameron who dressed you and ran three blocks with you in his arms to the ER. The Rafe Cameron who wordlessly found you the Tiffany lamp you saw once at a flea market and never again. The Rafe Cameron who has been pining over you for nearly eleven months, loving you without even knowing your body at all.

Before you can overthink it, your hands are gently reaching down to lift up his shirt.

Rafe processes it for a beat before biting his lip to suppress a grin, making your life easier by taking his shirt off in one smooth motion. He reciprocates by delicately sliding off your zip-up off your shoulders, letting the sleeves slowly descend down your arms and over your hands. He tosses it carelessly beside him, eyes flicking down to your shoulder where your tank top strap has precariously fallen off your shoulder.

You're sure he doesn't mean to do it so teasingly, but his hand comes up to your bicep to smooth over the strap achingly delicate with a touch so light it makes you shiver, as if you're made of porcelain. His eyes stay there for a moment before darting back up to meet yours, almost wordlessly asking for the permission he so desperately aches for.

Your words don't come.

Instead, you raise your arms over your head.

Rafe wastes no time as his hands come down to the bottom hem of your tank, pushing the material up over your belly, your ribs, pausing just as his fingers meet the swell of your breast. His gaze flickers to your eyes once more, an affirmative: "You sure?"

With a nod from you, he slides the tank over your breasts and slides it up your arms and off your body in an instant.

Shamelessly, he stares at your bare chest that's now eye level to him. The way he practically sighs at the sight of you all natural and real in front of him stamps into your memory, ink running deep in the confinements of your brain to become an image never forgotten. The blown look in his eyes doesn't emulate lust, but rather love, admiration, speechlessness. As if he's face to face with the wonders of the universe and left to study the conceptions of its beauty. He's in awe of you, and you haven't even shown him all of you yet.

You almost jab at him. Almost. But the attempt at teasing him dies in your throat when he leans forward and places chaste kisses over your breasts, sighing through his nose in a way that tickles your cool skin, sighing as if he's been starved of this, as if he's dreamt of this. Knowing the details of his inkling towards you, apparently, for all this time, you know he probably has dreamt of this.

Not a space goes unnoticed, and you learn very quickly that Rafe Cameron has no problem taking his time when he wants to.

Your hands fly to his hair, and a jolt of warmth pools in your core when he lightly groans against your skin.

Noticing the change of pace, Rafe pulls away a fraction, almost restraining himself from letting his inhibitions take over, to remember your physical state and not overwhelm your body with the injuries you sustained earlier. Taking one last (this definitely will not be the last time) good look at your breasts, he leans back to stand, and you feel obligated to mirror his actions as you practically stand chest to chest with him, almost chasing his actions in desperation to have his mouth on you again.

You don't even bother looking up at him to start fumbling with his belt, making him suck in a ragged breath from above you. You can only imagine how many times he's thought of you doing this to him, wanting him back, reciprocating that feeling he's been trying to shove deep, deep down for so long in fear of losing you for good. The notion of him wanting you, needing you, craving you only spurs you on further.

Before you can grip his length or run a palm over his bulge, before you can feel him and touch him for good, Rafe's fingers circle your wrist, stopping your movements.

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. "Wh-?"

"We can't," he says, voice wavering. "Not yet."

God, fuck this savior-protector type bullshit. You need him. Now.

"Rafe."

You albeit whine his name, but at this point your dignity has launched into space to never return, floating aimlessly in the inky void at the mercy of Rafe Cameron.

He nearly looks pained, taking your hand in his so that his fingers have something to fidget with, smoothing over the metal of your rings and the chipping nail polish to ground himself to, to refrain from losing it. And it looks like he's seconds away from doing so.

Here you are: shirtless and begging him (which is something you absolutely, positively, preemptively hate doing, especially for men) to have you in a way that makes you lose all of your credibility. You're practically pleading for him, a guy you never thought you'd have to beg for, and he refuses. He's holding back, that much is obvious.

But you feel fine. You do. Honest.

(Sort of.)

"Not yet, Star," he reiterates gently, coming out cool and calculated as if he's been repeating it in his head like a mantra. "Let's just get clean now and we'll sleep, okay?"

Of course, you frown. "You're being withholding."

Rafe's lips twitch. "I'm being withholding?"

You hate how he's teasing you right now, hate how he relishes in it. You don't know if you want to kiss or slap him. "Yes. I'm literally half-naked here in front of you after you said you liked me for ten months—"

"Eleven—"

"And you're not gonna have me?" You hate how stupid you sound, and you hate that his smile is getting bigger and bigger. "Why?"

You don't even register that one of his hands cradles your jaw, holding you flush against his palm to keep you steady and hold you in place. Embarrassingly, you hadn't noticed you'd been swaying while blinking up at him all doe-eyed, still recovering from the events from earlier despite wishing you weren't.

And he can tell.

Of course he can tell, because he seems to know things about you before you know about them yourself. He knew to bring you your favorite chocolates when he knew you'd be finishing Red Dead Redemption II. When a snowstorm wiped out the power on the whole block, he was barreling in your room before you could even get out of bed to bring you candles. The Halloween night you fell and dislocated your shoulder, you hadn't been answering your phone and he assumed something was up, heading over to your apartment before the incident had even happened.

You aren't sure whether the concept of Rafe Cameron being able to read you like a book is a good or bad thing.

It's leaning towards bad as of right now, because you want nothing more than for him to stop being so careful and type-a for a little while so you can each get what you want, so he can get what he's been waiting so long for, so you can get what you've apparently been craving without even knowing.

But no, it's only Rafe Cameron fashion to elongate something as intensely as possible.

"'Cause your brain's all rattled," Rafe says low and calculated. "And I plan on fucking you stupid, so I gotta wait 'til you're all better, yeah?"

You blink up at him. "What if I'm better now?"

"You can barely stand on your own."

"Semantics."

Rafe cracks a grin. "Baby, if I knew you wanted me this bad I would've done molly with you ages ago."

All you can do is groan, lulling your head forward so that your forehead rests against his chest. His hands — immediately — come to splay across your bare back, and with the contact you're just now remembering that you're utterly shirtless, not that either of you seem to care. When he holds you like this for a while, both of you ignoring how this is the first time in each other's arms, you can't help but think he's right.

He's practically holding you up, your head cloudy from not only the fall but from the drug come down. The longer you spend here, wrapped up in him, the drowsier you become, the more your limbs feel like lead, the more sleep calls to you.

Once the tub is full and warm enough to his liking, Rafe begrudgingly pulls away from you to turn the faucet off, leaving you standing idly as you watch him, taking in the way his muscles flex with certain movements and how the tendons in shoulders shift as he uses his arms. He's practically a walking portrait, a hyperrealistic sculpture come to life, emulating the same beauty as the marble in every defined vein, muscle, beauty mark. It's almost infuriating, really, for him to be doing something as simple as starting a bath, and still have the audacity to look this handsome.

Rafe catches you staring, as if you don't need anymore humiliation tonight.

But he doesn't poke fun, or send you his trademark lopsided grin, or make a lewd comment or flex just to piss you off.

No, he simply stands again, coming back in front of you to place an incredibly intimate kiss on your forehead, just brushing your hairline, before his arms meet solace on your biceps. His hands, previously checking the water temperature, are warm and inviting against your skin, gently rubbing up and down your smoothness in the most endearing way he knows how.

"All good?" He asks, and it's softer than you've ever heard him before.

It throws you for a loop. When has he ever been this soft spoken? Looked at someone this delicately? Held someone without the implications of taking it further?

Your words don't come. Instead you nod.

In an attempt to gain some semblance of independence back, you shimmy your shorts down, opting to leave on your underwear (the same ones he put you in earlier which is a fact you're choosing to ignore), before making your way over to the tub.

Rafe quickly follows suit, mirroring your actions by leaving on his boxers and hovering right behind you, one arm gripping your waist and the other gingerly holding your hand. With a gentleness you've never seen from him, he helps you into the tub, making sure both your feet are planted firmly instead before lowering you into the water.

You sigh at the temperature, a perfect warmth that already seems to settle the dull ache in your bones from all the chaos today involved. Closing your eyes, you feel him settle in behind you, anticipating his touch as you can feel his body heat radiating centimeters from yours against your back.

It's silence for a moment or two, until you hear the water rippling behind you, a warmth spreading up your spine when you feel his hands douse your shoulders in the water, washing your back, shoulders, arms with the soap you like to use (how he knew which one was yours beats you, not that you're complaining). The act is domestic, no doubt, and you can't deny how nice it feels to be scrubbed clean of all outside things, prepped and clean and ready for bed.

You can tell he's taking his time in his care of you.

Rafe's hands linger on your bare skin longer than they should, letting the pads of his thumbs smooth over beauty marks and the hills and ridges of your muscles. His fingers trace up and down your spine, feeling each individual bone as if he's trying to keep count, as if he's trying to memorize the map of your body in ways he's never seen before. The delicacy of his touch is alarmingly inviting, and you can't recall if you've ever been touched quite like this before, like you're special, like you're important, like you mean something.

When he stops washing you, you assume he's washing himself as quickly as he can to satisfy your wishes, but you can't help but quietly whine at the loss of contact. The desperation makes your heart pull, and you really hope he hadn't heard it.

But, of course, he does.

"Miss me already, baby?"

His tone makes you roll your eyes, even though he can't see you. "I can't stand you."

Water trickles around him, most likely raising his arms to wash himself. Part of you wants to turn around and shut up whatever he's about to retort back to you, but when the movements suddenly cease, you're left in the unfathomable silence, the gentle waves gradually stilling.

You frown. "Wh-?"

You don't have time to register what he's doing until he's moving again, leaning forward so his chest is flush to your back and radiating a type of warmth you could only dream a heater could provide in the winter, as his arms come around to wrap around you. Your hands instinctively come up to curl around his wrists, dainty caressing the skin there to hold some sort of ground against his touch, against him caging his arms around you.

The act makes your body slot between his legs, leaning taut against him as he practically pulls you into him. His chin rests on your shoulder, almost nuzzling himself into the soft skin of your neck and holding you there as if you are about to fly away, never to return to earth again.

"Still can't stand me?" He murmurs low and baritone, a volume that only sends a shiver down your spine.

You manage to find your voice. "Nope."

Although the waver gives away your faux indifference, and you hate how you can feel him grin against your skin, knowing your weak spots, knowing what to say to get you to squirm and how to do certain things to get you to succumb to his charm, fall for the eased nonchalance and sickly sweet smirk that has no business making him that much more handsome. It’s baffling to think that a guy like him, a guy who looks like him, has been head over heels for you in the time you’ve spent thinking it could never happen.

Well, his cards are laid out on the table, and frankly you folded your hand in a while ago, so all that's left to reveal is the truth.

“That’s too bad.” His breath tickles your skin. “Because there’s no way you’re getting rid of me.”

You snort. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. Gonna practically haunt you, baby.”

“You basically do that already.”

Rafe laughs boyishly in your ear, but not without peppering a few featherlight kisses against your bare shoulder.

You trace light shapes on his wrists without realizing it. “Does this mean you’re going to be more annoying than before?”

He hums baritone against the column of your neck.

“Obviously.”

Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning back into his mold, pressing yourself against the hard ridges of his chest. Your heart flutters when you feel him hug you a fraction tighter, as if in disbelief he’s even getting to hold you in the first place. After months and months of pushing him away, of denying yourself the pleasantries of learning his touch, you both relish in the sensation of finally knowing what it feels like to hold one another.

You attempt to remain coy.

“Great,” you deadpan, but instead it comes out less like a complaint and more like a promise. "Lucky me."

Of course, he notices, and unconvincingly hums. “You know there’s no need to pretend anymore, right, Star?”

Your heart skips a beat.

You hadn’t even known you were pretending to be anything in the first place. This whole thing sprout in the blink of an eye, and it scares the shit out of you just how much you were repressing this feeling for him. All this time, you thought it was hate, irritation, loathing because you assumed his words were ill intended. You pushed yourself away from the possibility of being with him because of preconceptions of his past behavior, of the way he’d flirt up brick wall if it meant he was entertained.

You assumed that, all this time, him flirting with other girls was in search of his next score. You never thought it would be because of you, that they were attempts to distract himself from something he didn’t think he could have. He was stupidly indulging himself in the repeating cycle of small talk with people to drown out the thoughts that always circled back to you.

Now, as you sit here, Rafe warm and broad against your back as he holds you like a lifeline, you’re overwhelmed that not only he chose you, but you unknowingly chose him, too.

“I suppose not,” you say quietly, softer than you intend.

If he hears you or not, you’d never know because Rafe doesn’t respond. His arms continue to cage you in, pull you taut against his chest, as the scent of your body wash emulating from his forearms fills your nostrils. It’s quiet, as if he’s soaking in your words and the insinuation behind them, perhaps in relief that you inadvertently confirmed your reciprocated feelings for him. He's being going on ten months, or eleven at this point, waiting for those words, waiting for you to come to your senses, waiting for the green light to be able to hold you in the way he yearns to do.

You’re not sure how to take the silence from his end, teetering between letting it simmer between the two of you or offering more of a conversation, perhaps a direct confirmation that you are into him rather than letting him assume through a play-on-words.

"How's your head?" He asks after a few moments, and from the tone of his voice you can tell he's smiling.

Throbbing, actually.

But all this lovey-dovey behavior is turning your brain to mush and distracting you from the pain and exhaustion. You don't want him to worry any more than he already is, though, so you inherently decide to downplay the severity of it, of how even the lights above the sink are a little too bright for your liking. He's done enough for you tonight, and just being here with him is enough.

You settle on the safe answer. "I'm okay."

A feather-light kiss is pressed to your shoulder.

He says your name. A warning.

You suck in a breath. "Really. I am."

Rafe hums, unconvinced. "Are you?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

A beat. "Yes."

He stills. "You paused."

"Rafe."

Then, he presses a feather-light kiss to your shoulder, a temporary truce to cease the teasing, stop the bullshit, to allow him to help you. "Talk to me."

And you consider it. You assume he's worried out of his mind, and you try and imagine yourself in his shoes: if you walked in a room and discovered him on the ground, disoriented and bleeding, you'd probably have a damn heart attack and — most likely — panic more than a normal person probably would. Putting the scenario into perspective, his apprehension to escalate anything sexually makes total sense, even if it is such a bummer.

After everything you've been through, it would be stupid not to trust him, not to allow him to take care of you and dote on you in ways he's probably dreamed about. Besides, you're in no right mind to keep arguing with yourself on whether or not to let him in.

You choose to. "The light is a little bright."

Another kiss to the back of your neck. "Okay. Is that it?"

No. "Yeah."

Rafe says your name in warning.

Your heart skips a beat at the use of it. "I'm kind of tired."

"Let's go to bed then," he says simply. "I'll get you dried up, yeah?"

The easiness to his tone makes your skin crawl, because he's making it seem like it's no big deal that he's been doing everything for you tonight without so much as a complaint. Isn't he tired of it already? Of you? Jesus, he's not scared off by now? About how high maintenance you are, apparently?

It makes you feel a little ridiculous, a little childish. "You don't have to."

He scoffs, as if that's highly offensive to him. "Star, when are you going to realize that I'm doing all this stuff because I want to, not because I have to?"

Your face burns.

"Been wanting to take care of you for so long," he murmurs against your skin, uttered with such nonchalance as if it doesn't make your heart skip. "Wanna be the only one to do so."

Swallowing thickly, you attempt to try and lighten the stampede in your chest.

"You sure you wanna take on that kind of responsibility? It's a lot," you joke weakly.

But Rafe Cameron, the King of Shooting the Shit, isn't in the mood to play around.

Apparently, not when it comes to you.

"Yes," he says immediately. "I want you, all of you, all to myself."

The possessiveness is daunting, especially when he says it with such certainty that it makes your head spin, and that's not even from the concussion brewing in your brain. The words are like a second nature to him, spilling confessions that have been plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a year, itching to let them see the light of day now that you've reciprocated. He's been sitting on them like a goldmine, the feelings growing more and more unbearable for him to the point where he confessed sitting on a random curb, eating greasy pizza and high off ecstasy.

"Okay," you whisper back before you can stop it. "You have me."

His breath hitches. "I do?"

You're done playing cat and mouse, frankly. "Yes. But don't let it get to your head, Cameron."

You can feel him grinning, clearly not taking your previous sentence very seriously. "I won't."

"I feel you smiling."

"'m not smiling."

"Rafe."

He chuckles boyishly, pulling you impossibly closer. "Okay, fine. Maybe it's gone to my head a little bit." A pause. "A lot. Astronomically."

You roll your eyes.

"But that's besides the point," he continues dismissively. "I have you. Holy shit."

The genuine excitement in his tone makes you snort as you repeat his name again, but this time in warning. Your tone is far from seriousness, more sheepish and stern, as if the concept of him wanting you so fucking bad is one crazy dream you mocked up on a random week night.

"Okay," he blurts, "okay. I'm fine, it's fine. We're gonna dry off and go to bed, okay?"

"Say okay one more time."

"Don't tease me at a time like this. Do you even understand how lucky I am right now?"

Your words die in your throat, all teasing demeanor slowly washing away with the weight of his words, and how genuine he sounds. You've never been sought out like this, yearned for like this, wanted like this. Frankly, it's jarring.

At your silence, he hums again, pleased with your star-strucken-ness and placing yet another chaste kiss against your soft skin. "Let me show you how lucky I am, hm?"

And he does.

Rafe takes his time with you, stretching out the moment of you allowing him to help you for as long as he can.

It starts with warm, nimble fingers wrapping a towel around your chest, drying up any stray droplets with such delicacy that it makes you shiver. You stand practically bare to him as you watch him dry your legs, tummy, arms, chest, neck as if he has all the time in the world. He takes it as a way to feel you, to let his hands touch regions unknown on your body and relishing in the way he gets to map out every dip and curve like an explorer hungry for adventure.

He lets the water drain in the meantime, making sure you are one hundred-percent dried before he's hurriedly drying himself with another towel, not nearly showing himself an ounce of the care he had for you, for your body. It's quick, and before you know it, he's got two large palms splayed on your waist as he guides you back to your room.

The dim lighting is much better than it was in the bathroom, your lamp providing a cozy ambiance that doesn't hurt your head at all. Rafe moves you to the center of your room, fishing through your drawers to pull out your favorite matching pajamas (as to how he knows they're your favorite, you have no idea. Or, if he had just guessed then it is the luckiest guess on planet earth).

With a softness he seems to only have reserved for you, he's pulling the pajama shirt over your head, covering your torso with it before letting the towel fall to pool around your feet.

In an instant, Rafe's hands come to seek refuge on your waist, only adorned with a wet pair of panties that you wore in the bath as some sort of barrier for your dignity. His index fingers hook around the sides, not pulling them down but toying with them for emphasis.

"Want these off, baby?" He asks gently, voice void of any sexual undertones but instead laced with seriousness, as if it's a matter of life and death.

And frankly, you don't really want them on.

So you nod, a bit sheepishly, but he pays it no mind when he's slowly and completely hooking the waistband of your panties around his index fingers, sliding them down over your ass, past your thighs, to pool at your feet. The sensation of being bare to him from the waist down is a newfound vulnerability you didn't even know you could experience, even though you're sure he saw you completely naked not only in the shower when you fell, but after when he dressed you.

But Rafe doesn't make any lewd comments, or ask to taste you, or forget all about his chivalry.

Instead, he shamelessly stares for one, two, three beats before kneeling in front of you, your sleep shorts loosely between his fingers as he opens them at your feet, prompting you to step into them.

"You're beautiful, Star," Rafe praises as he slides your shorts up your legs, making sure they're firmly over your hips before standing. "All good?"

Your brain is mush from everything. The fall. His words. His actions. Everything about the past four hours has absolutely thrown you for a loophole, and if at the beginning of the night you told yourself that you'd end up naked in front of Rafe Cameron not once, but multiple times, you would've laughed in your own face, or grimaced, or cussed yourself out for even allowing him to see such a thing, much less be able to touch you.

But all of that prior resentment is out the window, especially with how he's looking down at you now. His blue eyes are hazed with adoration, gazing as if he's admiring a beautiful portrait, an ancient sculpture chiseled by hand. Warm hands splay on your biceps, rubbing up and down in an act of comfort, waiting for your response, waiting for the green-light to assist in his next task: getting you into bed.

All you do is nod, and Rafe wastes no time moving towards your bed, pulling the comforter back to expose the fresh new sheets, the lavender scent emulating from all the fabric scent beads you like to use in the wash. They're proving its worth in this moment, as your bed has never, ever looked this inviting before.

You slide into bed before he can practically do it himself, wanting to have some sort of independence throughout the night. But the attempt to do so proves fruitless as he hovers of you, bringing the covers up to your chin in a disgustingly endearing gesture that it makes you suppress a teasing grin.

But his face is void of any humor. He's soft. Serious. Fixated on the task at hand.

"Stay here," he says low, even going as far as pointing a finger at you. "No hot showers in the next minute I leave to grab my pajamas, okay?"

You, nuzzled into bed up to your chin, simply preen up at him.

"What if I need to get up for—"

"No." Rafe doesn't even let you finish, nor does he let you indulge in your teasing. "No moving. I'm grabbing my clothes and coming back."

You raise a brow. "Promise?"

Your tone is so sweet it gives him a toothache. All he can do is simply shake his head at you in disbelief, staring at your grinning mummified figure for a moment before leaning down and kissing your forehead so quickly you nearly miss it.

"Promise," he repeats, backing up so he's in the doorway. "Less than a minute. You can even count."

“Sixty, fifty nine…”

At your countdown, Rafe’s moving at lightning speed as he races away, and you truthfully don’t keep counting and simply laugh at his treacherously loud footsteps down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the front door as if his hair is on fire. You don’t even hear your apartment door shut, and it’s quiet for maybe ten, fifteen seconds before the stomping starts up again.

You snort when he barrels back into your view, clad in a t-shirt (that is backwards, by the way) and a pair of basketball shorts that you’ve seen him lounge around in from time to time. Regardless, he looks great like this: hair mussed and disheveled but not without a bright gleam in his eye, gazing down at you like you’re the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

“What’s my time?” He asks, breathless and beginning to make his way towards your bed.

You feel a little stupid with the blankets up to your chin, arms caged beneath the sheets but beaming nonetheless as he sits down beside you, splaying a palm over your stomach as his indirect yet very direct need of always having to touch you. You’re getting used to it, and can tell you’re already going to crave it.

“Didn’t keep track,” you say softly, not even wanting to keep up the cat and mouse as your impatience grows. “Are you getting in?”

“You didn’t count?” Rafe asks incredulously, ignoring your question. “Baby, that was record breaking stuff.”

You don’t care. “I don’t care. Are you getting in?”

His lips twitch. “Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Gimme a minute,” he says, eyes shamelessly staring at you. “I wanna look.”

You give him about five seconds flat of his ogling. “Okay, you looked. Now get in.”

He laughs boyishly, smiling so fucking pretty that it hurts as he reaches towards the dresser, flicking your Tiffany lamp off (the one he scoured the entire city to find for you, by the way). In the darkness, he slowly crawls over you onto the other side of the bed, flipping the sheets back so he can collapse next to you.

The bed rocks with the force of it as he audaciously sighs, slithering his body fully under the covers as if he was made to lay here. Goosebumps litter your skin when you feel his cool hands snake around your waist, pulling you from your mummified position to taut against his body, and you can’t deny how nice the added warmth is, especially when he positions you so you’re chest to chest with him, face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and smooth under your shirt. He's careful not to brush the spot on your head flush with three staples, instead placing a chaste kiss near the cleaned wound as his own form of an apology (that was nowhere near his fault).

His heart is racing. You can feel it. You’re sure yours is too, caught between a rock and a hard place as you lay here with him right now, clinging to the guy you thought you hated.

Rafe says your name gently.

Your heart skips as you hum in response.

"Promise me something," he says quietly.

You blink in the darkness. "Okay."

It takes him a few moments to find his words, to let his preposition lay thick in the air to prolong the tension. You're unsure how to grasp his tone, as you've never really heard his voice go that soft before, so low and vulnerable. His hands still against your back, almost in apprehension, as if he's so focused on finding the right words that he forgets he's holding you, too.

"I don't want you to think..." He starts slow, trailing off when it doesn't come out right. "Star, I'm serious about you. I have been for a while."

The breath leaves your lungs.

"I know that seems scary and sudden for you," he continues, his thumbs finding their rhythm again and tracing light circles against your skin, almost as a way to ground himself. "I don't want you to feel pressured, or anything, or feel like you have to be doing all of this because of that."

You frown against his neck. "Rafe-"

"I know," he murmurs, almost sheepishly. "I know. I just... I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and feel like you're stuck."

If possible, you frown further. Yet, this time, you don't try and interrupt and simply let him find his words, figuring out what he's trying to say to you right now (even if it ultimately breaks your heart that he thinks you could be having doubts).

He lets out a long breath. "Promise me, if you feel like that in the morning, you'll tell me." His heart is racing against you. "I'll be alright either way, okay?"

The entire spiel sets a pit of dread in your gut.

Does he really think you'll back out on him? Tease the possibility of a relationship on a fish hook and dangle it in front of him just to pull away every time he reaches? Pretend to reciprocate his feelings to make him feel better? To indulge his nearly year-long fantasy of being with you. Does he think you to be that cruel?

"Okay," you find yourself saying, queasy from all the aching in your heart. "I won't feel like that, but okay."

You swear you can hear him smile. "Just checkin' in."

You still feel yourself frowning. "I meant what I said earlier." At his silence, you continue for clarification. "You have me."

Rafe takes a long time to respond, and for a little while, you begin to think he's fallen asleep, lulled by the feeling of your heartbeat against him and your fingers tracing shapes across his chest. All you can hear is the steady inhale, exhale through his nose, the sensation tickling your hairline with every breath, as you take his silence as contemplation or affirmation of his greatest suspicions.

You feel yourself slowly start to doze off, soothed by the warmth of his embrace and the fan in the corner of the room emitted a low, white noise. When he turned it on and, more important, how he knew you liked it on when you sleep beats you, but the gesture makes it easier to drift closer to peace, to the sense of relaxation you've been thinking about for hours.

But his voice almost startles you.

"I have you," he repeats, almost monotonous like a mantra, as if he's been replaying those words in his head ever since you said them.

Groggily, you hum and attempt to nuzzle further into his embrace. "Mhm. Don't let it get to your head."

You can practically hear him grinning.

"Sounds good, Star."

"'M serious," you mumble, and it more-so comes out as an incoherent babble. "Ego's too big. Gonna fill up with air 'n float away."

He snorts, the vibration tickling your cheek. "That so?"

All you can do is make a noise that seems like an affirmation, eyes heavy and shut. You honestly can't even tell if you're actually awake right now, bones weighing down into the mattress and muscles aching from the long night you endured, head throbbing less now that you've been in his arms.

"Know so." You're not even sure he can understand you. "Not allowed to be a prick when you're in my bed."

The laugh he emits nearly jolts you awake, chest bumping into yours at the action. You emit a low groan in protest, but he barely pays it any mind. As a matter of fact, he pulls you a fraction closer than before, engulfed completely by his arms, scent, everything.

"You got rules now, baby?"

You nearly whine at his continued talking. "Not your baby."

His laughter transitions to a low hum, unconvinced. "You kind of are, now."

The buttery words turn your mind to mush, and you hate how you smile at the insinuation behind them, the possessiveness, the singularity of the notion that you're his, only his, no one else's.

"Yeah, whatever," you murmur, yet your attempt to remain indifferent fails as you can't stop grinning sleepily. "I'm sleeping now."

"Okay, baby. Good night."

"Sleeping."

Rafe emits a low sound, emulating contention as it's obvious that he's beaming in the darkness, smiling at nothing he can see but everything he can feel. It's blossoming out of control, blooming faster than dandelions in the springtime and spreading wider than weeds. You're here in his arms, holding him back as if you've been searching for the right person to do it with all your life, and he couldn't be happier. He doesn't even know if he'll be able to sleep.

Your breaths slowly even out, as your tracing patterns on his chest gradually slowing as he feels your hands limp against him. It's obvious you've fallen asleep, and his chest swells with pride at the notion that you feel safe enough with him to sleep with him, to let your guard down and let him in like he's practically been begging for for what feels like forever.

"Love you, Star," Rafe drones low, knowing the safety of his secret is still strong with the confirmation that you're asleep.

He's felt it for a long time, not really understand what that feeling was until it was uncontrollable, until you were all he could think about in everything he did throughout his day. It scared the shit out of him, naturally, but soon leaned into the emotion instead of running from it, especially when Sarah noticed it from a mile away and backed him into a corner to interrogate him about it. (You'd looked so pretty that day she questioned him, so obviously he couldn't stop staring at you. Clearly, his actions weren't subtle enough.)

One day, he'll tell you. He's sure of it.

Especially now that you've stopped running away from his touch, now staring back at him when your eyes meet instead of instantly peering away and allowing yourself to open up to him. It's as if this day was a far off dream for him, something he never thought could happen in his lifetime, because he'd hold out on you forever if there was even the slightest chance that you'd give him a shot.

Now, as you lay here in his arms, he lets out a shaky breath. He feels as if he can finally rest, he can allow himself to have this, to not let his mind run rampant on the sliver of a possibility that you're not in it as much as he is.

Rafe figures he can deal with that hypothetical in the morning.

And the final image in his mind is of you, glimpses of you throughout the night in the apartment, under the purple hues in the club, in the moonlight on the curb, in the pool light reflection illuminating your face, in the hospital bed looking to him as a lifeline, tucked under your pretty sheets and peering up at him with a softness he's never seen before.

With that picture, sleep has never come faster.

notes and a splash of rafe pov. one more chapt to go!

#rafe cameron #salem-s works #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #reader insert #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe x female reader #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic

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kitkat13001 · 9 months ago

Text

☆⋆｡𖦹° 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝙻 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

>> l lawliet x reader

i feel like he’d thrive with a pet. he’s never had any exposure to animals so it’s definitely a new experience for him. i think the unpredictability of a cat would suit him. its irregular behavior keeps him on his toes, given his tendency to analyze patterns. he’d be very affectionate with a cuddly cat

i think he would also like the loyalty of a dog. he needs stability in his life 🫶 and a cute little puppy that’ll grow w him is just perfect for him. plus, im sure it’d force him to exercise a little more (couldn’t hurt him tbh) w all the running after it he’d be doing

he watches true crime for background noise—if he actually sits down to watch it, he’ll figure it out in the first five minutes (if he didn’t already know the case outcome himself). he needs to multitask in order to genuinely enjoy it, so he usually puts it on while he cooks or cleans so he’s not dedicating his full focus to it and proceed to act like a mom watching a telenovela

*gasp* “they found the body in the lake!”

“hmm…that was anticlimactic.”

“‘breaking news’? i had already figured that out three episodes ago.”

“oh, i worked this case!”

his cooking is shit at the beginning. you have to be patient with him. he goes in thinking bc he’s so smart it’ll come out good no matter what. (this is the case with a lot of activities he’s now discovering due to the new lifestyle). he is wrong.

HOWEVER…he does improve with time. he’ll follow a recipe to perfection and study it until he gets it right. the only downside is his food tends to be on the more plain/bland side, so if you like strong flavors i’d keep seasonings handy. he grew up in england, what do you expect? he does excel at making sweets and baked goods though, those tend to come out more flavorful.

for all his previously normal ‘secrecy’ he’s actually a chronic oversharer. because you’re bonded for life now, he feels the need to tell you everything, all of the time. his brain runs a mile a minute and he voices pretty much every thought he has.

“does the fan seem louder to you?”

”no, ryuzaki. go to bed.”

“but we’re not doing anything tomorrow, so we can sleep in. there’s no need to go to bed right this instant.”

“…”

“that won’t be the case next week, though, we’ve got that birthday dinner to attend.”

“…”

“dinner sounds nice enough, but i loathe the thought of shopping for a present. maybe—“

“ryuzaki. go. to. sleep.”

“hmph.”

similarly, he has a tendency to notice your patterns (he calls it a “detective’s habit”). he’s freakishly accurate with it too. sometimes it’s useful, like when he stops at the store to pick up your favorite snacks and hygiene products when he knows your time of the month is approaching. however, sometimes it’s…just weird

“darling, do you need to use the restroom?”

“um…no?”

“really? interesting. your diet hasn’t changed the last couple days, and you usually use the restroom at approximately this time for about 10 to 12 minutes every day.”

“…what the fuck?”

even though you’ve both changed your names in order to secure your identities and safety, he still calls you by your real name when it’s just the two of you. in public he prefers to call you pet names instead of your newfound aliases

he has no issues switching back n forth and he’d never slip up for fear of exposing you both, but he just tries to avoid calling you by your cover name. he feels a little guilty because if he was a ‘normal person’ you wouldn’t have had to undergo all these procedures just to be with him. he’s used to using different names for himself, but it makes him a little sour that you now have to do that too :(

speaking of sour, he’s a veeeryy jealous man. he’s not obnoxious or even outright about it, but he doesn’t like when other people get too close to you (physically and emotionally). part of it is him being paranoid that they “know something” about you, but part of it is just bc he’s just a clingy lil guy 🥺 and he just wants to be your only special guy

he’s like a territorial cat

he gets nightmares about the kira case and all of his other past cases. he doesn’t make a scene when he wakes up from them, but if you notice he’s awake don’t ask him about them. it’s unlikely he’ll answer you, and he’ll feel bad thinking he woke you up. just pretend to still be asleep and subtly cuddle closer

it coaxes him right back to sleep knowing you’re safe and sound beside him. if you’re brave you can ask in the morning, but it’s likely he’ll have forgotten the dream by then

pleeeeassee take up yoga with him. since he doesn’t need to be crouched in his heightened-deductive-skill position 24/7 anymore, it’s a worthwhile investment to fix his posture and his numerous back problems. he might enjoy the calmness and flexibility yoga provides

he might be open to the idea of children. according to canon, he only interacted with the wammy kids once very briefly, but i like to think he was fairly involved with the orphanages considering they were raising his successor. it only makes sense they’d need to get to know him at least a little—and it would explain why near’s mannerisms are so similar to his.

i think contrary to popular opinion he would be good with kids—in his own special way. he’s not exceptionally cuddly, but he won’t reject affection either. and his intuition and reflexes are so keen that it’s not like the kid would ever be in danger.

he’s such a homebody. i mean, we already knew that—but him being able to go out in public now has not changed his desire to want to be alone (w/ you)

he has mixed feelings about crowded places. on the one hand, the anonymity of it is kind of nice and it sets his mind at ease that no one will be able to recognize you two in such a swarm. but on the other, someone is touching him and all the noise n stuff sorta overstimulates his nervous system

the next best alternative? take him to places that are still public and out-and-about but a little more secluded. a corner booth in the back of a little restaurant, a sprawling botanical garden, an independent cafe that’s not overcrowded, etc

HE CANT DRIVE LMAOOO. a helicopter is one thing but cars??? on the road??? with other cars?????!!! he cannot. he’s a MENACE. hopefully you can drive, but if not then it comes to public transportation 🤷‍♀️

#might add to this later #i love L wish there was more content for him </3 #l lawliet #l x reader #l death note #death note #l lawliet x reader #death note x reader #death note ryuuzaki #ryuuzaki x reader #kitty.writes!

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sleepyjuice · 1 year ago

Text

patience is a virtue - jj maybank

Summary: you finally get on birth control, which means you and jj finally get to raw dog it, whoop

Warnings: 18+!!!!!!!! SMUT, p in v sex (reader is on birth control but theoretically both parties are tested and clean and exclusively sleeping with each other), little bit of praise kink, cream pie, fluff? soft jj <3

wc: 2771 wtf 🫣

A/N: so I decided to start writing again and then this happened lol. I’m probably rusty and this is my first time writing for jj so I hope it’s okay and y’all enjoy!!!<3

Jj had been counting down the days until your doctor's appointment. You were finally getting on birth control, the arm implant, to be specific. You had done your research, as well as an initial consultation with your doctor to go over all of your options and decided that the ‘one and done’ route would be the best for you.

You and jj had been together for a little over a year, using condoms every time you had sex. As much as you both liked the security of you not getting pregnant, you both wanted more, you both craved more. Not only that, but you had irregular and horribly painful periods and when your doctor mentioned that being on birth control could stop your periods, that was more than enough to convince you to take that step.

The day finally came, though, and jj insisted on driving you to your appointment, ignoring your assurance that it was a quick and easy procedure.

“jj, it’s not like I’m getting put under for a major surgery or something, it’ll probably be only like ten minutes. No medicine or anything.” You told him as you buckled your seatbelt. There was no changing his mind.

jj rolled his eyes as he started up the twinkie, already having made arrangements with john b over a week ago to let him borrow the van.

“I know, baby, but this is a big moment, wanna be there for you.” He said with a grin, pulling onto the road and starting towards your doctor’s office.

“Well, I appreciate it. I honestly think you’re more excited than I am.” You giggled, glancing over at your boyfriend as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail.

“Now what makes you say that?” He teased, knowing damn well he had this appointment marked in his phone calendar and his extra ass even drew a dick and a smiley face on your little desk calendar you had.

You had arrived shortly after, and just as you predicted, the whole appointment only took about ten minutes and was pretty painless. jj waited in the car for you to be done, smiling ecstatically at you once he saw you make your way out the office doors and towards the twinkie.

“How was it? Did it hurt?” He asked as soon as you got into the car, looking at your arm that was now wrapped in a bright pink bandage.

You shook your head, leaning across the seat to softly kiss your boyfriend, his hands finding your hair first before slowly trailing down your body to rub on your thighs as he deepened the kiss. You knew exactly what he was trying to do, so you pulled away with a laugh.

“Nope, nope, don’t even think about it. This thing doesn’t start working for seven days.” You told him, smiling innocently at him as you watched his face drop. You swore all the light in his eyes left his body for a second. He was so dramatic.

You were obviously disappointed too. It would have been nice to go straight home and have what would probably be the best sex of your life right away. But then you would have to go and buy a Plan B, and then this would all be for nothing.

“Now what the fuck? How are they gonna call this shit modern medicine but that shit doesn’t start working for a week?” jj scoffed, one of his hands still resting on your thigh while his other raised to softly graze your bandage, “like, they put a whole ass stick in your arm. What’s it even doing for these seven days? Just sitting in there doing nothing? They really need to make advancements to this shit.” he rambled on, but he couldn’t help but start laughing once you did.

“You are the most dramatic person I have ever met. We just gotta wait it out. Although, with all this anticipation, hopefully you can last more than a minute.” You mumbled the last part, your gaze leaving jj’s as you buckled your seatbelt, knowing he would start huffing over your comment.

And that he did, huffing as he started the car, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s — shut the fuck up. Don’t act like this won’t be torture for you, too.” He mumbled back, backing out of the parking lot and heading towards the chateau.

It had been a long week since your appointment. You and jj had never gone this long without having sex. You could have still used a condom in the meantime, but after a conversation in bed the first night, you had both decided to wait until you could do it raw for the first time. You were struggling, to say the least, but you had more composure than jj did all week.

He wasn’t making it easy though. The way he cuddled against you in bed, his hard dick pressing into your lower back made you crave the feeling of him inside of you. You almost caved multiple times every time he touched you, you just wanted more. But he respected your agreement, even though it was just as torturous for him. Touching your skin, seeing the way the bottom of your ass cheeks stuck out of the bottom of your shorts, all he wanted to do was rip your clothes off and bury himself inside of you. But he could wait, it would be worth it.

It couldn’t have been more perfect timing. Day seven had finally come around and your beautiful and wonderful friends all happened to have plans, which meant you and jj had the chateau to yourselves. It truly felt like a gift from god.

It was late morning, the soft glow of the sun peaking through the sheer blinds of the bedroom jj had made his own had woken you from your sleep. jj was still sleeping soundly next to you, his face pressed against your neck, an arm draped firmly across your waist.

“jay,” you whispered, softly rubbing circles on the back of his neck, your face being close enough to leave soft kisses in his messy blonde hair.

“mm- oh, fuck,” jj rasped, quickly gaining consciousness as he realized it was finally morning. He was so excited to sleep last night because it meant the next day would come quicker. It was like a kid on Christmas Eve. “it’s time?” He lifted his head from your neck, rolling himself over so he was on top of you, his hands holding himself up above your head on the pillow.

“It’s time,” you giggled, reaching up to cup his cheeks, “I’m done being patient. Need you inside me.” You whispered, and at that, jj leaned down, connecting your lips. He wasn’t completely rough, but he wasn’t gentle, and god did you miss this.

Your lips didn’t part from one another as his hands moved their way down your body. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt that clad your body, yet another thing making him absolutely feral.

You disconnected to breathe, and so that he could lift your shirt above your head, discarding it on the cluttered floor. You looked up at him, now only in your panties, finding that familiar comfort that lived in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Fuck, missed seeing you like this, baby.” He panted, his breath hot on your skin as he lowered his mouth down to your tits, his tongue circling your sensitive nipple as you gasped, reaching up to entangle your fingers in his hair.

He soon took your whole nipple in his mouth, humming in satisfaction against the warm skin, while also lowering his body to grind his boxer clad dick against your wet center. He was achingly hard, no doubt his boxers were already stained with the precum that was eagerly leaking out of his sensitive tip.

You whimpered softly as he grazed his teeth against your nipple as he sucked sloppily, the feeling of his mouth on you making your center pulsate harder.

“jj, need you, please..” you whined, grinding your hips up against his dick, the fabric beneath the two of you was too much. You needed him.

“Okay, baby, okay,” he breathed, pulling his mouth off of your nipple with a pop, leaving the skin red and wet, “need to taste you first.” He added before scooting down further on the bed, giving himself enough room to pull his shirt over his head and discard it with yours.

He quickly repositioned himself in front of your legs, his ring clad fingers cold on your skin as he pushed your knees apart, sliding his hands up your thighs as he spread your legs. He was met with your underwear which you could feel was soaked, and you were sure it was quite the sight for him to see.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re soaked.” He hummed, palming his hands up and down your thighs until he reached the waistband of your underwear, his fingers not hesitating to pull the fabric down your legs and off of your body completely.

“There she is,” jj smiled at the sight of your pussy before him, running a finger through your wet folds, circling your entrance and sliding it back up to rub torturously slow circles against your clit. He was acting as though your pussy was his best friend who he hadn’t seen in months. Again, he was dramatic.

“Please, jay, fuck, you — you can’t torture me now, ‘s been way too long.” You whined, your eyes shutting for a moment as you clenched around nothing, his touches making your veins feel like fire. You needed something.

“M’kay, baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just missed this. Don’t like not having you for so long.” He finally gave in, lowering his head to finally take you in his mouth, his tongue flicking quickly against your clit as his wet lips closed around it, sucking the sensitive bud in his warm mouth.

You couldn’t hold back the moans that fell from your lips, the feeling of his mouth finally on you mixed with the soft breaths leaving his nose that was pressed against your pelvic bone was everything.

“That’s right, that’s good, yeah? Just what you needed?” He pulled back for only a moment to glance up at you as you nodded quickly in response before his middle finger teased your wet entrance. Without another word, he pushed his finger inside of you, bringing his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he began pumping his finger inside of your tight pussy, not missing the sweet gasp that left your parted lips.

He got a rhythm going as he always did, eventually adding his index finger, stretching your tight walls around his fingers as his mouth moved sloppily against your clit. It was a wet mess already, his chin and fingers completely soaked with your juices, the sound of your moans and his soft praises filled the room as he quickened his pace, bringing you closer to your high.

“I’m close, fuck me, I’m gonna come-“

It took only a few more pumps from jj, the way he curled his fingers perfectly, not missing a beat as your stomach tightened before contracting, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned loudly, reaching forward again to grip tightly onto your boyfriends hair, pulling rather hard as your orgasm took over your body.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers as he pulled them out, bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean as he grinned lovingly at you.

“That’s good, baby, you’re so good for me,” he cooed, leaning down once again to press a sweet kiss onto your sensitive clit, making your breath hitch as you came down from your high. “You ready for me now? Been dreaming of this since I met you.” jj studied your face for any sign of hesitation, brushing a loose strand of hair that had fallen by your eyes.

“I’m ready, please, need to feel you.” You responded rather quickly, wholeheartedly enjoying the foreplay, but this is what you had been waiting for, you were ready to feel him fully.

“I got you, I got you…” he gave a quick kiss to your lips before sitting up and removing his boxers. His cock sprung free, happily unrestricted now, his tip red and swollen, precum now leaking out down his shaft.

You watched as he gave himself a few quick pumps, lubricating himself with his precum before positioning his cock in front of your pussy, gathering your wetness onto his tip before lining himself up with your entrance.

One hand held his cock as he slowly pushed himself inside of you, the other holding your bare waist. It was immediate euphoria for the both of you. You both had no idea what utter pleasure had been beneath the thin condom you had grown so accustomed to.

jj paused once he bottomed out, his eyes meeting yours as you nodded profusely for him to keep going. He needed a second, your joke about him not lasting was now fresh on his mind, but he was determined to make this last for the both of you, and he would be damned if he didn’t give you at least one more orgasm.

“Fuck me, Y/N, holy shiiitt you feel so perfect. So perfect for me. Pussy was made for me.” He groaned, taking a deep and shaky breath before he felt like he could begin moving again.

And so he did, his thick cock pushing in and out of you as you desperately reached up to grab the back of his neck, your fingernails digging into the soft skin making his little curses and moans grow louder.

Sex had never felt this good before, no barriers at all, just jj, completely jj. Watching his eyebrows furrow in pure and utter pleasure as his lips parted was sending your stomach into a frenzy and realistically you both knew that this first time going raw wouldn’t last too much longer, but that was okay.

“Love you, love you, feels so good, just— fuck, harder, please, I’m close.” You whined, your pussy clenching around jj’s cock as he quickened his pace, his hand that was holding your waist now moving down to rub at your clit, knowing that was going to do it for you.

“C’mon, baby, let go, yeah? Come for me, fuck — love you so much, so so good..” he praised, his cock hitting your sweet spot so perfectly while his fingers worked tirelessly against your clit, and that was all it took for your orgasm to hit you at full force, showing no mercy as your back arched, your fingers digging even deeper into your boyfriend’s skin. You didn’t even know what words left your mouth as you rode out your high, but you couldn’t care less.

jj’s gaze left your eyes as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, juices everywhere, no doubt leaving a mess on the sheets. But the sight of that alone, mixed with the euphoria of being inside of you completely raw, not to mention the way your pussy clenched repeatedly around his cock, that was it for him. He pushed in one last time, his tip hitting deep inside of you as he came, truly inside of you for the first time. Thick spurts of come shot into you as he completely lost his composure, his arms unable to hold him up any longer, collapsing against your bare chest.

“My baby, god, fuck, I love you so much, you’re… ahh, fuck.” jj moaned one last time, needing a moment to catch his breath before he could move again. What felt like forever was only a few seconds, however, and he slowly pulled his softening cock out of you, not missing the way you winced at not only the sensitivity but the loss of fullness.

Taking a breath, jj leaned over the side of the bed to grab his t-shirt, gently wiping up his mess that was now spilling out of you. He made a mental note to put a towel down next time, might save a load of laundry, and a shirt.

“You did so good, baby. I’ve never felt so good in my fucking life.” He kissed your swollen lips once he finished wiping you up, smiling tiredly at your sweet post orgasm face, cheeks pink with a small but satisfied little smile on your lips.

“Yeah, no, that was well worth the wait.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #pls be nice I’m fragile thank u

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

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The Center Cannot Hold

Charles Leclerc x wife!Reader

Summary: one cruel diagnosis sends your hopes and dreams crashing down in painful shards around you

Warnings: cancer, medical procedures, infertility, religion, recommendation to terminate pregnancy

The sun sneaks through slits in the blinds, casting patches of warmth on your shared bed. You’re nestled against Charles’ chest, his heartbeat a gentle hum beneath your ear.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You smile, shifting around to meet his gaze. “It’s beautiful outside.”

Charles brushes a stray hair behind your ear. “Every day with you is beautiful.”

There’s a silent pause as the two of just stare at each other. You both know there is more to this morning than mere pleasantries. You think of the tiny stick in the bathroom, far more significant than its small size would have you believe.

“Should we?” You ask hesitantly.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Together.”

You both rise hand in hand, making the short walk to the bathroom. Your hands tremble as you reach for the plastic stick on the granite counter.

With a deep breath, you pick it up.

Two lines.

Positive.

Tears prick your eyes and you turn to Charles. “Look,” your voice barely a whisper.

He chokes on air. “Is this ... are we really”

“We did it,” you confirm, tears streaming freely.

Charles’ eyes shimmer with unshed tears of his own. He pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “We’re going to be parents.”

You pull back slightly, placing a hand on your stomach. “Our baby.”

He nods, laughing softly through his tears. “Our little miracle.”

Holding the test between you both, you share a look of wonder. It feels like the universe has just shifted and realigned in the most beautiful way.

***

The waiting room is a sea of neutral tones and the soft murmurs of hushed conversations. You sit, nervously tapping your fingers on your knee, while Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders in an attempt to calm you.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, “You alright?”

You give him a small, tense smile. “Just a bit nervous. First-time jitters, I guess.”

Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will be fine. It’s just a routine check-up.”

Before you can respond, a soft voice calls out, “Mrs. Leclerc?”

You both rise and follow the nurse as she leads you into a cozy exam room, pastel walls adorned with photos of smiling babies and happy families.

After a series of routine checks and questions, the mood remains light. However, when the doctor enters, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, there’s a subtle shift in the air, a feeling that’s hard to pin down.

“First-time parents?” She asks with a warm smile, trying to put you at ease.

Charles nods, beaming with pride. “Yes and we’re over the moon about it.”

She returns the smile but then her expression becomes more clinical, professional, as she reviews the ultrasound. The room is filled with the sound of the machine and your quiet exhalations.

Minutes stretch on, the silence growing more pronounced. The doctor’s brows furrow, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Charles, sensing the change, grips your hand tighter. “Is everything alright?”

She hesitates for a moment before turning to face you both. “Your baby seems healthy but there’s something concerning about your cervix. I would like to run a few more tests to be sure.”

Your heart plummets, the room suddenly feeling colder. “What ... what do you mean?”

She chooses her words carefully, “There is a chance that it is just a benign irregularity but we need to be certain.”

Tests turn into more tests and the hours seem to blur. Charles is fidgeting anxious mess beside you but his thumb never stops stroking your hand.

Finally, the doctor returns, the weight of the world seemingly on her shoulders. “I won’t sugarcoat it,” she begins heavily. “The results point to cervical cancer.”

Silence deafens the room. The world around you blurs and you feel Charles’ arms wrap around you, holding you as if you might shatter.

“No,” Charles whispers, his voice breaking. “There must be a mistake.”

The doctor looks at you with sympathy. “I wish there was. We caught it early but it’s aggressive. My recommendation would be to terminate the pregnancy and begin treatment immediately.”

Your mind races, heartbreak and disbelief clashing within. “Terminate? But our baby ...”

She gently cuts you off. “It’s the best chance to save your life.”

Your vision blurs, the reality of her words crashing over you like a tidal wave. The room, with its softly painted walls and happy baby pictures, suddenly feels like a cruel mockery.

Charles eyes are clouded over with tears and despair. “Please,” he whispers, holding your face between his trembling hands. “I can’t lose you.”

You choke back a sob, the enormity of the situation making it hard to breathe. “But our baby, Charles. Our little miracle.”

He hugs you close, his voice muffled as he buries his face your hair. “I know. But I need you. We promised each other forever, remember?”

You clutch at him, memories of shared dreams and whispered promises flooding back. The villa by the sea that you would fill with warmth and laughter, growing old together, watching sunsets side by side.

“I can’t imagine a life without you,” he continues, voice breaking. “Not a single day.”

The pain in his words cuts deep, each syllable a raw wound. You hide your face in his chest, tears soaking his shirt.

“We wanted this baby so much,” you whisper brokenly.

“I know,” Charles chokes out. “But I need you with me. I can’t be alone. I can’t live without you.”

***

The soft glow of a lamp casts long shadows, making the room feel both intimate and immense. You sit on the couch, a soft blanket draped around your shoulders, staring blankly at the tea that has long gone cold in your mug.

Charles sits opposite you, unmoving. He clears his throat, searching for words, “I’ve been thinking ... about what the doctor said.”

You look up, meeting his gaze, a storm brewing within it. “So have I.”

Charles closes his eyes, struggling with his emotions. “I can’t bear the thought of a world without you in it. I would be content, you know? To grow old, just the two of us, if it means I spend every day of my life with you by my side.”

Your heart aches, tears pricking your eyes. “Charles, our baby ...”

He cuts you off, voice filled with raw emotion. “I know. But you’re my world. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the weight of unsaid words pressing down.

You take a deep breath, “I want this baby. I want our baby. But I also want to grow old with you, to be there for every race, for every win and every loss, on and off the track.”

He reaches across, taking your hand in his, fingers interlocking. “We’ve faced so much together. But this is tearing me apart. I just want you safe.”

You squeeze his hand, searching his eyes. “If I choose the baby, will you ... will you resent me? Will you resent them? If I choose the baby, and ... leave you alone?”

He looks away, the pain of thinking about it clear on his face, “Never. I would be lost. Completely and utterly lost. But I’ll never hold it against you. Or them. I’ll cherish our child but my heart ... my heart would be forever broken.”

You both sit in silence, lost in your thoughts.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

Charles looks at you intently, waiting.

“I’m going to keep the baby.”

He shuts his eyes tightly but a tear manages to slip through the crack and down his face. “I will support whatever decision you make. I just ... I love you so much.”

You move closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you too. We’ll face this together, no matter what.”

As you lay down beside Charles, the comfort of the familiar sheets beneath you, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. You can feel the tension in his body, the struggle to be the rock, to be strong.

In the quiet darkness, you feel more than hear his silent sobs, the tremors that shake his frame. You reach out, intertwining your fingers with his, offering the only comfort you can as the world falls apart around you.

***

“Please, mon amour, just eat something,” Charles implores, voice laced with worry as he holds out a plate of your favorite pasta.

The aroma drifts to you, making your stomach churn, but you force a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

It’s been months since that fateful doctor’s appointment. The specter of cancer looms over your pregnancy like a dark cloud, casting shadows on the joy you should be feeling.

Days blur into one another. Doctor visits are now your routine. Charles, who once sped around racetracks with fearless abandon, now navigates the hospital corridors with a silent determination.

There are days when weakness consumes you, moments when you can’t summon the strength to get out of bed. Charles has become your lifeline, helping you dress, making sure you eat, and even carrying you when your legs give out.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper to him one night, tears tracing down your cheeks. “I’m not strong enough.”

He cradles your face, his own eyes brimming with tears he refuses to shed. “You are the strongest person I know. You’re carrying our baby. That’s the bravest thing anyone can do.”

The pain is relentless, a constant companion. Each doctor’s visit brings more bad news. The cancer is spreading and your body is weakening. Yet, you cling to hope, to the belief that your love for each other can conquer anything.

One evening, you're curled up on the couch, aching and exhausted. Charles, sitting beside you, traces a finger along your cheek, his touch gentle as he tries to be strong for both of you.

“You’re my world,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I hate seeing you like this but I would rather be with you in this darkness than without you in the light.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you reach for his hand. “We’ll get through this together. Our love is stronger than anything. Even cancer.”

But you’re not sure how much you can believe that anymore.

***

“You’re playing with fire,” your sister blurts out the moment she steps into your living room. Her eyes are red, mascara messily smudged around them.

Charles’ jaw clenches but before he can retort, your father interjects, his voice roughened by age and worry, “She means you’re risking too much. We all see it.”

You sink further into the couch under the weight of their stares. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you really?” Your mother questions wetly. “Every time we see you, you’re paler, weaker. Is it worth it?”

Charles steps forward, taking your hand. “It’s her choice. And I’ll stand by her through everything.”

Your best friend sighs deeply. “We’re just scared for you. We don’t want to lose you.”

The room becomes a whirlwind of opinions, tears, and pleas. They all mean well, you know that, but the their concerns feel suffocating.

The tension escalates, words sharper than intended, when suddenly Charles explodes, “That’s enough! It’s her decision and it’s not up for you to debate.”

The room falls silent.

Your sister speaks up, “We just love you, that’s all.”

Charles collapses onto the couch beside you, burying his face in his hands. “And you think I don’t? I don’t want to be a widower. A single father looking at our child and seeing only the love we lost,” he admits in a hushed tone, his voice breaking. “It’s the only thing I see whenever I close my eyes. It plagues my dreams. But that love means supporting Y/N even if seeing what she’s going through breaks my heart.”

You pull him close. “I know. But I need to hold onto hope. To believe we can have it all. Our baby and a lifetime together.”

He gazes deep into your eyes. “I love you. More than words can say. I just want you with me, always.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you reach for his hand. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But I believe in us, in our love. And I can’t bear to let go of our baby.”

He wraps you in a hug and you can feel his body trembling. “I don’t want to lose you but I can’t stand to see you suffer like this either.”

***

“Do you think they’ll have your eyes?” Charles murmurs, his hand gently resting on your swollen belly, fingers tracing small circles.

You smile weakly, feeling the flutter of tiny kicks in response. “Or your fearless spirit?”

He chuckles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your baby bump. “Hey there, little racer. Promise me you’ll take after your mother more.”

Despite the weariness that constantly lingers, these quiet moments fill your heart with warmth.

“Imagine,” you whisper one evening, “our little one’s first day of school or their first race if they decide to follow in their papa’s footsteps.”

Charles grins, “And inheriting their maman’s stubborn streak will surely mean they’ll be a world champion.”

As your body grows heavier with the weight of the pregnancy and growth of the cancer, your time spent outside the confines of your bed becomes increasingly limited. The facade Charles wears for your benefit becomes increasingly brittle. He’s your rock, never letting his worries show in front of you, but you still see the toll it’s taking on him.

One evening, after ensuring you’re comfortably tucked in, Charles kisses your forehead softly and whispers, “Rest, mon amour. I’ll be right here.”

Drifting into a fitful sleep, you wake to the muffled sound of heart-wrenching sobs. Curiosity pulls you from the warm cocoon of your bed with the last of your strength, guiding you towards the soft light spilling from the slightly ajar bathroom door.

Listening closer, you can hear Charles’ broken voice, “I can’t ... I can’t lose her. Not like this.”

You press your hand to your mouth, tears spilling down your cheeks as you realize he’s on a call, probably with one of his brothers.

“You don’t understand,” Charles continues, his voice trembling with emotion. Every time I look at her, I see our future slipping away. Our dreams, our plans ... everything is fading into ashes.”

There’s a pause, punctuated with stifled sobs. “I have to be strong for her but it’s tearing me apart. Every smile I wear, every reassurance I give, it all feels like a lie because I am so freaking scared.”

Your heart aches, hearing the raw pain in his voice, knowing all this time he’s been shielding you from his own agony.

Silently, you retreat, not wanting him to know you’ve overheard. Slipping back into bed, you grapple with the weight of the shared pain, the collective heartache that has become your reality.

Minutes later, Charles returns to the bedroom. His eyes red-rimmed but determined. He sends a shaky smile your way, “How’s my brave girl?”

You reach out, trying to pull him against your chest with tired arms. “Let’s be brave together.”

He nods, choking back fresh tears. “Together. No matter what.”

***

The old church stands quietly in Maranello, its tall steeple pointing skyward, as if reaching out to the heavens. Inside, the soft glow of candles flickers as the side door swings open. Don Pietro, an aging priest with kind eyes lined with crow’s feet, is startled by the sudden entrance.

“Charles?” His voice, filled with surprise, echoes softly in the hushed space.

Charles’ normally confident stride is replaced with hesitation. “Don Pietro,” he tries to muster a smile but fails. “I ... I didn’t know where else to go.”

The priest approaches, eyes filled with concern. “I’ve been worried. When Ferrari announced you were taking a season off, I prayed for you.”

Charles chuckles bitterly, “Prayers. Never thought I would be seeking those.”

Don Pietro studies him for a moment. “Pain has a way of making us turn to the unexpected.”

Charles’ face contorts in anguish. “I’ve always called myself an atheist. After Jules ... after my father ... I felt abandoned by any god that might exist. But now, she’s ... she’s everything to me and I’m powerless to stop losing her.”

The priest’s voice is soft when he replies, “Life may test us in ways we can’t comprehend. But God never gives us more than we can bear.”

Charles’ laugh is hollow, devoid of mirth. “Bear? I can’t bear the thought of a world without her. Tell me, how does a loving god allow such pain?”

Don Pietro sighs, the weight of many years shining through. “I won’t pretend to know all the answers but sometimes faith is all we have.”

“I feel like I’m being punished, like I’m cursed. Why else would I lose the people I love most?” Charles looks at the ground, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he takes a shuddering breath. “I would give anything ... anything to save her. I have thought to visit mosques, synagogues, temples ... anywhere some higher power might listen to my pleas. I’m desperate, Don Pietro.”

The priest speaks gently, “Turning to God in times of despair is not weakness. It’s human. But faith is not about bargaining, it’s about having trust.”

A tear rolls down Charles’ cheek. “I’m so scared. Every night, I watch her sleep, wondering if it will be our last night together. I would gladly give up everything else if it means she stays with me.”

The priest reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Then let’s pray, my son. Let us pray together.”

The tears turn to a steady stream rolling down Charles’ cheeks as he falls to his knees. “Please ... I’ll do anything. Just don’t take her away.”

Don Pietro kneels beside him. “God hears you, Charles. And He knows your pain.”

They stay united in prayer. Two souls reaching out to the heavens and begging for a miracle.

***

“It’s too early,” you gasp, clutching the bed sheets as another contraction grips you.

Charles is by your side, panic evident in his eyes even as he tries to keep you calm. “Breathe, love. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.”

But the pain is relentless, each contraction more intense than the last. The hospital room is a blur of activity, doctors and nurses rushing around, preparing for the premature delivery.

“You need to stay strong,” one of the nurses urges, trying to guide you through the pain.

Charles, pale and shaking, holds your hand so tightly it’s almost painful. “Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice breaking. “You and our baby, both of you, stay with me. Please.”

The labor is grueling, each passing minute a test of your willpower and strength. Charles is crumbling into pieces beside you, every ounce of his pain clearly written across his face.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, leaning close. “Not now, not ever.”

But the world around you is fading, the pain becoming too much to bear. “I love you so much. In this life and the next,” you choke out with the last of your strength as your vision tunnels.

Suddenly, alarms blare. The room becomes a whirlwind of organized chaos. “We’re losing her!” A doctor shouts.

Charles is pushed aside as they work to save you. “No! Please, no!” He screams in agony.

You’re dimly aware of being rushed into another room, doctors shouting orders and starting emergency procedures.

Then, everything goes black.

Charles is left in the corridor. A broken man, waiting for news, praying for a miracle. Hours feel like days, each passing second an eternity.

Finally, a doctor emerges, his scrubs covered in spots of dark blood. “The baby is fine,” he begins, “But your wife ... we had to put her in a coma. The cancer is advanced. We’ll do everything we can but she’s not out of the woods.”

Charles sinks to the floor, tears streaming down his face. “Please, just save her. Please.”

***

“It’s a girl,” a nurse approaches Charles with a small bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket.

Charles, tears still fresh on his face, looks up, momentarily stunned. “A ... a girl?”

The nurse nods, offering the tiny newborn to him. “Would you like to hold her?”

He hesitates, then slowly reaches out, cradling his daughter in his arms. Her small face, a canvas of peace among the chaos, is a stark contrast to the turmoil surrounding them.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, tears starting anew. “Just like her mother.”

The nurse smiles gently. “Have you thought of a name?”

Charles nods, “Juliette. After my godfather.”

Gently rocking the infant, he leans down, pressing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Hey, Juliette,” he murmurs. “I’m your papa. Your maman and I have waited so long for you. We love you so much.”

Juliette stirs, her tiny fingers curling around one of Charles’ own.

“I promise,” Charles voice breaks, “to protect you. I will be here for you, always.”

A doctor approaches, clearing his throat. “Mr. Leclerc, your wife’s condition is critical. But she’s a fighter and she has a lot to fight for.”

Charles nods, looking down at Juliette. “She does. We both do.”

Gently rocking your daughter, he loses himself in the rhythm of her soft breaths and the warmth of her tiny body against his chest. It’s an odd feeling — holding the fresh promise of life in his arms while the love of his life hangs in the balance.

***

“We’ve run all possible tests,” the oncologist begins. Charles, clutching a sleeping Juliette to his chest, waits with bated breath. “The cancer has progressed aggressively. To give her a fighting chance, we need to perform a hysterectomy.”

The room grows cold as the gravity of the doctor’s words sinks in. Charles’ voice trembles, “But that means ...”

The doctor nods, voice as gentle as the situation allows. “She won’t be able to bear children again.”

Silence stretches as the weight of the world seems to fall on Charles’ shoulders. He gazes down at Juliette, the embodiment of the dreams and hopes you both had.

“We had plans,” Charles whispers, more to himself. “We wanted more children, a big family.”

The doctor waits. “I understand how hard this is. But without the procedure, her chances ...”

“I know,” Charles cuts him off, voice breaking. “Do it. Do whatever it takes to save her.”

The doctor nods, squeezing Charles’ shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “We’ll do our best.”

As preparations for the surgery commence, Charles sits in the dimly lit waiting area, holding Juliette close. The baby, as if sensing the heavy atmosphere, remains unusually quiet.

“It’s not fair,” Charles’ lips form words meant for the void. “She’s sacrificed so much already. She deserves a world filled with joy and laughter.”

From across the room, a nurse, having overheard, speaks up, “Life has its cruel twists but the love you both share … that’s rare. Hold onto that.”

Charles nods, taking solace in the nurse’s words. Time seems to lose all meaning, each tick of the clock amplifying the uncertainty and fear.

Finally, a surgeon approaches, fatigue evident in her posture even as her face remains carefully professional. “The procedure went as well as could be expected. Your wife is stable for now.”

Relief floods Charles so rapidly that he has to stop himself from falling to the ground as he murmurs a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

But as he sits by your bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the reality of what you had lost sets in. The dreams of a large family, shared laughter, and memories, all stolen by this cruel twist of fate.

***

The world around you is a haze of light and shadow, the sounds a distant echo. Your eyes flutter open and for a moment you’re lost, disoriented, and overwhelmed. Then, you see Charles, his face etched with relief and sorrow, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Welcome back,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “We’ve missed you so much.”

You try to speak but your throat is too parched to make a sound. Charles offers you a sip of water, his hands trembling as he helps you drink.

“What happened?” You finally manage to croak, your eyes darting around the unfamiliar room.

Charles takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “The cancer ... it had advanced. They had to perform a hysterectomy to save you.”

The word hangs in the air, heavy and final. Your abdomen feels sore and you reach down, fingers tracing the bandages. Panic seizes you and the tears pour down without permission as the reality of what’s been taken from you crashes down.

“It’s gone,” you sob. “Our dreams ... our family.”

Charles leans in, tears mingling with yours. “Shh, mon amour. None of this is your fault. We’ll find another way, another path to happiness. We have Juliette and we have each other.”

But the weight of guilt is crushing. “We dreamed of a big family,” you cry, the depth of your loss piercing. “And I’ve taken that away from us.”

He brushes your tears away. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This is not your fault. We’ll make new dreams together, I promise.”

“I just wanted to give you everything,” the grief wracks your body.

“You already have,” Charles insists. “You’ve given me love, you’ve given me our little girl … our Juliette. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

With great effort, you lift your arms, weak from the ordeal. Charles, understanding your unspoken desire, carefully places Juliette against your chest. You’re too weak to hold her on your own but together, you and Charles support her tiny form.

“Hello, Juliette," you whisper, tears of joy mingling with your earlier tears of grief.

She blinks up at you, her eyes wide and curious. You’ve never felt anything like what fills your heart as you look at the perfect human you both created, the embodiment of love and resilience.

“I love you both so much,” you whisper, heart swelling with a dizzying mix of joy and sorrow.

Charles, his own eyes filled with tears, leans down and kisses both you and Juliette gently. “We have each other and right now that’s all that matters.”

***

“I never imagined it would be like this,” your voice wavers as you lie propped up by pillows in the dimly lit bedroom.

Charles, his fingers intertwined with yours, meets your gaze. “Neither did I.”

The weight of all that’s transpired hangs heavily in the room. The joy of Juliette’s arrival is marred by the pain and loss you both feel.

“I feel ... incomplete,” you admit, tears forming in your eyes. “Like a part of me is missing.”

“I wish I could take away the pain,” Charles responds. “If I could trade places with you, I would in a heartbeat.”

You squeeze his hand. “It’s not your burden to bear. But it’s … hard. I wanted to give Juliette siblings, the big family we always talked about.”

Charles leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “We still have a family. We have each other and we have Juliette. We can still have a full, beautiful life together.”

You sigh, “But do you ever wonder why? Why us?”

He hesitates, searching for words. “Every day. Sometimes, there’s just no answer, only a path forward.”

You curl into him, drawing comfort from his warmth. “What does our path forward look like?”

Charles pulls back, looking deep into your eyes. “It’s filled with love, with hope. We heal together. We face challenges together. And we build a future together. No matter what.”

“I’m scared.”

He brushes away your tears. “So am I. But we have each other and that’s a pretty good place to start if you ask me.”

***

“She smiled, Charles! Did you see that? Juliette smiled!”

Charles rushes over and peers into the crib with gleaming eyes. “There it is! That little grin,” his voice is filled with wonder. “Our little miracle has the most beautiful smile. Just like her mother’s.”

Juliette, seemingly aware of the shared happiness in the room, gurgles softly, her small fingers reaching out to grasp a lock of Charles’ hair.

You watch them, a gentle smile playing on your lips. “She brings us so much joy. It’s amazing.”

Charles nods, his eyes never leaving Juliette’s face. “She’s our light in the darkness.”

Leaning over, you press a soft kiss to Juliette’s forehead. “I’m so thankful for both of you.”

He shifts closer, resting his head against yours. “You know, mon amour, I’ve been thinking ...”

You turn to him, curiosity piqued. “About what?”

He takes a deep breath. “About our dreams. I know it’s not what we originally planned but what if we consider adoption?”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, love and hope blossoming. “Adoption?”

Charles smiles warmly. “Yes. We’ve always dreamed of a big family. And there are so many children out there who need a home, who need love. We can give a child all of that and more.”

Tears well up in your eyes but they’re tears of joy and gratitude. “That’s a beautiful idea.”

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours gently. “Our love knows no bounds. The path to our dreams may not be as simple as we once imagined but we will get there, one step at a time.”

***

Charles’ phone buzzes with an incoming call in the early hours of the morning. Seeing a familiar name flash across the screen, he answers immediately. “Don Pietro? Is everything okay?”

“Charles, you need to come to Maranello. Both of you. As soon as possible.”

Charles exchanges a puzzled glance with you. “Is something wrong?”

“Just come,” Don Pietro insists, “and bring your wife. I believe there is a miracle waiting for you.”

The drive to Maranello is filled with anticipation. Your mind races with possibilities, questions whirling in a tornado of confusion and hope.

Upon arriving at the church, you’re met with the sight of the elderly priest holding a tiny bundle. The baby, with soft tufts of hair and eyes wide with curiosity, looks up at the two of you.

“This,” Don Pietro begins, “is Enzo. He was left on the steps of our church last night. And the moment I held him, I thought of you two.”

Charles’ eyes widen. “Enzo ... like Ferrari?”

Don Pietro nods with a soft chuckle, “It’s as if the universe is trying to tell us something.”

You reach out, taking the infant into your arms. Enzo’s little hand wraps around your finger, his eyes meeting yours. The connection is instant, like two souls recognizing each other.

Charles’ voice is thick with emotion, “It’s as if he was meant to be with us. A sign, maybe?”

Don Pietro smiles warmly, “Perhaps a nudge from above, reminding us that miracles happen when we least expect them.”

Tears spring to your eyes, the weight of the moment overwhelming you. Charles is equally moved, his eyes glistening and lips trembling.

“We talked about adoption,” he murmurs. “But this ... this feels like fate.”

Don Pietro nods. “He needs a family, love, and a home. And I believe you two can give him that.”

As Charles takes Enzo from your arms and cradles him close, a bond that goes beyond words quickly forms. You lean in, touching Enzo’s chubby cheek, your heart swelling with love.

The moment feels destined — a new piece seamlessly fitting into the puzzle of your family.

***

“Look at that, Julie and Enny! Those cars go vroom vroom,” you point out with a smile playing on your lips as the roar of engines fills the air.

Juliette’s eyes widen in awe, her tiny hand pointing excitedly. Beside her, Enzo claps his hands, giggling. “Vroom!” He mimics.

Charles, his racing suit on, kneels to their level. “Would you like to see papa’s car up close?”

Both children nod eagerly, their eyes sparkling.

As you make your way through the paddock, team members and other drivers stop to meet the kids. “Look at these future champions!” Exclaims one of the engineers, ruffling Enzo’s hair.

Juliette, ever the social butterfly, giggles and offers a shy “Hello.”

Reaching the Ferrari garage, the team breaks into smiles. “Looks like Charles brought his lucky charms today,” someone comments, causing a round of chuckles.

“Ready for a photo op?” Charles grins, lifting Juliette into the driver's seat as you follow suit with Enzo, placing him right beside his sister.

They look so small in the cockpit, faces full of wonder. “Beep beep,” Juliette laughs, pretending to steer.

“Future Ferrari driver right here,” Charles beams.

As the team gathers around, cameras flashing, you take a moment to soak it all in. The laughter, the joy, the memories — this is what life is about.

“There were times I thought this day would never come,” Charles whispers to you, his arm wrapping around your waist. “Our family here, all together.”

You squeeze his hand, tears of happiness threatening to spill over. “Our dream is now … and it’s only just beginning.”

***

“Henri and Helaine, look it’s your sister!” You cheer, pointing to the massive screen as Juliette’s Ferrari speeds past, making your young twins cheer and clap clumsily in excitement.

Charles grins as an orange blur follows shortly, “And Enzo’s not far behind. What a race!”

The atmosphere in the paddock is electric. Red for Ferrari, orange for McLaren, the colors of a family divided by teams but united by love.

Suddenly, a microphone appears as a familiar reporter approaches. “A quick word for the fans? It must be a thrilling day for the Leclerc family!”

Charles grins, adjusting his half-Ferrari, half-McLaren cap. “Oh, absolutely! We couldn’t be any prouder. A bit of sibling rivalry never hurt anyone, right?”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “We’ve always said, as long as they’re safe and enjoying themselves, that’s what matters. Though,” you add with a playful wink, “I always wear both colors, just in case!”

The reporter chuckles. “And the young ones? Future racers in the making?”

Henri, with all the innocence of childhood, pipes up, “I wanna go vroom too!”

Helaine nods rapidly. “Me too! Super duper fast.”

You and Charles exchange a glance in amusement. “Well, there you have it,” Charles says with a smile. “Looks like the tracks will be seeing Leclercs for many years to come.”

The race ends with both Juliette and Enzo clinching a podium finish. The celebrations are loud and filled with joy, but for you, true happiness is seeing your family — past, present, and future — come together just like you always dreamed.

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erwinsvow · 2 months ago

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hiii if you don’t want to pls do not take this as being pushy BUT….. i would just like you to know I’d go feral in the best of ways if you elaborated on your thoughts about jack and robby sharing 4th year med student reader… im really irregular about it like i might actually lose my mind

im barking at you... thank you for giving me the platform i needed. promise this WILL be written one day.. i think three weeks after binging the show my frontal lobe developed and i have a crush on robby now

someone else sent a yummy ask about being robby's gf who gets shared with jack, so i'll answer that soon but this is the reverse, since jack and 4th year reader in eavesdropping are together. this can be a lil spin off universe, let's say it's not as sweet and clear of a relationship just yet. throuple time!!!!!!

where to begin...!!! jack is a little grumpy, but mostly good-humored and he has a real knack for teaching, inspires confidence and makes people believe in themselves. he's just good at it, which is why him and fourth year reader are so good together! he helps her grow and learn things and she's a very sweet ball of sunshine which is exactly what a grumpy old man needs. and this is ME, so obviously, four year reader fixes a lot of the things jack feels sad about. helps him get through tough losses, reassures him that he's done everything he can, because even the teacher needs to hear it sometimes. it's not an easy profession and you're not even a full fledged doctor yet, so the responsibility isn't on you yet, even though it will be soon.

well fourth year reader does a few weeks of night shift with jack. they start seeing each other. jack's mood is a lot different for the month after that, even though fourth year reader eventually goes to another hospital for an audition. and then jack's mood goes down again. and robby is a good friend, so he notices. teases jack about it. "you like her, huh?" robby, at this point, has no idea. thinks jack is sweet on a twenty something medical student which just makes him laugh—but then he does remember that it's you. you worked with robby before you worked with jack.

you find the optimism in every depressing situation. you take his moments of silent reflection extremely seriously. you used to thank robby for every procedure he let you do, thanked him for trusting you and teaching you. and maybe you had a little crush on him too before you went over to night shift. what's so wrong with that—the hospital is filled with handsome attendings, and you've got two of them doting on you during your audition. and it's harmless, you think, since you don't think either of them can go anywhere, that they'll actually do something about it. and that's just kind of your personality, too sweet, too nice, too sunshiney. if old guys love it, then that's just the way it rolls.

it's not so much anything as it is the way you are. looking up at your attendings like they hung the moon because they tell you good job, great work, that you're doing something perfect, that you're making an excellent provider. maybe you get a high satisfaction rating or something one day after robby got chewed out about it and he sees you making an effort, listening to him, even more than you already did. and for jack, well i summed it up in a nice 10k but he wants to make you more confident, wants you to believe in yourself so when you come here in july for residency as an intern, you're going to be totally prepared.

so yes, robby is a little peeved that jack got you first. he didn't think abbot would actually do it. you're not the first medical student to have a crush on the attendings, nor will you be the last. he just thought for the sake of propriety, for the sake of hr, that you were off-limits for both of them. robby's a little grumpy about it—and you're on day shift with him for the next month and you hate when people are mad at you, especially your attending who is also jack's best friend who is also a man you still harbor a tiny little crush on, someone you want to impress everyday. so you talk to jack and he promises to figure out what's going on, and jack and robby have a beer, and then maybe a few too many beers, and robby goes i met her first, and jack knows about your thing with praise and approval and he knows you won't rest until you have robby's back. (he's also not stupid, he knows how you look at robby.) he thinks he has a solution to make everyone happy. so after a really bad day when the three of you get together and have dinner and go through a couple bottles of wine it is no surprise that you little crush on robby comes up.

and you don't think it's that big of a deal—half the hospital has a crush on the two men staring at you right now. you tell him that he always tells you good job and it just started getting to you, both of them started getting to you. and then robby says something about "well if i had known you were going to decide so early i would have argued my case harder." and then you're confused because as silly as your crushes seemed, you hadn't put two and two together that they both like you too. and then jack says "maybe we can figure something out, right sweetheart?" and maybe it's the wine and the fact that you have two grumpy old men that are somehow only sweet on you staring at you like you're not going to be able to walk tomorrow, but i think that might get to me. would you agree?

anyways, it's kinda funny because in eavesdropping (this is not in that universe again its just a spin off lil thing) she was a virgin and now it's like a couple months later and you're getting spit roasted by robby and jack. at first jack just watches—watches robby eat you out until you're shaking all over, watches you struggle to fit his best friend inside of you, but he's not really just a sit back and not partake in the fun kind of a guy, so he shows robby that thing he does with his fingers that makes you cum so hard you black out. then robby tries it.

when they have a bad day, it's like stress relief. robby's favorite thing to do at the end of a really terrible shift is to take out his frustration on you while jack keeps track of your orgasms. jack prefers to be ridden, so that's what you do, while robby watches. when you have a bad day it's the best though, you get spoiled and pampered and praised like there is no tomorrow, until you can't even think about anything else but how good and perfect you are.

it's honestly kind of hilarious at work. depending on if you're on day or night, you get stolen kisses and told good job for every single thing that you do. everyone just thinks that you're the favorite, the teacher's pet. and you totally would be, with how much you learn from those two just being around them. pillow talk consists of discussions about scientific journals and army medic procedures that work in a pinch in the trauma bay and the first time robby and jack saw this or that and what they did to save the patient. you guess you are a teacher's pet—easy enough when your teachers hover over you, one asking the questions and the other depriving you of your orgasm until you get it right.

i think one day dana catches robby kissing you during the day shift in the ambulance bay while she's smoking, and then as you guys are leaving, she catches jack kissing you (in front of robby) as you two head home. none of you would have seen her so no one knows what she knows, but occasionally if you come in sore and tired, lying through your teeth saying it's because you went too hard in pilates, she snorts and says "yeah, i bet." <3

#this is SOOOO LONG #can you tell im down bad #embarrassed to even tag this but #jack abbot #michael robinavitch

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cebfilm · 6 months ago

Text

double CPR during gyno surgery

Pre-Op Visit

Maria entered the clinic, her heart fluttering slightly as she signed in at the reception desk. The soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of antiseptic filled the air. At 23, she had grown accustomed to regular gynecological appointments for her polycystic ovarian syndrome, but today’s visit felt different. She couldn’t quite place why—perhaps it was the note she had tucked into her medical file.

Dr. Carter greeted her warmly, his voice steady and professional. “Maria, it’s good to see you again. Let’s take a closer look and discuss any changes you’ve been experiencing,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him into the examination room.

Maria settled onto the examination table, her legs resting in the stirrups, the cool sheet draped over her lap offering some modesty. She took a deep breath as Dr. Carter explained the steps of the examination, his tone calm and reassuring.

The moment felt tangible as he reached for a pair of latex-free gloves, snapping each one on with deliberate care. The faint rustle of the material was accompanied by the smooth stretch over his fingers, a prelude to the thorough examination ahead. “These will ensure everything remains sterile,” he said, flexing his hands briefly to ensure the fit was snug yet comfortable.

“We’ll start with a visual inspection of the external area,” he continued. He gently separated the labia, examining the vulva for any signs of redness, swelling, or abnormalities. “Everything looks healthy so far,” he said with a reassuring smile.

Next, he prepared a speculum, the gleaming metal instrument lubricated with a water-based gel. “I’m going to insert the speculum now. You might feel a bit of pressure, but let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” he said. Slowly and carefully, he guided the speculum into her vaginal canal, angling it to minimize discomfort.

Maria inhaled sharply at the cool sensation but relaxed as he spoke to her. “You’re doing great,” he assured her. Once the speculum was in place, he gently opened it to visualize her vaginal walls and cervix. A soft light illuminated the area as he examined the tissue for any irregularities.

“Your cervix looks healthy,” he noted. “I’m going to collect a sample for testing now. You may feel a slight pinch.” Using a small brush, he took a quick sample for a Pap smear before carefully removing the speculum.

Moving on, Dr. Carter explained the next step. “Now we’ll do a bimanual examination to check your uterus and ovaries.” He slipped on a new pair of gloves, inserting two fingers into her vagina while pressing gently on her lower abdomen with his other hand.

“This helps me assess the size, shape, and position of your uterus,” he said, his hands working methodically. “Let me know if anything feels tender.”

Maria nodded, wincing slightly as he applied pressure to one side. “There’s some sensitivity here,” she said.

“Noted,” Dr. Carter replied. “That’s consistent with your polycystic ovarian syndrome. It’s one of the reasons I recommend the upcoming procedure—to get a clearer understanding and provide relief.”

As he removed his gloves and helped her sit up, Dr. Carter maintained his professional demeanor. “You did great, Maria. I’ll explain what to expect during the surgery, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable every step of the way.”

Maria nodded, her nerves easing slightly as his calm and methodical approach reassured her.

The Procedure

The operating room was cool and sterile, with bright overhead lights casting a stark glow on Maria as she lay motionless under anesthesia. The steady beep of the heart monitor punctuated the quiet efficiency of the medical team.

Dr. Carter stood at the head of the team, reviewing Maria’s pre-op notes one last time before they began. “We’ll be performing a laparoscopic procedure to address the ovarian cysts,” he explained to the team. Instruments were laid out meticulously on the tray beside him.

After making the initial incisions, the surgical assistant inserted the laparoscope, the camera transmitting a clear view of Maria’s internal structures to the monitor. Dr. Carter carefully navigated the tool to locate the cysts.

“There’s some scarring here, likely from previous ruptured cysts,” he noted. “Let’s excise the current ones to alleviate her symptoms and preserve as much ovarian tissue as possible.”

The procedure progressed smoothly as Dr. Carter worked with precision, excising the cysts and cauterizing any bleeding tissue. The team maintained a rhythm, their movements synchronized and deliberate.

Then, without warning, the heart monitor emitted a rapid, irregular beeping.

“She’s in ventricular fibrillation!” the anesthesiologist called out.

Dr. Carter immediately stepped back. “Stop the procedure. We need to stabilize her. Call for the crash cart.”

The surgical team acted quickly, tilting the operating table flat and removing the laparoscope. A nurse began chest compressions, her hands pressing firmly on Maria’s chest. “One, two, three…” she counted, maintaining a steady rhythm.

Dr. Carter took charge. “Prep the defibrillator and administer one milligram of epinephrine,” he ordered.

The defibrillator pads were placed on Maria’s bare chest. “Charging to 200 joules. Clear!” The shock caused her body to jerk, but the monitor still showed erratic activity.

“Continue CPR,” Dr. Carter instructed. Another nurse stepped in to take over compressions, her hands pressing down in precise, rhythmic movements.

“Administer another dose of epinephrine,” Dr. Carter said. “Charge to 300. Clear!”

Maria’s body arched again as the second shock was delivered, but the ventricular fibrillation persisted. Sweat formed on the team’s brows as the resuscitation efforts continued.

Sab’s Collapse

Meanwhile, in the observation area, Sab watched in horror through the glass. The sight of Maria’s lifeless body being shocked and compressed was too much to bear. Her breath quickened, her chest tightened, and before she could cry out, she collapsed to the floor.

A nurse rushed to her side, feeling for a pulse. “She’s fainted, but her pulse is weak!” the nurse shouted. Sab was quickly transferred to a nearby stretcher.

“She’s going into cardiac arrest!” another nurse exclaimed.

“Start CPR!” a second team sprang into action. One nurse tilted Sab’s head back and began giving rescue breaths while another began compressions. “One, two, three…”

Sab’s chest rose and fell with the breaths, but her heart remained unresponsive. The defibrillator was quickly wheeled over.

“Pads on. Charging to 200. Clear!” The first shock jolted her body, but the monitor still showed asystole.

“Epinephrine, now!” the nurse ordered. Another round of CPR followed, compressions deep and steady, interspersed with breaths.

“Charge to 300. Clear!” Sab’s body arched as another shock coursed through her. Her heart finally showed a faint rhythm, but her condition remained critical.

Dual Resuscitation

Dr. Carter, now splitting his attention between Maria and Sab, directed the teams. “We’re not losing either of them,” he said with determination.

Maria’s chest compressions continued relentlessly. A nurse alternated between compressions and rescue breaths, sweat dripping as she counted aloud. “One, two, three…come on, Maria.”

“Charging to 400 joules. Clear!” The defibrillator delivered another shock to Maria, and this time, the monitor flickered—a faint pulse began to appear.

“She’s back! We’ve got a rhythm,” Dr. Carter announced, but his relief was short-lived as he turned his attention to Sab.

Sab’s compressions continued as another nurse prepared a dose of amiodarone. “Administer the antiarrhythmic,” the nurse instructed, injecting the medication into Sab’s IV line.

“Charge to 400. Clear!” Sab’s body jolted again, and after a tense moment, her heart monitor showed a weak but steady rhythm.

“She’s back!” the team exclaimed.

ICU Recovery

The sterile, rhythmic beeping of heart monitors filled the dimly lit ICU. Maria’s eyelids fluttered open, the bright fluorescent lights stinging her eyes. She blinked slowly, her body heavy, her chest aching with every breath. The sterile scent of antiseptic surrounded her, and it took a moment for the fog to clear from her mind.

“Maria,” a soft voice murmured nearby.

She turned her head slowly to see Sab lying in the adjacent bed, tubes and wires attached to her as well. Sab’s face was pale but alive, her chest rising and falling steadily.

“Sab…” Maria whispered, her voice raspy and weak. Her hand, though weighed down by IV lines, reached out shakily across the gap between their beds.

Sab’s eyes met hers, brimming with tears. She stretched her hand toward Maria, their fingers brushing lightly. “You’re okay,” Sab whispered, her voice cracking with relief. “We’re okay.”

A nurse entered the room quietly, adjusting the machines and checking their vitals. “You gave us quite the scare,” she said gently, her gaze kind. “But you’re both stable now. Rest—you’re in good hands.”

As the nurse left, Maria and Sab turned their attention back to one another. Their hands stayed clasped, their breathing syncing as they lay side by side, tethered by their shared ordeal. Though the ICU around them was cold and clinical, the warmth of their connection filled the space.

They didn’t need words. Their intertwined hands said everything: relief, gratitude, and love. The soft hum of the monitors became a comforting rhythm—a reminder that their hearts were still beating, together.

#cpr resus #gyno kink #resus community #girl cpr #defib #resus #cpr #cardiophilia

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 3 months ago

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so many people have this binary think of “nonverbal/nonspeaking people not able mouth speak must be so sad about it they must all want mouth speak so bad n if help them speak by mouth that must be so great n make them feel so good”

can’t speak for other nonverbal or nonspeaking people but for me that be terrifying. it nothing short of sheer terror.

had experience of doctor, *while doing invasive test on me that involve poking needles into me so am entirely under their mercy*, trying get me to speak. n in trance my body that very easily influenced obeyed, made simple sound of a word, out of my control. am not there. am fuzzy floaty n not there. n thinking back at this experience am not filled with tears of joy, of “oh actually can speak,” but instead terror. heart race, head ache, limb feel limp, body feel shaky, muscle twitchy, irregular breaths. n be in OCD compulsion loop trying get this memory out of my head begging my brain to remember, to not think abt the pink elephant. this be how am react to trauma triggers.

because imagine your body do thing you not tell it to. imagine watch your body move feel your body move feel every single fiber of it but it not you who made that command n you can’t stop it. your body, answering to someone else. it like those sci fi movie where alien torture human, put giant helmet on head n as person watch their body start move on its own n do things opposite of what they want, hurt their friends, n even tho they in this very body they not able command it.

in that moment with doctor, if someone asked if am doing this consensually, if am consent to them trying get “me” (my body) to speak, my body would indicate yes. would nod, would make sound. may even look happy.

that doctor be able to influence “me” (my body) to move my muscles n mouth n vocal cord in way to get me “speak”, it not magic or psychic power or alien technology or mystery spiritual power. but it very reality that, am easily influenced, and some people have this ability that can’t quite put to word but influence people easily, compound with power dynamic (doctors, carers, communication partners, they all have power over us nonverbal nonspeaking people), so other people can - metaphorically - kick me out of control of my own body n take over. other people have power over me even with my own body n movements.

it’s fucking terrifying.

n this terrifying experience not stop at moment leave that doctor office. it continue in intrusive traumatic memories.

it get triggered by seeing any tiny thing related to it, it get triggered by that medical procedure, it get triggered by mere idea of doctor, it get triggered anytime someone say the innocent common saying “tell me__” “say__” even if they not actually mean use my mouth words. it also get triggered randomly, out of nowhere, brain just decide to torture me out of the blue.

the terror also continue way, way after, as people use that as evidence you can actually mouth speak, so you should be able to, so they mimic the way that doctor kicked you out of control of your own body.

#nonverbal #actually nonverbal #nonspeaking #loaf screm #as always related tag but not exclusive:#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #long post

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mins-fins · 6 months ago

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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.

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