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seospicybin · 3 months ago

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INCISION.

I.N x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: In a bustling hospital, you and Jeongin are two doctors trying to navigate the fine line between professionalism and desire. (11,2k words)

Author's note: I'm obviously not a doctor but I've done my research so apologies in advance if you find any inaccuracies. Nevertheless, pls enjoy my first medical au!

The sound of surgical instruments clinking fills the operating room as the soft hum of machines keeps a steady rhythm in the background. You focus on the task at hand, making precise movements as you and Jeongin work side by side.

The tension is palpable, though, even beneath the masks you both wear. The nurses and assistants know this is nothing new.

"You're not positioning the clamp right," Jeongin says, his tone clipped but quiet enough to stay professional.

You shoot him a sharp glance from behind your mask, but hold back from snapping. "I know what I’m doing," you mutter under your breath, trying to stay calm as the situation intensifies.

He glances at the monitor, his eyes flicking between the patient’s stats and your work. "The tissue is too delicate for that much pressure. You’ll cause excessive bleeding if you keep going like this."

You feel the heat rising, frustration bubbling up. "I've done this procedure before, and I know the limits. This is—"

"Stop," Jeongin interrupts, his voice firm but composed, "We’re not here to debate. Just adjust the clamp."

There’s a pause in the room. You don’t miss the way the others subtly glance at each other, wondering if they’ll witness another argument. Reluctantly, you adjust the clamp the way he suggested. Moments pass, and the bleeding stops.

Damn it. He’s right.

Jeongin doesn’t say anything further, just resumes the surgery without acknowledging the tension in the air. Your irritation simmers quietly as you continue, but it doesn’t escape you that he’s proved you wrong in front of the entire team.

It's excepted of you to storm off once the operation is finished, he scoff under his breath as you leave him behind to deal with the post-op responsibilities. He rolls his eyes, tugging off his mask and gloves as he makes his way to the waiting area.

As soon as he steps out, he’s met with anxious eyes—the patient’s family, clinging to each other for support, waiting for any news.

He clears his throat, slipping effortlessly into his professional persona. "The surgery went well," he announces, offering them a reassuring smile.

There’s an immediate sigh of relief from the family. The wife’s eyes well up with tears, her hands shaking as she clutches her husband’s.

"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much," she whispers, voice cracking with emotion.

"The team will keep monitoring him closely, but everything went as expected," he replies with practiced humility. "Don't worry. Your loved one is in good hands."

The gratitude they shower him with is met with his usual calm professionalism, nodding politely as they thank him profusely. Despite the warmth of the moment, a part of his mind lingers on you, and the irritation bubbles back up.

When the surgery is over, and the patient is stable, you storm out of the operating room, ripping off your mask, gloves and surgical gown in one swift motion, crumpling them before tossing them into the bin with a sharp flick of your wrist.

Everyone around you barely spares a glance—it only takes one look to know you and Jeongin are at it again. Good. Let them know. That way, they’ll stay out of your way.

People might think you’re pissed at Jeongin for what happened in the OR, but the truth stings deeper than that—you’re mad because he was right. Again. And you hate that. You hate him, not for what he does, but for always proving you wrong. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve been pissed at Jeongin for no real reason since the day you started working together.

You head straight to the locker room, blessedly empty since not many staff are working the night shift. The irritation gnawing at your insides pushes you to undress quickly, stepping into the shower.

The water hits your skin, warm and soothing, the perfect antidote to the storm brewing inside you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face. It’s a temporary release, but it helps. Slowly, the anger ebbs away, replaced by the calming rhythm of the water.

The creak of the locker room door breaks the silence, but you don’t pay it much mind. People come and go—it’s part of the routine. You brush your wet hair back, tilting your head again, letting the warmth wash over you.

Then the shower curtain pulls open, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Jeongin steps in behind you, the heat of his body unmistakable as he presses against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist. Without hesitation, he pulls you close, his firm chest pressing into your skin, his breath hot against your neck. You can feel every inch of him, including the unmistakable hardness that pokes against your lower back.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does. Instead, he leans down, licking the droplets of water from your neck before placing soft kisses there, each one more deliberate than the last. You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access, and he takes it, his lips moving to capture yours in a deep, consuming kiss.

His hands trail down your sides, slow and teasing, until they reach your breasts. His fingers curl around them, squeezing lightly, and you glance down to see your nipples harden under his touch.

You bite back a moan, your body betraying you as your hand snakes its way behind you, finding his cock. You wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly at first, and then with more intent as he groans softly against your ear.

Jeongin responds in kind, his hand slipping between your legs, finding your most sensitive spot with ease. His fingertips circle your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through you, and the tension between you builds, the steam from the shower doing nothing to cool it down.

It’s not long before Jeongin can’t take it anymore. He spins you around, pinning you against the cold tiled wall, his body pressing urgently into yours. One of your legs hooks around his waist as he positions himself, his eyes focused as he pushes into you with a low growl. You whimper, feeling the stretch as he fills you completely, his hard length fitting perfectly inside you.

His lips part as he looks down, watching himself enter you before his gaze flicks back to your face. His hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your feet are off the floor. The new angle sends him deeper, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he thrusts into you, setting a steady, unrelenting pace.

Every movement, every grunt, every gasp is a channel for the frustration you’ve been carrying. You’ve been doing this with Jeongin for weeks now—fucking to release whatever tension builds between you during the day. It’s twisted, getting off on the mutual annoyance and frustration, but it works. For both of you.

You don’t want to admit that you’ve already cum once, and you’re not sure if he realizes, but your body is already building towards another. You clutch his shoulders harder as he speeds up, his hips snapping against yours as water cascades down his flushed skin.

He looks damn good, and you hate him for it. His dark hair slicked back, lips swollen and red from your kisses, his ears tinged pink. You hate that you can’t help but kiss him again, because despite everything, he’s good at this. He knows how to unravel you.

The contradicting emotions swirl inside you, and before you know it, you’re coming undone for the second time, your body tightening around him as you moan into his mouth. The intensity of it has you seeing stars, and Jeongin grunts as he continues thrusting into you, chasing his own release.

He pulls out just in time, his hot release spilling over your thigh, marking you in the process. Neither of you speaks, just panting against each other as you come down from the high.

No words are needed—there’s never a conversation about this. No being civil, no apologies. Just this. Just sex. Nothing more.

Jeongin stretches his neck, feeling the stiffness from working for eleven hours straight finally ease after his short nap. The break helped reset his brain, and after washing up and throwing on his coat, he heads to the breakroom to make himself a much-needed cup of coffee.

Inside the lounge, a handful of doctors and nurses are scattered around, grabbing a quick bite or drink between shifts. Jeongin grabs a mug, pouring coffee into it when a nurse glances his way.

"So, Dr. Yang, what do you think of our new director?" she asks casually.

Jeongin pauses mid-pour, eyebrows raised. “What new director?”

“The new hospital director," she repeats with a slight smile, pulling up a stool across the table from him. “You didn’t come to the announcement earlier?”

He shakes his head. "I was taking a nap."

"Ah, that explains it," she laughs softly, taking a sip of her own coffee.

Jeongin adds a teaspoon of sugar into his cup, curiosity starting to creep in. “So, who is he?”

"He’s the grandson of the chairman," she answers, setting her cup down.

Jeongin lets out a quiet sigh, stirring his coffee. "As expected."

"And," she leans in slightly, lowering her voice, "he’s one beautiful man."

He snorts, shaking his head and then jokingly says, "Be careful, or HR’s going to call you in for that.”

As much as the thought of a "beautiful" new director amuses him, the fact that he got the position through family connections—nepotism—already has Jeongin losing a bit of respect for him. Still, he pushes the thought aside as he finishes his coffee and heads off to do his patient rounds.

After checking on everyone under his care, Jeongin makes his way to his shared office, eager to update patient records in peace. As he steps inside, he spots you already there, seated at the desk. But what catches his attention isn’t just you—it’s the man sitting across from you, the two of you deep in conversation.

The moment Jeongin walks in, the talking stops, and both of you glance his way.

The man sitting across from you turns in his chair, revealing himself to Jeongin. He looks like he’s around the same age, but he's dressed in a sharply tailored pinstripe suit, hair slicked back like he walked straight out of a magazine.

"May I know who’s this?" the man asks, his voice low and smooth, the kind that commands attention.

"That’s Dr. Yang Jeongin, also a general surgeon," you introduce him politely. "We’re sharing the office."

"Ah..." The man lets out a soft, amused sound, standing up from his seat and extending his hand toward Jeongin. "I’m Felix. Nice to meet you."

Jeongin’s eyes flick over Felix briefly, sizing him up. After a beat, he takes Felix’s hand for a quick shake.

“Jeongin,” he says, offering a terse introduction.

The handshake doesn’t last long, but he catches Felix studying him for a moment longer than necessary. There's an air of appraisal in his gaze, one that makes Jeongin immediately wary.

"He’s the new hospital director," you mention, glancing between them.

Oh. So this is the infamous new director—the chairman’s grandson, the "beautiful man." Jeongin internally rolls his eyes but keeps his expression neutral.

"Nice to meet you, Director," Jeongin says, offering the obligatory respect he assumes Felix expects.

Felix waves his hand dismissively. “Just call me Felix, like your office mate here does.” He gestures toward you with a friendly smile.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. You, of all people, referring to the new director by his first name? The same you who’s earned the nickname "Ice Princess" because you keep a cold expression, even for patients?

Felix notices the curious look in Jeongin’s eyes and quickly adds, "We went to the same university, but unlike her, I didn’t finish my medical studies."

"But you now you’re directing the hospital I work in," You chime in playfully.

Felix chuckles, clearly enjoying the banter. "Anyway, we’re going for lunch. Care to join us?"

Jeongin glances at you. There’s an ease in your body language that makes it clear you’re comfortable around Felix—more comfortable than Jeongin has ever seen you, especially in his presence. Deciding not to intrude, Jeongin shakes his head.

"I’ve got to update some patient records," he says, keeping his tone light.

Felix nods, flashing him a quick smile. "No problem. Maybe next time."

With that, the two of you gather your things and leave the office together, leaving Jeongin alone. He watches the door close behind you, his mind swirling with thoughts.

So, not only is Felix the hospital director thanks to his family connections, but he’s also an old friend of yours—and he must admit that he's indeed a "beautiful man."

Jeongin wouldn’t call it luck that no one in the hospital has caught the two of you yet. It’s more about timing—and the fact that people know better than to hang around when you’re both in the same room. They all think it’s just the constant tension, the arguing. If only they knew what happens when the doors are closed.

However, Jeongin doesn’t take their obliviousness for granted.

When the urge strikes, he doesn’t risk anything at work. He knows exactly where to go. You both live in the same apartment building, which makes things much easier.

Now, after a grueling seventeen-hour shift, he stands outside your door, balancing a bag of food in one hand as he presses the doorbell.

A few moments later, the door swings open. There you are, dressed in a simple nightdress, your hair slightly tousled, as if you’ve just crawled out of bed. The soft fabric clings to your figure, and he knows right away that the food isn’t what this visit is really about.

“Food,” he says, holding up the bag as if it’s some peace offering.

You give him a look that says you’re not fooled. You know exactly why he’s here, and it’s not for a meal.

"Come in," you say, stepping aside to let him enter.

Jeongin strides in with the ease of someone familiar with the space. It’s not his first time here. He knows where everything is, where your bedroom is—everything. You gesture toward the dining table, where an open book and laptop suggest you’ve been studying a procedure for an upcoming surgery.

“You can put it there,” you say, nodding toward the table.

He sets the bag down, but his mind is already elsewhere. His gaze turns back to you, and he finds you standing in the doorway of your bedroom, leaning against the frame with a calm, collected air.

“We better make it quick,” you say, voice steady, “I have to be back at the hospital by four.”

Jeongin glances at his watch. There’s time. More than enough to do a few things. Without another word, he follows you into the bedroom. His eyes track your hands as they reach for the hem of your nightdress, and in one fluid motion, you pull it over your head and let it drop to the floor.

You stand there, nearly bare, save for the low-cut white underwear that clings to your hips. The silky fabric leaves little to the imagination, hugging the curves he knows all too well. He watches the way your body moves as you climb onto the bed, the way your legs cross beneath you as you sit there, waiting.

Your gaze is expectant, eyes smoldering as they meet his. You don’t need to say anything—the look is enough. Jeongin knows what’s required of him.

Without hesitation, he begins to undress. One item after another is discarded until there’s nothing between the two of you. He stands before you, unashamed, fully aware of your eyes roving over his body, taking in every inch.

You don’t hide your interest. Your eyes travel down his chest, lingering for a moment before settling lower. It’s clear in the way you’re watching him that you like what you see, and Jeongin feels the tension building, the air thick with unspoken desire.

This—what you have—is simple. It’s physical. You both know what to expect, and right now, there’s nothing more on either of your minds than satisfying the need you both feel.

Jeongin climbs onto the bed, crawling over you with a swift urgency that sends your head sinking into the pillow. His lips crash into yours in a deep kiss, tongues tangling as the tension between you shifts, blending desire with need. His hands, quick and sure, glide down your body, finding the heat between your legs.

His dainty fingers trace your wetness with a familiar intensity—gentle yet deliberate, coaxing every reaction he knows so well. But when his touch isn’t enough, he moves lower, his mouth replacing his fingers, tongue stroking along your slit before teasing your entrance. The wet warmth of his mouth, the firm pressure of his tongue, sends shivers up your spine.

He slips one arm beneath you, lifting your hips from the bed to give him the angle he needs. His mouth moves deeper, his tongue diving in as he devours you, the sound of your breathless moans fueling his efforts.

It doesn’t take long before you’re falling apart against his mouth, your release coating his tongue, and he revels in the taste of his triumph.

Off the bed, you clash. Your egos, your tempers—always fighting, always biting. But here, now, everything is fair game. No power struggles, just raw, shared pleasure.

Without wasting a second, you shift, getting on all fours, and take him into your mouth, returning the favor. Jeongin groans as you work him with expert ease, not stopping until you taste him—his release filling your mouth as he lets out a low, guttural sound, his body trembling under your touch.

It doesn’t end there.

The final round comes quick, an unspoken understanding between you. You lie on your stomach, and he positions himself over you, sliding into you from behind with relentless thrusts. You cross your legs, creating an extra tightness around him, and it drives him mad.

This is Jeongin’s favorite part. The way your mouth parts with nothing but moans spilling out, no words to bite at him, no comebacks to cut him down—just your breathless sounds of pleasure, your hands fisting the sheets as he takes you deeper, harder.

It’s all because of him, and he watches you, mesmerized by the way you slowly fall apart under him. He likes you like this. Fucked out of your mind, nothing left but the pleasure he gives you.

It’s almost too much, the sight of you, the tight heat surrounding him. It pushes him closer to his edge. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic as he chases his high, and you’re right there with him, your body trembling beneath his as you reach for your own release.

You both come undone at nearly the same time, Jeongin’s head falling into the crook of your neck as he breathes heavily, his lips pressing against your damp skin. He licks a stray droplet of sweat before planting a soft kiss on your neck.

Maybe, after all, hate and desire aren’t so different. Whatever it is that fuels your tension off the bed arouses him just as much on it.

Jeongin stirs, sensing the sunlight filtering through the blinds. His eyes flutter open, and for a second, he’s disoriented—until he realizes he’s still at your place. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. Turning his head, he sees your side of the bed empty, a small reminder that you had left early for work, as you’d mentioned last night.

He should be grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with the awkward morning after—small talk, avoiding eye contact—but something nags at him. Maybe it's the quietness of your absence, a hollow feeling he can’t quite place.

Jeongin gets up, slipping on his clothes and heading to the living room to grab his bag. He notices your books and laptop still scattered across the dining table, where you'd been working last night. But the food he brought is gone, an empty container in its place.

Later that day, he enters the shared office at the hospital, finding you lying on the sofa, fast asleep, the fatigue evident in the way your body is curled up under a blanket that drapes down the floor.

He knows you’ve had a long morning with a surgery, maybe even more work after that so as a professional courtesy, he quietly adjusts the blanket over your sleeping form, making sure you’re comfortable before moving silently to his desk.

For a while, he successfully works in peace, checking emails and looking over his schedule without waking you. But the silence shatters when the door suddenly swings open.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Felix says, freezing when he sees you stirring awake. “I didn’t know you were—”

“It’s okay,” you croak, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, still drowsy. “It’s time for me to wake up anyway.”

Felix walks in, flashing a smile at Jeongin when he walks past his desk. He sits on your office chair and quickly offer you one of the drinks with a sheepish smile.

“I brought us food,” he announces, setting a bag down on the table. You take the coffee with a grateful gasp, sipping it as though it's bringing you back to life.

“Feeling better already?” Felix teases, watching as you take another long sip.

You nod with a small smile. “Much better.”

Felix turns to Jeongin, a friendly smile on his face. “Dr. Yang, please join us. I brought enough for the three of us.”

Jeongin glances at you, sensing the tension, knowing how you both are. He can see you’re not exactly eager for his company, and he has work waiting for him.

With a thin, polite smile, he declines. “I’m sorry, but I have to check on my patients.”

“Okay,” Felix says, nodding in understanding.

But just as Jeongin thinks the conversation is over, Felix calls back with a playful grin, “Next time, you don’t get to refuse.”

Jeongin’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but as he walks out, he can’t help but glance back at you, sitting with Felix, looking more comfortable with him than Jeongin’s seen you in a long time.

Jeongin's eyes follow you across the room as you chat with Felix, your conversation too friendly for his liking. The two of you have been growing closer with each passing day, and it’s starting to grate on his nerves. He knows what everyone else is thinking—that he's jealous because you're spending time with the new hospital director. But it's deeper than that. He isn’t just annoyed at Felix; it’s you, too. He doesn't like seeing you laughing and being comfortable with someone who isn't him.

Jeongin tries to shake it off, throwing himself into his work, but it's impossible to ignore how often Felix finds a way to be around you. When Felix touches your arm casually during a conversation, something snaps inside Jeongin.

Later that day, the two of you are assigned to the same case, but the tension is palpable. You're standing on opposite sides of the patient’s bed, discussing the best treatment option when the argument starts.

"I think we need to go with a more conservative approach," you insist, your voice sharp, clearly not in the mood to back down.

Jeongin scoffs, shaking his head. "Conservative? This is an emergency. We don’t have time to wait around!"

"And rushing into surgery without considering alternatives could be reckless. Are you even thinking this through?" You argue, insisting that he thinks all these options through.

The nurses and doctors in the room glance at each other, exchanging awkward looks. They’re used to seeing the two of you argue, but today feels different. The tension is thicker, and no one dares intervene.

The argument escalates as you both exit the emergency room, the heated words continuing to fly between you. Neither of you backs down until you're alone in a narrow hallway near the storage closets.

"You never listen to anyone, do you?" you snap, your voice low and laced with frustration.

"And you never stop acting like you’re always right," Jeongin retorts, stepping closer to you, his eyes burning with unspoken frustration—frustration that’s been building not just over the patient but everything between the two of you.

Without thinking, the two of you back into the nearest closet. The door closes behind you, and before you can say another word, Jeongin pulls you to him. The next second, his lips are on yours, the argument forgotten as the two of you collide in a desperate, breathless kiss.

The cramped space of the closet doesn’t stop either of you from tearing into each other. His hands are already under your coat, fingers brushing your skin, while you tug at his scrubs, wanting more.

It's a dangerous game you're playing—this secret, reckless connection between the two of you—but right now, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You don’t need words. You both know how this ends.

Jeongin’s hands grip your hips tightly, his thrusts deep and relentless, but there’s something off. The usual fire between you two, the mix of anger and lust that always brings you back to each other, is there, but it feels different—colder, harsher.

You try to steady your breath, but Jeongin’s movements are growing more erratic. It’s almost as if he’s punishing you, though you don’t know why.

Then, suddenly, he pulls back just slightly, just enough to look down at you. His eyes are darker than usual, and there’s something new in them—a flicker of doubt, maybe even insecurity.

“You’ve been... busy lately,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Not around much. Guess you’re spending time with the director now, huh?”

The question stuns you for a second. His tone is cool, but there’s an edge to it. Jeongin never talks like this, not when you’re in bed—or, well, in a closet like now. Heck! He doesn't even talk at all.

“What?” you manage to say, confused and still trying to catch your breath.

He lets out a small, sharp laugh, but it feels wrong—forced. “Just saying. You’ve been with him a lot lately.”

His thrusts slow, almost like he’s making a point, and it’s more uncomfortable than pleasurable now. “Guess you’ve found someone else to keep you company.”

The words hit harder than his body does, and it’s not the physical tension that bothers you—it’s his tone, his insinuations.

You push against his chest, trying to get him to stop, to look at you properly, “What are you trying to say?" you ask, more firmly now.

A bitter scoff escaping his lips. “Sure. You’re just spending all that extra time with him for fun, right?”

The accusation is clear now. He’s not just upset; he sounds like he's... jealous, even if he won’t admit it outright. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer, but it doesn’t feel good anymore. It feels like he’s trying to prove something—to himself or to you, you’re not sure.

“I’m not sleeping with him if that's what you're asking,” you say, pushing back again, harder this time. You need him to hear you, to actually listen.

For a moment, he freezes. His gaze locks with yours, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. He wants to believe you, but the jealousy still lingers in his expression, even as his grip softens slightly. He lowers his gaze, shaking his head as if he’s trying to shake off whatever is gnawing at him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “You do what you want.”

But you can feel it—it does matter to him. He just won’t admit it. The tension in his body tells you more than his words ever could.

The air between you and Jeongin hangs thick with unspoken words, tension tightening every second. His eyes avoid yours, and you're just about to try and say something—anything to cut through this haze—when a shrill ring echoes from your coat pocket.

The sound slices through the moment, making both of you freeze. Your phone. You quickly reach for it, glancing at the screen as you slip out of Jeongin’s grip. The caller ID shows the hospital’s emergency line. Instinct takes over.

“Hello?” you answer, already feeling the shift from personal to professional.

The voice on the other end is urgent. “Doctor, we’ve got a mass casualty event coming in. Multiple vehicle collision on the highway—victims en route. We need you in the ER as soon as possible.”

You swallow, pushing the knot of emotions down. "I’ll be there in five."

Hanging up, you slide the phone back into your coat pocket and look at Jeongin, whose expression has already shifted into the same clinical mask. His jaw tightens slightly, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He knows what the call means.

“We have to go,” you say, breaking the silence. You grab your coat, quickly throwing it on.

Jeongin nods, his face unreadable now. “Yeah. I figured.”

There’s a moment where neither of you moves, standing in the cramped closet, the weight of unfinished business hanging between you. But the urgency of the call pushes it all aside. You decide to be the first to leave, stepping toward the door, pausing briefly, almost waiting for him to say something. Maybe to clear the air or soften whatever this was.

But Jeongin stays silent.

“I’ll see you in the ER,” you say, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hall.

The emergency room has quieted significantly after the initial rush, the chaos giving way to a somber stillness.

You check on the elderly couple occupying one of the beds in the ER. The husband is lying on the bed, looking weak but stable, while his wife holds his hand, worry etched on her face.

"Are you still having difficulty breathing?" you ask with a polite smile.

"It's gotten a lot better now," he answers, giving a weak smile.

"That’s good to hear," you reply, glancing at the monitor for his health status.

"Oh, how things turned out," he says with a sigh, "we were just on our way to our little cabin to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary."

You can’t help but smile at the shared information. "You've been married for forty years?"

"Yes," he confirms, his smile brightening his pale face.

"Stop it," his wife gently scolds, patting his arm for oversharing. "Just let the doctor do her job."

You sheepishly smile, pulling your stethoscope around your neck. "Take a deep breath for me," you instruct.

You place the stethoscope against his chest, listening carefully. His breathing sounds better, more stable. Still, you decide it’s best to put more oxygen in his system.

"Let’s get you some more oxygen through respiratory treatment," you suggest.

With him settled, you turn your attention to his wife. "How about you? Are you hurt? Are you experiencing any pain?"

"No, no," she says, shaking her head. "But my heart is beating so fast."

"May I have your hand?" you ask, gently taking it to check her pulse. It’s elevated, her heart rate quick and uneven.

"You do have a rapid pulse," you confirm, handing her back her hand. "Do you feel any heaviness in your chest or pain anywhere else?"

She waves you off with a shy smile. "I think it’s just shock. Please, focus on my husband."

You warn her nonetheless. "Please tell me if you start feeling anything unusual."

"Of course. Thank you, doctor," she says gratefully, echoed by her husband.

You leave them to rest, taking one last glance at them. The wife rests her head on her husband’s arm, their hands still intertwined. It’s a sweet sight, and for a moment, it feels like everything might be okay. But that moment doesn’t last long.

A nurse calls out to you. "Doctor, patient on bed eight went into arrest."

Without hesitation, you dash to the bed, assuming it’s the husband. But when you get there, it’s his wife—unresponsive, her husband frantically calling her name.

"Doctor, please, she’s not breathing," he cries, his voice trembling.

You act fast, checking her pulse—weak, barely there. "No pulse, unresponsive. I need her on a bed, now!" you shout, nurses rushing to help move her.

As soon as she’s laid on the bed, you rip open her shirt, connecting her to the monitor. "Prepare for intubation," you order, before jumping onto the bed to start chest compressions.

The room is tense as you pump her chest, determined to bring her back. "Get the defibrillator, now!" you yell between compressions, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead.

But then, the husband’s voice cuts through the urgency. "Doctor, stop!"

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. You keep pressing down on her chest, counting in your head, willing her heart to start again.

But his voice grows louder. "Doctor! Please, stop!"

"What?" You accidentally snap and looking at him in disbelief. You’re trying to save her—why would he want you to stop?

He steps closer, his face pale with grief. "We decided to do it. We signed the papers. A DNR. We don’t want resuscitation."

A Do Not Resuscitate order. As a doctor, you know what it means and you should respect the patient’s wish but you can't bring yourself to do it. You glance at the nurses, who nod in understanding. You should stop, but everything in you screams to keep trying, to save her.

"Sir, please—" you begin, your voice shaking, refusing to stop. Refusing to fail.

"It’s okay," he whispers, placing a hand on yours. "It’s what she wanted."

With a heavy sigh, you stop the compressions and step down from the bed. As soon as you let go, the monitor flatlines, the piercing sound filling the somber stillness in the room.

The husband pulls a chair next to her bed, taking her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Happy anniversary, my love," he whispers.

You stand there, frozen, tears welling in your eyes. You feel tired and angry and... helpless.

A nurse gently touches your elbow and softly mutters, "Doctor, we need to call it."

You glance at the digital clock on the wall, aware of the time but you can't bring yourself to say it. After a while, you manage to finally announce with a trembling voice, "Time of death: 22:02 p.m."

The moment the words leave your lips, you turn and walk out of the ER, needing air, needing space. You find your way to the balcony, the cold night air hitting your face as you pace back and forth, trying to process everything. The helplessness, the failure—it all crashes down on you.

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Jeongin turns you around and pulls you into his arms, and that’s when you break. You sob into his chest, the weight of everything spilling out as he holds you tightly.

"It’s okay," he murmurs softly, his hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing circles on your back. "You’re okay."

Gosh! You want to believe him, but it never feels okay. Death never feels okay.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, breaking the moment. You pull away from Jeongin, checking the screen. It’s a call for work. You reject it, wiping your tears away, trying to compose yourself.

"I have to get back," you croak, your voice barely steady.

Jeongin nods, watching as you force yourself to wipe your cheeks and steel yourself for the rest of the night. You have to keep going, no matter how much it hurts. With one last deep breath, you head back inside, ready to face whatever comes next.

It’s an exceptionally peaceful afternoon at the ER. Jeongin leans on the nurse station, typing away at the computer as he reviews his patient's health records. In the distance, he catches sight of you speaking to one of the patients.

"I checked your blood test, and it came out well," you announce to the elderly woman lying in the bed.

"Oh, what a relief!" The lady clasps her chest, the worry on her face melting away in a second.

"Since there's nothing you need to worry about, you can go home tonight," you add with a small smile.

"Thank you, doctor!" The lady beams at you, gratitude in her wide grin.

"The nurse will come by shortly to remove the IV and provide you with your prescription," you inform her before starting to step away.

But then, the lady grabs your hand unexpectedly. "Doctor, you’re not married, are you?" she asks, eyes twinkling with a mischievous curiosity.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow, watching your expression shift into that familiar, polite awkwardness.

You give a small, tight-lipped smile. "No, I’m not."

"My son here..." she pats her son’s shoulder, clearly proud, "he’s still single too. I think the two of you would—"

"Mom!" The son groans, his face flushing red as he glares at his mother.

"What? I think she’s the same age as you," she insists, smiling brightly at you, undeterred.

"You can’t just do that," the son mutters in embarrassment.

"He works at a start-up company," the woman continues, trying to sell her son like a prized item. "He makes—"

"Doctor, you can ignore my mother," the son quickly interjects, his eyes awkwardly avoiding yours. "But thank you for your help."

You offer a polite nod, trying not to laugh at the awkwardness. "Please take care of yourself, ma'am," you say gently, making a graceful exit.

As you walk back to the nurse station, you take the seat next to Jeongin to input some notes into the system. You sign the discharge form and tuck the pen back into your coat pocket.

"I think that's it. I’m done for the day," you mention.

For a second, Jeongin thinks you're talking to him, but then you address the nurses gathered nearby.

"Have a great night, everyone," you say before leaving the station with your hands deep in your coat pockets.

Jeongin watches you leave, something unsettling nagging at him. He can't quite place it. Maybe it's the conversation from earlier in the storage closet that lingers in the back of his mind. Or maybe it’s the strange peace that’s settled between the two of you today, the lack of bickering or tension. It feels... off.

The two of you rarely talk about anything beyond work. You’ve both learned how to be civil by not saying much at all. But tonight, Jeongin senses there’s more to it, though he brushes the thought away, convincing himself it’s best to let things stay as they are.

Later, as he heads to the office to change, he finds you already there, seated on the sofa and scrolling through your phone. You’ve changed out of your scrubs and into casual clothes, but you glance up when you hear him enter.

"Aren’t you going home?" Jeongin asks casually as he drops into his chair.

"I was waiting for you," you respond simply.

Something stirs in his chest, but he keeps his face neutral. "Why?"

"I figured we could have dinner together," you reply, as if it’s no big deal—like it’s not the first time you’ve ever asked him for something beyond work.

Jeongin raises a brow, suspicion lacing his tone. "What’s the occasion?"

"Why? We can’t have dinner together?" You challenge him, deflecting his question.

Jeongin sees this as an opening to address the unresolved tension between you, but he plays it cool, pretending to think over your offer just to make you wait.

"Okay," he finally agrees.

You stand, grabbing your bag from your desk. "I’ll be waiting in my car," you say, already moving toward the door, the usual privacy shield between the two of you slipping back into place.

Jeongin watches you leave, a faint smile tugging at his lips. There you are—the guarded, reserved you he knows so well, unwilling to be seen with him in any context outside of work. But there’s something about it that makes him smile, a sign that maybe, just maybe, you're starting to warm up to him after all.

The silence in the car is almost unbearable. Jeongin taps his fingers lightly against his knee, trying to think of something—anything—to say. You’re the one driving, which leaves him with nothing to do but sit and awkwardly glance out the window. Small talk has never been his strong suit, and right now, it feels like the weight of everything unsaid between you is pressing down on him.

"So... dinner, huh?" Jeongin mumbles, feeling awkward as he tries to break the quiet.

"Yeah." Your response is short, almost too casual, but you don’t elaborate.

Jeongin notices you haven’t mentioned where the idea for dinner came from. Not that he minds—it’s just… unexpected. He rests an arm against the window as he glances out at the city lights passing by.

There’s a weight in his chest he hasn’t quite figured out. He wonders if it’s because of the conversation you two didn’t finish in the closet or the fact that things between you feel a little off lately.

"So… where did you find this place?" he asks, trying to push past the awkwardness. He doesn’t even know what restaurant you’re heading to, but he feels like he should say something else.

"A friend recommended it," you reply, again leaving little room for more conversation.

Jeongin shifts in his seat, feeling every second stretch out. He’s not used to this—the awkwardness between you. There was a time when your conversations flowed effortlessly, even if they were mostly about work. Now, every word feels like it has a double meaning, every pause filled with things neither of you are willing to say.

When you finally pull up to the restaurant, Jeongin is relieved to have something else to focus on. He watches as you park the car, then unbuckle his seatbelt and step out into the cool evening air. He follows you inside, glancing around the cozy, dimly lit space.

The atmosphere is intimate, not exactly what he was expecting, but maybe this could work. Maybe it’s the kind of setting where you could finally talk. But as soon as you turn the corner toward your reserved table, Jeongin feels his stomach drop.

Felix is already there. He’s seated at the table, smiling brightly like this is completely normal, like he’s supposed to be there.

Jeongin’s steps falter for a moment, shock hitting him first, followed by a wave of disappointment that sinks deeper than he wants to admit. He thought this dinner would be just the two of you.

"Hey!" Felix greets, waving both of you over. His energy is infectious, but it feels entirely misplaced in this moment. "Glad you two could make it!"

Jeongin’s gaze flickers to you, waiting for an explanation. Did you know Felix would be here? Of course you did. The pieces click into place, and disappointment creeps in. You didn’t tell him because you knew he wouldn’t have come if you did. He tries not to let it show, but it stings. He thought it’d just be the two of you tonight, that maybe you’d get a chance to talk.

"You didn’t say Felix invited us," Jeongin says quietly, trying to keep his tone neutral, though a flicker of something bitter curls inside him.

You glance at him, then shrug lightly. "Figured you wouldn’t come if I told you."

He clenches his jaw, forcing a small, tight smile. You’re right. He wouldn’t have. But now that he’s here, it feels like everything he was hoping to get out of this dinner has been thrown off course.

Felix beams at both of you, completely unaware of the tension settling between you and Jeongin. "Come on, sit down! I already ordered drinks."

Jeongin slides into his seat, feeling more deflated than before. Instead of a quiet dinner, where maybe—just maybe—he could have figured out what’s been going on between you two, he now has Felix sitting across from him. He can’t even be mad at Felix; it’s not his fault. But the disappointment still weighs heavy, gnawing at the back of his mind.

"So," Felix starts, completely oblivious, "what should we order for dinner?"

Jeongin feels the weight of being the third wheel settle over him like a suffocating blanket as the dinner progresses.

Felix, sitting across from him, effortlessly commands your attention. You both laugh about some story from work, and Jeongin just sits there, chewing absentmindedly on his food, nodding when needed but otherwise silent.

It’s not like he hates Felix—not even close. But tonight, with the way things are playing out, he can’t help feeling a little out of place.

Felix turns to Jeongin, probably noticing his silence, and asks, “So, Jeongin, how’ve things been at the hospital? Busy?”

Jeongin blinks, caught off guard. He doesn’t particularly feel like talking, so he mutters, “Yeah, busy.”

Felix waits a beat, expecting more, but when Jeongin doesn’t continue, Felix’s gaze flickers to you as if asking for help. You don’t miss a beat, jumping in seamlessly.

"He’s been pulling back-to-back shifts," you explain, glancing at Jeongin as you speak. "Somehow still manages to stay sharp during surgeries. We were just handling a rough case earlier, actually."

Jeongin freezes, surprised by how easily you talk about his work. You even mention the kind of stuff he doesn’t usually share, not because he’s hiding it, but because he didn’t think you’d notice. But you do.

It’s a strange feeling—being known like this. He tries to brush it off, but it stays with him, lingering in his chest.

Felix nods along, smiling warmly. "That’s impressive. I’ve heard you’re pretty sharp in the OR."

Jeongin shrugs, keeping his reply short again. "Just doing my job."

Once more, the conversation starts slipping away from him, with you and Felix talking like old friends. Jeongin isn’t sure if it’s because Felix is easy to talk to, or if it’s just that the two of you seem to have this natural flow. Either way, Jeongin feels more like a spectator than a participant.

“Jeongin, you’re pretty athletic too, right?” Felix asks after a pause, trying to loop him back into the conversation.

“Yeah. A bit,” Jeongin answers, glancing at his plate. He’s tempted to shut down completely, but something in the way Felix keeps trying to engage him makes him feel slightly guilty.

Still, it’s hard to focus when Felix’s attention keeps drifting back to you. Every joke, every story feels like another reminder of how well you and Felix click. And that doesn’t sit well with him.

You’re both laughing at something Felix said, and Jeongin’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. He’s tempted—so tempted—to say something. Maybe drop a line about how you and Felix don’t match, or make some sarcastic comment about Felix’s efforts to befriend him. But he holds back. It wouldn’t be right.

Just as Jeongin feels the tension boiling in his chest, your phone buzzes on the table. You glance at the screen, your brows furrowing.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” you say, standing up and excusing yourself. "I’ll be back in a minute."

Jeongin watches you leave, his thoughts racing. Alone with Felix, he feels exposed. There’s no buffer now, and he’s not sure if he can handle more forced conversation.

Felix, still smiling, leans back in his chair. “So... the two of you. What’s the story there?” His tone is casual, but Jeongin can sense there’s more to the question.

Jeongin’s grip on his fork tightens, and for a second, he considers telling Felix exactly how he feels. About the tension, the confusion, the frustration of trying to figure out what the hell is going on between the two of you. But instead, he stays silent.

Felix chuckles lightly, mistaking Jeongin’s silence for shyness. “I can see that the two of you are close.”

Jeongin finally meets Felix’s eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. He’s tempted to say something—anything—to throw Felix off.

Maybe something along the lines of, *You two don’t even look good together*. But he knows it’s pointless. He doesn’t even know what kind of relationship *he* has with you, let alone how you and Felix fit into the picture.

Before Jeongin can say anything, you come back to the table, phone still in hand, looking a little flustered.

“I’ve got to head back to the hospital,” you announce, already grabbing your things. “Emergency surgery. I’m really sorry.”

Felix waves it off with a grin. “Don’t worry about it. Go save some lives.”

Jeongin’s gaze flickers to you, a sudden pang of disappointment hitting him. Not because you’re leaving, but because he thought this dinner—awkward as it was—might have been a chance to get somewhere.

You shoot Jeongin an apologetic look. "Please, continue with the dinner!"

Before he can respond, you’re already gone, rushing out of the restaurant and leaving him alone with Felix.

Since Jeongin rode with you earlier, and Felix insisted on giving him a lift home, Jeongin finds himself with no other option but to accept the offer. He slides into the passenger seat, the quiet hum of the car engine filling the space.

"So, where do you live?" Felix asks, his deep voice carrying easily in the enclosed space.

"Uh... actually, can you drop me off at the hospital? I need to get my car," he replies, keeping his tone polite. After all, Felix is the director of the hospital, and it’s best to maintain a sense of professionalism.

Felix gives him a kind smile, his eyes briefly flicking from the road to Jeongin. "It’s fine, I can drive you home. You can always pick up your car tomorrow."

Jeongin’s jaw tightens slightly. Something about Felix always makes it hard to refuse, no matter how much Jeongin wants to. "It’s just that I... I need to grab something from my car," he lies, feeling the tension creep up his spine.

Felix eyes him for a moment, then nods slowly. "Alright. I’ll take you to the hospital."

They drive in relative silence, the weight of Jeongin’s unease hanging between them. When they finally reach the hospital entrance, Jeongin quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door.

"Thanks again. For the dinner... and the ride," Jeongin says, forcing a smile as he steps out.

Felix waves it off with a warm smile of his own. "Please, don’t mention it."

That smile, so genuine, makes Jeongin feel worse for how bitter he had been during dinner. He watches as Felix’s car pulls away, the taillights fading into the distance before he turns and heads inside.

At the nurse’s station, Jeongin gathers the information he needs, quietly asking for your whereabouts. As soon as he hears you're in the operating room, he makes his way to the observational deck of OR 2.

From behind the glass, Jeongin watches you work. You're in the middle of a liver transplant, your movements precise, focused, and deliberate. It's clear that your approach to surgery differs from his. While Jeongin relies on his instincts, going with his gut and adjusting as the situation unfolds, you’re methodical—each step planned and calculated, every possible complication considered before it even happens.

Yet, despite these differences, Jeongin knows that you share the same ultimate goal: saving lives. It’s what both of you swore to do when you took the Hippocratic oath. And even though your methods diverge, your dedication is something Jeongin has always admired.

Looking down from the observational deck, Jeongin enjoys watching you like this—in your element, calm and collected. Here, in the operating room, it’s like you belong, completely immersed in the task at hand, leaving no room for error.

He watches as you instruct your team, your focus unwavering, and he feels a pang in his chest. He likes that you give everything to your work, pouring yourself into every surgery as if it’s the only thing that matters in the world. But he hates how you don’t give yourself that same care, how you don’t seem to see just how incredible you are, how all the lives you've saved are a testament to your brilliance.

Jeongin leans back, his arms crossed over his chest, a quiet smile playing on his lips. He likes that he knows someone as dedicated as you, someone who can match him in passion and skill. But more than that, he likes you. And that’s something he’s been trying to come to terms with for a while now.

It’s always a relief to know the operation went well, but there’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of seeing it go exactly as you anticipated. You peel off your gloves, discard the mask, and shed the surgical scrubs, taking a moment to make yourself presentable before facing the patient’s family. They’re waiting for you, their eyes full of worry and hope.

"The operation went well," you tell them immediately, knowing it’s what they need to hear most.

One of them nearly buckles with relief, her knees giving way as she clutches her chest. "Oh, goodness..."

You keep your tone calm but clear as you explain further, "We’ll be monitoring closely to ensure the body accepts the transplant, but so far, everything looks good."

"Thank you so much, doctor!" another family member exclaims, gripping your hand tightly, her gratitude palpable.

"You shouldn’t thank me. You should be thanking the donor." you say gently, reminding them of where their gratefulness should be delivered to.

With that, you excuse yourself and head back inside, the echoes of their thanks fading behind you. Once you reach the locker room, you allow yourself a moment to decompress. Sitting on the bench, you let your body relax, the weight of the day finally starting to lift from your shoulders.

After taking the time to unwind, you wash up and change into fresh scrubs. It’s late, too late to head home, so you decide to spend the night in your office.

When you enter, you’re surprised to find Jeongin sitting on the sofa. The room is dim, the only light coming from the small lamp on your desk. He’s sitting there quietly, his face partially hidden in the shadows.

"Why are you here?" you ask as you move closer and sit down beside him on the couch.

"I just want to," he replies, his tone casual, as if that’s all the explanation you need. Typical Jeongin.

You open a bottle of water and take a long sip, letting the silence stretch for a moment.

"How was the rest of the dinner?" you ask, trying to fill the quiet.

"It was alright," he says vaguely, and it’s just like him to be frustratingly noncommittal. It bothers you a little, but you’ve grown used to it by now.

"He likes you, you know," you say, wanting to clear up any misunderstanding about the dinner with Felix.

Jeongin frowns, clearly confused. "Who?"

"Felix," you answer, watching his expression carefully.

"If he likes me, he should raise my salary and give me a new car," Jeongin jokes, and you can’t help but laugh at his obliviousness. He doesn’t see the difference between being someone’s favorite colleague and being their romantic interest.

You take another sip of water, then put the cap back on the bottle and set it aside. "He likes you as in he wants to date you."

That seems to catch him off guard. He shifts uncomfortably on the couch, clearly trying to process the information.

"But I don’t like him," he says after a long pause, his voice colder than you expect.

"Why?" you ask, turning to look at him. "He’s a great guy."

His eyes meet yours in the dim light, dark and unreadable. He’s quiet for a moment, and then, in a low voice, he says, "Because he’s not you."

The words hit you harder than you expect, lingering in the quiet room like a confession you weren’t prepared to hear.

Jeongin doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Felix wasn’t interested in you or uneasy at the idea that Felix wants to date him. Either way, the misunderstanding settles heavily on him, and now that everything is clear, it feels like the right time to speak his truth. He knows it could change things between you, but he’s never been one to hold back when something matters.

"But I don’t like him," Jeongin states, his voice firm, filled with certainty.

"Why? He’s a great guy," you reply, seemingly unaware of the tension in his eyes, the kind of tension that only exists when someone is holding something back.

"Because he’s not you," he finally reveals, the words falling from his lips before he has a chance to second-guess them.

Your eyes lock with his, and instead of brushing it off or retreating, you hold his gaze, searching. You’re looking for any hint that he’s just toying with you, but there’s nothing in his eyes except sincerity.

"I like you," Jeongin admits, his voice softer now, vulnerable. He keeps his eyes on you, giving you the chance to look right into him, to see that he means every word.

"And what are you going to do about it?" you challenge, your voice edged with doubt. "We’re not exactly what people call a match made in heaven."

You laugh, but it’s a bitter sound as you add, "a match made in hell more like."

Jeongin shakes his head, brushing away your cynicism like it doesn’t matter to him in the slightest.

"I don’t care what people think," he says, his voice filled with the quiet confidence that defines him. He never has cared about others' opinions, especially not now, when something real is at stake.

Before you can say anything else, before you can retreat back into doubt or second-guess his intentions, he cups your face in his hand and pulls you toward him. His lips meet yours in a kiss that leaves no room for misinterpretation. It’s not rushed, not hesitant—just honest, as if he’s pouring every unspoken word into that moment. If words weren’t enough to convince you, maybe this will.

The room is dim, shadows pooling around the edges, but the quiet has dissolved into a symphony of shared moans and the sound of skin meeting skin.

Your naked bodies are entwined on the sofa, Jeongin’s weight pressing you firmly beneath him. Your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer with each steady thrust.

His movements are deliberate, each one more intense than the last, as if he’s letting you know with his body that every touch, every motion, has meaning behind it. His lips are locked onto yours, claiming you with kisses that steal your breath, each one deep and consuming.

The occasional moan escapes from you, slipping into his mouth between kisses, but it’s not just the physical that overwhelms you this time. It’s the rawness, the intensity, the vulnerability.

This is more than just lust, more than just pleasure—this feels personal, like every inch of him is offering something deeper.

It becomes too much, emotions stirring within you in ways you can’t control. You need more than just the moment—you need certainty. Your hand moves to his chest, gently pressing him back.

"Jeongin, I want you," you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He halts, his brow furrowed, puzzled by your words. You’re having him right now, aren’t you? His breath is shallow as he props himself up, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"And I want you," he mutters back, bracing himself against the sofa, trying to make sense of the moment.

You push him a little further, enough that his body reluctantly pulls out of yours. "If you want me..." you whisper, your fingers wrapping around the base of the condom, peeling it away with slow intent until it snaps. You look into his eyes, guiding him back toward you, but this time, without any lay of protection between you.

"... Then I want you to show me," you continue, bringing him to your entrance once more, your body inviting him back inside, bare and exposed.

His cock sinks into you, filling you completely, and a shudder courses through both of you as you take him all in. You grip his shoulders, pulling him down until your bodies are flush together again, the heat between you almost unbearable.

You kiss him hastily, dragging your lips to his ear, whispering words that send a pulse of need through him, "Cum inside me. Claim me. Make me yours."

There’s a shift in Jeongin then, something both primal and tender. He knows what this means, the weight of responsibility, the choice he’s making. But more than anything, he’s ready—ready for you, for this, for wherever this takes him.

His lips brush against yours, lingering for a moment before he pulls back just enough to say, "You’re already mine."

And then he’s moving again, thrusting into you with more conviction, more purpose, every stroke filled with the warmth of his feelings for you. This isn’t just about lust or release—this is him claiming you, and in turn, letting himself be claimed by you.

As he continues, his pace growing more fervent, you can feel the connection deepening, the lines between colleagues, friends, and now lovers, blurring into something more.

Jeongin has you now, in every way he’s ever wanted, and nothing feels more right.

The tension in the room is palpable as Jeongin stalks toward you, eyes narrowed in frustration. You can see the confusion on the faces of the nurses and residents around you, everyone wondering why the two of you can’t ever seem to get along. If only they knew.

"Next time, think before you act," Jeongin snaps, arms crossed over his chest as he stares you down. "You’re not the only doctor here."

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "I’ll try, but not all of us can make every decision like you, Doctor Perfect."

There’s an audible gasp from one of the nurses, and you feel the tension in the room skyrocket. But instead of getting angrier, you catch the slightest smirk on Jeongin’s lips, just for you.

He steps closer, his voice lowering just enough that only you can hear. "You’re pushing it," he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing.

You glance up at him, your heart racing. "And you love it," you say under your breath.

The others in the room think you’re at each other’s throats again, but beneath the surface, your teasing exchanges carry a completely different meaning. Jeongin’s eyes flash with that familiar mix of frustration and something else, something that always leaves you feeling on edge.

"You keep acting like this, and people are going to start thinking I actually hate you," he says, his voice low but filled with amusement.

"Maybe you do," you shoot back, but your lips twitch as if fighting a smile.

The argument seems heated enough to the others, but you know the truth. This is just a game, one you’ve both gotten dangerously good at. To the outside world, you’re bitter colleagues who can’t agree on anything. But in private…

Jeongin steps even closer, brushing past you as if he’s done with the conversation. His fingers briefly graze your hand, and your heart skips a beat. As he walks away, his voice drops so low it sends a shiver down your spine.

"Meet me in the supply closet in five."

Your pulse quickens, and as he leaves the room, you can’t help but smirk. Everyone else in the room is left awkwardly silent, confused by the ongoing tension, while you’re counting the minutes until you can slip away.

Soon enough, you find each other in the enclosed space. The tension from earlier still clings to the air, but there’s an underlying current of something else now—something electric.

"You know," Jeongin says, standing so close facing you, "for two people who supposedly can’t stand each other, we end up in situations like this a lot."

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light despite the weight between you. "Maybe we’re just bad at pretending."

He smirks, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "Or maybe we’re just bad at staying away."

There’s a charged silence, the kind that always seems to follow you both around—like you’re constantly on the verge of either fighting or… something else.

"You frustrate me," you admit, meeting his gaze head-on.

Jeongin chuckles, stepping closer. "The feeling’s mutual."

But there’s no malice in his voice, just something warmer, something deeper. His foxy eyes, usually sharp and guarded, soften just a little as he looks at you. You can tell he’s thinking, deciding whether to break the unspoken rules you’ve both built around this secret.

"Why do we keep doing this?" you ask, your voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

Jeongin steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

"Because we don’t know how to stop," he says softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. His touch is gentle, contrasting with the fiery arguments and clashing wills that define so much of your time together.

"Jeongin…" you murmur, but whatever you were going to say gets lost as his lips press against yours.

The kiss is slow at first, almost testing, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. It’s not rushed or frantic, but it’s full of everything that’s been bubbling beneath the surface for so long—the frustration, the tension, the unspoken feelings.

His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. But you’re not going anywhere. Not now.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.

"We’re a mess," he mutters, but there’s a smile on his lips, a warmth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

"Yeah," you agree, your voice soft but teasing. "But we work, don’t we?"

Jeongin chuckles, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Somehow, we do."

You smile, pulling him down for another kiss, this one more playful, as if to remind him that no matter how many arguments or misunderstandings there are, you always come back to this—to each other.

"You know," you murmur against his lips, "we’re going to keep arguing in front of everyone."

Jeongin laughs, his breath warm against your skin. "Let them think what they want," he whispers, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "They’ll never know."

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing there in the quiet. No arguments, no pretense. Just you, Jeongin, and the unspoken understanding that whatever this is between you—it’s real. Messy, complicated, and maybe even a little dysfunctional. But it’s yours.

And maybe that’s enough.

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hannyoontify · 3 months ago

Text

i love you - lee seokmin

member | best friend!seokmin x reader

genre | college!au, best friends to lovers!au, fluff

word count | 1.3k

synopsis | you're sick and stuck at home during halloweekend. you were planning to spend the night wallowing in self-pity and tissues, until a certain ray of sunshine disrupts your plans.

warnings | none? js food? and pining ig lol pls lmk if i missed anything

notes | i don’t rlly like this fic 😭 this was a horrible attempt at a sick fic please forgive me. not proofread

seok: heyyy seok: how’s the cold?

[name]: like death warmed up, actually

seok: oh wait i know this one seok: THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA REFERENCE!! RIGHT??

[name]: LMFAOO NICEE

seok: i do my homework :3

[name]: i’m proud of you, my pupil [name]: how’s the party?

seok: boringggg boo boo boooooo it’s boring without you seok: i was actually thinking about leaving

[name]: why? you’ve been looking forward to this party for weeks

seok: yeah but it’s not fun without my wolverine. we’re supposed to be deadpool and wolverine. me being deadpool is js. plain. boring. seok: so i’m leaving rn. wanna binge watch gilmore girls and eat pumpkin cheesecake bars that i stole from mingyu’s kitchen?

[name]: oooo yes please [name]: … and maybe some sinex? i lost mine :<

seok: no need to ask twice. i’ll be there in 20

[name]: you’re the best

The door to your apartment closed shut just as you had finished setting up your living room to the ‘BatCave’, as Seokmin liked to call it. It was something the two of you started since your freshman year when you were assigned to the dingy, tiny campus dorms and you had to make do with the small space the two of you had. There was no specific shape or structure to the BatCave. It was a discombobulated heap of pillows and blankets thrown atop an air mattress that you and Seokmin salvaged from an elderly woman’s yard sale during the spring semester in your sophomore year.

“Here, here! I’m here!” Your ears perked up at the sound of your best friend entering the foyer and Seokmin quickly made his way to you with two big plastic bags in hand, pressing a quick kiss to your head that made your heart flutter. “How are you feeling?”

You scrunched up your nose and spoke in a nasally voice. “Sick.”

Seokmin gave you an empathetic smile and reached into his coat pocket before handing you a box of Sinex. “Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas. Didn’t I bring you one this morning too?”

“I don't know where it went! I lost it!” You sniffled.

Seokmin busied himself with making a big show out of taking off his outer jacket, revealing his Halloween that he spent $180 on. The Deadpool costume was originally your idea, suggesting that he should buy a Deadpool onesie and call it a costume, but your best friend insisted on going full out. You thought it was ridiculous that he spent almost 200 dollars on a Halloween costume, but Seokmin thought otherwise.

‘Go big or go home.’ Was what he had said.

… At least, that’s what you think he said. He was way too drunk to form a coherent sentence at the time.

“Well, it’s gotta be somewhere.” Seokmin emphasized with a wave of his hands. “I’m going to change. You still have my clothes, right?”

You nodded and waved him towards your bedroom. “Second drawer on the right. It should be on the way top.”

“Thanks, this suit keeps giving me a wedgie and it doesn’t feel really…” He paused to adjust himself with a pained look on his face. “Nice.”

You watched with a smile as he disappeared into your bedroom, adjusting himself under the suit on the way. “You should demand a refund.” You called out to him.

“Oh, you bet I will!” He called back and you barked out a short laugh.

You don’t know how much time has passed since Seokmin first came into your apartment. The glass container that once held Mingyu’s famous pumpkin cheesecake bars was void, not a single crumb leftover. The ceramic mugs that were once filled to the brim with hot chocolate were empty, and the popcorn bowl resting in Seokmin’s lap was half empty.

Everything was perfect. The congestion in your nose had disappeared, thanks to the Sinex Seokmin had bought you, your fever was gone, and you had never felt more warm in your life, nestled into Seokmin’s side with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. Your favorite fleece blanket was pulled up into your chin and you were positive you had reached the most optimal comfortable state possible for a human.

“You okay?” Seokmin asked quietly. You felt the low hum of his voice reverberate in his chest where your head laid and you nodded.

“Yeah… just tired.” You responded quietly. “I think the Benadryl is in my system; I’m sleepy.”

He hummed and wrapped both arms around you, pressing his lips against your temple. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You nestled yourself further into his chest and nodded again, taking note of the faint scent of his cologne mixed with his shampoo and the calming effect it had on you. Your fingers searched for refuge in Seokmin’s embrace and you let out a small sigh as he began to stroke your head, his gaze still fixed on the screen, where Rory was dying Lane’s hair purple.

Your eyes fluttered closed in resignation, a battle lost against sleep and fatigue. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was Seokmin’s finger lightly tracing indiscernible patterns on your shoulder.

The gentle pitter patter of the raindrops against your window jolted you awake and you shifted under the blanket, cozying yourself closer into Seokmin’s embrace. The movie on your laptop was paused, and Seokmin had his arm under your head, his eyes closed and lips slightly ajar as he took shallow breaths in his sleep.

The clock on the wall told you it was way too early–or late–to be awake, and you groggily rubbed at your eyes. The lights outside casted an eerie shadow on Seokmin’s sleeping face as his lashes fluttered ever gently against his skin, drawing your attention to the mole he had under his eye.

You reached out, lightly tracing the small freckle with your fingertip. There was a familiar fluttering in your stomach as your eyes scanned Seokmin’s face, your hand lightly resting on the side of his face. He nuzzled his face against your palm, humming quietly as he tugged you closer to his chest with the arm he had resting underneath you.

Heat rushed to your face as Seokmin rested his chin atop the crown of your head. The two of you remained like that, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort as the hand on the clock endlessly ticked by.

With every tick of the clock, you felt yourself falling harder and faster for the man who was currently holding you in his embrace. Seokmin was your best friend, your other half. The two of you met during freshman year move-in day, and you had known him as the smiley boy who lived across the hall. But now, you were in your senior year and he was Lee Seokmin, an irreplaceable and undoubtedly, the most favorite part of your life. Without Seokmin, you were missing a part of yourself.

“I love you.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could register what they were. It was barely above a whisper, spoken into the darkness where it would remain a secret between only you and the shadows.

Your words hung heavily in the air and you sucked in a quiet breath, nervous that you might’ve woken Seokmin up. There was a moment of silence, like the world was holding its breath to wait for his response, if he had one at all.

Seokmin’s eyes fluttered open and his warm, brown eyes stared into yours. Under the pale moonlight, his eyes sparkled, like pools of warm and enticing honey, drawing you in. Your eyes flickered to his mole, then the hand you still had resting on his cheek.

“Sorry, I–” Fumbling, you tried to draw your hand away but Seokmin stopped you, resting his hand atop of yours.

“... I love you too.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

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paarksunghoon · 4 months ago

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hello omg i love love LOVE deep honey, which is rare cus i usually do not touch fluff at all but smth abt the way u wrote got to me. i was wondering that in case u wanted an idea, u could write abt sunghoon rushing over to take care of his sick girlfriend? :3 just a thought or any headcannons u have on that would do fine but if u wanna turn it into a drabble or fic that's good too, especially if it's a continuation of deep honey

anyways, that is all from me, have a good day!!!

thank you so much :’) for all of my nsfw drabbles and content, I really enjoy writing the softer kind of stories. switched up the request just a little. consider this a token of my appreciation for your kindness. xx

ps this is what I’m imaging him wearing

***

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that nothing good could ever happen when you text someone past 2AM.

Both existential and physical dread consume you the second you open your texts and see a plethora of unread messages due to your current state of being. You’ve been bedridden for what feels like years but it’s only been a few of days. It’s technically Sunday morning and technically you should be fast asleep, especially since you’d taken medication to help you rest throughout the night. But seems like your body has other plans for you.

Tossing and turning won’t do either. Your head feels much better than it has for the past two days. You’d taken two days off or classes because of intense migraines paired with what seems like onset sickness due to it being flue season. Guilt over missing classes and groveling to your professors (even if they extended grace and told you to rest up) ate you alive, only ebbing away when you closed your eyes and slept.

Your roommate has been away because of a family event and what was once a promising weekend full of relaxation and the apartment to yourself is now a time for you to wallow in your misery. You’ve gone through countless tissues and have slept more in the past few days than in your entire life. It feels like your head might as well be cut off with how many problems your eyes, nose, and throat are giving you.

To pass the time, social media distracts you for a few minutes and you catch glimpses of what your friends have been up to. Partying. Studying. Eating at the cafeteria. All of these are mundane events you took for granted because you’d love to be anywhere but rotting away in your apartment. You’d rather studying for a midterm over feeling like you can’t move without losing your breath.

You take this time to catch up on texts as well. There are so many what remain unread by you and guilt crawls up your spine as you begin to reply to everything.

hi riki!! sorry I haven’t replied yet. I’ve been sick all weekend :/ I wish I could’ve gone to jake’s game with u bc it looked so fun ☹️

jungwon ur your cat is so cute omg…please send more vids. also sorry for replying late im sick lol

sunoo I swear to god if you watch another episode without me, I’m gonna beat your ass whenever I recover

yes, mom. I’m resting as much as I can! sorry I haven’t responded sooner. I still feel sick

heeseung do u think sunghoon would be weirded out if i text him right now. pls advise 😁

Heeseung immediately reads the message and the text bubble appears straight away. He’s one of your closest friends in university who always happens to be friends with Park Sunghoon, the guy you’ve been talking to for the past month and a half.

heeseung: Nah not weird. He’d probably like hearing from you

heeseung: He was asking about you earlier today and said you haven’t been talking to him as much

you: looking at my phone made me nauseous :/

heeseung: You should probably tell him that bc he’s been staring at his phone all day

you: soooo it wouldn’t be weird if I texted him out of the blue rn?? usually we don’t like…start conversations so late

heeseung: You’re overthinking. Just text him and if he doesn’t reply then he’s asleep and will text you in the morning

you: I’m scared of fucking it up

heeseung: There’s nothing to fuck up. If he gets mad that you took care of yourself (he won’t be) then he’s the one who fucked up

you: ugh when did u become the voice of reason

heeseung: :)

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard after you’ve opened Sunghoon’s text. You can imagine his slight pout when you think about how he’d react when he realizes you haven’t texted him back, which makes you feel even more guilty than you already are.

You’re not really sure how you started talking to him, let alone befriended Heeseung to the point where he started inviting you to hang out with him and his group of friends. Heeseung had originally been a study partner for a shared class back when the two of you were sophomores. It’s been a couple of years since then and now most of your conversations consist of TikTok jokes and Heeseung having to deal with you pining over one of his friends.

Sunghoon is every bit of cool you can imagine. He was so quiet when you first met him, residing in his oversized sweater since it was approaching the beginning of autumn. Heeseung invited you to a local bar on a Friday night after midterms and said your first drink would be on him if you made it before last call, knowing very well you were likely getting ready to slip underneath your blankets and call it a night.

He was right as always. You showed up wearing jeans and an old shirt with a jacket that was too big for your body. You’d made somewhat of an effort to look presentable since you’d be hanging out with his friends near campus and would rather not look like you’d gotten rolled over by a locomotive. It was there you met Sunghoon for the first time. He was so quiet that you barely heard him talk until an hour into hanging out with him, but that’s when you learned that he was someone you needed to get to know before he’d show you his loud, boisterous personality.

The more you hung out with him, the more you started to picture yourself with Sunghoon, away from the group you started to call your friends too. You’d only see him when Heeseung invited you out or if you bumped into someone else while Sunghoon was in tow with them. Neither of you seemed to cross paths otherwise and even then, Sunghoon was a bit too timid to approach you first and start a conversation.

Part of you wondered if you were ever too bold when you’d get drunk with him and your friends. You were loud, full of laughter and affection that none of your friends were surprised every time you shouted compliments across the tables and declared your love for the little group you considered to be your family away from home. Heeseung had gotten used to it pretty quickly and so did the others, albeit it took a while for their ears to stop glowing red every time you’d pull them into a drunken hug.

Maybe you sent a little too far with Sunghoon, who immediately tensed when your arms wrapped around his shoulders the first time you let your inhibitions down fully. A few beers and shots in, and Heeseung was anticipating your drunken rant about how much you love the little life the five of you had created and hoped that it would continue even after you all graduate.

Sunghoon always looked a bit intimidating with his dark, thick eyebrows and shielded his wandering eyes. He always looked like he knew what he wanted and his grace always made you think twice about what you’d say to him. Although, you knew this was the beginning of an onset crush that wouldn’t remain hidden for long, let alone when you weren’t sober.

So you’d thrown your arms around Sunghoon’s shoulder and told him how happy you were that Heeseung introduced the two of you. While you try not to think about that moment too much, you recall telling Sunghoon that he was slowly starting to become one of your favorite people because of how funny he is when people least expect it. You liked that he was so kind to his friends and that he was so confident in himself, and that you wished you could be a little more like him.

You also said he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. It was a sobering moment because he looked at you like you’d grown two heads and his shoulders felt like they might’ve been pushing you off of his body.

Stumbling with consistent apologies, none of your mutual friends seemed to notice what was happening behind them. You can picture the look on his face when your mind crosses to this moment, how he’d looked at you with bewilderment with his mouth ajar. Sunghoon didn’t say anything and you took that cue to leave him alone and head to the bar, where you hoped distance would make this night seem less tragic than it was.

When morning came around, you were the only person in your shared group chat who declined getting a late morning breakfast due to your embarrassment. Even during the next weekend, when Jake opened up his apartment for a casual hang out, you were the only person who didn’t show up, citing work and study stresses keeping you away from your friends.

Heeseung knew those were merely excuses.

“Cut the shit, Y/N. Are you okay? Did one of the guys do anything to make you uncomfortable?” The worst laced in his tone made you feel guilty for having him think the worse of people he knew before he met you.

“No, nothing like that. I think I’m the one who fucked up and made them uncomfortable.”

“Well clearly not since Jake invited you to his place. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”

The last thing you expected from Heeseung was to see him double over in laugher when you explained your predicament, clutching onto your bed like he’d fall to the ground if he didn’t. You’re sure that fit of laugher gave him a new set of abs.

“Sunghoon wasn’t weirded out. He texted me and asked if you were okay.” Heeseung pulled his phone out of his pocket to show you, leaving you in a cloud of confusion. “He probably likes you. Sunghoon’s a natural with girls even if he doesn’t realize they’re flirting with him. I think he likes you too because he’s acting really awkward because he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

That night left you with more question than answers. You considered texting Sunghoon and asking if the two of you could talk, but you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable and tell him what Heeseung told you in fear of putting your friend in an awkward position. So you let the discomfort settle and braved seeing him the next time one of your friends invited you out.

Which, to no one’s surprise, was the weekend after Jake’s get together. Seoul’s autumn carnival was in its third weekend by the time the five of you were able to find adequate time to ride every rollercoaster and eat until your stomachs caved in. You loved the fair and were the first person to buy an admission ticket. Poor Jay, who wasn’t the biggest fan of big rides in the first place, tagged along with Jake every time he insisted on it. You tried your best to keep some distance between yourself and Sunghoon, even if Heeseung said you were being ridiculous. You’d chosen to stick by him until Sunghoon volunteered to help you pick up the food trays when you lost a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“I’m sorry that I acted weird that night,” he said, cutting the silence as the two of you waited for your order. He didn’t have to explain. You knew what he was talking about. “Heeseung said you felt bad for making me feel uncomfortable but I need you to know you didn’t make me feel that way.”

That was the longest sentence he’d ever said to you, let alone it being the first time he initiated a conversation with you. He watched as you stood with your eyes wide and mouth parted like you wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it.

“I think you just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to say nice things about me. I didn’t realize we were that close because you’d been affectionate with everyone but me up until that night.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I was, uh, flustered.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He averted your gaze and looked at his shoes momentarily before he looked back at you. “I liked what you said. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You laughed at the awkwardness dissipating. “I thought I crossed a line, or something. You just sat there and I thought I fucked up by touching you.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. I…I liked it a lot.” You tried to hide a grin by keeping your bubbling excitement under wraps failed miserably. Sunghoon smiled too, offering to carry most of the trays back to the table where your friends were too hungry to talk for the next ten minutes.

The memory brings you back to the present where your thumbs hover the keyboard. You start to read back the conversation between the two of you and feel those butterflies erupt in your stomach for the umpteenth time. The two of you have talked about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits. So why is texting him to let him know you’ve been sick for the past few days so difficult for you?

you: hi

you: sorry I haven’t texted a lot in the past few days. I’ve been having migraines and now I’ve caught a cold ):

you: im sorry for texting so late too

He texts immediately.

sunghoon: You don’t have to be sorry. Are you feeling better now?

sunghoon: Actually don’t answer that

Your phone rings.

“Hey,” you say with your phone propped against your ear. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m the only who’s calling you when you’re sick, so I’m technically the one bothering you.” His laugh on the other line makes you smile a little too hard. “I was really worried. None of the guys heard from you so I figured you needed some space.”

“Unfortunately. I had to skip a few classes because it hurt to stand up. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept more this past week than I have in the last month.”

“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

“I feel bad that I haven’t been able to talk to you.”

As if Sunghoon could sense you pouting, he clicks his tongue and reassures you. “It’s fine, Y/N. I’d probably do the same thing. I can’t imagine how much pain you’ve been in.”

“I would honestly rather study and take a million midterms than go through this again. I feel like someone just took their shoe off of my head.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. Can I bring you anything? Medicine, maybe?”

You cough a little. “No, but thank you. My friend dropped off a lot of NyQuil and other stuff to help me. It’s working…kind of. Still feel like shit, though.”

“…Can I come over? To help you with your sickness, of course. I can bring you soup.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You frantically rise from your bed amidst his words and realize there are tissues on the ground and dirty clothes strewn everywhere because of your lack of energy. Your living room must be a mess, too, and this would also be the first time Sunghoon would see you without any makeup on.

“I want to. But I mean, only if you’re up for it. I don’t want to stress you out since you’re sick. I just want to help make you feel better. That…and I miss you.”

Sunghoon’s never been so direct before. Even though the two of you have been talking for a while, neither of you have been so forward about it. Conversations are always subtly flirty to the point where the effervescent feeling simmers just underneath the surface. The two of you have hung out without the rest of your friends and have been alone before, but neither one of you has gone so far as you be so bold about the other.

“I miss you too,” you whisper into the phone.

“Give me thirty minutes. I’ll come with soup.”

He hangs up and with a newfound sense of urgency, you make your bed and throw away any stray trash. You put your dirty laundry in the hamper, which is piled high and untouched. It’ll be a problem for when you’re not sick.

The living room isn’t too bad. You straighten furniture and throw away empty takeout containers and wash a few utensils. The tasks don’t feel as draining as they did a few days ago and you’re starting to regain a little bit of your breath.

True to his word, Sunghoon arrives thirty minutes after he said he would. You open the door and look at him. He’s wearing blue hoodie and sweatpants with specs that make him look significantly more attractive than you’re used to.

“Hi,” Sunghoon says with a gentle smile. “I missed you.”

You bite your lip and blurt out your first thought. “You look really good in those glasses.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “Thank you. Can I come in?”

“Right, right.” You step aside and he follows you into your apartment. He takes his shoes off and places them neatly by the shoe rack.

“I might need to reheat this. I got it from that place near my apartment. You know, the one with the yellow banner?”

“I love that place.”

He smiles at you. “I know. Can I heat up some soup for you?”

When you nod, Sunghoon moves to the correct cabinet and pulls out everything he needs. It astounds you because he’s only ever been to your apartment twice before, both times with your other friends in tow. It dawns on you that it’s the first time the two of you are alone in your space. You’re touched that he remembers where your things are.

He beckons you to sit on the counter in front of the steaming bowl and the aroma of spices makes your mouth water. You haven’t been able to eat consistently in the past few days, surviving on bland foods like bread and crackers to sustain your health because anything else made you feel sicker than you were. The steam feels good against your skin and you dig in right away.

Sunghoon pulls your hair back when it gets close to the rim and holds it for you while you lap up the soup. It seems as though you’re hungrier than you thought because you sit there wordlessly, shoveling liquid into your mouth while Sunghoon watches.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I must look like a zoo animal.”

“You’re sick, Y/N. You have nothing to apologize for. The first meal you can stomach is the best one.” It’s like he gets you. Sunghoon continues to hold your hair back until you’re finished. He washes the bowl and spoon, and puts it back where they belong.

Sunghoon turns around and looks at you under the ambient lighting you and your roommate put up in lieu of the overhead lights. It feels like he’s inspecting you and you try really hard not to think about the fact that you don’t feel presentable in this moment.

“Your apartment feels very you,” Sunghoon says. “I like all of the green furniture and the art on the wall.”

“My roommate picked the decor out but I’m starting to understand why she loves art so much.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, looking at you. “Would you want to go to an art museum with me?”

“I’d really like that.”

Sunghoon pulls you by the hand to your couch and you try your best not to feel flustered with his touch. He sits you down on the cushion and immediately you feel like you need to be hyper vigilant because he’s looking around the apartment and you’re wondering if he can see the messes you see.

“Do you have a blanket? We could watch some TV. Or I could go. I don’t know.”

“Don’t go.” You say it too quickly but Sunghoon’s shoulders relax. “The blankets are beside the couch.”

He drapes it over you, leaving himself to fend for the cold. Although you’re sure he’s pretty warm, you open up the blanket and invite him to share it with you.

This is new territory. You two have just been talking. But Sunghoon isn’t deterred. He slots himself next to you and doesn’t shy away when he feels your arm pressed against him.

“Sorry for the mess. And for, well…” He watches you gesture to your face, which is undoubtedly red with dark circles underneath your eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I still like you.”

You aren’t used to him being so upfront like this. He watches you with easy eyes, the kind of feeling that makes you believe what he says. Sunghoon is pretty reserved when it comes to these types of things and you often find yourself being the one to push him towards his bolder side. But even though you feel flustered by his words and underneath his stare, you like this newer side of him.

“I’m such a mess.”

Sunghoon watches you push your forehead into his shoulder in an attempt to hide yourself from him. He smiles at your antics and loves the feeling of your body on his. He’s been hesitant to do things like hold your hand or kiss your cheek in fear or overstepping a boundary. He doesn’t know what came over him when he held your hair back from falling into the hot soup. He knows very well that he could’ve asked where you kept your hair ties, but helping you when he knows you need it felt like the right thing to do.

Now, he wonders if you’re growing bolder with him too. You let your forehead rest against his hoodie as you take deep breaths. He hears you sniffle a few times and nearly coos at the mere thought of you suffering from your sickness. When you pull yourself away from him, the tip of your nose is slightly runny and your eyes look a bit more red than usual.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

He bites his lip. “You could look worse.” You try not to let your cheeks rise in heat.

“You’re just being nice.”

Sunghoon laughs and shakes his head. He could never lie about how he feels towards you. “Nope. You still look really cute.” He watches the gears work inside your head and locates the TV remote when you don’t say anything. “What do you want to watch?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, you must’ve been watching TV while you were cooped up here.”

You shake your head. “Migraine, remember? Felt like my eyes were gonna burst.”

This time, he coos out loud. Sunghoon puts on a show you’ve mentioned enjoying in the past and hopes he chose correctly. You seem to be mellowing out and paying attention to the screen in front of you until you start breathing heavily. It’s not until he hears you try to silence a small coughing fit that he shoots up from his seat and pours you a glass of water.

“Here.” Sunghoon doesn’t let you hold the glass. Instead, he beckons your mouth open by placing the rim between your lips and lets you swallow the water, tilting it up until you’ve consumed all of it. He wipes the excess water from the corners of your mouth with his thumb and looks down at you with concern. “Do you have any tea? I can make you some. Hopefully that’ll soothe your throat.”

“Stupid medicine isn’t working,” you grumble. “I might as well perish.”

“Tea, baby,” Sunghoon says, the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. You almost don’t notice it. “Where do you keep your tea and honey?”

“Cabinet beside the fridge.”

Sunghoon comes back a few minutes later with piping hot chamomile tea with honey. You don’t know how he does it, anticipating your every need and putting just enough honey where it doesn’t feel like you’re stuffing your throat with the sweet nectar. You sip on it slowly as he situates himself back underneath the blanket and keeps his eyes on the television while you try to calm your erratic heartbeat.

Eventually, the episode finished and it’s almost four in the morning when you start to get sleepy. Sunghoon hears you yawning beside him and does his best not to grin like a lovesick idiot when you push your body against his in an attempt to get comfortable. You’re holding the empty cup loosely in your hands when your eyes start to droop and as much as Sunghoon would love to stay like this, he knows it’ll be better for you to sleep in your own bed with your back against the mattress.

“Baby,” Sunghoon whispers. He grabs the mug from your hands and sets it on the coffee table. “I think you should sleep in your bed. You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”

“But you’re so warm.”

He bites back a smile. “Thank you, but you’re gonna wake up with back pain and I know you’ll be mad that you didn’t sleep with pillows.”

He’s right and you know it but that doesn’t stop you from letting a whine slip past. Sunghoon doesn’t complain when you lean on him for support (or rather, you push your full weight onto him because you cannot be bothered with physical tasks at this late hour). Instead, he holds your waist with his arm and guides you into your bedroom from his memory of coming here a couple times before now.

Despite this, he’s never been inside your room. You’ve always kept the door closed but as he opens it, Sunghoon completely melts at how your bedroom is so utterly you. The dark green comforter hugs your queen-sized bed and a mountain of pillows cover the top near the bed frame. Your desk is an organized mess of notebooks, pens, and highlighters you carry with you during study sessions. Photographs in pretty frames decorate your walls along with posters of your favorite music and films.

He spots a picture of the two of you from that day at the amusement park when Heeseung insisted on taking a photo since the lighting was “perfect.” Sunghoon suspected that wasn’t the case but let him take it anyhow. He always considered that to be his first official memory with you. Knowing you might feel the same makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter.

“Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

His soft touches make you fall much deeper into your tiredness. The mattress below you feels too good to be true as Sunghoon opens the blankets for you to crawl underneath. He watches you carefully as you scoot to one side and make yourself comfortable, wondering if you’re enjoying the side of him that wants to pamper you.

When you’re all tucked in with the blankets underneath your chin, Sunghoon can’t help but lean down and brush a few stray hair strands from your face. He caresses your cheek and holds himself back despite your lips being right in front of him. Instead, he settles for rubbing your soft cheek with his thumb before leaving.

Except, you reach out and grab onto his wrist. “Where are you going?”

His looks back at you in the dim light. “Home, baby. I’ll let you sleep.”

The pout you’re wearing is tearing him limb from limb. “I don’t want you to go home.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “Please…I haven’t seen you at all this week.” Sunghoon hears the strain in your voice and he isn’t sure if you’re awake enough to know what you’re saying. “I-I just want you here with me.”

How could he say no to that?

Sunghoon sits on the empty side of the bed and lets you guide your hand in his bigger one. He watches as you shake your head and he’s about to ask what you mean when you open the blanket.

He feels momentarily guilty when he pulls his hand away from you because he hears you whine again, but he slips off his hoodie to avoid overheating. He’s left in his sweatpants and a loose shirt when sliding into your bed right next to you.

You waste no time and attach yourself to Sunghoon, pushing your body until you’re resting on his chest. He does his best not to let his heartbeat give him away. This is the most he’s ever touched you. At best, he’d brush his hand against yours and waited for the right time to hold it. Today feels like he’s thrown caution into the wind.

Sunghoon puts his glasses on your night table and pulls you close to him, encircling his arms until he finds a comfortable position. Your warm breaths litter his skin and he feels like he could run laps with how happy he is in this moment. You look so cute with your body limp against his. He loves that you’re not hesitant around him anymore and hopes you know just how much he wants you close to him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sunghoon says in the dark, unsure if you’re still awake or not.

“What’s your secret?”

Your eyes remain closed, eyelashes covering your beautiful eyes and your cheeks are squished into a pout against his chest. He looks down at you like you’re precious cargo and a rare gem he never wants to let go of.

“I really want to kiss you.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, Sunghoon feels you move your head until you press a kiss against his chest, allowing your lips to linger for a few seconds before reverting back to your original position.

“Kiss me tomorrow.”

Sunghoon hears you snoring soon after.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself. “I can do that.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #kpop x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fluff #kpop imagines #sunghoon #my writing*

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pretty-circa006 · 4 months ago

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Unhealthy Attachments pt.1

Coach! Negan x Student! F! Reader

summary Negan, your gym coach, takes pity on you after seeing the way your peers treat you. tags mentions of bullying/ mild bullying, second person pov (sorry lol this is old pls forgive me) note this is an old WIP that i'm choosing to post because i haven't had time to write anything new (I WILL EVENTUALLY, I PROMISE, BUT COLLEGE IS DRAINING MY FREE TIME). this is part one of a multi-part series, maybe it'll even evolve into a longfic, who knows. btw you guys will have to pry coach negan x student reader fics from my cold dead hands bc i loooove writing these.

wc 1.3k

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

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You stood lined up with the other students in your PE class, waiting to be chosen by the team captains for this class' soccer game. It didn't even phase you how every other student was picked before you, leaving you the last one standing until one unlucky captain had to pick you. That's just how things went, you were always the odd one out. Even now, everyone wore the usual school issued PE uniform of a t-shirt and shorts, while you had on the sweater and sweatpants version- in ninety degree weather. You were just honoring your father's, the town's local pastor, principles of modesty. Being the pastor's daughter felt isolating. Nobody invited you to things or wanted to be friends with you for fear that the indecencies of their typical teenage behavior would get back to their parents by way of the pastor; and of course he'd get that information from none other than you, his daughter. You never would, though. In middle school, you learned the hard way to not be such a narc, but by then it was too late and nobody trusted you or even wanted to be near you.

"Over here!" you shouted to your teammates, wanting them to pass you the ball. You had a perfect shot to the other team's goal. Like always, they ignored you, but it didn't matter because they scored anyway. You didn't give up on trying to be a team player, though. The gym coach, Negan, was watching the game closely and you wanted him to see that you cared and tried to put effort into his class. Maybe it was because he was the only person who ever paid you any attention, but the fear of letting the handsome man down weighed heavily on you.

"Guys, I'm open!" you yelled. Your desperation to be a part of things was becoming so pathetic that Negan had to direct his focus elsewhere. Maybe it was by mistake, but the ball came rolling your way. Hope blossomed within you. It sounded silly, but you hoped that even something as little as you scoring a goal would make your class like you again. You kicked the ball, sending it flying to the opposing team's goal. It would have made it in if someone didn't intercept- someone from your own team, you notice- and kick it directly at you. You didn't have time to dodge it because it had already smacked you square in the face, knocking you over. You clutched your nose as you writhed on the floor in pain, salt being rubbed even further into your wound by the snickers of your classmates.

Negan blew his whistle and called a foul. He profanely scolded the students about their bad sportsmanship and lectured them on treating their teammates fairly. He helped you up off the floor and led you to his office with an arm wrapped around your shoulder. You sat in one of the chairs with your nose plugged up with tissues per Negan's orders after it started bleeding. It didn't seem broken, so he didn't deem your injury bad enough to send you to the nurse.

"You can go back now," he told you once fresh blood stopped flowing from your nose between tissue changes.

"Do I have to?" you asked with teary eyes. You were tired of all the bullying and just ready to graduate already. Your senior year was almost over and you were legally an adult, so why did you still have to put up with everyone else's childish behavior.

"You're all healed up. Don't see why you needa be in here any longer." It was obvious that he wanted you out of his office, probably feeling the same way your classmates felt about you. It shouldn't have surprised you, yet it stabbed you in the heart. Your chin and lips quivered as you blinked back the tears burning in your eyes.

"C-can I just stay in here?" you cringed at the way your voice cracked. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Just because your sucky ass team is losing doesn't mean you can hide out here and skip class."

"That's not why!" you pleaded.

"Then why?" he asked.

"Everybody hates me!" You couldn't keep it together after finally saying it out loud. You sobbed like a baby, tears streaming down your face and snot dripping from your nose. You were ugly crying but you didn't even care, it wasn't like you had anyone else's respect to lose. Negan got up and closed the door in an attempt to save you some dignity. Your breathing became short and rapid as your bawling made it difficult to take in oxygen.

"Teenagers are so goddamn hormonal and dramatic. Nobody hates you, kid," he said disinterested.

"E-even you d-d-do!" you choked out before going back to wailing. He felt bad for you. He saw the way others treated you and it made him feel worse seeing you long for the acceptance of people who rejected you and took pleasure in your pain. But that's high school for you.

"What makes you think I hate you?" he asked, genuinely curious. He didn't hate you, not even close. He just couldn't stand seeing you walking around like a kicked puppy-dog, it was pitiful. You tried to explain your reasoning, but everything that came out of your mouth was an incoherent blubbering, stuttering, and hyperventilating. He pulled you up from the chair and cradled you in his chest, just letting you sob into his sweater. He hushed you and rubbed your back in soothing circles. It was the best he could do, he knew his words sure as hell couldn't offer the comfort he wanted to give you. Your sobbing eventually calmed into small hiccups and occasional sniffles.

"Why does everyone hate me?" you whispered. He wanted to tell you that they didn't and that's just how high schoolers are, but he didn't want to lie to you.

"You're almost outta this goddamn shit hole, kid. Jus' keep your head held up high and finish the year off strong." He clapped a strong hand on your shoulder for added reassurance. You gave him a small smile before trudging out of his classroom and to the locker room now that the class was over.

...

Negan comforting you in his office that day made you feel like he was a safe space. He seemed to be the only person who cared, or bothered to do anything about how others treated you, even if it was just the bare minimum, you felt it was better than nothing.

"Coach," you muttered shyly, standing outside his open office door in the gym. He glanced up at you from whatever work he was doing and immediately sighed. It was a miracle to him that you were oblivious as to why people bullied you. Here you were, dressed so matronly in a long floral skirt that resembled an old woman’s wallpaper and an awful knitted sweater. He knew you were a pastor’s daughter, but did you really need to dress the part.

“What do you need, kid?” He asked, focusing on his work again. “Can I eat lunch in here?”

“Why? The bathroom crowded or somethin’?” He joked. When you nodded your head yes, he immediately felt guilty. He motioned with his hand for you to sit in one of the chairs before his desk. You happily took a seat before offering him half of your sandwich.

“It’s turkey,” you said when he looked at you strangely. He accepted the half and ate it while he worked and you sat in silence enjoying the change of scenery.

“You don’t actually eat lunch in the bathroom, do you?” He asked.

“There’s nowhere else for me to sit,” you admitted shamefully.

“That is fuckin’ disgusting!” You shrugged your shoulders and went back to your sandwich, embarrassed to let Negan see how pathetic your life really was. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Look, if you have nowhere else to sit, you can eat lunch in here.” You visibly perked up, a your face splitting into a joyous smile.

“Really?”

“Don’t make me fuckin’ regret it.”

next part ▶︎

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lifeofkaze · 1 year ago

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Whyyyyy must your things always make me teary.

Because I love emotional wrap-ups, and I love your writing, and I love these girls together. That's why.

And I'm so not going to apologise for it.

Swansong

A/N: this month’s theme for @hp-12monthsofmagic is “School’s Out For Summer”. For Zadie, school is out forever. This story sort of follows on from Acceptance, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Features Reva Amari @lifeofkaze and Robin Willows @that-scouse-wizard. Warnings: FOMO and dubious impressions of beloved characters.

The end of the summer term was close, and for Zadie Taylor-Allen, that meant she was nearing the end of her Hogwarts education. She was not yet sure how she felt about it; on the one hand she was excited to start studying at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, on the other, she was anxious about leaving the safety of the school she knew and loved. She didn’t yet feel that she was ready.

It did not help matters that she was the only one of her friends who would be leaving Hogwarts that year. She was only in her sixth year, and was leaving school a year early to take her place at W.A.D.A., while the rest of her classmates would continue studying for their N.E.W.T.s without her. It was not that she wished to take the N.E.W.T.s herself — on the contrary, she hated exams with a passion — but she already felt as if she were missing out on all the the fun parts of school that her friends would get to enjoy: Quidditch matches, parties, gossiping in the courtyard, and going for excursions in Hogsmeade Village. And that was without all the traditional end-of-school events that she simply would not be able to attend, or would now have to attend alone, such as leaving ceremony on the final morning of term.

Today, the invitations for the ceremony were ready to be collected, and Zadie’s closest friends — Victoire, Reva, and Robin — had all agreed to stay behind after Charms class and wait for her to get hers.

“What actually happens at this ceremony?” asked Robin.

“Not much, it’s just boring and pointless,” Reva said, and yawned theatrically as if to prove her point. “Everyone shakes McGonagall’s hand and gets a little hat, and they give out some awards, and then do a walk down to the lake and ride in the boats.”

“What’s wrong with that? It sounds alright.”

“It is at first, but then it goes on for ages. If it wasn’t for Zadie, I’d fake a stomach ache to get out of watching it again. I don’t love my brother enough to sit through it just for him. I’ll endure it for your sake, Zee, but you should know that if I die of boredom, I will haunt you.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” Victoire looked as if she were trying not to either roll her eyes or laugh, or both. She shook her head, sending ripples through her silver-blonde hair. “I went to Teddy’s last year, and I thought it was a sweet send off, even if it did take a while. It’s a tradition, a right of passage.” Reva pulled a face, but Victoire ignored her. She turned to Zadie and smiled as she added, “You’ll really enjoy it. And it’ll make your parents so proud to watch it.”

“I hope so,” said Zadie. Her front teeth grazed her bottom lip. “I still think they’re a little disappointed that I’m not finishing school properly and doing exams and things like my sister did. Not that I’d ever do that as well as her, but still… Hopefully this will make it up to them.”

After the lesson ended and the rest of her classmates filtered out into the hallway outside, Zadie approached Professor Flitwick, her Head of House, at the front of the classroom.

“Um, Professor,” she said, and his moustache twitched as he smiled at her encouragingly. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to come and collect my invitations.”

“Invitations?”

“Yes, for the leaving ceremony. I want to send some to my family so they can come and watch, if that’s okay.”

Professor Flitwick fidgeted slightly, and looked up at her with eyes filled with sympathy.

“Oh, dear,” he said awkwardly, and Zadie felt her stomach twist. “I’m not quite sure how to say this, but…”

“Have they run out of invitations? Am I too late?”

“No, no, if anything you’re too early.”

“What?”

“Miss Taylor-Allen, I am so sorry to have to say this,” said Professor Flitwick. He really did look very sorry. “Unfortunately, only final year students are allowed to take part in the leaving ceremony.”

Zadie’s heart sank. “You mean I can’t go?”

“I am afraid so.”

“Hang on,” Reva’s voice called out from the side of the classroom, where she was waiting with the other two. They both looked sad on Zadie’s behalf, but Reva did not. She looked angry. “That’s not fair! You can’t exclude Zadie from the ceremony. It’s a rite of passage!”

“It’s a rite of passage for final year students.”

“But it’s not called a ‘final year students’ ceremony, it’s called the ‘leaving ceremony’. Zadie is leaving, so she should be allowed to go!”

“I…” Professor Flitwick sighed heavily. “I shall talk to the headmistress on your behalf, Miss Taylor-Allen. It might be that we can come to some arrangement for you. Leave it with me, and I will see what I can do.”

Disappointed, Zadie thanked Professor Flitwick, and left the classroom with her friends, who were all far more determined than she was.

“Leave it with him? As if he and McGonagall will do anything,” Reva muttered angrily. “I say we should take matters into our own hands.”

“I agree,” nodded Robin. “We can find a way to make sure that Zadie gets to go to this ceremony, I’m sure of it. Even if we don’t play by the rules.”

“Playing by the rules is for Quidditch.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Zadie looked anxiously at Victoire, who smirked slightly.

“Why don’t we just wait and see what the professors say?” she suggested. Reva and Robin looked affronted, and Reva opened her mouth as if to argue, but before she could do so, Victoire continued, “If they can’t solve the problem, then it’s down to us to do it for them, isn’t it?”

The other two murmured their approval, and Reva wrapped one of her arms around Zadie’s shoulder as the four girls walked down the familiar corridor together, as they had since their earliest days at Hogwarts.

“Don’t you worry, Zadie. One way or another, we will make sure that you get the final send off you deserve.”

Unfortunately, as Reva had predicted, neither Professor Flitwick nor the headmistress were able to help her with her predicament. They had both seemed apologetic about the situation, but apparently there was nothing to be done. If even Professor McGonagall couldn’t convince the school governors to let Zadie take part in the ceremony, then no one would be able to.

At least Reva and Robin had given up on their idea of finding a way to disrupt the ceremony so that Zadie could attend. She had been worried at first about what sort of chaotic plan they might be brewing — after all, she did not want to get into trouble on her very last day at Hogwarts — but as it turned out, they had not mentioned it since the first day they considered it. They might even have forgotten about it altogether.

Or so Zadie thought, until the morning of the leavers’ ceremony arrived, and she was awoken by the sound of a wooden spoon banging on a metal pot, and opened her eyes to see Victoire, Reva and Robin all standing around her bed.

“How did you two get in here?” Zadie asked Reva and Robin. She tilted her head at the wooden spoon and saucepan Reva held in her hands. “Where did you get that?”

“Kitchens,” came Reva’s answer. “We also got all these.”

She nodded to Robin, who opened her school bag to reveal an assortment of pastries.

“It’s breakfast time,” she said.

“What about going to the Great Hall?”

“No time, we need to eat now and get your trunk to the carriages ready for the ceremony.”

Zadie swallowed her mouthful of croissant. “I’m not going to the ceremony.” She looked helplessly at Victoire. Surely Victoire would make them see sense. “I’m not, am I?”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got our own ceremony planned, just for you,” said Victoire. Her lips twitched. “You’ll love it. I promise.”

Victoire’s promise reassured Zadie a little, so she allowed herself to relax and enjoy her last breakfast with her friends. Once they had finished, Victoire helped her carry her trunk to the horseless carriages that were waiting ready to transport the students to Hogsmeade station, before all three girls escorted her to the courtyard outside the Great Hall, where the leavers’ ceremony was taking place.

“Take a seat, Miss Taylor-Allen,” Victoire told her, mock-seriously, and Zadie did as instructed. She sat on the wall of the cloisters, and watched as her friends raised their wands and pointed them at their clothes.

A moment later, Robin was clad in a tatty brown coat, Victoire in a smart three-piece suit, and Reva in robes of emerald green. Zadie frowned.

“What is this?”

“It’s your leavers’ ceremony,” said Reva, in a clipped Edinburgh accent that made her sound almost exactly like Professor McGonagall. She cleared her throat. “Dearly beloved students, we are gathered here today to witness the leaving of Zadie Taylor-Allen from Hogwarts School. Miss Taylor-Allen has been a credit to the school in her time here, performing unimaginable feats, the likes of which I have not seen in my time as an educator. And I’ve been an educator for, like, fifty years.” She turned to Robin. “How old is McGonagall?”

“I dunno, maybe a hundred?”

“And I’ve been an educator for seventy years, maybe even eighty. More if I’ve been using really good moisturiser, I dunno,” Reva continued, her Scottish accent having returned, a little less convincing than it had been before. “We shall now hear from the deputy headmaster and head of Ravenclaw house, Professor Flitwick.”

“I have been Zadie’s Head of House since she was a very small and cute eleven-year-old,” Victoire said in a squeaky voice that was reminiscent of Professor Flitwick’s. “Now she is less small, but still very cute, and much better at both dancing and playing Quidditch.”

“But not so good that she stopped Gryffindor from winning the Cup this year,” Robin chipped in.

Reva nodded and beat her fist to her chest twice before raising it into the air above her head.

“Go lions,” she said, and Robin repeated the gesture.

“Anyway,” Victoire shook her head, “I, and everyone else in Ravenclaw, for that matter—”

“In all of Hogwarts.”

“— are incredibly proud of her. We are sad to see her go, but we can’t wait to see what incredible things she does once she is no longer held back by her troublemaking friends or stupid school rules.”

“Like ‘only seventh years at the leavers’ ceremony’,” said Robin.

“Or ‘no Ever-Bashing Boomerangs in the Potions classroom’,” Reva added. “Or ‘Professor Trelawney’s crystal balls are not to be used as Quaffles’.”

“Yeah, or—”

“Now, because we are time-limited,” Victoire interrupted Robin with a pointed look, “we will proceed to the end of the ceremony. When I call your name, you will step here so that the headmistress can put a hat on your head.” She cleared her throat and looked at the palm of her hand before calling out, “Zadie Taylor-Allen!”

Zadie laughed and stood up to the sound of her friends’ applause. “You haven’t actually stolen one of those hats, have you?”

Reva shook her head and held up a conical silver hat with an elastic chin strap and multicoloured ribbons cascading from the point of it. Zadie laughed harder as Reva placed the hat on her head and pulled the elastic under her chin.

“Next, Professor Hagrid will escort you to the last part of our ceremony.”

“There’s more?”

“Yeh, bu’ yeh have ter follow me ter the lake first,” said Robin. She walked away, mumbling, “I should not have said that.”

They walked down the cliff path in single file, Robin loudly imitating Professor Hagrid the entire duration of the journey. When they got to the bottom of the hill, they paused on the lakeshore, where the wooden boats that they had taken to the castle from the station on their first ever night had Hogwarts were waiting for the final years on the pebbled bank.

“Pick one.”

Zadie blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Pick a boat,” Reva told her.

“What for?”

“To ride back across the lake, duh!”

“I can’t do that,” Zadie shook her head. “I can’t steal a boat. Victoire, tell them!”

But Victoire was on Robin and Reva’s side.

“It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing,” she reasoned. “And you deserve to have the same boat ride as everyone else.”

“But—”

“What are they going to do, put you in detention? Expel you? You’re already leaving!”

“And you’re leaving on one of these boats. We won’t take no for an answer. So pick one.”

There was no point in arguing; Zadie had learnt the hard way that when all her friends had made a decision, there was no way that they would change their minds. So, she looked at the boats and pointed to the one nearest the boat house. The girls cheered and set to work, carrying it to the water’s edge and into the lake itself, standing shin-deep in the water and holding it still for Zadie.

“Your chariot, milady,” said Robin. Zadie giggled, and with one final, cautious look back at the castle, joined them in the water.

It was ice cold, and soaked through her trainers and socks. She shivered, and took hold of Reva’s hand to step into the boat, which bobbed and rocked under her feet. Once she had sat down, the girls gripped the sides of the boat.

“Ready?”

“No, wait,” said Zadie. She bit her lip. “I just… Thank you. For this, and for everything. You guys are the best. You’re the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to be your best friends for ages yet, so don’t start getting mushy,” Reva warned. “Victoire’s eyeliner isn’t waterproof.”

“Well, I didn’t think we’d be actually getting in the lake…”

“Also, we need to go. McGonagall’s coming.”

At Robin’s words, the other three girls looked up at the lake path, where the real Professors Hagrid and McGonagall were leading the seventh years down to the lakeshore. Zadie’s friends’ hands tightened on the sides of the boat.

“On three,” Victoire said decisively. “One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

In perfect unison, Reva, Robin and Victoire pushed hard on the little wooden boat, which began to glide away through the water, small waves rippling away from its bow as it cut through the gleaming surface. The sunshine reflected on the water and warmed Zadie’s face, and a gentle breeze stirred her hair. Behind her, her friends were clapping, hollering, and laughing, and Zadie found herself laughing too, even as the headmistress strode across the pebbled shore towards them, a stern look on her face. But she did not look nearly as disapproving as Zadie had seen her look before, and behind her Professor Flitwick was giggling and… was that a single tear of joy tumbling from the gigantic eye of Professor Hagrid?

Clearly, none of them were that angry, and even if they were, it was too late. Zadie was gone, Zadie had left, Zadie was untouchable now.

Above her, a group of long-necked white birds had taken flight, the image of them reflecting on the surface of the lake and causing a familiar melody to play in her head that she hummed to herself as she sailed away from Hogwarts, ready to take to the next stage in her life.

She was ready.

#remember the days when we barely knew each other and I said I wasn't a teary reader #yeah #how the mighty have fallen #pass me the tissues pls #Zadie Taylor Allen #Reva Amari #hp next gen

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oneofnanamisgirls · 6 months ago

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Nanami Kento Pt. 4

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synopsis: you have to cancel your date with nanami because you are sick. he comes to take care of you.

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cw: embarrassment LOL

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A/N PLEASE READ: OKAY HI GUYS!! first off i wanted to say the last few weeks have been hectic! i was sick so that prompted me to write this, plus i had time to kill. i felt like this smau story was going a bit slow, so i decided to write a little (kinda? like 2k words) fic to go along with the text smau. i want to write more! so any suggestions/comments on this story would be APPRECIATED, so pls lmk! <33 ty if you read this<33

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Nanami opens the door, that you had managed to unlock before passing out. He drops the bags on the small table that sits inside the doorway. He reaches down for you, making sure you are still breathing. He lifts you to place you somewhere more comfortable than the hard wooden floor you lay on.

He notices the sweat beads on your forehead. The fever was worse than he expected. He searches the bathroom for a wash cloth. He runs the water cold, ringing out the cloth so it's not dripping. He carefully places the cloth on your forehead, covering your eyes with it.

He takes a look at you, making sure you are alright. He takes this time to clean up the used tissues that have missed the bin. He looks around your apartment for disinfectant to clean up for you.

He waits on the couch outside of your bedroom, keeping the door open to listen for you. He reaches for one of the books piled on your coffee table from the library. None of them were anything he would pick up, but he enjoys reading.

Many hours pass before you wake up, reaching at the cloth over your eyes. Your coughing notifies Nanami that you're awake. As he reaches the door frame, you can't help but notice the little room above his head and the frame.

"Nanami?" Your voice is hoarse and laced with confusion.

"Y/n, how are you feeling?" He asks, approaching the bed.

"How are you here?" You ask, trying to replay what happened earlier.

"I was already on my way over, the door was unlocked when I came to bring you medicine." He tells you, and you remember unlocking the door. You were dizzy and lightheaded earlier.

"I don't remember you coming in." You tell him.

"You were passed out on the floor." He tells you.

"I don't remember." You shake your head. Your throat is dry, you reach for the glass of water to take a sip. The glass is heavy and it drops to the floor.

The frustration of how sick you have been and the confusion causes you to feel overwhelmed. You flop down to the pillow and let a cry out.

"Hey hey, it's alright." Nanami ushers to the broken glass, debating which is more important right now. Thankfully the short drop only caused the glass to break in four pieces.

"I don't remember letting you in." You cry out. Nanami reaches to rub your back in comfort.

"You didn't Sweetheart, I came to bring you medicine and soup. I knocked, I called, I texted, I was worried so I tried the door. Do you remember unlocking it?" He asks you in a gentle voice. You nod. "That's how I came in. You were passed out on the floor, I brought you in here."

"I don't remember passing out Nanami." You sob into the pillow.

"You are sick, you haven't been taking care of yourself." He tells you, you feel ashamed.

"I couldn't. I feel so weak." You let out.

"It's okay, I'm here. Let it out." He pulls the hair off your neck and to the side.

You cry into the pillow, letting your shame and frustration out. He was right, you weren't taking care of yourself. You thought that it would pass on its own.

Your cries ease after a while, the frustration and shame was slowly seeping out of you. Between heavy breathing, you hear your stomach growl so loud you grow embarrassed.

"I'm sorry." You whisper.

"You must be hungry. Let me heat up the soup I brought." He tells you.

"Thank you Nanami." You look up at him with puffy eyes.

You watch as he picks up the broken glass and exits your bedroom. You notice the floor is free of tissues and there is a new box set on your nightstand.

Nanami returns with an electrolyte drink for you. You watch as he twists it open for you, he knew that you felt weak and knew you wouldn't be able to open it alone.

"Can you hold it up?" He asks as you take the drink. The bottle that would normally feel like nothing in your hands felt heavy. You shake your head and he helps you lift it to your lips.

You take a few sips before he sets the drink beside you on the table. You become aware of the sweat that has dried all over your body.

"I need a shower." You cough out.

"After you eat, okay?" Nanami looks at you, causing a nod.

He leaves the room to finish warming the soup. A bit later he returns with the bowl and spoon. He sets it down and comes back with the medicine.

He places the bowl on your lap and hands you the spoon. He wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable by feeding you.

The soup feels good against your throat that has been sore and irritated the last few days. You couldn't remember the last time you ate a meal. You've been getting by on just granola bars since you had no energy.

Nanami watches as the light is returning to your face. He doesn't show the smile he feels. He hands you the drink and you take a few sips, before returning to the soup.

"Thank you for all of this." You say to him as he grabs the empty bowl from your lap.

"It is no problem." He tells you before going to clean the bowl. He comes back and opens the box of medicine, taking out the two pills for you. He places them in your hand and you swallow them.

"You should feel a bit better soon. You wanted shower? Do you feel up to it now?" He asks you.

"I think so, thank you again." You push your legs to hang off the bed, sitting up.

Nanami takes notice how your feet don't touch the floor. He realizes he is hovering over you and steps back.

You push your hands into the mattress as you push yourself up. You're still a bit weak, Nanami catches you as you stumble.

"Sorry." You let out.

"I will wait outside the door in case." He assures you.

He helps you in the bathroom and even turns the water on for you. He shuts the door behind him.

The water feels good against your skin, it is warm and washing away all the sweat from the fever. The steam helps clear your sinuses.

You don't realize how long you have been in there until your fingers prune up. The steam seeps through the crack under the door. You step out, feeling yourself get dizzy again.

"Nanami." You call, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear.

He opens the door up, seeing you cover your body with the shower curtain, leaning against the wall.

"Light headed." You tell him.

"It's a sauna in here. Where is the towel?" He asks looking around. He stops to look at the pile of clothes on the floor and snaps his eyes back to you.

"Behind the door." You tell him, breathing heavily.

He shuts the door and pulls the towel off the hook. He closes his eyes for privacy as he wraps the towel around you. He guides you back to your room and sets you on the bed.

You notice the new set of sheets on the bed and new blanket. You look at the dirty ones in the hamper.

"You changed my sheets?" You ask, gripping the towel against your body.

"You needed clean ones after your shower." He tells you. "Can you get dressed okay?" He offers you a small cup of water.

You nod and he exits, shutting the door behind him. You slowly put pajamas on, being careful not to move too fast.

"I am all done." You call to him, sitting back on the bed. Your hair drips down your back, but flipping over to wrap the towel around your hair would make you dizzy again.

"Your hair is soaking against your back." He takes the towel and sits behind you. He lifts the towel to your hair, squeezing the water out.

"Nanami." You start, worrying about the proximity, he could get sick because of you.

"I don't care about getting sick. I've caught your colds all throughout high school." He reassures, still squeezing out your hair.

"You have to work tomorrow. I don't want you sick." You tell him.

"It's handled if I do get sick. Now let me keep taking care of you. Look at how much you already look better." He points to the mirror across your room.

You thought you look a mess. Wearing boxer shorts and a tee shirt that was extremely oversized. Your under eyes were insanely dark.

"I look sickly." You tell him.

"And now you are even joking around again." He stands up and reaches for the hairbrush.

"You're too kind." You tell him as he sits back behind you. He is careful when he starts brushing your hair.

"How is the medicine?" He asks.

"Good, I feel a lot better." You tell him. Your hair is brushed through, but he doesn't stop.

"Good, no more knots in your hair." You look at him in the mirror, he looks back at you.

"Thank you for taking care of me today." You tell him. You want to lean into him, but don't want to get germs all over him.

"I'd do it anytime, you just ask and I'll be here." He tells you, as if he is a mind reader, he pulls your back into him. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap all the way. You yawn as your head falls comfortably on his chest. "Tired still?"

"I think just exhausted from everything." You tell him.

"Your toes are cold, where are your socks?" He lifts you off of him, you hold back a sad sigh.

"The drawer on the right." You tell him. He pulls the drawer out and looks around. Since he is facing away from you, you don't see his blush spread across his cheeks. He felt weird looking in your underwear drawer. He clears his throat as he returns to you, kneeling and taking your ankle in his hands. He puts the thick socks over your cold feet before looking up at you. "Sorry." You mumble.

"What for?" Nanami questions.

"Don't make me say it." You shy away.

"I don't know why you are apologizing, I offered to get them for you." He sits down in front of you.

"I didn’t think about which drawer it was before I told you.” You say with embarrassment. Nanami wasn’t sure how to respond, his mind was preoccupied by the garments in the drawer, and not the socks.

“Let’s just forget about it, yeah?” He rests a hand on your knee, comforting the embarrassment.

You nod and he rubs a gentle circle against your knee. You feel relaxed and have more energy than you did this whole weekend. You suggest moving to the couch in the living room to watch a movie.

“I do apologize for not asking you earlier, but I picked up one of the books to pass the time earlier.” He tells you as you set the tissues on the coffee table. Your eyes dart to the book that was opened down the spine, pages lying flat against the table. “You like romance novels?”

“Oh god, this has got to be the most embarrassing day of my life. First you find me passed out on the floor, snot dripping down my face and sweating. Then I cry like a little kid, I nearly pass out again but this time naked, then you look in my underwear drawer, and now you just started reading my books.” You cover your face in more embarrassment. You couldn’t tell him that the book wasn’t just romance, it was basically word porn.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about anything. I’ve seen plenty of that stuff in my life. I have also read plenty of books. Put your favorite movie on, I will order some food. You need to catch up on the last few days.” He sets aside your embarrassment.

You do as he instructed, putting on your favorite feel good movie while he orders takeout for the both of you.

The rest of the evening is relaxing, you were sad to see him leave but he did have work in the morning.

He makes you promise to keep taking care of yourself until you get better.

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fatkish · 8 months ago

Note

Helloooo

I wanted to request pls a father Aizawa scenario

He was patrolling with his daughter but a villains attacked and she took a hit for him. It was that bad that anyone thought she would survived bet she did hehe.

Happy ending pls

Thanksss

-🩶

Aizawa x Daughter Reader: Patrol

Amongst the nightlife of Musutafu, there was all kinds of people. Some getting home late, some just starting their night shift, etc. You and your dad had been on patrol together one night. You decided to intern with him since you didn’t really want to be in the spotlight like the rest of your class. Midnight has just passed and it was now the next day officially. As you stood on a building’s roof with your dad and watching the streets, something caught your eye.

You watched as a man with a hood walked into a 24 hour convenience store. You watched as your gut told you something wasn’t right. The man had walked up to the cashier and pulled out a gun that was apparently his hand. The guy put some stuff on the counter and paid for it then left. You supposed he was a Heteromorph or something. Out of nowhere you hear a gunshot.

You and your dad rush to the sound and find two guys. One with a couple of knives and the guy from the convenience store. He had a quirk that allowed him to shoot out the small bones in his fingertips. The guy had a couple of slashes in his hoodie and was actually bleeding. You told your dad to help the guy who was bleeding as you took on the knife guy. As he tried to stab you, you dodged again and again. What you didn’t see was that the guy grew a second hand and went to throw a knife at your dad.

“Eraserhead! Look out!”

You shouted as you pushed both your dad and the gun finger dude to the ground. The knife the guy threw was now sticking out of your lower back. Your dad quickly used his scarf to restrain the other guy and kicked him in the gut hard enough to knock him out. Your dad then ran over to you and looked at the knife.

“(Hero name), it’s a small knife but we shouldn’t pull it out until we get to the hospital just in case”

Your dad spoke as he carefully examined the knife. You walked over to the gun hand guy and helped him up.

“That’s the last time I have an affair. Are you alright?” The guy asked as he stood up.

“Yeah I’m good. Do you wanna tell us why this man attacked you?”

“Um… I may have… slept with his wife” he sheepishly replied as he twiddled his fingers. As he spoke you could see the flashing lights of the police cars. As the police officers came to arrest the knife guy, you handed gun fingers over to them for questioning. As the police cleaned up the scene, you and your dad left to go to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, you passed out inside the ambulance and began to display symptoms of poisoning.

When you arrived at the hospital you began to take a turn for the worse. The toxins in your body began to attack the tissue surrounding the injury and the wound began to blister. (I’m talking out of my ass since I don’t have any specific poison or venom in mind as I write this) your skin became pale and a rash broke out all over as you continued to get worse. Eventually your windpipe collapsed and you had to be intubated. As you body began to slowly shut down, Aizawa left to question the knife wielder to hopefully find out if there was an antidote.

While Aizawa questioned the man, he learned that the poison wasn’t supposed to be so bad and that its more likely that your body was having some kind of allergic reaction. The poison was only supposed to make the person itchy and develop sight rashes that would go away. Needless to say the guy was charged with assault with a deadly weapon. As Aizawa returned to the hospital, he informed the doctors what he had been told. So the doctors worked to help you flush the poison out of your body and hopefully you’ll survive.

It took an entire week for you to slowly get better. Your body began to function normally and you gained back some color. Your wound was healing as well as the rash had started to clear up. You started to breathe on your own and you eventually woke up. When you awoke, you saw your dad to the side of you sitting in a chair.

“Hey dad”

“(Y/n)! You’re okay, thank goodness, I was so worried I was going to lose you.” You dad spoke as he hugged you gently.

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah.”

Aizawa smiled seeing as you were back to normal, almost.

“Get some rest okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x daughter reader #aizawa x reader platonic #aizawa x child reader

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tinyshe · 4 months ago

Text

Prayer request: I've developed an infection. Please add me to your prayers in you loving kindness. God bless.

[last Sunday of September] Update: GP determined not deep tissue, just passing topical colony. Have antibiotics on standby if necessary. Health resources will give me disabilities coverage and one month retro if approved (pls pray!). This will also open other resources my local GP can access and request on my behalf if it all passes. It also may give me small stipend for out of pocket medical needs not covered by heath insurance .

If you would also pray that I can obtain medical grade sheep skin quickly, esp before our trip to integrated healthcare specialist.

You are all so wonderful praying for our needs. Please know i give thanks for your prayer support. I love you all; may God bless and keep you always.

#prayer request #cancer #unemployed #no health insurance #thank you friends for loving notes just so tired to respond #prayers for my family please

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pers1st · 11 months ago

Text

consequences

pairing: lucy bronze x reader

notes: very angsty, also it's been a while since i've written this so pls don't mind this too much, just clearing my drafts

dirty tissues, trust issues - glasses on the sink, they didn't fix you

You felt Lucy slipping away from you with every day that passed. There was nothing soft, nothing loving about your interactions anymore. The two of you were barely able to converse during training sessions, your passes off and drink breaks spent as far away from each other as possible.

Going home together was even worse. The nights you'd spent at Keira's house because being with your girlfriend was simply unbearable were endless, and even now as you walked out of the shower after your evening run, wet hair on your neck and skin tainted with lavender, you considered taking a run for it as you found her on the couch, a bottle of wine on the coffee table.

You huffed, not finding the energy to start yet another fight, as you sat down in your living room's armchair, far away from Lucy. She was watching football, and as you drew your knees towards your chest, you felt her gaze on you.

"You want a glass of wine?", she asked, and you weren't exactly sure whether these were the first words she'd said to you today or not. You remembered the times you would talk for hours in bed, never hearing enough of her voice.

"No."

Your voice was sharper than you had intended for it to be, quite honestly, but you didn't have it in yourself to care, as Lucy didn't either, sipping away at her wine without another question.

The silence was unbearable all of a sudden.

"Why are you drinking again, anyways?"

Lucy huffed.

"Makes this a little less awkward, don't you think?"

And with that, you rose from your seat, the frustration making you restless.

"If you can't stand being around me sober, why don't you just leave?", you exclaimed, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you paced through the room, desperate for something to do, to focus on, before you blew up at her anymore.

"That's what I'm trying to do, don't you remember? Last I remembered, you didn't want me to go to Lyon!"

"Lucy, that's not what I said! I don't get why you're just throwing our relationship away without a second thought", you yelled through the room that had once been filled with your laughter.

You couldn't stand being here anymore, and instead walked towards the open kitchen, busying yourself with the dirty dishes in the sink from the dinner she'd eaten without you.

"I've told you before, that's not what I'm doing! I don't get why you won't let me have this! Lyon is like, the best club there is, and you're holding me back here because you're too scared I'll leave you?"

You scrubbed at the plate in your hands aggressively, the hot water burning at your skin, as you felt deja-vu overcome you. This conversation had played out between the two of you endless times, and you didn't know how much longer you could take it.

"That's not what this is about Lucy, and you know it!"

lonely pillows in a stranger's bed, little voices in my head

The conversation played over and over again in your mind as you found yourself in Keira's guest room yet another time. You had told Lucy, multiple times, that you understood why she wanted to move to Lyon. You weren't holding her back, were you? You wanted her to succeed, to go to the best clubs in the world, you wanted her to do everything she dreamed of, you simply didn't understand how she hadn't even taken a second to think about what this meant for your relationship.

Keira's pillow felt warm against your scalp and at once, you sat up against your bed frame, looking at the time on your phone exhaustedly. It was well past midnight, and you had a match tomorrow that you needed to be in form for.

Sleep didn't come to you easily though, not when you were left wondering what your girlfriend was doing now - whether she was laying awake just as you were, thinking and thinking about the arguments between the two of you, or whether she was snoring softly the way she always told you she didn't, her dreams filled with her in a Lyon kit, thousands of kilometers away from you.

Was it really that easy for her? To just up an leave you behind, without a second thought?

When she'd first told you about wanting to go away from Manchester, there had still been hesitation in her voice. By the time Lyon made an offer half a year before her contract ran out, she had jumped in excitement, telling you all about how she would go and win the Champions League and what a great opportunity this was for her. You didn't quite disagree with her, but you were left wondering where exactly, in her future plans, you were displayed.

When you'd asked her this, she hadn't had a clue. That's how this mess had even unfolded in the first place.

secret keeping, stop the bleeding - lost a little weight because i wasn't eating

Keeping the break up from the public proved to be one of the most difficult things you'd ever done. Although your relationship had never exactly been confirmed, it hadn't taken much for the fans to notice the way you had been attached at the hip for years, and when Lucy had interrupted your post match interview once, simply to stare at you lovingly in a playful way to stop you from concentrating on the questions asked - and when she had succeeded in it, there was no room for questions anymore.

Your feed was still scattered with pictures of the two of you. You could barely look at them as you scrolled your profile, finding pictures of your vacation together, pictures of you in Manchester together, pictures of you during the England camps and tournaments. Deleting them wasn't an option - Lucy and you had decided to stay friends after this break up, and although it was proving to be quite easy to remain friendly now that she was in Lyon and you hadn't had a single conversation with her since the night she'd left, you knew that deleting the pictures would

A) send the fans into a spiral down every one of your interactions

B) stir the rumors already spread all over the internet

C) make people think you hated each other.

None of those options were ideal, and the latest most definitely wasn't true. Your heart was still so full of love for Lucy that you often found yourself crying at the memories with her, crying at the fact that she'd left you, crying at the fact that you'd let her go.

She'd promised you that things would be okay, at the airport, with her life packed in bags and you left behind. She'd promised it would be okay. Now though, it didn't seem okay to you. The lack of a goodbye post was a starter - many of your teammates had shared past moments with Lucy, candid pictures or heartfelt messages, wishing her all the best in the world. And although it wasn't unusual for you to be inactive on the social media, it certainly raised questions among the fans. Your girlfriend was moving to another country. You seemingly didn't say goodbye.

However, some people had spotted you at the airport together, stating that you were definitely still dating and that you would manage the distance okay. Lucy's contract was only a year. She might just explore her options and come back to you. You might leave after another year in Manchester, and follow her to Lyon.

You wouldn't, but they didn't know that.

You decided, then and there, laying in your bed once more, crying over your girlfriend once more, that you had to delete TikTok.

The breakup was more than obvious to everyone who knew you personally, though. You were barely speaking at any social event, never staying long after training, preferring to be in your own home and rot away. Georgia and Keira tried their best to drag you outside, make you live a little, as they called it, but you barely let them. You had lost weight too, as the team doctor had pointed out, although you didn't believe him. Your heart felt too heavy, weighing your body down with every thought, every feeling of Lucy. She wasn't here though, you realized as you glanced at the empty side of your bed, another tear escaping your eye.

every siren that I was ignoring, I'm paying for it

The signs had been there early on. She'd promised things would be okay, and you had half-heartedly believed her. Now though, you realized you shouldn't have. The constant tone of your phone was grounding you slightly as you sat in your armchair, waiting for Lucy to pick up. You checked the time in an anxious matter, wondering whether or not you had maybe mixed something up. But no, you hadn't. You'd agreed to FaceTime on Monday, at eight. However, your face was the only one visible on your screen.

Had she forgotten? Should you dial another time? Was she ignoring you?

Just as your finger hovered over the red button, her face came into view, and you didn't recognize her surroundings. You had facetimed many times by now, and you knew what her apartment in Lyon looked like. The slightly slurred words made it ever so clear to you.

"Hey baby", she huffed, holding her phone close to her face as she got up from a sofa that wasn't hers, strolling into a hallway that wasn't hers, pulling a door closed behind her that wasn't hers.

"Can I call you back later?", she asked, her tone slightly whiny. "Now is not a good time."

You didn't tell her that now was the time the two of you had agreed on three days ago, when you had begged her to answer the unscheduled calls, wanting nothing more than to hear her voice. You should've known - when the promised call later didn't come, that there was nothing left for you to pick up. Your relationship was shattered, a part of you realized then, but there was another part that held onto the pieces of glass tightly, so tightly that it drew blood. Her call only came a week later, and by then, all she had to say was how amazing Lyon was. She didn't once mention how you would like it there.

loving you was young, and wild, and free

You remembered the day you fell in love with Lucy like it was yesterday, the memories having permanently altered the chemistry of your brain to the point where you could never forget anymore. It had been the first day you'd met her - when Lucy, of all people, had been selected to show you around the Manchester training centre. She hadn't done a particularly well job, as the staff had assessed later, because she had shown you all her favorite nooks and crannies of the building, showing you where best to hide when you were supposed to be in the gym, where best to get food, the cheapest vending machines and the best coffee stations.

She had smiled at you shyly, and you had reciprocated. From that day on, the two of you had shared soft touches everywhere, a hand in the small of your back here, a tug on your shirt during a particularly competitive warm up game there, the intertwined hands as you finally showed her your furnished apartment, which you would later dismiss to move into hers. Your cheeks had blushed whenever the older defender found you among the crowd of teammates, whenever she had told you to turn your head off before a match, whenever she had celebrated your goals by letting you jump into her arms, burying her face in your stomach. The first time you kissed had been a mess of chuckles, teeth clashing in smiles and stolen touches of your hands here and there. Falling in love with Lucy had made your heart beat out of your chest, it had made your stomach warm and fuzzy, it had drawn a smile upon your face that was hard to get rid of, even though Keira and Georgia liked to tease you about it at every opportunity. The first time you and Lucy had shown up at practice together, you hadn't heard the end of it, but no matter how awful the teasing got, it had been worth it a hundred times. If not a million.

You remembered the time you'd sat on Keira's sofa, drinking wine shyly and telling your best friends all about the first official date between the two of you and how everything had just fallen into place afterwards. Despite the fact that they called the two of you annoying at every chance they got, arguing that you were disgustingly smitten, you knew in the back of your head that they were supportive of your relationship. They told you once, as you once more chugged wine on Keira's sofa, that they dreamt of a relationship like yours.

loving you was sunshine, safe and sound, a steady place to let down my defenses

"It's okay, honey", Lucy ran her hand through your hair as you sobbed into her chest. She had been a mess of her own after England's departure in the quarter final of the 2019 World Cup, but she knew that she would later pick up the broken pieces that were left of you. You'd caused a penalty in the first minutes of the match, setting England up for failure (at least, that was what you believed), and after the red card you were given in the eightieth minute, the floodgates had crashed down completely.

Your body wrecked in her arms, in the dimly lit hotel room, mere hours before the team would return back to England. Had Lucy not been around - God knew what would've happened. The both of you had stayed up throughout the night, because even though you had held the tears in on your way back from the stadium, and during the most silent team dinner you had yet to sit through, there was nothing holding back the tears once you had sat down on Lucy's bed. Neither one of you had slept yet, and while Lucy had hoped you would simply pass out from exhaustion, there was no end to your tears. She didn't once complain though, holding you all throughout the night, cooing soothing words at your shaking body, despite the fact that she knew you wouldn't hear any of them. It hurt her - to see the absolute mess that you were, especially because of how good of a player you knew she was, and how she knew that you had been one of the key players in England's tournament so far, especially given the fact that you were still young, compared to her.

She held your hand all throughout breakfast, when you had finally calmed down enough to walk, and when she sat with you on the plane home, but the worst part was yet to come.

Realistically, there was no stopping you from reading through the comments under your recent Instagram post, despite the fact that she had thought about snatching your phone in the few hours of sleep you got and simply turning them off.

"They're all saying it's my fault, Luce", you whined, teary-eyed, as you sat in your armchair, a blanket wrapped around your body, your phone shaking in your grip.

"Y/N, we've talked about this, it's not your fault", she cooed, frustrated with the fact that you still didn't believe her. This conversation had played out endless times in the past two weeks, and despite the fact that the season at Manchester City was about to start, you were still stuck on the events in Canada.

"But- if I had-"

"No", Lucy interrupted you harshly. "Y/N, you've had a great tournament. If it wasn't for your goals, we would've been out a round or two earlier. You did everything you could for your country-"

This time, it was you who interrupted her.

"I don't know if I can do this again", you started sobbing now. Lucy was up from the couch within seconds, her plate of dinner long forgotten as she crouched down in front of you, taking your phone out of your hands.

"Can do what, baby?"

"I don't know if I can play for England anymore- nobody wants me there- I can't-"

Your words came to a stop as Lucy wrapped her arms around you, your chin immediately tucked into her neck, sobbing softly.

"Don't let them get to you, Y/N. You are a brilliant player, and you're not gonna finish your career over some trolls on the internet", she ordered, and in the end, she had been right. Although, if it hadn't been for her, being with you every step of the way, holding you as you cried, being your biggest supporter on and off the field, you might've never returned in an England shirt.

loving you was sunshine,

but then it poured, and i lost so much more than my senses

but loving you had consequences

The second you had left the pitch after the Champions League match against Lyon, you should've expected the social media war that would come crumbling down on you mere hours later. Fans had found your lack of interaction after the match and the way you had shoved Lucy once and hadn't returned to help her back to her feet to be the proof to the rumored breakup. They had been suspecting it for a while, with rumors sparking up between Lucy and one of her teammates at Lyon, and the lack of your interactions online. It hadn't bothered you so far, the endless comments asking about what was going on, the tweets that people thought were funny. Now, however, it was an entirely different feeling. The shove of yours against Lucy was everywhere - on your Instagram feed, your Twitter feed, you couldn't escape it. In hindsight, it looked far more aggressive than it had been. Lucy and your speed had left your legs tangled and had sent her flying to the ground, and as you were too fast to stop so abruptly, you hadn't managed to get back to her before Ada had pulled her up already. It did look as though you had simply left her on the grass, although the both of you knew that the foul hadn't been intentional. You had only huffed angrily at the ref's decision, not at Lucy's presence.

You didn't know whether it was a good or a bad thing that people had missed your short conversation in the hallway of the Etihad. She had caught you there - after having conversed with Keira and Georgia, she had sent her hand out behind her and grabbed a hold of your shirt before you had even seen her, with your head still lingering on the goal you'd scored.

"Hey, you", she smiled, and Keira and Georgia had vanished at the very second that Lucy let them go, smiling at you softly.

Your conversation had been that as well - soft. Lucy had asked how you were, and you had told her that things were okay again. She'd asked how things were at City, but she hadn't pushed you to talk to her, squeezing your shoulders and saying her goodbyes when she had felt the tiniest ounce of discomfort in your shift.

All of that was shielded from the public though, and people quickly made you out to be the villain after your "foul". Some jumped to your defense, claiming Lucy must've really hurt you, for you to tackle her the way you apparently had. Others were sure that you were jealous of Lucy's career, and taking your frustration out on the defender.

They couldn't have been further from the truth. You had been hurt at first - about the fact that Lucy had dropped you like a hot potato at the thought of moving to a better club, but you realized now that her motive hadn't been to discard you, it was simply how her brain worked sometimes. Lucy was a big kid, she didn't think things through before becoming excited at them. You had never been jealous of her career, and you didn't think you ever could. You wanted her to do all the great things she dreamed of, you wanted to win the Olympics and the Euros and the next World Cup alongside her, you wanted her to win the Champions League, the French league, the cup, anything.

You sniffed slightly as you realized just how bad of a person people made you out to be. Suddenly, you were reminded of the World Cup again, seeing the clear visual of the night you'd spent in Lucy's arms, reading every hateful message, every comment, every post about your failure and how you were a disgrace for your country. She'd been there for you through it all. Now, however, you were sitting alone in your flat, the flat that Lucy had once lived in, and you knew that it was the smartest thing to call Keira, or Georgia, or Alex, but you also knew that Lucy was close - closer than she had been to you in months, and so you couldn't exactly stop yourself from dialing her number. She'd texted you before she'd changed it. You had it memorized, just in case you ever needed her. She'd promised you to be there for you despite it all, and although you had sworn to yourself to never ever take her up on the offer, you knew that Lucy was the only person who could pull you out of this.

"Hello?", her voice came from the other side, quickly, sleepily. "Y/N?"

"I'm sorry", you sobbed, suppressing your tears as well as you could. It wasn't easy. Your Instagram comments were still open on your iPad, laying on your knees.

"Don't be, Y/N. Is it the comments?", she asked, and you allowed yourself to smile at the fact that she knew you so well, that she had noticed what was going on without you having to tell her.

"Yeah", you hiccuped, wiping your tears away with your sleeves, sniffling quietly.

"I'm sorry, they shouldn't comment these kinds of things", Lucy said, and you felt your heart swell at the emotion in her voice.

"Yeah", you replied again, suddenly not knowing what to say.

"Hey, how about we swap shirts at the next match? Let people know that they're spinning stories", she suggested, and you nodded quickly, although she couldn't see you.

"Sure, that sounds good", you smiled slightly at the thought, at how determined Lucy seemed to fix this issue.

You spoke for longer on the phone than you expected, with Lucy staying silent shortly to find a less occupied spot in the hotel, away from her roommate, and catching up over what happened over the last few months. She offered to post a story of the shove alongside a joke of sorts if you needed relief immediately, but you declined, knowing that even just the conversation with her had calmed you enough to not look at the comments anymore. Lucy told you to switch them off as well, but you didn't- knowing that she didn't hate you was enough.

It felt like the closure the both of you needed - and when you finally came to Lyon to verse her again, the two of you had switched shirts after the match and you had finally gotten to see her family again, showing Lucy's nephew around the pitch shortly. There were people out there still hopeful that the two of you were together, but most people accepted the breakup then and there, and were relieved to see the two of you still friendly with each other. You had spent years together, after all, but you were the most relieved. Knowing that you still had Lucy on your side if you desperately needed her, if everything fell down on top of you - knowing that Lucy was going to be on your side forever, it was possibly the best consequence that could've come out of your relationship.

#woso community #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso fanfics #barca femeni #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #barca femeni x reader #barca x reader #olympique lyonnais #lionesses #Spotify

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heartcal · 4 months ago

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overflow; c.h.

summary: calum breaks up with you over text instead of talking things out, but you're not settling for that. pairing: calum hood x gn!reader word count: 1,055 words warnings: mentions of stress, arguing, probably some swears (as usual), angst :^) (but some comfort), largely unedited + not proofread (written around 5am pls forgive me)

a/n: hi :^)) this is a lil piece i wrote after spending an entire day fixing my old laptop (that has been "dead" for 5 years) -- i used this laptop to write A LOT back then. since i have it working again, i had the motivation to write so i wanted to write and this is what came out :^) not for rejected (sorry :^( it's coming though!) but it's something! this was more like a writing exercise to get me back into things, so enjoy!

masterlist!

“I told you,” Calum scoffs, gripping the door handle to stop himself from shutting it in your face, “we’re done.”

You shake your head, “Over text? Really?”

He shrugs in response, eyes shifting behind you on a car passing by. He’s doing what he can to avoid any more direct eye contact.

The everyday stress weighed on him, you note, as the dark circles under his eyes make any indication. There’s a slight redness surrounding his eyes and he’s blinking slower than normal. His shoulders are slumped, and you can hear it in his voice. He’s exhausted.

You push past him and into the house – a home you once felt comfortable in – and it isn’t a welcome sight. Papers crumbled up and strewn around the living room, and various beverages in both cans and bottles littered the coffee table along with the end tables. Ash trays with countless cigarettes, used tissues, a slight musty odor tickled your nose with every other inhale.

“What the hell, Calum?” You turn back to him, still standing by the now closed door, still avoiding your eyes.

You sigh, your gaze shifting back to the mess in disbelief.

You knew the stress was getting to him, and despite your best efforts to comfort him, it wore him down. The requests for him to take it easy, to take a break, to go for a walk with you to help clear his head; pointless, stupid, not helpful. His responses were pitiful, then they were disappointing, and eventually, maddening.

You couldn’t take the pity party anymore. You wanted to be a good partner and be there for him but it was hard when he constantly pushed away any of your support. You didn’t want to watch Calum self-destruct when you were there to offer a shoulder to lean on.

It started with a few snarky remarks here and there, originally going unnoticed by him (at least you believe they did, since he made no noise of acknowledgment). Then it evolved into quick albeit small retorts, which would then lead to you giving a few of your own.

Was it petty? Absolutely, you’ll admit, and so did all your friends when you showed up to one of the latest get-togethers. They offered words of encouragement with their criticism of the situation. It’s just a small bump in the road, one said, patting your back gently, you both will get over it.

Except neither of you did. The small bump devolved into a pothole, and your relationship went south.

One snarky remark, then another, then another, and then another until it became name-calling and playground insults. The weight of everything poured over and you said something you didn’t mean.

You were tired, too. You had your issues going on and he had known, and it was the fact that he was in his own world, too busy to notice you slipping like he was.

It came to a head a week ago. Both of you spitting vitriol towards each other, too engrossed in trying to hurt the other to notice the look of heartbreak.

“You know what? I’m done,” you breathe out, hands up in exasperation.

Calum doesn’t say anything, rolling his eyes whilst nodding, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You left the house that day, opting to stay with your friend hoping to clear your head in preparation for The Talk. But the days passed, and you received a text from Calum the night before.

I can’t do this anymore. We’re done.

It was stupid, you thought, to break things off over text. Childish, even, and you wanted to tell him that to his face.

So the next day, you made your way over with a full speech ready to go. He was going to listen to you for the first time in a while whether he liked it or not.

But the speech and any witty jabs were gone when you arrived, and upon walking into the house you were in just a week ago, the gravity of the situation dawned on you.

You gulp, turning to face Calum. His eyes jumped up to look at the movement before moving down to look at his nails as he picked at the dirt underneath the fingernails.

Your mouth opens, ready to speak, but it snaps shut as Calum’s stance changes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were going to,” he steps away from the door, “and I know what you were going to say.”

He knows you’re starting to pity him. He knows and he hates it.

Your jaw clenches. You won’t get anywhere with him if he’s acting like this. You sniffle, warmth beginning to surround your eyes, “No, Calum, let me speak.”

He inhales, ready to open his mouth to respond, but his mouth doesn’t move.

“You’re digging yourself into this...this hole. I mean, look at this place--” your hands gesture to the living room, “--it’s a mess, Calum! This is unhealthy, physically and mentally. I’m worried about you.”

Calum still says nothing, but his eyes finally make contact with yours. Your breath hitches, noticing the redness in his eyes has spread, unshed tears dance around his lower lids. There’s a slight tremble in his jaw, his breathing starting to pick up.

“I’m worried about you, Calum,” you repeat, taking a hesitant step towards him, “I care about you. I just want you to talk to me, and I mean really talk to me.”

He doesn’t move as you inch closer. He doesn’t move when you reach for his shaking hands, holding them in yours.

His tears finally fall once you squeeze his hands, reassuring him that you’re here.

He shakes his hands free from yours, bringing them up to wrap you in a tight hug while mumbling numerous apologies.

Apologies for the insults, his attitude, his silence, and his behavior overall. He’s near inconsolable, hands tightening on your shirt, not caring about the tears staining it as he nuzzles his head into your neck.

You soothe him, gently scratching his back.

“Let’s talk, yeah?”

He pulls away after a beat of silence, agreeing with puffy eyes, one hand still on your back.

It’s not going to be an easy conversation, but it’s sure going to be a hell of a lot better than keeping everything in again.

#5sos imagines #5sos imagine #calum hood imagines #calum hood imagine #calum hood one shots #calum hood one shot #5sos one shots #5sos one shot #calum hood x reader #5sos x reader #this laptop is almost 10 years old btw im genuinely surprised i got it to work after trying for 5 years lmfao

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

Text

the finer things in life // LTPF

summary: coryo merely tolerates you at the beginning of the series. this, is why.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. underage drinking/drug use (its just weed dw), some suggestive content that's not explicit (that's a first for me woah).

a/n: THIS DROPS SOME MAJOR LORE FOR THIS SERIES LIKE PLS- this is so fun and i hope you guys really like it bc i stepped out of my comfort zone a bit here. anyway, happy new year!! as a treat, have r and coryo getting way too messed up for their own good :)

this is mentioned in one of the parts of s2 (oh god i have no clue which one but trust me.) anyway, here's the night they were talking about.

series masterlist // playlist

"Hey, Coryo." You smile, sitting yourself down across from him at the lunch table.

"Y/N/N." He nods, hardly looking up from his food.

"So," You him, leaning forward with your elbows on either side of your plate. "Are you coming to Livia's big party this weekend?"

He shrugs, swallowing before looking up at you. "I don't know. Maybe. Feels a little... trivial."

"Ugh," You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes. "Of course it's trivial, Coriolanus. It's a birthday party for a seventeen year old that's probably going to have fireworks and a four tier wedding cake." You laugh. "But I have to go, so you should too."

He smiles at you a little, tilting his head with a raised eyebrow. "A wedding cake?"

"Probably. You saw the invitations." You chuckle. "We can walk together, and I'll see if I can sneak in some posca from our cellar. Please?" You plead.

"Won't your parents be driving you? I wouldn't want to impose." Coryo insists politely.

"Oh, god, no." You laugh. "They're allegedly busy. My father will be working, and my mother will be waiting for him to finish work. Can't tear her away from that. My theory is that they just don't want to go."

"Oh, I see." He replies. Your parents not attending social events wasn't uncommon. Their attention was notoriously hard to attract, and his parents had long since passed, so it was pretty standard for the two of you to either walk together or get your driver to take the two of you places alone.

"Yeah! I think we'll end up walking because my brother has tutoring and god forbid he walk anywhere, but that way there's no dreadful small talk with my family anyway."

"Fine." Coryo agrees. "Only because it's you. Also, I don't think talking to your parents is dreadful, Y/N/N."

"It is. Don't lie." You laugh, taking a bite out of your cookie and waving him off.

You hear the doorbell and run to answer it before anyone else can. "Mom! Coryo's here, I'm leaving now! Bye!"

"You're not going to invite him in?" Your mom asks, cutting you off in the foyer.

"We're already running late, sorry!" You insist, adjusting your hold on the two gift bags in your hands very carefully.

"Alright, well, have fun, dear. Extend our apologies to Livia's parents for us."

"Will do!" You nod, giving her a quick thumbs up before opening the door.

"What do you need a bag for?" She asks and you roll your eyes at your friend standing in front of you before turning to face her again.

"They have a pool, I might need to change." You groan.

"Oh, right." She seems satisfied with that answer. "Hello, Coriolanus, how are you doing tonight?" She asks, turning her attention to him.

"I'm well, Ma'am. Thank you. And you?" He smiles politely.

"We gotta go, Mom, bye!" You shut the door before she can answer.

As soon as you're out of sight from your house, you stop and dig through the tissue paper in one of the gift bags.

"Isn't that for Liv-" Coryo's question is cut off by you holding a bottle of a nondescript liquor out to him.

"This one is for us." You smile, taking another bottle out before shoving the folded-up gift bag into your backpack. "Cheers." You twist the cap off of yours, knocking it against the one he's awkwardly holding before taking a swig.

"Posca? Should we..." He clears his throat. "Should we really be drinking? I feel like we'll get in trouble."

"It's not Posca, it's better. Besides, no trouble if no one knows." You reassure him. "Also, I would bet money that we show up and Festus and Pup are already stumbling."

"You're the most terrible influence, Y/L/N." Coryo shakes his head with a smile on his face, opening the bottle anyway to try it.

"No!" You laugh. "This is good for us. It makes me more... digestible to these stuck-ups."

"Are you not included in that group?"

"Oh, Coriolanus Snow, we are at the top of the list."

The air in the expansive house is as hot and stuffy as it could possibly be. It reminded you so much of your own, but warmer, in a way. Maybe it was just the sheer volume of people inside and the buzz of alcohol in your system.

Livia's parents had been kind enough to leave the whole back garden and pool for you kids to enjoy, and to have your own space free from all of the adults who were also invited.

It was warm out for a May evening when you finally made it outside after saying your 'hello's to all your classmates' parents. Your own parents insisted that you spend a decent amount of time doing so, despite them not being able to make it. Coryo was known to do this as well, so you made your rounds together before thanking the Cardew's for the invitations and they showed you where all the other kids were outside.

Coryo already wanted to leave, and if you did as well, you were good at hiding it. He couldn't tell, blindly following you through the crowded house before making it outside.

"Party's here!" You call out as you step out onto the patio, allowing Coryo to close the door behind you.

"Y/N, you gorgeous girl, finally!" You're quickly greeted by Hilarius Heavensbee, and god, Coryo has never hated him more as the boy is wrapping his arms around you. His attempts at flirting with you are humiliating- Coriolanus doesn't know how he couldn't see that he was embarrassing himself.

"Hilary, you flatter me." You chuckle, gently patting his back with your free hand as you pull away.

"You know I try." He laughs, shrugging as he slides in between the two of you, draping an arm over your shoulder.

"Where's the birthday girl?" You ask, holding up the gift bag. "I need to ditch this."

"That's a good question..." Your classmate says, scanning the groups scattered across the lawn in search of Livia.

"I can carry that, if you'd like." Coryo offers, desperate to remind you of his presence. He wasn't going to let you ditch him- you were the only reason he even attended.

"Oh, no. I've got it. Thank you, though." You wave him off, looking up at the boy whose arm is sitting over your shoulder uncomfortably. "Hilary, could you grab Coryo and I some glasses, please?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." He says, stepping away. "What do you want?"

"Oh, just the glasses please. We brought our own drinks." You wink.

"Alright, but only if you share." He chuckles.

"I'm nothing if not generous." You joke, pushing him in the direction of where you see the beverage table is set up.

"His share is coming out of your bottle." Coryo says once the boy is out of earshot.

"Who do you think I am?" You ask, placing the giftbag on the ground and grabbing your bag off your shoulder, digging through the fabric you used to muffle the sounds of glass bottles rattling against one another. "I brought enough for the class."

"Of course you did." He chuckles, shaking his head slightly as you carefully pull another bottle out of the bag. "Be a doll, go dump this in the punch?" You smile up at him, holding it out to him expectantly.

"No! I'm not spiking anything." He laughs.

"Suit yourself, Boryo Coryo." You sigh with a teasing smile, placing your bags on the ground and walking over to the table at the side of the house, unscrewing the cap as you go.

"Where'd Y/N/N go?" Hilarius asks, returning to Coryo's side. He just nods over to you in response, not tearing his gaze away from your form as you dump the contents of the bottle into the bowl.

"Ah, gotcha." Your classmate laughs, holding an empty glass out for Coryo to take.

Coryo mutters a quiet 'thanks', refocusing himself on inspecting the glass in his hand for any dirt or fingerprints. It was spotless- of course it was.

"So, are you guys like... together? Or what's the deal?"

"Pardon?" Coryo is taken aback by the question, finally looking up at the boy.

"You and Y/N." He gestures toward you as you stir the bowl, simultaneously holding the mostly empty bottle up to your lips to let the last few drops fall onto your tongue. "You're always hovering around each other. Anything more to it? Everyone is wondering, but no one dares ask her."

"Oh. No." Coryo shakes his head, wishing his glass was full of whatever bitter alcohol you'd gifted him so he could down it all in one go.

"Sweet." Hilarius grins to himself, watching you intently.

Coryo raises an eyebrow at Hilarius, perplexed by his reaction. "What's so sweet about it?" he asks, trying to understand the amused grin on Hilarius' face.

Hilarius chuckles, leaning in slightly as if about to share a secret. "If you're not gonna go for her, I will."

Coryo's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Be my guest." He spits through gritted teeth. He should have drank more- perhaps it would have made Hilarius's juvenile pursuits more tolerable.

Hilarius nudges him playfully, "Life's too short for missed opportunities, if you ask me." He looks back at you again, not so subtly raking his eyes over your figure and how it fits in your favourite party dress. "And that would be a damn shame of a missed opportunity."

Coryo glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief moment before quickly looking away. He clears his throat awkwardly. "If you say so. I find she's quite... overwhelming, at times."

"That's the best thing about her." Hilarius muses. "Just imagine it... You know what I mean? I bet she's just crazy. In a really good way."

Coryo's brow furrows at the implication, both from offense and intrigue. He knew you were stunning- even a fool could have told him that, but it was to make a mockery of your name to only look at you and see merely the potential of what you could do with your body. To him, you were like morning rain in the springtime; a breath of fresh air when you didn't have to defend yourself at every turn, but Hilarius Heavensbee didn't know the first thing about walking in the rain.

"Don't be vile." Coryo scoffs, giving a slight shake of his head.

As you finish up with the concoction in the bowl, Coryo watches you with a newfound awareness, a subtle curiosity lingering behind his stare.What would it be like? It's not something he has ever considered, or even had the time or desire to look at anyone that way. Especially not you, you were so personal to him it was off limits even in his own head. He didn't understand the seemingly overnight shift a couple years ago now where all the boys in your class started looking at you and the other girls like pieces of meat, but suddenly watching you lick clean the spoon you used to stir the punch, he could see that maybe they had a point. What it would be like to hear you panting into his ear. Tired, loving, even, like he was the only man in the world who could make you feel so, so good. To have your deep red lipstick staining his skin, his shoulders, his neck, possibly lower. The idea of having to explain the stains on the inside of his shirt to Tigris when he pleads with her to somehow get them out has his heartbeat racing... Likely, though, it was just the liquor starting to settle in his veins, is what he decided as he adjusted the front of his dress pants.

Hilarius chuckles at Coryo's reaction, seemingly unfazed by his disapproval. "Relax, man. I'm just saying, life's too short not to appreciate the whole package. Y/N's got the brains, the looks, and that fiery spirit. It's like having your cake and eating it too."

Coryo arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I appreciate her for more than just appearances, you know."

Hilarius smirks knowingly. "Of course, of course. I'm just speaking from a purely hypothetical standpoint. No harm in imagining what could be."

Coryo shoots him a skeptical glance, but before he can respond, you join them, empty bottle in hand. "What's the topic?" you ask, catching the tail end of their conversation.

Hilarius grins, shrugging. "Oh, just discussing the finer things in life. You know, like cake."

You raise an eyebrow, sharing a confused glance with Coryo. "Cake? Really? Are we eight?"

Coryo rolls his eyes. "Apparently, it's a metaphor for appreciating the whole package."

You raise an eyebrow, but neither of them care to elaborate. "Well, I hope you both appreciate this 'whole package' of a potion I just whipped up. It should be interesting." You nod back toward the table, taking one of the glasses from your classmate to pour the remainder of your bottle out for the three of you.

By the time your unknowing classmates started to loosen up, you were sitting in a circle in a corner of the yard with a few others.

"I have a present for everyone." You state in a pause of conversation, and Coryo watches as you reach into the front of your dress, into your bra, and pull out a small paper bag.

"Uhm- what is that?" Clemensia asks, leaning back as if the bag would explode.

"Weed!" You laugh, looking around at the suddenly silent group of kids you're sitting with as you peel the bag open, the smell wafting through the air making some of your friends scrunch up their noses in disgust. "Oh my god- have none of you ever seen weed before?" You knew they hadn't, you hadn't really, either, but it was fun to tease them.

They all share confused and embarrassed glances. "Guys, come on..." You chuckle.

"I don't think we should..." Festus mumbles, clearing his throat. Of course he was going to be a baby about it.

"It's harmless! It's a plant, how much could something that grows out of the ground really hurt you?"

"Have you ever heard of poison ivy? Or that stuff poor people in the Districts burn to clean their houses or whatever?" Arachne spits, side-eying the bag on the ground.

"Sage isn't poisonous." Sejanus grumbles, hardly audible next to you.

"Okay, yes, but this is just weed. It's fun. Trust me." You plead, looking around at your friends, eyes locking on Coryo to your left.

"Okay, big shot, have you done it?" Clemensia asks, clearly already knowing the answer.

"Well... No, but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" You smile. "Coryo, come on." You point him out in particular and he curses himself because he knows he can't say no to you.

"Okay... what do we do with it?" He questions quietly.

You squeal, the alcohol really showing as you lean into him, hugging him excitedly. "That's my boy! We smoke it."

"Alright, how?" Hilarius cuts in, forcing you to look at him instead of Coryo as you furrow your brow.

"Uh... that's a good question. I brought matches, though."

Sejanus sighs. "Anyone have an apple?" he speaks drawing everyone's attention, confused looks now focused on him.

"An apple?" Someone inquires about specifics, but you're busy making yourself comfortable closer to Coryo, leaning your head on his shoulder. When he realizes you're there to stay, he quickly reaches for the bottle at his side to take another swig. He's far too sober to have you all over him like this, he wonders if you could feel his heartbeat the way he could.

"To make a pipe." Sejanus explains, like it's obvious.

You smile, nodding at him. "You heard the boy- someone find him an apple!"

"And a pen." He adds.

"And a pen!"

It doesn't take long for the supplies to be acquired and passed over to him as you sit in a circle on the grass, watching Sejanus carefully as he uses the pen to dig into the core of the apple. You wanted to remember how, but the alcohol in your system was making it difficult to focus. You had to completely block out anything else happening around you.

"Y/N." You blink at your friend as he drops the pen into his lap, holding his free hand out to you.

"Huh?"

"The weed." He shakes his hand for you to pass him the bag.

"Oh! Right!" You giggle, reaching out for the bag and handing it to him as he pries it open.

"What are you doing?" Livia's voice comes from above you and you swivel your head, quickly getting dizzy from the movement.

"Y/N brought weed." Hilarius answers for him, smiling wide. "Isn't she just the coolest?"

Coryo stares at him, moving his arm tighter around your oblivious form so your classmates could better see his hold on you.

"I- um..." The birthday girl is caught off guard, and quickly looks over her shoulder up at the house. "Can you not do that here? Take it to the park across the street."

"Oh- Oh! Of course, yes." You nod, scrambling to get up, immediately pulling her into a hug. "I should have asked, I'm sorry." You slur, not noticing how tense she is under your hold.

"Are you... drunk?"

"Maybe." You giggle, holding a finger to your lips as you pull away. "Happy birthday, by the way! I brought a gift for you, 'is over there." You point over to the table you placed the bag under, swaying slightly.

"Yeah... I already opened it, remember?"

"Oh, shit. Right! Well, I hope you like it, Liv. You're just the best..." You hum, hugging her again as she gives a panicked look to your classmates behind you, who just laugh.

"Alright, let's get you out of here. We're gonna go to the park, okay Y/N/N?" Coryo says, prying you off of Livia and giving her an apologetic look.

"Right!" You giggle, turning so fast you almost lose your balance. "Who's coming?"

"I'll come." Hilarius nods, quickly getting up alongside Sejanus, but no one else moves or says a word.

"You guys are babies!" You laugh.

"And Y/N is a drunk at sixteen. We all have flaws." Persephone speaks up, smug smile on her face as she walks up behind Livia.

Immediately, Coryo is bracing you from swinging at her as your smile drops within an instant and you try and throw yourself at her, manicured hands open and grasping for her hair which you just miss as he holds you back.

"Yeah, that's enough." Coryo grunts, trying to hold you back without hurting you. "We should probably go."

"Coryo, let me go, she-" You hiss, trying to pry him off of you. You didn't know when he got so much bigger or stronger than you.

"Like I said, a drunk." Persephone chuckles, chewing every syllable as it comes out of her mouth.

"That's precious coming from a damn cannibal!" You spit, still trying to get through him as your classmate stares at you in shock. "Yeah- did you even know what your parents were feeding you? 'Cause I do! You probably liked it, you vulture!"

Hilarius holds back a laugh, coming up behind you and pulling you back, taking you from Coryo's grip and hoisting you up over his shoulder to carry you away as you hit at his back, screaming to be let down.

"That's our cue." Sejanus mutters, patting Coryo's shoulder and brushing past him to follow after you and your friend. "Thanks for having us, Livia!"

Coryo is fuming as he watches your classmate carry you away, but he still really can't pinpoint why. It must be the amount of alcohol- he's never drank this much before, but he has heard anger is a symptom. He's seen it in your father. Now, he's seen it in you; but it's not like that kind of outburst was abnormal coming from you. He's probably mad at Persephone for bringing that out of you. It's her fault, honestly.

He silently grabs your backpack and your bottles, half-hazardly throwing them in before swinging it over his shoulder and following after Sejanus without another word.

"So," Arachne states once he's out of earshot, taking a sip out of her glass as she remains on the ground. "Are we betting on Heavensbee or Snow to lose their virginity to her tonight?"

The group very quickly became a hung jury.

"Listen, I know the truth, okay, guys, hear me out." Clemensia speaks up over her arguing classmates. "Tonight, specifically, it'll be Hilarius." She holds her hand up to stop anyone who started arguing. "Coriolanus will probably wait until they're married or something, but trust me when I tell you that he will marry her."

"Marry her? We're sixteen, aren't you getting ahead of yourself, Clemmie?" Festus laughs, shaking his head.

"Obviously he doesn't know it yet, he's denser than over stirred cake batter, but he just follows her around like a lost puppy. That will never change, also, he's the only one that she's never had a problem with! And she'll fight with anyone!" Clemensia states, nodding with the finality of her statement. "That's all I have to say."

"Wait, you're telling me Coriolanus and Y/N aren't together?" Pup asks, just joining the conversation after sitting there confused for the last few minutes.

"My point exactly."

"Sejanus, you wizard, show us the ways." You giggle, plopping down on the ground where Hilarius carefully let you back onto your feet once you reached the park, previous argument completely forgotten.

"Okay." He laughs, sitting down next to you. "There's three holes in the apple. You hold it on the side like this, then you put the weed on the very top hole..." He explains as he's doing it, and you watch intently. "Then you hold the match up until it's burning, and you'll put your thumb over this hole here once you inhale it through the last one..." His voice trails off as he holds the apple up to your lips, doing all the work but letting you just breathe in the smoke.

You try, eyes closed as the three boys watch you until you pull away quickly to cough it all out as the smoke burned into your throat. "Oh my god..." You laugh, eyes watering as you continue to cough. "Your turn."

"You okay?" Hilarius asks with a slight chuckle, rubbing gentle circles into your back.

"Fine." You nod, quickly wiping your eyes.

"Here." Sejanus holds the apple out to the boy next to you. He takes it, and Coryo feels like he can finally breathe now that Hilarius doesn't have his hands on you.

"Where'd you learn this?" He asks Sejanus, ignoring your classmate following the same routine you did.

"Guess." Sejanus answers, looking over at him. "I don't smoke, but lots of my friends parents did. Back in Two."

"Right." The fact that they smoked around children didn't shock Coryo. Not one bit.

"Coryo, loosen up, man, you look like you're sitting with a stick up your ass." Hilarius offers it to him now, and he looks over at you. As if somehow you would tell him what to say.

"Try it!" You urge him on, shifting over so you're kneeling in front of him, taking the apple from Hilarius for him. "I'll light for you."

"Uh, okay, yeah." He swallows thickly, subconsciously leaning back a little bit at your closer proximity.

He takes the fruit from your hand, watching as your strike up a new match. "Tell me when you're ready..." You hum, moving even closer as he lifts the apple to his lips.

"Ready." He says quietly, and before you put the flames to the flowers, you're reaching up with your other hand to push his hair out of his face and hold it back for him so it doesn't somehow light.

He doesn't last long, looking into your eyes and trying to inhale the thick, abrasive smoke; it's only a second before he's pulling back quickly, coughing his lungs out as the other two boys laugh at him.

"It takes some getting used to, that's okay..." You smile, taking another hit while the flower was still burning.

You exhale, and it's smoother this time. "I did it!" You grin, choking only slightly over your words.

"Good job, Y/N/N." Sejanus laughs.

"You okay?" You ask Coryo and he nods, recovering from the coughing fit now as the weed really starts to take affect in your system.

You feel like your world is swaying as you kneel in front of him. "Did it work? Can you feel it?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"It's the second hit." You determine, feeling bold as you straddle yourself over his lap. "I've got an idea. Do you trust me?" You whisper and he nods quickly, leaning back on his palms. Once again, not nearly drunk enough for this.

"Yeah, you know what, I've gotta get back. My parents are heading out pretty quick, here..." Hilarius makes an excuse, but you can hardly even hear him now. "Sejanus, you coming?"

Clearly getting the message he nods, standing up and dusting off his pants. "Have fun, you two. Get home safe."

"Bye!" You giggle, waving to them with your free hand.

The silence that surrounds you is deafening, particularly for poor Coryo, who is fighting for his life to not move. Not that he doesn't want you this close, apparently he does; if his body and his mind racing with thoughts are any indicator, the biggest problem is that he wants to touch you. He knows he shouldn't.

"I've got an idea." You say again, attention returned to him. "But you have to trust me."

"I trust you." He mumbles with a slight nod.

"Good." You smile, taking yet another pull from the apple, holding it carefully the way Sejanus told you to.

You painfully hold your breath, feeling the drug cloud your mind as you put it down gently on the ground next to you. Coryo starts to panic as you lean in closer, closer than you've ever been to him before, and god, did he hate and love where this was going.

You stop, lips brushing against his as you let the smoke out of your lungs, and all he has to do is breathe. Why is that suddenly so hard? He manages, somehow, feeling the smoke from your lungs flood into his own.

Once you move back, settling yourself on his lap and tilting your head at him, he turns to breathe it all out away from you. He doesn't know if he can look back.

You smile, settling your arms around his neck and subconsciously playing with the ends of his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Good." He says quietly, finally gaining the courage to look up at you.

"Good?" You hum with a slight nod, letting yourself get closer to him again as he rests a hand on your waist.

"Really good." He confirms, looking into your eyes; glazed over from the substances you so carelessly consume. "Y/N/N?"

"Yes, my dear Coryo?" You answer, already getting giggly.

He doesn't say anything more.

Fuck it.

With his free hand he's grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you closer, crashing his lips against yours.

"Y/N, hey." Coryo greets you, catching up to you just as you get to the front doors of the academy. He hasn't seen you since Saturday night- since he walked you home after you spent nearly an hour kissing him absolutely senseless at the park across from Livia's home. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Coryo, hi." You smile, textbooks tucked into your arms as you join him walking into the front doors of the academy on Monday morning. "How are you feeling?"

"Me? Fine." He shrugs, failing to mention the crippling hangover he was nursing for all of the day prior.

"What?" You laugh, sighing with fake disappointment. "That's not fair. I was dying yesterday. Literally, when I woke up I thought I had died and gone to hell. I don't even remember how I got home."

"You don't?" He chuckles nervously.

"No. I don't remember a thing." You laugh. "That's how you know it was a good night, so I've heard."

"Really? Nothing at all?" He asks, nervousness and disappointment flashing behind his eyes.

"Well, I remember spiking the punch." You laugh. "Why, did I do something bad?" Your laugh is replaced with anxiety as your voice lowers so only he can hear, catching the look in his eye.

Coryo clears his throat, avoiding your gaze as he shakes his head. "No, well... You did call Persephone a cannibal. Tried to fight her."

"Oh, well, that's standard." You shrug. "No big deal, then."

"Yeah. No big deal."

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