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theonewiththefanfics · 1 month ago

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An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Catch Pt 2 here :)

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

“You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

“It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

“It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

“Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

“I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

“You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

“It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

“It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

“Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

“Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

“Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

“I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

“Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

“Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

“Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

“Such as?”

“I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

“Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

“My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

“Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

“So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

“And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

“Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

“We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

“Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

“Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

“Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

“Him.”

And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

“Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked. “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

“Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

“That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

“Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

“Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

“It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

“So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

“I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

“Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

“When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

“Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

“Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

“For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

“Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

“That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

“Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

“ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

“No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

“The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

“Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

“So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

“And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

“Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

“You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

Y/N��s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

“To get your sugar up.”

But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

“Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

“No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

“The possible future?”

“Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

“I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

“Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

“No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

“I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

“Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

“You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

“Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

“Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

“You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

“Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

“No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

“Time with you isn’t a waste.”

Oh.

Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

“I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

“Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

“Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

“I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

“Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

“Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

“Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

“My hot doctor, you mean.”

The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

“I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ll try though.” He promised.

“Okay.”

And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

His hoodie.

A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

“She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

“I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

“In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

To that she raised a brow.

“Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

“You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

“Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

“No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

“But what about -,”

“No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

“Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

“Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

“Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

“I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

“I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

“Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

“You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

“I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

“If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

“You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

“You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

“Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

“Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

“More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

“That feel good?”

“So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

“Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

“Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

“Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.

Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

“Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

“No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

“Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

“There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

“And then?”

God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

“And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

“Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

“And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

“You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

“Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

And what a mouth it was.

Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

“ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

“Whatever for?”

“Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

“No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

“And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

“And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

“You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

“But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

“Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

“You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

“Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

“Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

“Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

“I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

“And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

“I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

“My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

“Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

“You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

“You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

“Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.

“That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“And the night’s still young.”

They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

“You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

“Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

“You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

“I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

“Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

“How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

“I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

“You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

“Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

“I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

“Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

“Let me take you out on a date.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

“Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

“I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

“And throw out your back, old man?”

“Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

“How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

“Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

“It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you. I’ll be home by 9.

It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

3K notes · View notes

hsnlv · 3 months ago

Text

cheating on you…? | y.jw

pairing: boyfriend!jungwon x reader

teaser: he hesitated. then, with great reluctance, he muttered, “you cheated on me.” you stared at him. then, without meaning to, you let out a laugh.

warnings/others: clingy!jungwon😡, mention of cheating!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: another jungwon’s fic is here!! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! 🎀here’s my masterlist!🎀

you loved jungwon. you really did. but right now? right now, he was testing every ounce of your patience.

“jungwon, i swear—”

“no,” he cut you off, tightening his hold around your waist like a stubborn child. “i’m staying right here.”

you groaned, tilting your head back against your chair. “wonnie, i have a deadline.”

“and i have a girlfriend who is ignoring me,” he countered, pouting dramatically.

you looked at him, unimpressed. “i’m not ignoring you. i’m literally talking to you right now.”

“but you’re not giving me attention.”

you exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. jungwon was never this clingy. sure, he had his moments, but today? today was something else. he had been glued to your side since this morning, following you around like a lost kitten, and now he was practically draped over you, his arms wound around your waist as he refused to let go.

you tried prying his hands off, but he only whined louder. “stop pushing me awayyy,” he drawled, voice muffled against your shoulder. “you’re being so mean today.”

“i’m not being mean,” you huffed. “you’re being impossible.”

he gasped, pulling away to clutch his chest. “me? impossible? is this how you really feel about me?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “jungwon, get off of me.”

“no.”

“jungwon.”

“no.”

“baby, please—”

“no.”

you groaned again, slumping in your chair. “oh my god, why are you like this today?”

he buried his face back into your shoulder, his voice muffled. “because i want to be close to you.”

your brows furrowed. “since when?”

“since forever.”

“that’s a lie.”

“no, it’s not.”

you sighed, placing your laptop on the desk and turning your full attention to him. “okay, what’s going on?”

“nothing.”

“yang jungwon.”

“hm?”

“tell me.”

“there’s nothing to tell.”

you narrowed your eyes. “so you’re just being clingy for no reason?”

he hesitated for a split second before nodding. “yup.”

“you’re lying.”

“no, i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“no, i’m not.”

you groaned again, rubbing your temples. “won, baby, if you don’t tell me, i’m going to start assuming the worst.”

his grip on you tightened.

bingo.

you pulled back slightly, eyeing him suspiciously. “jungwon. what happened?”

he pursed his lips, avoiding your gaze. “nothing happened.”

“you’re lying again.”

“no, i’m not.”

“jungwon.”

he whined, flopping against you dramatically. “why can’t you just let me be clingy in peace?”

“because you’re never this clingy,” you pointed out. “which means something happened.”

he groaned, burying his face into your neck. “just drop it.”

“absolutely not.”

“please?”

“nope.”

he let out a long, defeated sigh, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to tell you. but then, in the softest voice, he mumbled, “i had a dream.”

you blinked. “a dream?”

he nodded.

“was it a bad dream?”

he hesitated. then, with great reluctance, he muttered, “you cheated on me.”

you stared at him. then, without meaning to, you let out a laugh.

jungwon immediately pulled away, eyes narrowing. “why are you laughing?”

“because,” you giggled, covering your mouth, “you’re being clingy because of a dream?”

his pout deepened. “it wasn’t just a dream. it felt real.”

you shook your head, still smiling. “wonnie, baby, you know that would never happen, right?”

he huffed. “do i?”

“yes.” you cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his nose. “because i love you. and i would never, ever do that to you.”

he exhaled, his pout softening just a little. “promise?”

you held up your pinky. “pinky promise.”

he hooked his pinky around yours, finally cracking a small smile. “good.”

you grinned. “so does this mean you’re gonna let me finish my assignment now?”

jungwon paused. then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tackled you onto the bed.

“jungwon!” you squealed, laughing as he wrapped himself around you like an octopus.

“nope,” he hummed, snuggling into your neck. “i’m still recovering from my heartbreak.”

you rolled your eyes but let him hold you anyway, because honestly? you didn’t really mind.

1K notes · View notes

dearmini · 24 days ago

Text

𐔌 아이엔 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ how to braid a heart.

YANG JEONGIN! ⓘ when you walk in on him learning to braid hair.. for you?

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 4300wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, intimacy, cursing, unfunny jokes, bickering, rain (again). ┆ ☆ ⋮ drabble .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ and back again with another mini drabble! I'M SORRY IT KEEPS GETTING LONG. I CAN'T HELP IT. I SWEAR I TRIED MY BEST OKAY. happy reading!

it starts on a rainy afternoon.

the sky’s an overcast blur, cottony grey and soft like the hush of a lullaby. outside the window, the rain’s been drizzling for hours—persistent, gentle. the kind that makes people want to curl into themselves and disappear under a hoodie. the kind that fills a boy’s bedroom with the scent of petrichor and lazy light and something warm, something waiting.

inside, the air is thick with the hum of effort and youtube hair tutorials.

yang jeongin is frowning.

deeply. intensely. so much that the tiny crease between his brows could write a thesis on how absolutely ridiculous this is.

his long legs are folded awkwardly on his bed, laptop perched dangerously on a too-fluffy pillow, volume turned down low like he’s committing a crime. on-screen, a chipper woman with shiny nails is explaining, once again, how to start a simple three-strand braid. he doesn’t know what “detangle thoroughly” is supposed to mean when the practice mannequin he bought off some shady online store came tangled, like the thing had beef with him in a past life.

jeongin sighs. sharp and dramatic. like a man defeated by plastic hair.

"why am i doing this," he mutters, though it's the twentieth time he’s said it and the answer never changes.

his fingers, ringed and slender, hover in the air like he’s diffusing a bomb. he’s watched four videos already—two american vloggers, one british lady, and a girl named chloe who made it look suspiciously easy. they all say the same thing: divide the hair, cross one over the other, repeat.

but his fingers? his fingers are traitors. they fumble. they hesitate. they grip too hard, twist the strands weirdly, somehow create a knot so intense it feels personal.

"great," he deadpans, staring down at the mess he’s made. “it looks like i braided a broomstick with anxiety.”

still, he doesn’t stop.

not even when his phone buzzes with a message from seungmin in their group chat.

[minimin]: iyennie what are you doing you’re too quiet [maknaeontop]: cry-typing bc love makes me stupid [minimin]: ew [minimin]: oh wait are you actually

he locks his phone without replying, because yes, he is actually. and he’s not ready to be bullied about it.

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. model face, they always say. sharp jawline, perfect skin, annoyingly symmetrical.

and yet here he is—sitting cross-legged in neon pyjama pants with strawberries on them, practicing braiding on a fake head like he’s training for the olympics of soft boyfriend behaviour.

he looks back at the wig head. it sits on his desk, propped up like a little goblin staring into his soul. its blank eyes challenge him.

“don’t look at me like that,” jeongin says flatly. “you’re the one who’s not cooperating.”

but the thing is—he’s serious about this.

it started two weeks ago, the first time you’d complained that your hair was being "super annoying" and you just wanted to 'chop it all off and live like a boy in the 2000s.'

you’d said it in passing, curling up against him on the couch, head tilted, the glow of the tv painting shadows across your cheek.

and he’d looked at you then. really looked.

the pout on your lips. the strands falling over your eyes. the quiet frustration under your breath as your fingers tugged a bit too roughly at a knot.

something about it stuck.

that night, after you’d fallen asleep, soft breathing tangled in his hoodie, the loverboy here had stared at the ceiling and thought.. 'i wish i could help. i wish i could do that for her.'

and that was that.

now he’s five videos deep, wrist aching, knees numb from sitting weird. his fingers are shaking, not from exhaustion, but from how hard he’s trying. his tongue sticks out in concentration—just a little, just the tiniest sliver of pink against the sharp lines of his mouth. adorable and determined.

outside, thunder rolls lazily. the window fogs up from the warmth of the room. he smells the faint citrus of his candle—the one you picked out, teasing him for liking “bougie scents” before sneakily smelling it three more times. the one he keeps lit when he misses you. which is often.

the mannequin head tilts slightly as he tugs on a finished braid. it’s not perfect. it’s kinda uneven. a few strands are sticking out. but—it's a braid.

his first real one.

he stares at it for a moment, expression unreadable, then lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. the kind that almost doesn't make a sound. just breath, and pride, and affection leaking out through the cracks in his self-deprecating walls.

“y/n,” he mumbles to himself, “you better bawl when i do this on you.”

a beat. he stares down at the wig, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“…or at least pretend to be impressed. i’m emotionally fragile.”

and with that, he hits play on the next video. french braids this time. no one said love was easy. but jeongin's always been the type to take his time with the things that matter.

and you?

you matter most of all.

. . .

the braid unravels the second he blinks.

one second, he’s staring at it—fingers suspended mid-air like he’s diffusing a bomb, heart beating with the gentle anticipation of accomplishment—and the next, the strands slip like water through his hands.

and the softest little “nooo…” escapes him.

it’s quiet. gentle. like a child watching their sandcastle wash away.

jeongin sighs, slow and guttural, tilting his head back until it thumps softly against his headboard. the rain outside has softened to a drizzle, the kind that clings to windows like a lullaby. the sky is still grey, but there’s a warmth in his room now—a lemony-citrus kind of haze, mixing with the cotton scent of fabric softener from the blanket twisted around his legs. a comfort cocoon. a secret mission cave. the jeongin love lab™ (unofficial name. do not repeat this to anyone).

he’s surrounded by crime scene evidence: a bobby pin clamped between his teeth, a broken hair tie hanging from his wrist, a video paused on the screen of some lady who braided her own hair in twenty seconds. with french flair. while smiling.

jeongin narrows his eyes at her like she owes him money.

"she's mocking me,” he says under his breath, chewing dramatically on the bobby pin.

his phone buzzes again.

[minimin]: are u ok [sooniedoongiedori]: is the kid crying over love again [hyuniret]: what happened to my baby [maknaeontop]: get out [hyuniret]: not until you tell mama what’s wrong [hyuniret]: i’ll bake you cookies [hyuniret]: i’ll kiss your cheeks

jeongin’s nose scrunches, but his heart does that annoying soft thing. the warm thing. the “ugh i guess i like you idiots” thing.

he hesitates only a second before tapping hyunjin’s name. video call.

it rings once.

twice.

and then—

hyunjin answers dramatically. black buzzcut adorned with a pink headband, face glistening from what looks like a very intense skincare routine, lips pursed like a mum who’s just been told her son failed math.

“iyennie!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “you look pale. did someone break your heart? was it seungmin? i’ll kill him.”

“i’m literally fine,” jeongin deadpans, leaning back against the pillow mountain behind him. “this is not a therapy session.”

hyunjin gasps again, but more offended this time. “how dare. first of all, every call with me is a healing experience. second of all—what’s that behind you?”

jeongin freezes.

too slow.

too suspicious.

hyunjin leans in on the screen like a hawk. “is that a… wig head? is that… blonde hair? are you—are you braiding something?!”

silence.

jeongin stares blankly at the screen. “this call is over.”

“nope—nope—not a chance—explain yourself,” hyunjin screeches, kicking something off-screen and nearly knocking over his phone in the process. “wait—is it for y/n? you’re learning to braid for her aren’t you—”

“keep your voice down!” jeongin hisses, darting to shut his bedroom door like a teenager caught sneaking out. “what if she hears you? she’s not even home yet but still—what if the walls are thin or something.”

“my precious soft romantic noodle.”

“don’t.”

“my little handsy craftsman—”

“i will hang up, hyung.”

“so you are braiding! oh my god. you’re literally adorable. i knew you loved her but this is like—baking-level devotion. you're spending too much time with the main loverboy. aka me.”

jeongin mutters something unintelligible and grabs the mannequin again. its plastic eyes haunt him. “i’m just trying to get it right. my fingers keep slipping and she has this one little piece that always falls loose—she tucks it behind her ear, like—like this.”

he mimics it, almost absentmindedly. his eyes soften.

hyunjin notices, and for once, doesn’t interrupt.

there’s something about watching jeongin like this. all his sharp little edges dulled into domestic softness. not performing, not teasing, not being the chaotic maknae or the class clown or the guy who always says something sarcastic when things get too sincere.

he’s just… quiet. and trying.

and that’s the most vulnerable thing of all.

hyunjin clears his throat, gentler now. “okay, listen. i used to braid my hair all the time before i chopped it off, remember?”

jeongin perks up. “yeah, you were like… weirdly good at it.”

“still am, thank you very much. i even practiced on lixie a few times. he giggled the whole time like i was tickling him with angel wings.”

“of course he did.”

“anyway,” hyunjin continues, flipping his camera to demonstrate on a random knit scarf from his bed. “it’s not about making it perfect. it’s about rhythm. breathe with it. like—left, right, center. it’s a heartbeat, not math.”

jeongin raises an eyebrow. “that’s… kinda poetic.”

“i’m kinda a genius.”

“you’re kinda a nerd.”

“you’re kinda in love.”

he doesn’t deny it.

instead, jeongin copies him—slowly, carefully, the way you reach for something delicate in the dark. one strand over. then another. he’s holding his breath again. his knuckles are tense. but his fingers don’t slip this time.

the braid takes shape like a secret blooming.

“hey,” hyunjin says after a minute, voice quieter, eyes warm through the screen. “she’s gonna love it, you know.”

jeongin looks down at the messy braid in his hands. it’s still a little uneven. a little frayed at the end. but it holds. it stays.

he exhales.

“yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “i think so too.”

hyunjin smiles like he knows something ancient. “text me when she cries.”

“i’m not trying to make her cry.”

“no, no, like in a good way. like happy tears. you’re gonna ruin her standards forever.”

“…that’d be kinda iconic, actually.”

“that’s my boy.”

and for once, jeongin lets himself grin.

just a little. just enough.

the screen dims as the call ends. the room is quiet again—only rain against glass, the soft fizz of his candle, the faint smell of vanilla-laced cotton, the memory of your voice somewhere in the fabric of his hoodie.

the braid rests on the mannequin’s shoulder, gentle and crooked and completely real.

and somewhere in his chest, jeongin feels it.

the heartbeat of it. left, right, center.

you, you, always you.

the front door sighs open with the softest creak.

it’s after 6pm—the kind of dusky grey that makes everything feel like it’s been filtered through nostalgia. your arms are full—bag slipping off your shoulder, scarf unraveling from your neck, a paper coffee cup still lukewarm from earlier. you’re tired, windblown, and ever so slightly damp from the rain, which now smells like petrichor and wet pavement and the faint trace of ozone.

“iyennie?” you call out softly, toeing off your shoes, already craving the warmth of him.

no reply.

you frown a little, peeking into the hallway. there’s no music playing. no clatter of a game controller. no fake scoffing at your outfit or teasing demand for a bite of your snack.

nothing. just quiet. thicker than usual.

the lights are on in his room, though. warm, gold-toned. inviting. like honey melting across the walls.

you pause.

knock lightly. “jeongin?”

still no answer.

and so—curious, maybe a little concerned, you push the door open.

what you find… isn’t something you could’ve imagined in a hundred years.

jeongin—model-faced, sharp-jawed, fashion-manicured chaos incarnate jeongin—is on the floor. legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, face scrunched in deep concentration. his tongue pokes out at the corner of his mouth. a wig head with synthetic blonde hair rests in front of him like a bizarre shrine, and his long fingers are tangled awkwardly in the strands.

he doesn’t notice you. not at all. he’s whisper-counting under his breath.

“left, right, center… center, left, wait—fuck—no, that’s not center, wait—why is this so hard?”

he groans. not dramatically. genuinely. like this braid has personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entire yang bloodline.

you blink.

and then you do the only logical thing in that moment.

you burst out laughing.

jeongin jumps so violently he flings the poor wig head across the carpet. his eyes fly up, wide and accusatory, like you’re the villain in his villain origin story.

“what the fuck— oh my god.”

you’re already wheezing, hand to your chest, leaning against the doorframe. “oh my god. oh my god. you were talking to it. you were braiding a mannequin—iyen-ah, what the hell?”

“i was not—shut up—get out!”

you stumble in further, nearly dropping your coffee. “no way. you can’t erase this from my brain. this is permanent. this is my core memory now.”

jeongin scoffs, snatching the wig like it’s a bomb he’s shielding you from. “why are you even home already? you said six-thirty!”

you blink through your laughter. “it is six-thirty.”

he freezes.

then mutters, “…traitorous clock.”

you drop your bag with a dramatic thud and crawl onto the bed like a predator, face lit up with delight. “oh my god, this is amazing. who were you gonna show? or were you just planning to become a secret braid master and drop it casually in conversation like, ‘oh yeah, i do complicated french braids now, no big deal’?”

“shut up,” he mutters again, cheeks visibly pink.

you hum, sitting cross-legged like royalty, chin in your palm. “so who’s the lucky client, hm?”

jeongin glares. “it’s not for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

you lift an eyebrow, unbothered. “oh no?”

“no,” he says, entirely too fast. “your dumb hair’s always falling everywhere. like a goddamn waterfall. it’s annoying.”

you press your lips together to hide the grin threatening to split your face. “right. so naturally, your first instinct is to learn an entire skill set to deal with my dumb hair.”

he throws a pillow at you. you catch it easily.

“you’re so—ugh—you’re so full of yourself,” he grumbles, yanking the hoodie sleeves back down and refusing to look at you. “not everything i do is about you.”

you lean back against the headboard, stretching with a content little sigh. “except when it is.”

he groans again, flopping backwards like a teenager in agony. “i hate you.”

you smile, impossibly fond. “no, you don’t.”

he peeks at you from one eye. “no. i really do.”

you stretch your leg out and nudge his thigh with your socked toe. “you were doing so well, too. you almost had it.”

“whatever. i didn’t even care.”

you nod solemnly. “of course. you were just… having a casual braid session with your… headless friend.”

“she has a name,” he says without thinking.

you gasp. “oh my god, you named her—”

he lobs another pillow, this one stronger. “get out.”

but you’re both laughing now—open and loud and soft around the edges, like this room has folded in to make space for something warmer.

your laughter fades into a smile. your eyes meet his, and there’s a lull, a hush, like the rain’s listening too.

“yennie,” you say, softer now, “you’re actually kind of a genius.”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t hide the way his lips twitch upward. “took you long enough to realize.”

you crawl closer, curling up beside him, the scent of your shampoo mingling with the faint cinnamon-sugar of his hoodie. your knee brushes his. your fingers reach out, tangle lightly in the edge of the messy braid still clinging to life.

he watches your hand.

you watch him.

and he says, low, quiet: “i just wanted to get it right.”

your heart does something dumb and fluttery. “why?”

he shrugs. doesn’t meet your eyes. “just figured… you let me touch your hair so much. i should at least learn to do something useful with it.”

silence.

heavy. sweet.

you lean in, press your forehead to his shoulder. he stiffens, then melts.

you murmur, “you’re a dumbass.”

“i know.”

“…but like, my favourite one.”

he grins—smug and shy all at once. “i better be.”

and the rain keeps falling.

and the mannequin keeps watching.

and you—two kids tangled up in love, in sarcasm, in shitty synthetic braids and soft secret affections—just stay there, skin against skin, laughter still echoing like thunder trailing behind lightning.

and you think—this must be what it feels like.

true love, in a room full of pillows and mistakes and too many words.

braided gently between your hearts.

. . .

the next morning is gentle in a way only weekend scan be—slow and sticky, syrup-dripped around the corners.

the room smells like jeongin: bergamot and laundry detergent, worn cotton and leftover vanilla candle from last night. he’s sprawled across your shared bed like a prince who owns the morning, blanket kicked halfway off, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of tan skin above his waistband.

you’re already awake, curled into your corner of the mattress, pillow hugging your chest.

watching him.

thinking.

the image of him practicing braids on a wig still lives in your brain rent-free. it flickers behind your eyes every time you look at him now. and you can’t stop smiling. can’t stop remembering the way his fingers fumbled through strands like they were secrets. how he muttered to himself like the mannequin had personally offended him. how he told you, with his whole heart and no eye contact, “i just wanted to get it right.”

you’d kissed his cheek before bed.

he hadn’t brought it up again.

but now—

now, as golden light curls through the curtains and your boyfriend begins to stir—grumbling softly, smacking his lips like a grumpy cat—you decide it’s time.

“hey,” you whisper, reaching to nudge his side.

he flinches, groans. “don’t touch me.”

“it’s ten thirty.”

“i’m asleep.”

“you’re talking.”

“sleep talking. stop flirting with me.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “get up, braid-boy.”

he cracks one eye open, all sleepy lashes and morning puff. “say that again and i’m breaking up with you.”

you crawl closer, lips brushing his temple. “get up. braid. my. hair.”

he stares at you for a long, suspicious second.

then sighs, dramatically. “you’re serious?”

you nod.

and now he’s sitting upright—barely—but upright, hoodie sleeve wiping at his puffy face like a child. his voice is rough and low and wholly unimpressed. “fine. but don’t blame me if you end up looking like a scarecrow.”

“i will cry.”

“you always do,” he mutters, standing up and stretching like a sleepy cat. his hoodie lifts again. you stare. you’re only human.

you grab your brush and sit cross-legged on the floor, facing away from him. “you’re going to regret saying yes when i post this on instagram with the caption; ‘my boyfriend is a hairstylist now.’”

from behind you.. “post that and i’m deleting your animal crossing island in your sleep.”

you gasp. “that’s evil.”

he plops down behind you, cross-legged, his knees brushing yours. his fingers skim your shoulder blades as he gathers your hair in his palms.

“you’re evil,” he murmurs, and somehow it sounds loving.

your breath catches.

there’s something about the way his fingers move through your hair—careful, cautious, reverent. jeongin is often clumsy with affection, never sure what to do with the way he feels things. but now? with your head bowed, his hands sifting through strands like wind through grass?

it’s almost reverent.

almost sacred.

“you’re being weirdly gentle,” you mumble.

“shut up. your hair’s delicate. like a baby angel’s.”

you snort. “i’m going to vomit.”

“you asked for this.”

his fingers begin to work—slowly, hesitantly. a tug here. a curse there.

you feel his knuckles brush your scalp, his thumbs press against your crown.

it’s quiet, but not heavy.

your eyes close.

you breathe in: the crisp cotton of his hoodie. the faint smell of coffee from the kitchen. the feel of his breath ghosting the back of your neck.

then:

“ow—jeongin!”

“you moved!”

“i breathed.”

“well, breathe quieter.”

you twist around just enough to glare at him. “you are insufferable.”

he meets your eyes, lips twitching. “and yet, you’re letting me braid your precious princess hair.”

you frown. cross your arms. sulk.

jeongin pauses.

“oh no,” he says flatly. “the pout’s out. god save us.”

you jut your bottom lip farther out.

he groans, head dropping against your shoulder. “you’re going to milk this forever, aren’t you?”

you nod, slowly.

he laughs softly into your shoulder. “god, i’m in love with an actual cartoon character.”

you whisper, teasing, “you love me.”

he breathes, “so much it makes me stupid.”

and he doesn’t say it like a confession. he says it like it’s already been written somewhere in the sky, like it’s just fact. like “the sun rises,” or “your hair always gets stuck to his hoodie,” or “you make him soft without trying.”

you swallow.

your pout melts.

you whisper, “then make it pretty.”

he smiles. “always.”

and he keeps braiding.

the rest is gentle chaos.

he loses a strand. swears. starts over. pulls too tight. apologizes. yells at the hair. tells it to behave. tells your hair to behave.

you nearly cry laughing.

he finishes eventually.

“it’s awful,” he says, smug.

you glance at the mirror. it’s crooked. a little lumpy. possibly about to fall apart.

you beam. “it’s perfect.”

he rolls his eyes. “you’re such a liar.”

you grab his hoodie and yank him toward you. “no. i’m in love.”

he blinks. all that sass melts from his face like butter in sun.

“i—”

you press your forehead to his, breath tangled. “you don’t have to say it back.”

he does, of course.

“but i do. and i'm in love with you, too.”

you’re still turned toward him, knees touching, the scent of his hoodie weaving its way through your senses like thread through needle. the room hums with the afterglow of laughter, the kind that’s still stitched into the corners of your cheeks, still warming the undersides of your ribs.

you giggle—forehead brushing his, your breath ghosting between the spaces where his lashes flutter.

soft.

sacred.

“it is really good,” you whisper, like it’s a secret meant for no one but him. “you should become a hairstylist—”

and suddenly, he moves.

not away.

toward you.

he grabs your wrists with gentle fingers, tugging you forward so fast your balance tips. a startled squeak leaves your lips as you tumble into his chest, all cotton warmth and steady heartbeat, your hands pressed flat against the soft fabric of his hoodie, your nose bumping against his collarbone.

he laughs.

of course he laughs—rich and golden and boyish, like the sound of sunlight finding a windchime. you’re still gathering breath, blinking up at him, when his arms wrap around you—tight but not suffocating, possessive in the softest way. like a secret folded into a sweater. like a kiss that already happened, even before lips met.

“don’t—” you breathe, muffled into his hoodie, “ambush me.”

“you were being cute,” he murmurs, somewhere near your hairline. his voice is velvet and sin. “i couldn’t help it.”

“warn me next time—”

“nope,” he says, smiling into your scalp, “i like this method.”

and then—he pulls back just enough to see your face.

his fingers curl beneath your jaw. his thumb brushes a stray hair behind your ear. your breath hitches—because his eyes, usually full of mockery and sass, are now soft. unsharpened. like dusk settling into the horizon.

“say it again,” he smirks.

you blink. “say what?”

“that it’s good. the braid.”

you roll your eyes, pretending your heart isn’t melting like butter on a stovetop. “you’re really fishing for validation, huh?”

“i braided human hair for the first time. i deserve a grammy.”

“that’s not how that works—”

he silences your teasing with a kiss.

gentle.

melting.

a touch of lips that feels like a promise made without language.

you don’t realize your hands have slid up to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the warm dip where his neck meets hoodie. his skin is soft there. familiar. yours.

the kiss deepens—not in pressure, but in emotion. it stretches long, like honey poured slow. like time forgot to tick forward.

and when he pulls back, it’s only enough to whisper, “thank you.”

you tilt your head. “for what?”

“for letting me touch your hair.”

you blink, thrown off by the sincerity.

his grin is lopsided, his thumb still drawing lazy circles into your skin. “it’s… i don’t know. it feels like… trust.”

you go silent.

because it is.

because he gets it.

and that’s how you know—really know—you’re in love. with him.

you lean forward and rest your forehead against his again, both of you folded in like an origami heart—quiet, intricate, impossible to untangle.

“i love you, you know,” you whisper.

he hums. smirks. presses another kiss to your nose like punctuation. “i know.”

then adds, smug, “you love my braid skills and my face. admit it.”

you groan. “you ruined it.”

he snickers, pulling you closer again, your braid getting smooshed between your shoulders and his hoodie.

“baby.”

“what?”

“you’re stuck with me.”

you grin against his shoulder. “yeah. i know.”

and the world, for one small moment, feels like a soft pillow, a warm hoodie, and the safest arms to ever exist.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @inlovewithstraykids @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbaee @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3 © heartsbyani, dearmini '25 ★

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luvyeni · 1 month ago

Text

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──────── you being changbin sister could cause many problems … but he could care less …

( 対 ) yang jeongin + fem. reader wc. genre · contains! mature content. / back to library

ever since he saw you walking around the building he knew he needed to have you. chasing you down to talk to you every single time he saw you walking with a staff or one of the itzy members. he assumed you were one of their makeup artists or something, he never really thought of it — until you dropped a ball on him just as he was taking off your skirt. “who?”

“changbin.” his ears were deceiving him; or you were playing a cruel sick joke on him, it wasn’t funny considering his hand were literally down your pants , he was hovering above you in your apartment. “his sister.” you nodded; when did he even have a younger sister? “why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, almost 7 years he hadn’t known about a younger sister. “i didn’t want you to be turned off by me being related to one of your members and all.”

clearly he wasn’t turned off; just a bit shocked, but that quickly wore off when your hand crept down to his lower region. “fuck.” he cursed as you rubbed him through his pants. “you don’t seem to be turned off.” you smirked. “i’m not.” he cupped your mound, making you moan. “fuck i need to be inside you now.” he quickly got rid of your clothes , just now realizing the shirt you were wearing was on he seen on his member multiple times; giving him another reminder of who you were. he threw the shirt across the room; forgetting about as he squeezed your boobs with his big hand. “jeongin please fuck me.”

he groaned , ridding himself of his pants. “you’re so wet.” he rubbed your clothed folds. “gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy yeah?” pulling your panties to the side. “please fuck me.” you moaned as he slipped inside you. “ugh shit.” he cursed, feeling your warm walls clenching around his cock. “so-so fucking big.” you gripped his arm as he thrusted inside of you. “you can take it right , take my fat cock.” he grunted. “such a pretty slut for me.”

“fuck innie speed up.” you moan out and he held your waist up, plowing into you. “ah, fuck!” you screamed. “fuck keep going please!” your nails were digging in his skin , but he couldn’t care less. “shit , you’re clenching around me so tight.” he hissed. “you gonna cum , ma-make a fucking mess for me?” you nodded , hold your hand tightly as your legs stiffen , shaking as you came with a gasp. “fuck i’m gonna cum.” he hummed , stilling his hips as he came. “shit.” he pulled out of you , his half hard cock resting on your stomach , covered in your slick. “you’re still hard.” you said through shallow breaths.

“good thing i’m not done with you yeah?” he slipped back inside your warm cunt. “being late tomorrow is gonna be so fucking worth it.”

“jesus fucking christ.” seungmin stared at the boy's arms as he took his sweater off the next day at practice. “what fucking panther did you encounter yesterday.” his arms was red; and so was his cheeks as he recalled the night he had. “well at least know why you were late this morning.” lee know smirked. “did you use protection?” “i’m not having this conversation right now, let’s just get back to practice.”

“yeah well you should answer your phone.” hyunjin picked it up. “yn wants to know if you’re coming over after practice; also you left your sweater at her apartment.” hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows; meanwhile jeongins eyes widened in fear as hyunjin just revealed everything. “who?” changbin said. “did you say yn?”

“who’s yn?” felix asked; jisung shrugging. “yn?” chan said. “changbin don’t you have a sister named yn?” it was everyone’s turn to be wide eyed. “jeongin you didn’t.” chan said, changbin already calling you. “this is some sick joke.” jeongin spoke up. “i didn’t know you two were related i swear.” he started. “well at first.”

“what the hell do you want oppa you’ve called me 5 times already?” he finally got a hold of you. “please tell me you and jeongin didn’t do what i think you did,” he said. “jeongin how didn’t you know that was her sister?” hyunjin asked. “for starters she was walking around the building with itzy i thought she was a staff.” he said , your voice booming through the older boys phone. “yah , do i call you and ask you about what you do with other people , how dare you!” everyone went wide eyed. “it’s gross!” changbin said. “if it’s so gross , don’t ask!” and with that you ended the call , changbin turned to the boy. “i’d kill you if i didn’t think she’d kill me too.” he pushed past the boy. seungmin spoke up.

“well if just looking at her you couldn’t tell, her screaming over the phone like a crazy person like he would should.”

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #skz hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard thoughts #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x female reader #stray kids drabbles #skz fic #yang jeongin fanfic #yang jeongin hard hours #yang jeongin hard thoughts #yang jeongin fic #yang jeongin smut

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feelbokkie · 11 days ago

Text

so this is how you love

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: sick fic, angst, comfort, fluff

pov: 3rd person (reader is referred to in the 2nd person though)

description: a cryptic texts leads to your boyfriend coming home to find you sick in bed.

pairing: idol!jeongin x sick gn!reader

warnings: swearing

word count: 5,767

For the first time in a long time—possibly for the first time ever— Jeongin was worried about his relationship with you.

He wasn’t at first; there was no need to be. The two of you lived a quiet life together. You went on dates frequently. He would split his time between living at the dorm and living with you. And as months went on, he spent more time living with you than at his dorm. He’d mostly stay there if it were more convenient for a schedule and so that Chan wouldn’t get so lonely. And if he had to stay at the dorm, he’d stay up on the phone with you, wishing the call would never end. When he had to leave overseas or even just out of town for a few days, he couldn’t wait until he saw you again. He’d see you in little things like the flowers or the laugh of a stranger reminded him of you. He couldn’t deny his love for you, not that he’d ever want to. He thought that everything between the two of you was fine.

“Sleep at the dorm tonight.”

The text took more energy out of his body than the choreography he had just spent the entire morning learning. It came out of nowhere, completely blindsiding him as he sat in the corner of the practice room. He tried calling you repeatedly, only to be met with your voicemail. It wasn't like you to completely shut down like this if you were mad at him. The two of you had gotten into the habit of talking things through. But if you aren't even answering his calls and banned him from coming over, like he was supposed to—

I fucked up.

"Alright, let's run the dance one more time and then call it. Whoever messes up first is buying lunch." Minho calls when he reenters the room.

Jeongin sends a quick text telling—no begging—you to call him back before shoving his phone back in his bag and joining the rest of the members in the middle of the room.

“Han, can we go to that restaurant Chan hyung was talking about yesterday?” Seungmin asks Jisung through the mirror as a large grin spreads across his face.

Jisung cocks his head to the side as he turns to Seungmin. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because he knows you’re going to be the first to mess up!” Changbin calls from the back of the starting formation.

“Hey!”

Too busy trying to push whatever is going on with you out of his head and trying to mentally run through the dance. The faster they get done, the sooner he can leave and try to figure out what’s happening. Under normal circumstances, Jeongin would respect your wishes and give you space until you were ready to talk.

Under normal circumstances, you’d at least text why you needed the space in the first place.

"Hey! Lunch is on Yang Jeongin! See, I told you I wasn't going to be the first to mess up." Jisung shouts from behind Jeongin, who is still standing motionless in his starting position.

"Huh? What? The music didn't..." Jeongin’s voice trails off. His eyes focus back as he looks at the members in the mirror, noticing that they’re all in the poses that they should be in after the music started while he's still in his starting position.

“It’s okay, that was just a practice run. It doesn’t count. Let’s just start over.” Chan walks over and pats Jeongin on the back while giving him a soft smile.

“What? That’s not fair! If I was the one—“

“That’s because you have a habit of forgetting the dance you just learned dumbass. This song is like Jjam; it starts off weird. Half of us flinched before we were supposed to move.” Hyunjin laughs as he makes his way over to Jeongin, immediately throwing an arm over his shoulder and squeezing his cheeks.

Jeongin pushes Hyunjin off of him and brushes his hair out of his face. Not an unusual thing for him to do, but the lack of even a twitch in the corner of his mouth as he pushed him off is enough to make Chan and Hyunjin share a concerned look. The other members don’t miss it either, the sudden air of tension that seeps into the practice room.

“In-ah, are you okay?” Felix asks softly as he starts to approach the youngest member.

"Yeah, I'm just tired. It's been a long day." Jeongin sighs. He runs his hands through his hair again. "It's fine. I messed up, so I'll pay for lunch. Let's just run the dance again and go,"

Everyone exchanged quiet looks with each other as they got back into their positions. It was new territory for all of them, and none of them knew exactly how to navigate around it. Sure, they've seen Jeongin upset and stressed before. But not like this. Never when he was so distraught that he couldn't focus at practice. Not when Felix talking to him couldn't bring out even a sympathetic smile.

***

The second final run of the dance goes smoothly with only minor mistakes that could be fixed during the next practice. A few more quiet glances are exchanged as Jeongin makes a beeline for his bag the second they're dismissed from practice. Chan makes the first move without realizing that the other members were looking at him to talk to Jeongin.

Chan picks up his bag from the bench before walking over to Jeongin right as he stands up and is about to leave the room. "Everything alright, In?"

"Yeah, like I just said. I'm tired. I'm not really hungry either, so I'm just going to head out." Jeongin's grip on his bag tightens as he glances at the clock behind Chan. "I know I'm supposed to pay for lunch, but I can give you my card or just pay you back."

Chan's expression softens as he watches anxiety spread across Jeongin's face. "Don't worry about that right now. What's going on? Really?"

Jeongin's mouth presses into a fine line as he glances around the room. Everyone else is slowly making their way over to their bags. Chan takes the hint and gestures towards the door. Jeongin doesn't hesitate and quickly walks out of the room with Chan close behind him. As he closes the door, he signals for the remaining members to stay inside for a minute.

"What's going on?" Chan's voice stays low, mindful that anyone could be lurking in the corners of the company building.

"I—" Jeongin cuts himself off and takes a deep breath before starting again. "I need to go to Y/n's place. They're pissed at me and I'm scared...that they might want to..."

Jeongin's voice dies in his throat as he tries to finish his sentence. Not that he wants to. A small part of him holds onto the small belief that if he says it out loud, he'd speak it into existence. The idea of you leaving him—especially because of something he might have done—is not a scenario he's ever imagined. The uncertainty of what's going on fills him with a sense of dread he's never felt before.

"Did something happen?" Chan hesitates.

"I don't know. They left a weird message and they won't answer their phone—" Jeongin lets out a shaky breath as he looks up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears that are stabbing the back of his eyes as they threaten to fall out. "I know I'm supposed to separate my personal life with my work life but honestly hyung, I'm scared shitless right now."

Chan stops himself from pulling Jeongin into a hug knowing that the younger would not welcome the embrace, especially now. Instead, he ruffles the younger man's hair and offers a gentle smile. "Don't worry about that right now. I'm sure everything is fine. I'll cover for you with the guys, so just go and sort it out. It's probably a misunderstanding."

"Thank you," Jeongin offers Chan a weak smile before leaving to talk to you.

Jeongin half expected to find his stuff sitting outside of your shared apartment. He took some relief that the only thing in front of the door was the doormat that the two of you bought during a trip to Busan. Still, his heart continues to jackhammer in his chest as he finally musters up the courage to open the door. Whatever remaining comfort left in his body dissipates at the sight of your quiet apartment.

It’s the silence that’s unsettling to him. The only times he’s walked into a dark and quiet home are when you’re out. You disliked silence, so much so that you had a small white noise machine that you’d use to help you sleep when you knew Jeongin wasn’t going to be home or would come back after you fell asleep. During the day, there’d always be some sort of noise playing—either the TV was left on some random channel or music was coming through your speakers. But the absence of your slippers next to his by the door lets him know that you’re sitting by yourself somewhere in the dark.

My fault.

Jeongin wastes no time kicking off his shoes and placing them, along with his bag, in the hall closet. He slips his feet into his house shoes and walks straight to your room.

His heart stops pounding long enough to note the lack of white noise filling the room. It sinks to the bottom of his stomach as he makes out the outline of you curled up underneath the blanket.

As he stands in the doorway watching you, it dawns on him that he doesn’t know what to say. He spent so much time racking his brain trying to figure out what he could have possibly done to elicit such a large reaction from you that he didn’t think about what he was going to do when he saw you. Every word he’s ever learned vacates his body, fluttering away like they’re one of the moths in his stomach.

Part of Jeongin wants to just turn around and leave. You hadn’t heard him, and you definitely didn’t see him, so it won't hurt if he just walks out right now. He’s scared of what you might say. That you want to break up. That you hate him and never want to see him again. He’s not sure what he did, but he’s certain that disobeying your one wish was reason enough for you to want to end the relationship.

Still, the idea that you're home upset with him over something he most likely did is enough to bring him to an early grave. He walks gingerly towards the bed. His eyes, having adjusted to the darkness in the room, land on the crumbled-up tissues on the bed and on the floor beside a plastic bag. Something snaps in Jeongin's chest as he thinks about how you have been crying because of him.

Jeongin squeezes his eyes tight before shaking his head to get back into focus. Once he's settled, he walks closer to the bed and crouches down next to you. With his eyes level with yours, he stops to examine every inch of your face, taking every last detail just in case he never gets the chance to do it again. If he could, he'd sit there and count every eyelash and mark on your face, even the microscopic ones that even you don't know about. After a moment, he puts a hand on your back and softly rubs your back to wake you gently. Something he's done countless times, but this time it feels foreign to him.

The first few seconds cause you to stir in your sleep and pull your blanket over your face. A few more seconds pass before you pull the blanket just below your tired eyes. Jeongin doesn't stop even after your eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" You croak softly.

"I know you said to stay at the dorm, but I think we need to talk—"

"You need to go. You can't be here." Your voice is hoarse as you get a little bit louder. You pull the blanket tighter around your face as your eyes widen, more awake now.

Jeongin stops rubbing your back but leaves his hand resting on it. "Not until you tell me why you're so mad at me."

Confusion laces your face as you process what Jeongin just said and the desperate look on his face. No matter how much you stare at him, you can't even begin to think what he could be talking about.

"I'm not mad at you. Who told you that?" You finally ask, giving up on trying to figure out what's going on in his head.

"You did," He almost whispers.

"I did? When?" Your voice is muffled behind the blanket. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to make sense of what's going on right now.

"Earlier, when you told me to stay at the dorm."

" No, I didn't." You sit up on your elbow. Still, the blanket continues to cover your mouth and nose. You feel about the bed, looking for your phone, hoping it didn't fall behind the bed again. You pull it out from underneath Jeongin's pillow and go to your messages. "I told you to stay at the dorm because I'm sick."

"I know what I read, Y/n. You didn't say anything about being sick."

"I know what I said and..." Your argument dies before you can even finish it as you see the message you sent to Jeongin. "Shit, sorry you're right. I didn't hit 'send' the part of the message where I said that I'm sick. But I also didn't tell you that I was mad at you."

"It was implied," Jeongin mumbles as he starts to stand up.

"How was it implied?" You set your phone on the bedside table and lie back down as the room begins to swirl around.

"The period,"

You slowly blink at Jeongin, not entirely sure if the conversation you're having right now is real or some strange fever dream. "That's...that's basic punctuation."

"Yeah but in the context of the message you sent and the fact that you didn't answer any of my calls, it meant you were beyond pissed off at me."

"Noted. I'll make sure to never use a single punctuation mark when I text you ever again and to finish my messages before I fall asleep." You bring one of your hands to your temple and begin massaging as the headache you started the day off with reminds you of its presence. "You seriously need to get out of here."

Jeongin watches you for a moment as you try to dull the pain in your head. His heart has long since settled now that he knows it was just a misunderstanding. His earlier panic has been replaced by concern for you. You're paler than he's ever seen you the entire time he's known you. Strands of your hair are sticking to your face, and he can practically feel the heat radiating off of you. Without much thinking, Jeongin hovers over you and presses his lips against your forehead, not caring one bit about the sweat.

"What are you doing?" Worried about him being so close to you, you push him off with the hand that was relieving you of your headache.

"You're really hot," He breathes as he stands up quickly.

Jeongin doesn't give you time to respond before walking to the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom. He quickly finds the thermometer in its usual place and washes it off in the sink while searching for something to give you. The lack of any sort of medication that he could give you quickly irritates him. He shuts off the water and walks back into the room.

You flinch and move your hand to cover your eyes as Jeongin turns on the light. His eyes land on the nearly empty glass of water, half of him is relieved that you at least tried to keep yourself hydrated. Jeongin kneels back down next to you, not minding the tissues on the floor or the bed. His free hand strokes the back of your hand as he holds the thermometer out with his other hand. "You need to stick this under your tongue."

"I just need to sleep it off." You groan. You felt better when you were sleeping. You didn't feel cold, your body and throat didn't hurt, your head wasn't pounding, and you didn't have to worry about the fact that you had trouble breathing through your nose. Ignorance truly is bliss.

"Y/n, I love you, but I really need to check because you don't just feel warm. You're actually burning hot." His hand moves down to the blanket that's covering your mouth, gently tugging it away from you. "Please?"

Your grip tightens on the blanket, preventing him from actually taking it away. Your hand stays over your eyes, but you can picture the worried expression that's almost certainly painted on his face. "Can you at least put a mask on first? I really don't want you to get sick. Not what you're preparing for a comeback."

"Fine," He nods. "You put this in your mouth, I'll be right back."

You squint through one eye as you grab the thermometer from Jeongin. He walks out of the room and straight to his bag in the hall closet. He digs around looking for the bag of masks he keeps in just in case. While he's searching, the tips of his fingers graze a container. Gears turn in his head for a moment before he remembers what it was. Inspired by those Altoid tin wallets that were trending on TikTok, you took the tiny case from the Magic School collection that Jeongin gave you and made an "emergency wallet." In it were things he already kept in his practice bag: bandages, hair ties, bobby pins, Chapstick, a small picture of you, and Tylenol. He pulls it out and takes the travel-sized bottle of Tylenol and smiles at your picture before putting the wallet back in his bag.

He pulls out one of the masks and puts it on his face before walking back into the room, just as the thermometer starts beeping. Jeongin takes the thermometer out of your mouth and sets it down on the corner of the side table and pours two Tylenol pills into his hand.

"Can you sit up real quick?" He asks softly.

You slowly pull yourself up, groaning as you do with every little ache that makes itself known. Jeongin helps you up the rest of the way and props some of the pillows up behind you to help you sit upright.

"Here, take these," Jeongin places the pills in your hand. He grabs the cup of water he saw earlier and holds it out for you to take in one hand while reaching for the thermometer with the other.

He watches you for a moment as you take the pills before turning his attention back to the thermometer. His eyes widen in alarm as he reads the three digital numbers on the tiny screen. A small gasp escapes him. An ache rapidly grows in the bottom of his gut, telling them that something isn't right.

You finish taking your medicine and place the empty glass back on the side table before your eyes settle on Jeongin, who is now typing something quickly into his phone. "What? What is it?"

His voice catches in his throat, a strangled whisper that betrays the fear coiling within him as he double—triple checks your temperature. "38.9 C,"

"That's...that's not good." You whisper.

"According to WebMD, if it were one degree higher we should take you to the hospital," He pauses for a moment to continue reading. "But you should be fine. You took something to bring it down. We just need to keep an eye on you."

"We?"

Jeongin shuts his phone off and slides it into his pocket before walking into the bathroom, yet again. He takes one of the wash cloths that you use to dry your face before you start your bedtime routine and drowns it in cold water. When he walks back into the room, you're back to lying down on the bed. "Do you seriously think I'm just going to leave you alone while you're dangerously close to a fatal fever?"

"It's not a fatal fever," You yawn.

"Well, if they're saying to seek medical attention, it's not good." He whispers as he lays the washcloth over your forehead. He slips his hand into yours once he's done, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand.

"And I thought...Hyunjin was dramatic," You yawn again. You blink slowly, almost unable to open your eyes again. Exhaustion takes over your body quickly as your headache slowly but surely begins to disappear.

"Nobody is more dramatic than him. I'll tell you what he did at practice today later. For now, you should get some rest. It looks like the medicine is starting to kick in." His voice is barely above a whisper as he watches your eyes drift shut slowly, touching close several times before staying there.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Your voice is soft as you mumble out your question, your words slur together as you drift off to sleep.

"Where else would I be?" He replies quietly to himself.

Jeongin stays there for a minute, watching the way your chest rises and falls as you take short, labored breaths while your mouth hangs gently open. His eyes linger on your face, tracing every line, etching each detail into his memory as a soft smile plays on his lips. It's different from when he studied you earlier. Each trace of your face is lined with a newfound appreciation of you. Earlier, he tried to create a replica of you in his mind with the looming thought that it might be the last time he saw you. Now, he can look at you and know that he'll get to continue to find new parts of you to admire that he didn't notice before. Like the tiny mole just below your earlobe.

After a couple more minutes of watching you, making sure that you're sleeping well, Jeongin slips his hand out of yours and begins picking up the tissues from your bed and the floor. When he gets back from tossing them in the bathroom, he takes the large comforter off of you so you don't overheat and covers you with the sheet.

In the kitchen, Jeongin checks the fridge and pantry to take note of what you have. There’s not much, neither one of you are big cooks. The two of you spend more time ordering food or eating out than eating home-cooked meals. That’s not to say that the fridge and pantry are completely empty. There are tons of snacks and instant meals, mostly instant noodles, that you could live off of if you wanted. But none of it feels right. None of the food that you have is enough to give you strength and help you fight off whatever is currently plaguing your body. You need real soup and a strong tea to help you recover.

Jeongin pulls out his phone and dials the only number he can think of right now. As the phone rings, he grabs a packet of crackers and sets it down on the counter.

"Ah, Jeongin-ah!"

A small smile spreads across Jeongin's face as the warm, familiar voice comes through the other side of the phone. "Hi Umma, how are you?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." There's some rustling on the other side of the line. "When are you coming home?"

"We're going to have some free time after our next promotion period. I'll come down then." Jeongin places the phone between his ear and his shoulder before opening up the packet of crackers and placing them on a nearby napkin.

"With Y/n?"

He sets the crackers aside and takes your glass over to the sink. "Yeah, I can bring Y/n home with me."

"How's my Y/n?"

Jeongin brought you home with him after your first couple of years of dating. He was nervous to bring you at first. Not because of you, but because of his parents. They were more on the traditional side, and he's seen enough of what everyone his brothers have brought home had gone through to not want to put you through that. Unlike his brothers, he would make sure to talk about you with his parents a lot to ease them into the situation. Eventually, he couldn't put it off any longer when he went home for his birthday one year, and his mother asked him to bring you. They immediately took a liking to you, so much so that they tend to invite you to Busan without Jeongin. Your relationship with his family is one of the things he loves about you.

"That's why I'm calling you, actually—"

"Yang Jeongin, what did you do?" The stern tone is enough to send a chill down Jeongin's spine. Suddenly he's 5 years old again, getting scolded for doing something he definitely should not have done.

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" He whispers loudly as he switches his phone to the other ear. He peeks over to your room to make sure he didn't wake you up. "Y/n has a really bad cold right now and I was wondering if you could tell me how to make that soup you made us eat? And that pear you gave us."

"Goodness, my poor Y/n...I'll make some right now and bring it." He can hear her moving around again, probably heading to the kitchen.

"Umma, that's unnecessary. I can make it myself if you tell me how to."

A small chuckle rings through the phone. "You're willing to listen to me? My Y/n's changed you."

Jeongin pauses for a moment and glances back at the bedroom again. Jeongin knew he loved you. Being with you taught him more about himself than he ever knew. He didn't know how much he craved your touch, even if it meant a simple stroke of your hand against his cheek. He didn't realize how much he enjoyed your late-night conversations where you'd talk about your day. How you could make every little mundane thing, like going to the grocery store, seem so grand. Or how you'd sit there and explain the plot of whatever show or book you were into at the moment, just so he could understand the rant you were about to embark on. He didn't expect that the combination of your shampoo and body wash would be his favorite scent in the whole world. That he's purposely lent you his hoodies and shirts to wear so they could smell like you. He didn't realize how big and cold every hotel bed and even his bed back at the dorm felt. He didn't expect to feel like he ran a marathon every time he saw you, especially after he had been gone for a long time. He didn't know that it was possible to love someone this much. Not until he thought he was going to lose you.

His voice softens, a tender melody expresses affection slips off his tongue. "Yeah," "Okay, get a pen or put this into your phone. My samgyetang and baesuk are difficult and I don't want you to poison my Y/n."

***

Jeongin nods quietly to himself as he sets the spoon aside. The samgyetang doesn't taste as good as his mom's, but it's good enough to give you.

Everything took longer than he had anticipated. First, he had to order all of the ingredients that you didn't have. Which, except for salt, pepper, and glutinous rice, was everything. Trying to figure out how to get the giblets out of the chicken and clean it out was the next difficult task. Not because it was complicated, but because of how disgusting the entire process is. How he didn't wake you up with all the commotion is a mystery he'll never solve. He held off making the baesuk for now, wanting you to have it as soon as it was done, and instead made some ginger tea.

"Innie?"

"Oh, you're up," Jeongin quickly walks over to the sink and washes his hands before fully turning to you. A small sigh of relief escapes him as he looks you over. Some of your color returned to your face and you look a bit more well-rested. Even in your poor condition, the way your hair is tousled all over the place and how his shirt hangs off your frame has him melting at the sight of you. He keeps his distance from you, not wanting to get scolded again even though he's still wearing his mask.

Before either one of you could say anything, tears quickly well up in your eyes and begin to pour down your face.

Jeongin wastes no time, not even pausing to dry his hands before walking over to you. His face is laced with concern as he cups your face. He pulls down his mask and presses his lips to your forehead again. You still feel warm, but not as hot as you were when he first checked. Furrowing his brows, he pulls away and wipes away your tears with his thumbs. "What's wrong? Are you feeling that bad?"

You quietly shake your head while sniffling. Your crying, on top of the congestion from your cold, makes it harder for you to breathe and causes you to nearly choke. One of Jeongin's hands finds its way to your back and begins rubbing a soothing circle, trying to calm you down.

"S-sorry, I don't know w-why I'm crying so hard." Your voice sounds a bit more gravely than it did earlier, and it hurts a bit more. Still, you take a deep, shaky breath. "I thought I was dreaming that you were here earlier, but seeing you made me realize that you're really here."

Jeongin pulls you into a tight hug against his chest. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You stay silent, not that he needed an actual answer. Instead, you bury your face into his chest and grip the hem of his shirt with both hands. The thumping of his heart against his chest is enough to calm you down.

Once he's certain you've settled down enough, Jeongin leads you over to the couch. There's a blanket and two pillows folded neatly on one of the cushions. He props the pillows against the armrest and makes you sit up against them before covering you with the blanket. He hands you the TV remote before disappearing just barely out of your sight in the kitchen.

He leans against the kitchen sink, holding one hand over his chest, trying to still his beating heart. After a couple of minutes, he grabs the pair of matching mugs that you surprised him with after he came back from an overseas schedule. You found them in an old thrift shop one day on your way home from work. One cup is covered with little sticks of butter, while the other one is covered with slices of bread. You couldn't resist the urge to buy them. They're not Jeongin's style, but his bread mug is his favorite cup.

He pours tea into both mugs and brings them back over to the couch. He places your mug on the coffee table and keeps his with him while he takes a seat in the nearby recliner.

"You really should go back to the dorm. You can't afford to get sick right now." You mumble as you play with the remote in your hands.

Jeongin takes a cautious sip of his tea before settling into his seat and pulling his mask down a bit further on his face to keep it dry. "Don't worry about that right now."

"But—"

"You shouldn't even be talking right now. It's not good for your throat." Jeongin leans forward and gently pushes your mug closer to you. "Drink that and put on that show you were telling me about the other day. The one about the two doctors who were rivals in high school."

You let out a defeated sigh, knowing that Jeongin is right. Your throat has been killing you and talking only makes it worse. You grab your tea and turn to search for the drama that you started the other day.

As the drama plays, Jeongin is watching you more than he is watching the TV. Watching you silently react to what's happening on the screen is much more enjoyable than whatever antics the doctors are getting into right now. It's almost as if time has stopped. If Jeongin isn't careful, he'll lose track of time and ruin the food he made for you.

"I'll be right back," He whispers mostly to himself. You're too engrossed in the show to hear him anyway.

Back in the kitchen, Jeongin turns the fire off under the soup and begins steaming the pear for the baesuk. He pours the soup into one of the bowls that the two of you bought together when you decided that you needed a proper set of dishware for your apartment. He sets the bowl on a serving tray along with a spoon, some napkins, and a few more crackers.

Contentment flows into each step as he walks back to you with your food, a faraway, loving gaze fills his eyes. When he's back in front of you, a smile is plastered over your face at something that happened on screen. Noticing that Jeongin came back, you fill him in on what he missed. He can see your lips moving and hear your voice, even in its damaged state, ring in his ear like a sweet melody but his brain isn't registering what you're saying.

"I love you," He says suddenly.

You're thrown off for a second by the spontaneous confession, but quickly recover with a large smile that didn’t just light up the room; it set off fireworks within Jeongin's soul. "I love you, too."

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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weoris · 10 months ago

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THE CAR’S OUTSIDE ⊹ · YJW 양정원 WORK OF FICTION

🗯️ ━━━ 𝐲ou and jungwon have been stuck by the hip ever since kindergarten . he’d help you build your dollhouse , you taught him how to ride a bike . you were each others first kiss , you stood up to his bullies , he comforted you when you got hurt. ‎ ‎ ‎ 🎀🪽 ‎ 𝓼o who could blame you when his dimpled smile and sparkly eyes got to your heart , making you feel unexplainable flutters one summer of middle school . you chalked it up to teenage hormones . but you couldn’t deny the unexplainable pain when he suddenly started to drift apart from you and set his eyes on new girls ... a new reputation that left your heart in pieces in stead ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 📺

GENRE. fluff, angst, childhood best friends au, high school au, written series, mid-length works.

P𝓐IRING. childhood bestfriend!yang jungwon x fem!reader, player!jungwon x classmate!reader, friends to strangers / enemies to lovers, sullyoon from nmixx + other female characters ( brief flings )

WARNING ׂ ׅ ' . jungwon and reader as kids playing around. jungwon becoming distant and meaner in highschool. player relationships, swearing, partying, drinking ( of age ), kissing, familial death, crying, jungwon shit-talk.

🎥 FEATURING! jay & heeseung 엔하이픈! sullyoon of NMIXX 🗯️ ILLIT YUNAH ( AESPA ) ningning and karina. the boyz sunwoo le sserafim chaewon. RICKY ZB1

DISCLAIMER this story is completely fictional, character portrayal is not based on the idols in real life. for the sake of this story, all the characters are the same age.

OOO. ❪ PRELUDE ❫ ‎ ‎ ❛ YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND, I LOVE YOU FOREVER. ❜ ‎ ‎ ━━━ best friend, never young forever. ( teaser! )

OO1. ❪ CHAPTER ❫ ‎ ‎ ❛ LOViN’ FROM AFAR. ❜ ━━━ 숨겨진 마음. ‎ ‎ ‎ you keep trying to get him out of your head, but why do you still like him after he turned sour. jungwon keeps trying to get away from you, but why are you sticking so sweet?

OO2. ❪ CHAPTER ❫ ‎ ‎ ❛ FOUR WALLS. ❜ ━━━ 당연한 장소 ‎ ‎ ‎ jungwon hates how familiar he feels in your room, he hates the comfort and your presence. he hates how you fit into his arms so right. he hates how his body yearns for your touch.

OO3. ❪ CHAPTER ❫ ‎ ‎ ❛ CLOSE THE WINDOWS. ❜ ━━━ 봉쇄된 마음. ‎ ‎ ‎ you hate how easily you fall. you want his attention at any time. even when it hurts so bad when he reminds you his heart is closed off, and worse, it’s only closed for you.

❪ BUNNY TALK ❫ been planning this for a while — so excited to release it finally ^^ this song makes me cry every time, I swear and it reminds me of all the angsty jungwon fics I read in 2021 - 2022 TT that era of won also makes me cry.. enough of my yaps, hope you enjoy guys!

❪ TAGLIST ❫ OPEN! fill in this google form, send an ask or comment on this post to be added! 🐇🪽 OO1 | OO2

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woniedarlin · 10 months ago

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Business Proposal: Yang Jungwon

pairing: Jungwon x fem! reader

synopsis: You don’t know what to begin with Yang Jungwon. He is your co-worker in a company you are in and you despise that cat-looking man. And he despises you. It’s been going on ever since the beginning. You swear you had enough of him. But it seems like the world is not on your side because as much as you respect the Ceo, you just want to leave the company almost immediately. Why? Because he decided to partner you up with Jungwon on a project together. This seems like a recipe for disaster. Oh goodness… what to do…what to do...

genre: Enemies/ Co-workers to lovers, forced proximity, angst, fluff

warnings: suggestive (mdni) WHOLE LOT OF ARGUING, BULLYING, CUSSING, AND GOSSIPING, You just hate each other honestly, Mentions of crying, strangling. Let me know if there is more!

note: Thank you to 🦋 anonie for requesting this!! I’m really sorry that it took me a lot of time to make this. It was a great idea and I’m just a sucker for this trope 🙈. I deeply apologize if it wasn’t on your expectations and I’ll do my best to keep improving. I had fun making this and I appreciate your patience. Happy reading darlingss!!

permanent taglist: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n

Caution: I’M SURE YA’LL WILL BE GIGGLING AND SQUEALING IN THIS DHWHBXJWHS WRITING THIS WAS SO OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE. Reading discretion is advised 😽

You and Jungwon have always been at each other’s throats ever since you both started working at the company. From your perspective, he’s arrogant and dismissive, constantly interrupting your ideas and making you feel undervalued. From Jungwon’s perspective, you’re overly controlling and unwilling to listen.

Your mutual disdain is well-known around the office. Despite your talents and contributions, your inability to see eye to eye has created a rift that seems impossible to bridge.

Today, you receive a message to report to the CEO’s office—or Mr. Jeon, as you and your colleagues call him. You feel both anxious and curious, wondering what this could be about. As you approach the office, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“What could this be about? I hope it’s not more bad news.”

You open the door to the CEO’s office and immediately see that shitface. No, not Mr. Jeon, but that bitch who's already seated, looking equally puzzled.

Jungwon’s eyes looked over to you as you entered the office. Both surprise and annoyance flash across his face, his lips pursing slightly.

“You too, huh?” he remarks, his voice tinged with irritation.

Mr. Jeon, who is sitting behind his desk, smiles at both of you. “Ah, you’re both here. Good. Have a seat, Y/n.” You sit in the chair beside Jungwon.

Mr. Jeon laces his fingers together, his gaze moving between you and Jungwon. “I’m sure both of you are wondering why I called you here today.”

Jungwon remains silent, but inside, he’s bracing for a reprimand. Meanwhile, you nod, genuinely curious about the reason behind the summoning. Is he tired of the constant fighting between you and that idiot?

“As you know, the company has been facing some challenges lately, and we’ve been looking for ways to streamline our operations and increase efficiency.” He leans forward, his eyes fixing on both of you. “That’s why we’ve decided to assign you two to work on a project together.”

“With all due respect, sir, we’ve had our…differences. Are you sure this is the best idea?” you say with disbelief. No offense, but is Mr. Jeon alright?

The CEO nods, clearly having anticipated this objection. “I understand your concerns, but allow me to explain. The project we have in mind will require both of your unique skill sets and perspectives. We believe that working together will not only make the project more successful but will also help the two of you learn to collaborate effectively.”

He looks at both you and Jungwon. “This is an opportunity to put aside your differences and focus on the task at hand. Can I count on both of you to give this your best shot?”

You glance at Jungwon with slight disgust, which he meets with a momentary glare before looking back at Mr. Jeon. There’s obvious hesitation in his eyes, but he eventually nods, knowing he has no other choice. “If that’s what the company needs, I’ll do my part.”

“And how about you, Y/n?” Mr. Jeon looks at you.

You look down, fiddling with your fingers. You don’t want to disappoint him, even if it means working alongside that cat-looking man. You look up and nod. “I’ll do my part as well.”

Mr. Jeon smiles, clearly pleased with your responses. “Excellent. I have every confidence that the two of you will make an outstanding team. I want daily updates on your progress. You’re to work closely together and keep me informed about anything that may arise.”

He stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. “That’s all for now. You’re both dismissed.”

You stand up, bowing slightly at Mr. Jeon before quickly walking away from his office, your frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Jungwon follows suit, falling in step behind you as you exit the CEO’s office. The silence between you is deafening, both of you still processing the fact that you’ve been thrown into this situation together.

You then glare at him, which he returns with equal intensity. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my idea,” he says, his tone dripping with annoyance.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. “Whatever.”

Jungwon huffs in frustration, his patience already wearing thin. “Can you just cut the attitude for a second? We’re stuck working together, whether we like it or not. So can we just find a way to make this bearable?”

He then adds, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “We need to set some ground rules if this is going to work.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips curling into a slight sneer. “Fine. What do you propose?”

Jungwon crosses his arms over his chest as if to mimic you. “For starters, no more eye rolls or backhanded comments every time something doesn’t go your way. We’re adults, not teenagers.”

“And two, we need to be open to each other’s ideas. That means no shutting down suggestions without hearing the other person out.”

Hearing that makes you snicker. “You always shut down my ideas.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes, clearly irritated by the accusation. “That’s not true. I just think your ideas are unrealistic and impractical, that’s all. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. It’s not all about you.”

You take a step closer to him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Maybe if you listened, you’d see the potential instead of dismissing everything outright,” you say with a sarcastic tone.

He scoffs, his irritation growing with every word. “Oh, please. It’s not like your ideas are groundbreaking. They’re half-baked and lack any real substance. Why should I waste time listening to something that has no chance of working?”

You step even closer, eyes blazing with defiance. “Because sometimes taking risks and thinking outside the box is what leads to real innovation, something you clearly don’t understand.”

Jungwon’s voice lowers, his anger barely contained. “I understand plenty. Don’t assume you know more than I do. Your so-called ‘innovations’ are nothing more than pipe dreams. You need to learn to be more realistic and grounded in the world we live in.”

You raise your voice a little, practically spitting the words. “You know what? I’ll add another rule—if we’re going to work together, we need to communicate clearly.”

Jungwon lets out a humorless laugh. “You want communication? That’s rich coming from you. Any time I try to communicate with you, you immediately get defensive and start attacking. It’s impossible to have a rational conversation with you.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes. “Maybe if you stopped being so condescending, I’d be more inclined to listen and have a rational conversation.”

Jungwon bristles visibly at being called condescending. “How am I supposed to talk to you when you’re so stubborn that you won’t listen to reason? You’re always convinced that you know best, even when you’re clearly wrong.”

You’re about to snap back when your co-worker, Dae, approaches the both of you. “I know you two have your disagreements, but some of us…well, all of us are focusing on our work, so you two need to stop,” he says gently.

Jungwon and you are both startled by Dae’s sudden appearance.

Jungwon sighs, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll keep it down.”

Dae smiles a little and mutters, “Thank you,” before walking back to his cubicle.

You exhale sharply, turning back to Jungwon. “Well, how are we supposed to do the project? Where?”

Jungwon glances around, thinking for a moment. “We need to find a place where we can work on the project without distractions. How about the empty meeting room on the third floor?”

You cross your arms, nodding slowly as if testing the idea. “Fine, we’ll do our project there.”

Jungwon nods, already mentally preparing himself to work closely with you. He’s begrudgingly accepting the reality that he’s going to have to spend a lot of time in your presence over the next few weeks. “Let’s head over there now so we can start getting things set up.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable clashes to come. “Lead the way,” you say, your voice with resignation.

👠

You follow Jungwon into the empty meeting room and take a seat across from him. The tension is evident as both of you sit in silence for a few moments, neither knowing how to break the ice.

Finally, Jungwon sighs and opens his laptop, breaking the silence. “Alright, let’s get to work. We need to come up with a plan for the project.”

You bring out your laptop, placing it on the table before opening it. The hum of the machines fills the room as you both start to settle into the task at hand.

Jungwon scrolls through a few documents on his screen before speaking again. “Here’s what I was thinking we could do… But first, I want to hear your thoughts on the matter.” He looks at you, genuinely curious to hear your opinion, albeit begrudgingly.

You look at him, “Gladly. I think we should focus on an interactive online campaign that uses social media influencers to create buzz. It’s effective and has a wide reach.”

Jungwon considers your suggestion for a moment, his expression remaining neutral. “I disagree. I think a more traditional approach, like a series of high-profile events and trade shows, would give the product the prestige it needs. Face-to-face interactions create a stronger impact.”

You lean forward, your hands resting on the table. “Events are important, but they take time to organize and can be expensive. We need quick and impactful results.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrow slightly as he counters your argument. “And social media campaigns can be hit or miss. We need something reliable and established.”

You groan frustration is evident in your voice. “Ugh, it’s only been minutes and we are already breaking our rules.”

Jungwon lets out a scoff. “You’re the one who started it by offering up your unrealistic ideas.”

You glare at him, your tone sharp. “And you’re the one who shot them down without even giving them a chance.”

Jungwon throws his hands up in frustration, rolling his eyes. “Because they wouldn’t work! You need to accept reality and stop living in your fantasyland!”

Taking a deep breath, you try to find a compromise. Arguing won’t get the project started, and you know you need to approach this with an open mind. “Fine. What if we combine both approaches? Start with a high-profile launch event to get the initial attention, and then follow up with an aggressive online campaign to maintain the momentum?”

Jungwon considers your suggestion for a moment, his irritation gradually giving way to contemplation. After a few seconds, he nods, begrudgingly accepting the compromise. “That… might just work. The event will generate buzz, and the online campaign will keep the momentum going. I can see your idea being viable in this context.”

You nod with a neutral expression, though a hint of satisfaction creeps into your eyes. “Glad to hear it.”

He lets out a sigh, his tone slightly more civil than before. “Alright, so we’ve agreed on the approach, at least in theory. Let’s start drafting the plans for both the event and the online campaign. We need to set timelines and assign responsibilities.”

You type a few notes into your laptop, feeling a tentative sense of progress. “Sounds good to me.”

👠

The weeks have been both of tension and resentful cooperation. The process has not been smooth sailing, with numerous disagreements and clashes between you and Jungwon. However, the progress of the project has kept both of you from completely succumbing to your differences. You’ve managed to finalize the plans for the event and the online campaign, although not without a few heated discussions.

As you review the progress the two of you have made, you can’t help but wonder how the project will turn out despite the constant clashes between you and Jungwon.

It’s very late at night, and it seems like it’s just the two of you left in the building. You close your laptop with a sigh. “Alright, we’ll continue this tomorrow.”

Jungwon yawns and rubs his eyes, exhaustion setting in. The hours of working non-stop and being in close proximity to you have taken their toll on him.

He glances at his watch, realizing how late it is. “Yeah, I guess that’s all we can get done tonight. We should both get some rest and pick this up fresh tomorrow.”

You look at him in quiet disgust. “You look like shit, by the way.”

He shoots you a withering glare, not appreciating the insult. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his usually meticulously styled hair now sticking up at odd angles. “Yeah, well, you don’t look so picture-perfect yourself.”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to respond. He watches as you leave without another word. He runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to fix it. Despite his annoyance with you, he can’t help but notice that even late at night, you still manage to look composed and elegant. It irks him, adding to his already simmering resentment.

👠

The next day, you and Jungwon are taking a break near the empty meeting room. The atmosphere is tense as usual, and neither of you seem eager to break the silence.

Then you hear your colleagues Hwan and Jiho’s voices coming from around the corner.

“I can’t believe Mr. Jeon paired them up. They’re both such a mess. This project is doomed,” Jiho said.

Jungwon’s face tightens, his scowl deepening as he listens to the dismissive assessment. He has always prided himself on his capability and work ethic, and this kind of criticism stings.

He glances at you, noticing the flicker of discomfort in your eyes. You’re silent, but it’s clear that the comments have affected you as well.

Hwan adds, “I know, right? I don’t know what Mr. Jeon was thinking. Those two bicker more than they get any actual work done.”

As Hwan and Jiho continue their gossip, Jiho suddenly notices something over Hwan’s shoulder and widens his eyes. Hwan turned around to see...

One with very sharp eyes and the other whose expression are unreadable.

The air grows thick with tension as Hwan and Jiho fall silent, their faces flushing with embarrassment.

“You know, if you have something to say, you could at least say it to our faces,” Jungwon says, his voice cool but edged with irritation. His eyes lock onto theirs, clearly displeased with being the subject of their gossip.

Your expression remains deadpan as you add, “And if you have any doubts about our abilities, you’ll see the results soon enough. We’re not here to entertain your gossip.”

Jiho shifts nervously, stammering as they try to offer a weak apology. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you. I just... uh, I just heard people talking...”

Their voice trails off as they struggle to find a way to excuse their behavior. You roll your eyes, unimpressed.

“This is why Mr. Jeon never gave you two such an important task,” you say, your tone dripping with subtle disdain.

Both Hwan and Jiho blush furiously, their egos bruised by your comment. Hwan stutters awkwardly before blurting out, “That’s not true! I’ve done plenty of important projects before…”

Jungwon lets out a sarcastic huff, smirking. “Yeah, sure. Running errands and fetching coffee.”

Hwan’s face reddens further at Jungwon’s dismissive retort. He glances at you and then back at Jungwon, struggling to come up with a response but failing miserably.

The two men exchange nervous glances, clearly intimidated. They mumble apologetically, their heads ducked in embarrassment, before hastily retreating down the hallway.

"Looks like we scared them off," Jungwon says, glancing at you with a satisfied smirk.

You nod and return his gaze. "That felt good."

Jungwon snorts, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, it did. It’s about time someone put those gossip-hounds in their place."

He meets your eyes, his expression growing more serious. "But, honestly, I’m surprised we managed to agree on something for once."

You tilt your head, "That they’re pieces of shit?"

Jungwon laughs, genuinely and unexpectedly, as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, that part. At least we can agree on that."

He pauses, then adds, "Well, enough about them. I haven’t even finished eating my curry."

You nod, "Yeah, me neither."

Jungwon gestures towards the break room where he left his lunch. "Come on then, no point in letting our meals get cold while we stand around gossiping."

"We’re not gossiping. Those assholes are," you reply.

He grins, "Alright, maybe 'gossiping' isn’t the right word. Let’s call it 'expressing our dislike for annoying coworkers' instead."

"Definitely. Come on," you say, heading towards the break room.

He follows you into the break room, where his lunch waits on the table. Jungwon sits down and picks up his curry, giving it a quick stir with his spoon. "Hope you don’t mind me eating while we talk. I get cranky when I’m hungry."

You tease, "You still look like shit even if you do something."

Jungwon rolls his eyes and shoots you a mock glare. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll be sure to consider that constructive feedback."

👠

The project continues to slowly progress, albeit with the usual tension bubbling up here and there.

Despite the occasional setbacks and clashes, the two of you manage to find a sort of grudging respect for each other's skills and work ethic. It's not necessarily friendly respect, as you still find each other quite annoying. But there's an acknowledgment of the fact that the other isn't completely useless.

But today wasn’t your day.

You were struggling with menstruation but decided to come to work anyway, taking some pain relievers to get through the day. As you were picking up some items to bring to the meeting room, you overheard a familiar voice—Ara’s—gossiping about you. She dislikes you for being partners with Jungwon.

“She’s always so high and mighty, acting like she’s better than everyone else. This is why Jungwon hates her. Mr. Jeon should have partnered me with him. I just know the project would be done in no time.”

Usually, you would confront anyone talking badly about you, but today, the words cut deeper than usual, leaving you stunned and hurt.

Trying to compose yourself, you headed to the empty meeting room where Jungwon was typing away at his laptop. You kept your head down, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears forming in your eyes.

Jungwon glanced up from his laptop and immediately sensed something was off. He could tell you were fighting back tears and visibly upset.

He pushed away from the table and approached you.

“Who did this to you?”

‘’It’s nothing.’’ You wiped your tears and avoided his gaze.

He frowns, not buying your dismissive reply. He stops in front of you, forcing you to look at him. “It’s not nothing. You’re clearly upset about something. And if someone has hurt you, I need to know.”

There’s genuine concern in his voice. Despite your ongoing animosity, he can’t ignore the fact that you’re visibly distressed.

He watches as you struggle to find the words, his frown deepening. He reaches out, gently placing a hand on your cheek to tilt your head up. "Hey, look at me. Tell me what happened. Who made you cry like this? Was it Hwan? Or Jiho?"

‘’…It’s Ara…I overheard her..she said some things about me and reasons why you hated me.’’

He scowls at the mention of Ara's name, his expression darkening. He can easily picture her making such comments. She's been a source of tension and conflict within the office, constantly stirring up drama and gossip.

"And you believe her?" He said while caressing your cheek.

‘’Yeah?’’ You said while sniffing.

He shakes his head, clearly annoyed at both you and Ara. "Why would you believe the words of someone as petty and envious as her? You should know by now that her opinions are not worth the air they waste."

He continued, "You might be a headache and pain in the ass most of the time, but you're not conceited. You've worked hard to earn everything you have. You're talented and capable, and you know it. Don't let her convince you otherwise.”

He releases his hand from your cheek, “And next time you hear her talking about you, you tell me. I’ll deal with her before she spreads more of her bullshit around.”

He gently wipes your tears. “You know what? I’ll be right back.”

Jungwon left the meeting room and made his way to Ara’s cubicle, his eyes fixed on her with a steely glare. Ara’s face brightened at his approach.

“Oh, hi Jungwon. Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Follow me,” he said, his sharp eyes making Ara frown slightly.

He shut the door behind them, ensuring privacy. Ara’s nervousness was felt.

“Jungwon, I-”

“Shut up.” He cut her off sharply. “I heard what you said about Y/n. Care to explain why you’re spreading lies about her?”

“I was just saying what others were thinking,” Ara stuttered, her eyes darting fearfully.

Jungwon scoffed, his patience wearing thin. “Bullshit. You’re just jealous because she’s more talented and ambitious than you.”

He continued, “And I’m warning you. If I hear you talking trash about her again, I’ll make sure you regret it. I can get you kicked out of here with just a word to Mr. Jeon.”

Ara swallowed nervously, clearly intimidated. “I-I’m sorry, Jungwon. I won’t do it again, I swear.”

Jungwon scowled, unsatisfied with her apology. “You’ll be apologizing to Y/n, too. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll make damn sure it’s sincere. Now come with me, you’ll be apologizing to her. Now.”

He led her back to the meeting room where you were waiting. Jungwon gestured to Ara. “Go on. Say what you need to say.”

Ara approached you, her voice trembling. “Um, Y/n, I-I just wanted to say—”

She faltered under Jungwon’s glare. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I didn’t mean it.”

Jungwon watched the scene closely, his expression unreadable. Once Ara finished her apology, he released her. “You can go now.”

Ara nodded quickly, clearly relieved, and scurried out of the room. Jungwon turned to you.

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly, your voice tinged with residual emotion.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course, I had to. You just sat there and took her bullshit without defending yourself.”

His expression softened unexpectedly. “Why didn’t you say anything? You usually stand up for yourself.” You looked down, feeling embarrassed. He then continued, “No offense, but you’ve dealt with worse and come out stronger.”

Jungwon reached out and gently wiped a tear from your cheek. “So why did it affect you so much? Why did it make you cry?”

You closed your eyes, your voice barely a whisper. “I just… I feel sensitive today because…”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Because…?”

You hesitated before admitting, “I’m on my period.”

Jungwon blinked in surprise, then nodded in understanding. “Ah, I see. That would make sense.” He smirked, a playful glint in his eye. “Explains why you’re so emotional today.”

“But still, her words shouldn’t have gotten to you. You’re too talented and capable to let petty remarks affect you.”

You shook your head. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m not the kind to sugarcoat things. You know that.”

He looked at you directly. “I’m serious. You’re a pain in the ass and a constant headache, but that’s because you’re ambitious and talented. Her words are just petty bullshit. Don’t let them get to you.”

He patted your hair gently, a surprisingly affectionate gesture. “And next time someone talks trash about you, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

You were touched by his words and, despite your attempts to hold it together, started crying harder. Your shoulders shook as you tried to suppress your sobs.

Jungwon looked alarmed, clearly unsure how to handle your emotional outburst. He awkwardly patted your back. “Hey, calm down. You’re gonna give yourself a headache with all that crying. Take a deep breath.”

You managed to choke out between sniffles, “Why are you being so kind today?”

Jungwon looked taken aback by your question. “What do you mean? I’m always kind.”

“Bullshit,” you muttered, wiping your tears with the back of your hands.

He smirked at your bluntness. “Careful now. You’re the one crying your eyes out.”

His smirk softened slightly. “But seriously, stop crying. You’re making me get all emotional.”

“You too?” you asked, your eyes widening in surprise.

Jungwon scowled, though his tone was softer. “Yeah, yeah. Make fun of me all you want. You’re the one blubbering like a baby.”

You continued to sniffle and then let out a small, amused laugh. “I want to see you cry so I can take a picture and post it on Instagram.”

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Fat chance. I’m not crying just to satisfy your twisted sense of humor. Plus, I’d look even more handsome than you if I was crying, so you’d be jealous.”

You laughed a little more, feeling somewhat better. “You know what? We should get back to the project. Mr. Jeon might kick our asses.”

He shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You go from crying to work mode in no time. Damn, you’re back to being a pain in the ass.”

“First, do you have a napkin? I have a snot…” you said, holding up the empty tissue box.

He winced, clearly disgusted at your tear-stained, snot-filled face, but still reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pack of tissues. “Here. Clean yourself up already. You’re a mess.”

You took the tissue gratefully, wiping your nose. “Thank you. Let’s get back to work.”

He watched as you blew your nose and tried to compose yourself. “Yeah, the sooner we finish this, the sooner I’ll be rid of your snot-filled face.”

“It only happened today!” you protested.

He scoffed, a smug expression on his face. “Yeah, I know. I’m being extra generous today, dealing with your hormonal, leaky self.”

“Stop!” you said, swatting his arm.

He exaggeratedly winced, his hand on his arm. “Ouch! Watch it, I almost lost a limb.”

You glared at him but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. You moved to sit down at your desk, opening your laptop, with tissues at the side.

Jungwon settled next to you, opening his laptop. “Alright, time to get back to business. Let’s finish this project ASAP so I can get a break from your whining.”

👠

The two have been working closely and starting to get along better, but the stress of the approaching deadline and their differences lead to friction. They’ve been working late nights, and exhaustion is wearing on both of them, making tempers shorter.

They have a disagreement over a critical aspect of the project, such as the direction of the campaign. The argument escalates quickly, with both raising their voices, airing out frustrations not just about the project but also about each other’s working styles and personal issues.

“You’re always so stubborn, never willing to see anyone else’s perspective!” you shout at him, frustration boiling over.

He snaps back, his temper flaring up further. "And you're always so bossy, expecting everyone to follow your lead without question! You act like you're the only one who knows what's best. Maybe if you'd listen to other people for once, we wouldn’t be in this mess!"

“And maybe if you weren’t so stubborn and dismissive, we’d make progress instead of constantly arguing!” you retort, your voice rising.

He glares at you, his patience wearing thin. "Dismissive? I'm not the one who thinks they know everything. You're so set on dominating every decision that you can't even see when you're wrong."

He crosses his arms, a look of defiance on his face. "Maybe if you'd learn to compromise once in a while, we wouldn't be stuck in this damn cycle of arguing and getting nowhere!"

“Compromise works both ways, Jungwon. Maybe if you stopped acting like you always have the right answer, we’d actually find a solution that works for both of us!” you fire back, your eyes blazing with anger.

He scoffs, his defenses automatically going up even further. "You're one to talk! You’re just as guilty of stubbornly sticking to your position as I am. You never listen to anyone else’s perspectives, and then you get all defensive when someone challenges your ideas."

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated by the situation. "Maybe if you stopped being so confident in your infallibility, we’d actually be able to find a middle ground."

The argument reaches a peak, with both of you standing close, faces flushed with anger.

His eyes blaze with irritation as he glares at you, “You never give an inch, do you? It’s always your way or no way with you, isn’t it? You can’t even admit when you’re wrong.”

“You’re so quick to point fingers and place the blame, never considering that maybe, just maybe, you’re part of the problem too,” you say, your voice shaking with frustration.

As the words hang in the air, the tension between you becomes almost unbearable.

“Fuck this.”

He pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss is intense and passionate. “Shut up. Just shut up for a goddamn second,” he mutters in between kisses. His hands move to cradle your face, holding you tightly as he devours your lips.

The kiss breaks abruptly at the sound of the door opening. Jungwon steps back quickly, trying to act as if nothing had just happened, but his flushed face and the rapid rise and fall of his chest betray the intensity of the moment.

Dae raises an eyebrow at the scene before him, clearly having walked in on an interesting moment. “It’s getting late. I suggest you two go home and continue the project tomorrow.”

Jungwon shoots a sharp glare at Dae but forces himself to calm down. “Yeah, alright. We were about to leave anyway." He picks up his laptop and shoves it into his bag, his movements a bit rushed and restless.

You pack your things, your heart still racing from the kiss. Jungwon watches you, his gaze never leaving you. He feels different kinds of emotions—frustration, confusion, and a whole lot more.

After you finish packing, he clears his throat softly. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you to your car.” He leads the way out of the office, his footsteps a little faster than usual. As you walk side by side in silence, he steals glances at you from the corner of his eye, clearly still affected by the earlier kiss.

Finally, as you reach your car, he pauses and turns to face you. “Listen, about… that back there—” He trails off, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know why I did that. I just got so frustrated with that whole argument, and I guess I just... lost it. I’m sorry.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’m sorry too.”

He lets out a deep exhale, his shoulders sagging slightly. “We need to find a way to work together without constantly arguing and… making things more complicated.”

He gives a light, self-deprecating chuckle. “Maybe we should start by not screaming at each other and then kissing each other senseless.”

You look up at him, trying to process everything. “Definitely,” you agree softly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips despite the tension.

He runs a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit you’ve noticed. “I… I just can’t figure you out sometimes, you know? One minute you’re driving me insane by being so stubborn, and the next you’re looking at me with those eyes, all innocent and… damn it.” He drags a hand over his face, frustration evident in every line of his body.

He continued. “And I can’t decide if I want to rip your clothes off or wring your neck. Hell, maybe both.”

You glare at him, surprised at his words. “Pervert!” you exclaim, pushing him back with a firm hand on his chest.

He laughs a low, gravelly sound. “I never claimed to be anything else. But admit it, you don’t exactly hate it.”

You keep your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “Stop it,” you insist, your voice softer now, almost pleading.

He looks down at your hands on his chest, a small smirk forming. He lifts his own hands and covers yours with his, holding them against his chest. “Stop what? Saying what I’m thinking? I’ve never been good at hiding my thoughts, you should know that by now.”

You sigh, frustration evident in your voice. “I’m confused. Why the hell did you kiss me?”

“Because… I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why I did it, or why it felt so good, or why I want to kiss you again right now. I just... can’t think straight around you sometimes. You make me feel all twisted up inside.” He pauses, his eyes searching your face for understanding.

“You drive me crazy in the most frustrating and arousing way possible. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Do you like me or what?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

He hesitates for just a moment, his expression torn. Then he gives a half-smile. “I… don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Yes. I definitely want you, that’s for sure.”

“But I’m also frustrated as hell by you, and confused as hell by you. It’s a complicated mix of emotions, I can tell you that.”

You shake your head, feeling just as confused. “You’re confused, I’m fucking confused, bro.”

He laughs a little at your outburst. “Well, at least we’re both confused. Great way to start a... whatever this would be.”

He continues, his tone softening. “You’re really cute when you cuss. It doesn’t fit your whole innocent angel persona you usually have going on.”

You raise your eyebrows, looking at him as if he was insane. “Innocent? You have seen me fight, right?”

He rolls his eyes, but his expression is lighthearted. “Yeah, I know you’re fierce. But you also give off this innocent, angelic vibe, with your long lashes and cute little pouts. It’s confusing as hell if you want me to be honest.”

“Well, whatever this is, you and I better finish the project. So we can have that goddamn paycheck,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to work.

“Yeah, you’re right. We can figure this other stuff out later, I guess.” He takes a small step back, creating a bit of space between you. “We’ll finish the project. Just… try not to drive me insane in the process, okay?”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” you ask, tilting your head.

He gives you an exasperated look. “How the hell should I know? Stop being so stubborn, maybe. Stop being so damn cute and looking at me like that. That’d be a good start.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you should stop being an asshole then,” you say, crossing your arms.

He laughs, shaking his head. “And there’s that sharp tongue that drives me insane. Can’t go two minutes without calling me an ass, can you?”

You groan, “Can’t you just let me go? I really have to go home.”

“Yeah, alright. I don’t want to keep you from your beauty sleep any longer.” He nods at you. “Have a good night. And don’t work too hard on the project tonight. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You offer a small smile, feeling the tension ease slightly. “You bet,” you reply, then you open the car door and slide into the driver’s seat.

He watches as you get into your car, a small smile playing on his lips. As much as the two of you butted heads and drove each other crazy, he couldn’t deny the attraction that was slowly building between you.

“That woman honestly… my woman,” he mutters to himself as he walks away.

👠

You and Jungwon continued to work together, and with the project’s success, there was a sense of accomplishment that was hard to ignore. Despite all the tension, the team had pulled off something impressive.

He’s sitting at his desk, reviewing the project’s metrics, when he looks up and catches your eye from across the office. A half-smile quirks, and he gives a slight nod, acknowledging your shared accomplishment. For now, the project’s success took precedence over your differences.

He watches as you return his nod. The tension between you has lessened somewhat, an unspoken truce having formed as you both focus on the successful outcome of the project.

He looks back down at his computer screen, the numbers, and figures a welcome distraction from the thoughts of you that were still on his mind.

He wonders if the peace between you will last, or if things will return to the bickering and arguing once the high of success wears off.

👠

Mr. Jeon, has decided to celebrate in the company building to acknowledge the hard work and success of the project. The office is decorated, and a small party is in full swing. Colleagues are mingling, enjoying drinks and snacks, while music plays softly in the background.

Jungwon stands off to the side of the room, nursing a drink and watching the party unfold. His eyes occasionally scan the room, searching for the one person he both wants to see and dreads seeing - you.

When he finally spots you, he feels a jolt of something in his chest - a mix of attraction and irritation. You look as effortless and beautiful as ever.

Out of hesitation, he decides to approach you. He reaches your side, clearing his throat softly to get your attention. “Need a minute?”

You look up, meeting his gaze. “Of course.”

He leads you away from the noise and bustle of the party, finding a quieter spot in another office far away. Once there, he turns to face you. “First of all, I just wanted to say... that we did good. The project was a success, and we managed to put aside our differences for the sake of the company. I guess we actually make a halfway decent team.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we do. It’s surprising how well we managed to pull it off despite all the arguing.”

He lets out a small chuckle, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Who would have thought, huh? The company’s most vocal enemies actually working together and pulling off something amazing.”

“But I guess I have to ask... how are we going to keep this truce up? You're still a headache, you know?”

You shrug, trying to keep the mood light. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we need to communicate better or add some ground rules.”

Jungwon's smile fades slightly, replaced by a look of frustration. “Damn it, you’re so frustrating. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here, and you just... never give a straight answer.”

You’re standing so close to each other that he has to tilt his head down slightly to maintain eye contact. “Do you have any idea how confusing you are? One minute I want to strangle you, and the next minute I want to—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, looking away. “Never mind, it doesn't matter.”

You’ve had enough of his mixed signals.

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “I’ve had enough. Do you like me or not? I can’t keep doing this if you’re just going to keep me guessing.”

He lets out a gruff laugh, shaking his head. “You’re always so straightforward, aren’t you? Can’t even give me a moment’s peace to figure out what I’m feeling.”

He looks back down at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, I… I think I do. Love you, I mean. I know it’s insane, and it’s probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I can’t seem to help it.”

A mixture of relief and joy floods through you. “I know because I love you too, asshole. It’s been driving me crazy, trying to figure out how you feel. But I need to know where we stand. Are we going to keep pretending like this isn’t happening?”

He's startled for a moment, not expecting your sudden admission. But as your lips meet him, he loses all self-control. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens.

You pull back slightly, breathless. “We can’t keep doing this. One minute we’re fighting, the next we’re kissing. We need to figure out what we really want.”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “I know. But right now, all I want is you.”

As the intensity of the moment takes over, he reaches for a hand behind him to lock the door.

👠

The next day,

Jungwon was walking down the hallway when he saw you. He immediately noticed something was off - you were walking a little slower than usual, and there was a slight limp in your steps.

He frowns, walking over to you with concern on his face. "Are you alright? You look like you're walking a little... stiffly."

You glare at him. "Your fault."

He raises an eyebrow at your accusation, his mind flashing back to the previous night’s... activities. He notes the slight flush still evident on your cheeks and the subtle limp in your gait. "Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to mind last night," he teases, tilting his head.

"Good thing no one caught us," you mutter, trying to keep your voice down.

He chuckles as he backs you into the wall behind you. "I’ll admit, you were pretty loud last night." He braces one hand against the wall beside your head, leaning in closer. "If someone had walked by, they definitely would have heard you. I might have had a hard time explaining… things."

"Let's say we were fighting," you suggest, rolling your eyes. "At least it’s a believable excuse."

He laughs, fully amused at the thought. "A fight? At 1 am? They would never believe that. Not with the sounds you were making. But for the record, I think it was worth the risk."

"Whatever. Come on," you grumble, embracing him for support as you start to walk. "I just hope I can make it through the day without collapsing."

"You know, we could always skip work and spend the day at my place. Give your legs some rest," he whispers to you.

"You think Mr. Jeon would allow us?" you ask skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "He's pretty strict about attendance, especially after big projects."

"Probably not. But I can be... persuasive when I want to be. If I tell him we need some time to discuss important project-related matters, he might just sign off on it." He squeezes your arm gently. "It’s only the responsible thing to do, after all."

"You do know that the project is finished, right? What project-related matters could we possibly discuss?" you remind him.

"I know. But we have to keep up appearances, don’t we? And who knows, we might find something... new to work on," he says with a playful grin. "And I can think of several things that need my immediate attention."

"I'm too sore, Jungwon!" you scold him, trying to keep your tone serious. "I can barely walk, let alone... do anything else."

"I bet you are. I might have gotten a little carried away last night." He pulls back slightly to look at your face, his expression softening. "We don’t have to do anything too strenuous, I promise. We can just relax, watch a movie, order some food."

"We did work really hard on that project. Maybe we do deserve a break," you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. "But what if Mr. Jeon finds out we’re just slacking off?"

He shrugs, a sly grin on his face. "Who cares what the CEO would allow? We’re both senior team members, and we’ve done a damn good job with the project. I’m sure we’ve earned a little break. And honestly, I’d much rather spend the day with you in my bed than stuck here in the office."

"Fine," you finally relent, unable to resist his charm. "But only because I really need a break."

A satisfied smile spreads across his face as you cave in. He reluctantly releases his hold on you. "Great. I’ll go talk to Mr. Jeon real quick, then we can get out of here."

He glances down at your legs, frowning slightly. "Can you even walk comfortably in those heels? You look like you’re about to fall over!"

"I gotta look hot, alright?" you retort, lifting your chin defiantly. "Can’t have everyone thinking I’m slacking off just because I’m sore."

He looks at you, taking in the tight pencil skirt and stiletto heels you’re wearing. He’s having a hard time disagreeing with your statement. "You look hot, alright, but you should’ve worn something more comfortable if you knew your legs would be this sore."

"I didn’t plan on being sore, genius. Just tell Mr. Jeon," you say, exasperated. "And hurry up. I don’t want to be standing here all day."

He rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. "Alright, alright. I’m going."

👠

Jungwon has his arm wrapped around your shoulders while lying on his bed as you both watch the movie. His fingers absently stroke your arm as he watches the screen.

He glances down at you, noticing how you look in his oversized t-shirt. There was something domestic and endearing about it that made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

He smiles, "You look better in my clothes than you do in your work clothes."

"You are kidding," you say, giving him a playful nudge. "Your clothes are so baggy on me. I look like I'm drowning in them."

He laughs and kisses the top of your head. "I'm serious. You should just start wearing my stuff and call it a day. It suits you better." He nuzzles his face into your hair. "And I have to admit, I like seeing you in my clothes and the way you smell like me."

You roll your eyes playfully. "You're just saying that because you like the idea of me being marked by you. Territorial much?"

He reaches over for a piece of food from the tray on the nightstand, holding it up to your lips. "Here, have some food. You must be hungry. Then maybe we can finish the movie and see if we can find something else to do."

You open your mouth, and he feeds you the food, watching as you chew, his eyes full of adoration. "Thanks. I was starving," you admit after swallowing. "This movie night idea was perfect."

Once you've swallowed, he sets the food aside and shifts on the bed. "You know, I never actually asked you out properly even though we already said 'I love you' to each other."

"I was waiting for you to say that," you reply, smiling up at him. "I mean, we've been acting like a couple, but I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to make it official."

He laughs again, but his eyes never leave your face. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Well, I guess I’m saying it now, huh? I still can’t believe we went from hating each other to this. It’s crazy."

"I know, right?" you say with a soft laugh. "I thought you were the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. But now, I can't imagine my life without you."

"I guess what they say is true. There’s a fine line between love and hate." Then he continued. "Although, I’m starting to think it was more of a ‘lust’ rather than a ‘love’ for a while there."

"Maybe," you say thoughtfully. "But I think there was always something more. We just didn't realize it."

"Well, now it’s definitely both. I think I went from ‘despising’ you to ‘desiring’ you to ‘loving’ you in record time." He said chuckling.

"Aren’t you gonna ask me out properly?" you say bluntly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"What, this isn’t formal enough? Maybe I should get on one knee and ask you properly then," he teases, pausing to look at you seriously. ‘’Alright..’’

"Will you officially be my girlfriend, even though we basically are already? Pretty please?"

"Yes, of course," you say with a grin. "But you better make it up to me with a proper date soon."

He then presses his lips against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. After a moment, he reluctantly pulls back, breaking the kiss but still keeping his face near yours. "Thank god. I was afraid you were going to say no."

"Bitch, are you serious right now?" you say, looking at him as if he was crazy. "You know I couldn't say no to you."

"No, I know you couldn’t resist me even if you tried, babe." He leans in to plant soft kisses on your cheek. "I love you. Mwah. Mwah."

"I love you too," you whisper, snuggling closer to him. "And for the record, I think this whole thing is pretty amazing. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad we were forced to work together."

"Me too," he says softly. "It's been a wild ride, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Yeah, it was clear that things did take a turn after that first kiss. It was a hectic rollercoaster of a ride, but I guess being forced to work on a project with the person you despise can turn it into either the best or worst experience ever.

But for you? It sure as hell was the best.

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