#will i be making another one of these? probably not for a really long time lmao

[tobiosbbyghorl]

IN STITCHES | PSH | PART 1

pairing: grump surgeon! sunghoon x surgeon! reader

wc: 20.8k first part 14.8k

synopsis: A grumpy, emotionally guarded surgeon and a sunshine-hearted resident collide in the high-stakes world of medicine—what begins with spilled coffee and sharp words slowly transforms into stolen glances, quiet care, and a love powerful enough to heal even the deepest wounds.

It was supposed to be a good day.

The kind where the hospital coffee machine didn’t malfunction, where Y/N’s ID card actually worked on the first tap, and where she could maybe—just maybe—make it through orientation without embarrassing herself.

And then she turned the corner too fast.

Her shoulder slammed into a firm chest, the jolt sending her coffee cup flying—directly onto the pristine white coat of a man walking toward her. It splashed in a perfect arc, dark liquid staining the fabric from his shoulder down to the navy blue scrubs underneath.

“Oh my god—!” Y/N gasped, already fumbling for tissues from her coat pocket. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you—I should’ve—”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just looked down at the damage, then up at her, his jaw tight and eyes sharp.

“Of course,” he said coolly, “it’s always the first-years.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She stared up at him. Tall. Unsmiling. Ice in his gaze. His name tag read Dr. Park Sunghoon – Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no.

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” she blurted, cheeks burning.

“Don’t bother.” He pulled off the coat in one smooth motion, folding it over his arm. “Just try not to cause any surgical accidents when you inevitably panic in the OR.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “That’s not fair—”

He walked off before she could finish.

Y/N stared after him, mortified, still clutching her now-empty coffee cup. She hadn’t even started her first day, and she’d already gotten on the bad side of the hospital’s most feared surgeon.

Of course, it had to be him.

Welcome to Seonghwa University Hospital, she thought bitterly. You’re officially doomed.

Rounds that afternoon were brutal.

She stood with three other surgical residents, nerves tingling like live wires as Dr. Park reviewed patient charts with clipped efficiency. His tone was clinical, cold, and sharp enough to slice straight through any trace of confidence.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking toward her. “What’s the protocol for a Type B aortic dissection?”

Her mind scrambled. “Uh—CT angiography to confirm diagnosis, followed by—surgical intervention if there’s evidence of rupture or compromised perfusion—”

“Too slow.” His voice cut clean through her stammering. “If you think for that long during a real dissection, the patient’s already coding.”

Heat rushed to her face. She bit her tongue.

“Review it tonight. Come back with a better answer. Next.”

—

It didn’t stop there.

He questioned her again—this time on anticoagulation protocols—and when she got the answer right, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just moved on without so much as a nod. But when another resident answered wrong, Sunghoon launched into a five-minute correction speech.

By lunch, Y/N sat at the corner of the breakroom table, stabbing at her rice bowl and trying not to take it personally.

“He’s like that with everyone,” another resident, Yeji, said around a mouthful of kimbap. “He’s allergic to praise. Thinks kindness slows people down.”

“I don’t need kindness,” Y/N muttered. “I just need him to stop looking at me like I’m roadkill.”

“He probably respects you,” Yeji said with a grin.

Y/N looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“No, really,” Yeji shrugged. “The more he criticizes, the more he sees potential.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That man would criticize a puppy for blinking too slow.”

—

She made the mistake of letting herself relax during an evening case—a relatively routine pericardial window. She wasn’t even assisting, just observing, but she leaned in to see better, her gloved hand briefly brushing against the sterile field.

“Out,” Sunghoon said sharply without turning.

Her breath caught. “I didn’t—”

“You broke the field.”

“It was an accident—”

“I said out.”

The scrub nurse gently guided her back as her stomach sank through the floor. Her chest burned. Embarrassment. Shame. Frustration. All of it twisting together as she stood silently behind the glass.

When the surgery ended, he walked out without looking at her.

But the nurse leaned in and whispered, “He did the same to a fourth-year two months ago. Don’t take it to heart.”

She smiled weakly, but it still stung.

It was nearly midnight by the time she sat down in the stairwell.

Cool concrete steps. The quiet hum of a hospital trying to catch its breath between crises. She pulled her knees to her chest and let her head rest against the wall.

She wouldn’t cry.

She would not cry.

Not over a man who probably hadn’t smiled since the last Olympics.

Her pager buzzed.

Rotation confirmed – Cardiothoracic Surgery: Dr. Park Sunghoon. Start time 5:00 AM.

Y/N sighed. “I hate everything.”

—

She stayed late the next night—not because she had to, but because one of the nurses mentioned a young girl in the cardiac ICU who’d come in with a complex congenital defect. A rare case. A once-in-a-residency kind of case.

Y/N wasn’t on the attending team, but she couldn’t help herself.

The girl, maybe ten, looked fragile in the bed. Tubes and monitors surrounded her like armor. Her mother sat by her side, gently brushing the girl’s hair back from her forehead.

Y/N hesitated outside the door, then stepped in quietly.

“Ma’am?” she said softly. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

The woman looked up, red-eyed. “No… thank you. She’s just resting. They said she’s stable for now.”

“She’s lucky to have you here,” Y/N said kindly.

The woman gave her a watery smile. “Dr. Park said there’s still a chance. But the way he said it… I don’t know if he believes it.”

Y/N knelt beside the bed, brushing a thumb gently over the girl’s tiny hand. “Sometimes doctors get tired. We see so much heartbreak, we forget that hope can still matter. But your daughter’s here. She’s fighting. And you’re doing everything right.”

The woman sniffled. “Do you think she’ll make it?”

Y/N smiled softly. “I think miracles happen here every day.”

The woman didn’t reply—but she held her daughter’s hand tighter.

Y/N left the room a few minutes later, shoulders tense but heart strangely full.

And then she saw him.

Sunghoon stood against the wall, arms crossed, half-shadowed by the ICU lights. His eyes had that unreadable gleam again—not anger, not coldness. Something else.

“You talk a lot,” he said flatly.

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re not even on this case.”

“I know.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Why waste time on false hope?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Hope isn’t false,” she said quietly. “It’s survival.”

Something flickered in his gaze. Barely there, but it was real.

He didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked away.

But this time, she saw it—just a flicker—hesitation in his steps.

And that, somehow, felt like the beginning of something she didn’t yet have a name for.

⸻

Y/N’s alarm blared at 4:15 a.m., and for the third time that week, she debated quitting medicine altogether.

Her shoulder still ached from the equipment cart that nearly crashed into her the night before—some intern had rushed around a blind corner, and she’d instinctively stepped in to protect the patient’s IV line. The cart clipped her hard, sending her stumbling back into the wall. No break, thankfully, but the bruising was deep.

Of course, Sunghoon hadn’t said a word about it. He’d looked at the scene, confirmed the patient was fine, and walked away.

Classic.

She hadn’t even had a second to ice it properly.Now, with her arm throbbing and her body protesting every step, she rushed to the operating theater.

He was already there when she arrived.

“You’re late,” he said flatly without looking up from the chart.

“It’s 4:59,” she breathed out, chest rising. “Technically, I’m early.”

His eyes flicked up. “Technicalities don’t save lives.”

She gritted her teeth, fingers twitching by her side. “Understood.”

She moved to scrub in, but lifting her arm to tie the back of her gown made her wince involuntarily. Her fingers paused. Her shoulder tensed. She bit her lip, trying not to make a sound.

And then, suddenly, he was behind her.

Not a word. Not a breath.

Just quiet, practiced fingers tying her gown strings for her.

She froze.

“Next time, ask someone for help,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’re no use to the team if you pretend you’re fine.”

Y/N turned slightly, stunned. “How did you—?”

“You’re favoring your left side. And you winced when you reached for the tray yesterday.”

He tied the final knot and stepped back. His face gave nothing away.

“Be sharp today. It’s a double bypass, and the attending will expect quick thinking.”

Just like that, he was all business again.

But her heart skipped—just once—and her shoulder didn’t hurt as much.

—

Later that day, during rounds, she fumbled her words again. Her brain was foggy with exhaustion and a dull throb beneath her collarbone.

“What’s the minimum ACT required before initiating cardiopulmonary bypass?”

Her lips parted. Her mind blanked.

Sunghoon stared.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“480 seconds,” she managed, finally.

He looked unimpressed. “Don’t guess in surgery. If you don’t know, say so. Guessing gets people killed.”

Her stomach dropped. She nodded quietly.

After rounds, she sat alone in the on-call room, feeling the sting of his words settle in her chest. But not even twenty minutes later, a nurse knocked on the door.

“Dr. Park asked me to bring this to you,” she said, holding out an ice pack wrapped in a soft towel.

Y/N blinked. “What? He—?”

“Said you might need it. Said you wouldn’t ask.”

The nurse left before she could say anything else.

Y/N stared at the pack for a long moment before pressing it gently to her shoulder, lips pulling into a reluctant smile.

—

The next morning, she stood by the OR board, scanning the list for her name. Her stomach clenched when she saw it.

Lead assist – Dr. Park Sunghoon.

She’d barely gotten over the last case.

But she scrubbed in anyway, tied her gown on her own this time, and walked into the OR ready for war.

He didn’t look at her.

Didn’t speak more than necessary.

But when the scalpel was passed and she moved to retract, he said quietly, “Switch to your left hand. Don’t strain your dominant arm.”

She blinked.

“You noticed?”

“I’m not blind,” he replied, voice clipped. “And I don’t want my resident passing out mid-case because she’s trying to prove something.”

Y/N swallowed a smile and shifted her grip. “Noted.”

The case went well.

She followed his movements with precision, matching his rhythm as best she could. And once, just once, he looked up and met her eyes over the surgical mask.

It was only a second. A flicker.

But her chest tightened.

He saw her.

Not just as a clumsy first-year or a liability.

He saw her.

—

It was almost midnight again.

She walked out of the OR with trembling legs and a heavy heart. Her shoulder was screaming again. She leaned against the hallway wall and took a breath.

She didn’t hear his footsteps until he was beside her.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed her a paper cup of warm barley tea from the staff lounge. The lid was crooked, as if he’d never prepared one before.

She looked up at him, stunned.

His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“You shouldn’t take painkillers on an empty stomach,” he said simply.

She took the cup with both hands, fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second.

“…Thank you.”

He started to walk away again, but she called after him softly.

“Why do you do that?”

He turned.

“Act like you don’t care,” she said. “But then… you always show up.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, finally:

“Because caring makes people expect things. And expectations get people hurt.”

She stared at him, heart pounding.

“But if we stop caring, we stop hoping,” she said. “And without hope, what’s the point?”

Sunghoon paused.

His voice was almost a whisper this time.

“Why waste time on false hope?”

She met his gaze, steady and warm.

“Hope isn’t false,” she murmured. “It’s survival.”

Something in his eyes cracked—not broken, but softening.

He didn’t reply.

But when he walked away this time, he moved slower.

Like maybe her words had stayed with him.

⸻

The surgical board shifted again.

This time, it wasn’t an accident.

She was paired with Dr. Park Sunghoon for the third time in a week. It couldn’t be coincidence anymore.

Y/N glanced toward the nurses’ station where he stood, arms crossed, reviewing charts. He didn’t look her way—but he didn’t need to.

She could feel it.

He requested me.

—

They prepped for a long aortic valve replacement. Y/N double-checked the patient’s chart, heart hammering in her chest as she reviewed each step in her head. This time, she didn’t want to slip. Not in front of him.

As they scrubbed in, he said nothing.

But once in the OR, while waiting for anesthesia, he turned to her.

“Walk me through your plan.”

She blinked. “My plan?”

“You’re lead assist. Act like it.”

That was new.

He’d never let her speak up like this before.

She straightened. “We’re approaching through median sternotomy. I’ll retract—carefully, since the patient’s anemic—and keep the field clear for cannulation. Once perfusion is initiated, I’ll monitor pressure and—”

His gaze didn’t leave hers.

“Good,” he said.

Her heart stuttered.

Not because of the praise—but because of the way he said it.

Low. Quiet. Like it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone else but her.

—

The procedure was long. Six hours.

At one point, she nearly lost grip of the retractor when her shoulder screamed in protest. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Sunghoon didn’t look up.

But when the attending called for a clamp change, he reached over—under the drape—and adjusted her grip, subtly easing the weight off her injured arm. “You’re overcompensating,” he murmured. “Use your body, not your wrist.”

It wasn’t softness. It was technical.

But his touch lingered a beat too long.

And her hands didn’t tremble after that.

—

A week passed, then another.

They kept getting assigned together.

Somehow, she found herself gravitating toward his pace, matching his rhythm. He never gave her easy praise. Never babied her.

But he watched.

When she caught a medication error before it reached a patient’s chart—he didn’t say thank you. Just looked at her for a second too long and passed her a sterilized pen. When a code blue erupted mid-shift and she rushed to help, he appeared beside her two minutes later, silently taking over compressions so she could breathe.

No one else noticed. But she did.

And once—after a particularly brutal shift—she found a pack of muscle relief patches in her locker. No name. No note.

Just taped carefully to the inside, with a pair of latex gloves beside them.

—

One night, she caught him eating dinner alone in the on-call room. Cold noodles, barely touched. His shoulders were slumped—an unusual sight.

“Rough day?” she asked, hesitating in the doorway.

He looked up, startled.

Then back down at his food. “Long one.”

She moved to the counter to pour herself some stale coffee.

“You know,” she said cautiously, “for someone who tells everyone else to rest, you really suck at it yourself.”

His lips twitched. Just slightly.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop on my advice.”

“Maybe if you said something nice once in a while, I wouldn’t have to,” she shot back, raising her brows.

He looked over at her again.

Not irritated.

Amused.

“You think I’m not nice?”

She sipped her coffee. “I think you’re complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Yeah.” She leaned on the counter. “You bark at interns and bark louder at residents. But then you hand someone tea when they’re too stubborn to admit they’re in pain. Or… request someone to assist you just so she doesn’t get stuck with scut work.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “You noticed.”

“I’m not blind either.”

A beat passed.

He set his chopsticks down and looked at her fully now.

“You’re not like the others.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re too kind for this place,” he said quietly. “Too… hopeful.”

The words struck a chord—somewhere between compliment and caution.

She smiled softly. “You say that like it’s a weakness.”

“I’ve seen what this job does to people.”

“So have I.” She tilted her head. “But I still think kindness doesn’t have to die in order for us to survive.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond for a moment.

Then, so low she almost didn’t hear it—

“I don’t want to watch it die in you.”

Her breath caught.

And in that silence, their eyes locked—nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights between them.

He blinked first.

And just like that, the moment passed.

But something had shifted.

She wasn’t sure what exactly—but it lingered in her chest long after she left the room.

—

They didn’t speak of it the next day.

But she caught his fingers brushing hers when he handed her a clamp. Saw his jaw tighten when an attending snapped at her during rounds.

And once, when she laughed at something a fellow said during a break—Sunghoon turned away just a little too sharply, gaze dark.

The line was still there.

But now, they were toeing it.

Every day, just a little more.

⸻

The OR was unusually quiet.

Only the steady rhythm of machines, the murmur of the circulating nurse, and the soft rustle of gloves broke the silence. They were closing up after a smooth procedure—just the two of them. No attendings, no audience.

Y/N stitched with quiet focus, her sutures clean and symmetrical. Her fingers moved confidently, almost instinctively.

Sunghoon watched for a few moments longer than necessary.

“Where’d you learn to suture like that?” he asked, voice low.

She glanced up, surprised he’d noticed. “Oranges.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“In med school. I used to practice on oranges. My roommate was furious for months.”

His mouth twitched—just barely.

Almost a smile. But not quite.

“Good technique,” he said instead, and turned back to the tray.

The compliment settled in her chest like warmth on a cold morning. She didn’t need his praise—but it still mattered.

—

The following morning, Y/N was running late to rounds when she bumped into someone outside the break room.

Dr. Seo Jaemin. Neurosurgery’s golden boy.

“Whoa, easy there,” he said, steadying her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry—late again.”

“Here.” He handed her a protein bar. “Skipped breakfast, didn’t you?”

She blinked. “How’d you—?”

He winked. “You always skip breakfast.”

She laughed softly. “Thanks, Dr. Seo.”

“Call me Jaemin.”

From across the hallway, Sunghoon walked past without a glance.

But during rounds, he was impossible.

Every minor presentation from Y/N was scrutinized. He interrupted, questioned, forced her to repeat data she’d already gotten right. Even her notes weren’t spared. By the end of the session, she was red-faced and silent, fingers curled tight around her clipboard.

As the group dispersed, he walked ahead without waiting. “You don’t need compliments,” he muttered without turning around. “You need discipline.” The protein bar stayed in her coat pocket the entire day—untouched.

—

They didn’t speak again until three days later.

It had been a grueling shift—four back-to-back surgeries, all high-risk, high-pressure. Y/N didn’t remember the last time she drank water, much less sat down. During the lull between cases, she collapsed onto a bench outside the OR, head in her hands.

A shadow passed in front of her.

Then—“Catch.” She looked up.

A cold coffee cup hovered in front of her. Sunghoon stood there, gaze trained somewhere over her head.

She blinked. “Is this… for me?”

“Iced Americano. Half shot. No sugar,” he said, still not looking at her.

“You memorized my order?”

“No,” he replied curtly. “You mutter it every morning. It’s hard not to hear.”

And just like that, he walked away.

She stared after him, stunned.

And then smiled.

—

The next shift didn’t go as smoothly.

Midway through an elective gallbladder procedure, her body turned on her.

At first it was a wave of heat. Then a chill. Her vision swam, the room tilted, and her hands began to shake.

Sunghoon noticed before anyone else did.

“Y/N,” he murmured under his mask, “you good?”

“Fine,” she whispered, though her knees told a different story.

He didn’t press—but his next command came faster. Sharper.

“Clamp.”

Ten minutes later, she faltered. A sharp sway—and she nearly hit the floor.

He caught her elbow in a flash, his grip firm.

“Someone take over. Now.”

Without a word, he finished the procedure himself. Efficient. Controlled. Afterward, he walked her—no, practically carried her—to the on-call room. His expression unreadable.

“You don’t get to collapse on my table,” he muttered, kneeling beside her and pressing a cold pack to her flushed skin.

She managed a weak laugh. “Thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” he said, voice flat. “I just don’t like replacing residents mid-surgery.”

“Right,” she mumbled, eyes slipping shut. “Of course.

But his hand lingered at her pulse longer than it should have. And when she fell asleep, he didn’t leave.

—

The next morning, she was back on her feet and heading to radiology when she overheard the nurses by the stairwell.

“…Park Sunghoon? Yeah. His fiancée was a cardiac fellow.”

“She died, right? Complication post-op?”

“Yeah. A rupture. He was in surgery when it happened.”

“He hasn’t been the same since. Doesn’t date. Doesn’t talk. Ice cold.”

Y/N kept walking. Didn’t let herself react.

But when she saw him later that evening—pacing outside the OR, tense—she didn’t flinch at the way he barked at a nurse or scolded a junior. She didn’t even flinch when he looked at her and said, “You’re on trauma call tonight. Hope you’re not planning to faint again.”

Instead, she smiled softly.

“I’m tougher than I look, Dr. Park.”

He stared at her for a beat too long.

Then turned away without another word. But that night, she found a small packet of electrolyte tablets slipped into her coat pocket. No note. No explanation.

Just like the coffee.

Just like him.

—

It started with silence.

Not the biting, clipped kind he used to wield like a weapon—but the kind that filled the space between them without pressure. The kind that settled in easily, like breath.

They were on-call together again. Two traumas back-to-back, one failed code blue, and a teenage stab wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

It was after that last one—after hours of blood, shouting, hands inside a chest cavity—that they sat side by side in the dim locker room. Neither spoke. She glanced at him. His scrubs were soaked. His jaw clenched.

Her hand moved without thinking—offering him the leftover chocolate from her coat pocket.

He didn’t take it. Just stared.

But didn’t leave.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I imagine how different everything would be if I wasn’t in this field.”

He didn’t answer.

She tucked the chocolate back into her coat and stood to leave.

Then, softly, barely audible: “Me too.”

She turned, startled.

His eyes were fixed ahead. Still guarded. Still distant.

But something in his voice—cracked. Human.

Something that felt like the beginning of a confession.

—

A week later, they were paired on a complex cardiac procedure.

It was high-risk. High-stakes. The kind of case most attendings watched like hawks.

But Sunghoon didn’t hover.

He stood beside her, guiding, correcting—but not belittling.

And when she took the lead on a critical step, he didn’t stop her. Just murmured, “Careful,” like a reminder instead of a warning. After the successful surgery, she sat down at the nurses’ station to chart.

He dropped a granola bar beside her.

“Eat.”

She blinked at it, then up at him.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t respond.

But that night, he didn’t leave the hospital either.

She found him alone in the chapel—hands steepled, eyes blank. She didn’t go in. Just stood by the doorway for a moment and left him there. She never mentioned it the next morning. But he nodded at her in the elevator. A real nod. Like an acknowledgment.

That was new.

—

Then came the patient with the DNR.

Elderly. Peaceful. Ready.

The family wasn’t.

Y/N was the one who held the daughter’s hand while Sunghoon explained—clinical, detached—the reality of palliative care.

After the family left, she turned to him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of pretending none of this affects you?”

He met her gaze. Calm. Cold.

“Feelings get in the way of logic.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “You can care and still be a good doctor.”

He didn’t answer.

But later that day, she found him sitting beside the patient’s bed in silence, hands folded, just… keeping her company.

She didn’t say anything.

Just watched from the doorway.

She saw him gently adjust the blanket. Saw him whisper something under his breath before standing to leave.

—

A few days after that, she found herself alone in the stairwell, trying to catch her breath after a long call night. Her hands were shaking—adrenaline still high after a failed intubation.

The door creaked.

He walked in.

Paused when he saw her.

“You okay?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

Then, surprising even herself: “You were right. About feelings. They do get in the way.”

Sunghoon stepped closer. Not too close.

“They also keep you human,” he murmured.

She looked up at him.

For the first time, he didn’t look untouchable. He looked tired. Worn.

Real.

“Did it happen here?” she asked quietly. “Your fiancée?”

His eyes froze.

And for a moment she thought he might snap.

But instead, he exhaled.

“ICU,” he said. “Complication post-op. We were supposed to have dinner after she recovered.”

She didn’t speak.

He didn’t need her to.

His next words came like splinters.

“I told her she was fine. That the surgery went perfectly. I went back to the OR… and she coded alone.”

The silence between them shifted.

Heavy. Sacred.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He nodded once, eyes shining—but he didn’t cry.

He never cried.

Instead, he looked at her—really looked—and said, “You remind me of her.”

Her breath caught.

“Not because you look like her. You don’t,” he added quickly. “But you… you care the same way.”

She opened her mouth, but he turned, reaching for the stairwell door.

Before he pushed it open, he paused.

“Be careful with that kind of heart,” he said softly. “It gets people hurt.”

And then he was gone.

⸻

She didn’t bring it up again.

Not the chapel.

Not the stairwell.

Not his fiancée.

The next day, she greeted him like nothing had happened. Gave a short nod during rounds, answered his rapid-fire questions like always, kept her tone level, calm.

Sunghoon never mentioned it either. But he noticed. Noticed the way she no longer challenged him on every clinical judgment. Not because she was afraid—no, Y/N didn’t scare easily—but because she was beginning to understand him.

The difference between wall and armor. Distance and protection.

She didn’t force closeness. She let silence speak. And that, more than anything, softened the tension between them.

⸻

They began to fall into rhythm.

A subtle, unspoken routine formed over the next few weeks.

If he came in early, there’d be a fresh cup of his exact coffee order on the counter—never handed to him directly, just waiting by the nurse’s station.

If she looked pale or tired, he’d ask her to triple-check the supply room—code for “take a breath, hide for five minutes, I’ll cover.”

They started reviewing cases together during night shifts—him pacing, her curled on a chair, tossing back ideas until they cracked the diagnosis like a puzzle.

Still professional. Still distant. But different now.

Their walls were shifting. Slowly. Quietly.

⸻

The night everything changed came unexpectedly.

The ER called in a critical: a child—six years old—brought in from a construction site accident. Crush injury. Collapsed lung. Internal bleeding.

The kind of trauma that pulled every doctor into overdrive.

Sunghoon and Y/N were first to respond.

Blood pooled around the tiny body. Alarms screamed. A nurse shouted vitals—BP dropping fast.

Sunghoon issued orders fast and sharp, steady in chaos. Y/N worked alongside him without hesitation, fingers slick with blood as she held pressure against the wound.

“He’s crashing—”

“Move!” Sunghoon barked, grabbing a scalpel.

Y/N held the child’s head steady as Sunghoon performed a rapid thoracotomy, opening the chest wall to decompress.

“You’re cutting too shallow,” she said, voice calm, measured.

He glanced at her—just a second—but enough to correct.

“Retractor.”

“Here.”

They worked as one. Focused. In sync.

And when the monitor finally beeped steady again—when the bleeding slowed, when the child breathed—Y/N leaned back, breathless.

Sunghoon looked at her.

Not just looked. Saw her.

His eyes softened. And for the first time—not a smirk, not an almost—but a real, genuine smile broke across his face.

Small. But there.

“You did good,” he said softly.

She blinked, stunned. “Did you just… smile at me?”

He stood. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as he turned, she swore—swore—his ears were red.

—

The shift ended hours later. The adrenaline faded. Exhaustion hit like a wave.

She found him outside the hospital, leaning against the railing under the early morning sky, tie loose, hands in his pockets.

She joined him quietly, handing him a bottle of water. No words needed.

They stood side by side in silence.

Then, without warning, his shoulder brushed hers.

Barely. Softly.

But he didn’t pull away.

Neither did she.

And when her hand lingered by his on the cold metal railing, he didn’t move.

Just let it rest there. Close enough to feel the warmth.

—

From that day forward, something shifted between them.

She caught him watching her sometimes. Not like before—not critical or guarded. Just watching. Quietly.

And one night, when she fell asleep during a case review in the break room, she woke up to a blanket draped over her shoulders. A chair pulled next to hers. He sat there, arms crossed, pretending to be reading.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“You snore,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes, smiling into the blanket. “I do not.”

But he was smirking now.

And this time, she didn’t look away.

⸻

The rain came down in sheets.

She stood beneath the flickering streetlight, soaked through, arms wrapped around herself as her phone died for the second time that night. The last bus was thirty minutes late. The emergency shift had been brutal—three codes, one loss—and she hadn’t eaten since noon.

When the car pulled up, she didn’t recognize it right away. Not until the window rolled down and a familiar voice snapped, “Get in. Before you get pneumonia and ruin my schedule.”

She blinked. “You drive?”

“Clearly.”

“Since when do you give rides?”

“Since you’re too stubborn to call a cab.”

She got in without arguing. The heater was already on, blasting warm air into her frozen fingers.

They drove in silence for a minute before he spoke again, eyes on the road.

“You should’ve paged someone. You looked like you were going to pass out in the OR.”

“I was fine.”

“You were swaying.”

She risked a glance at him.

His jaw was tight. But his hand—resting on the gearshift—was relaxed. Open. Like he’d just unclenched it after holding something too long.

“Thanks for coming,” she said softly.

He didn’t look at her.

But his hand moved. Turned the heat up two more notches.

—

Three days later, the hospital lost power.

Backup generators kicked in for the surgical floors, but not the on-call rooms.

They found themselves stuck in the same one. Only one cot. One blanket. The temperature already dropping.

“Take the bed,” she offered.

“You’re exhausted.”

“You’re worse.”

A beat passed.

Then, without another word, she laid down on the narrow cot and patted the space beside her.

He hesitated.

Then joined her.

Back to back. Barely touching.

At first.

She fell asleep fast—her breath slowing, fingers curling near his side.

He didn’t sleep.

Just turned slightly, watching her.

She mumbled something. A dream. His name, soft like a memory. And then: “Don’t go.”

He froze.

Didn’t move for a long time.

When she woke up hours later, his jacket was draped over her and his arm was resting—lightly, protectively—beside her head. Her cheek was inches from his chest, where his heartbeat kept steady time.

He was awake.

But he didn’t pull back.

Just met her gaze and murmured, “You talk in your sleep.”

She flushed.

“Did I say anything embarrassing?”

He looked away, but his voice was almost gentle.

“No.”

Just true.

—

The next day, everything cracked.

A teenage patient coded in surgery. Sunghoon had been leading. All protocol followed. All decisions correct. But the bleeding was too fast. The heart gave out. He stormed out before the family could be told. Before the paperwork could be started. She found him in the supply room, sitting on the floor, scrubs bloodstained, hands shaking in his lap.

She didn’t speak.

Just sank down beside him, legs crossed, fingers gently brushing his. When he didn’t pull away, she took his hand fully in hers.His voice broke when he finally spoke.

“I did everything right.”

“I know.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

She didn’t argue. Just let him lean into the silence, her palm against the back of his hand. His head dropped forward. And for the first time, he let someone see him fall apart.

—

Two nights later, the fight came.

It was stupid, at first—a disagreement over procedure order, a miscommunication during rounds. But the tension had been building for days.

“I don’t understand you,” she snapped, pulling off her gloves after surgery. “You act like caring is a weakness. Like the minute someone gets too close, you’ll break.” He slammed the clipboard down.

“Because I know what it costs!”

The room went still.

His chest heaved. Her eyes widened.

His voice was quieter when he continued.

“Caring doesn’t save lives. Skill does. Discipline. Control.”

“But it’s not enough,” she said, voice shaking. “You said it yourself. Sometimes it’s not enough. So why push everyone away? Why be alone through all of it?” He looked at her then. Not angry. Just tired. “Because if I let myself care again, I won’t survive the next loss.”

Her breath hitched.

She stepped closer. Slowly.

“You’re not alone.”

He didn’t move. She raised a hand—barely touched his arm.

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

He didn’t answer. But his eyes closed. Just for a second.

And then, he exhaled.

A sound like surrender.

⸻

The hospital buzzed quietly in the background—hallway chatter, the click of nurses’ shoes, the low beeping of monitors. She caught sight of him reviewing charts near the nurses’ station and lingered. She hadn’t said it properly—not the way she wanted to. So she walked toward him, steadying her breath.

“Dr. Park.”

He looked up. Cool. Composed. Always.

She lowered her voice. “Can we talk?”

He gave a short nod and stepped aside into the vacant resident lounge. She followed, hands in her coat pockets, heart thudding louder than it had any right to. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have challenged you like that. Not without knowing what you’ve been through. I crossed a line.”

He didn’t respond right away. He watched her for a beat longer than she was comfortable with—until he finally sighed and leaned back against the counter, eyes heavy.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

She blinked.

He looked past her, almost through her. “It was a standard lap appy. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was scheduled for a major case the next morning, so I left her in post-op.” There was a hollowness to his voice, like the memory had worn down over time, but the edges still cut.

“She said she felt off. Lightheaded. But her vitals were fine. I figured it was the anesthesia. Post-op nausea, maybe. I told the nurse to page me if anything changed.” He swallowed hard.

“I didn’t stay. I didn’t listen.” Her chest tightened.

“There was a slow internal bleed. A small vessel rupture. Missed on imaging. She coded twenty minutes later.” His voice cracked. Just barely.

“They couldn’t bring her back.”

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. “Sunghoon…”

“I checked the scans again and again. I should’ve caught it. I should’ve been there.” He didn’t cry—but she saw the guilt, raw and thick behind his eyes.

“I never got to say goodbye. And I promised myself I’d never get distracted again. No attachments. No soft spots. Just skill.”

He finally looked at her.

“But then you showed up. With your jokes. And your oranges. And your endless goddamn optimism. You make it hard to remember why I built that wall in the first place.”

Her eyes burned.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “For everything you lost. For what it did to you.”

For a second, he just looked at her—like maybe he saw her differently now. Maybe the light wasn’t so blinding. “Thank you,” he said. Simple. Honest.

And she knew what it cost him to say it.

—

The shift wore on, but something between them had shifted.

It showed in the way he handed her a suture kit without her asking. In how he quietly corrected her charting error but didn’t make a scene. In how they stood closer than usual while consulting a post-op patient. That same patient, an older woman with a mischievous smile, squinted between them.

“You two married?” she asked, a little too loud.

They both stiffened. “No,” Sunghoon said flatly. Too flat.

But she smiled, flustered. “Definitely not.”

The woman hummed. “Could’ve fooled me. You fight like one of those couples on medical TV shows.” Sunghoon cleared his throat. “Focus on your recovery, Ms. Kang.” As they left the room, she bit back a grin. “You know she’s not wrong. He rolled his eyes. “You’ve been watching too many dramas.”

“I bet you’d be the arrogant lead.”

“I am the arrogant lead.”

She laughed. And for the first time in days, he smiled.

Really smiled.

And it was quick. Barely there. But she caught it. She always would.

⸻

It was nearly midnight when the trauma call came in.Pediatric emergency. Eight-year-old girl. Car accident. Blunt abdominal trauma. Sunghoon and Y/N exchanged a glance the second the page went out. Both already moving before words were necessary. She pulled her gloves on with trembling hands as they waited by the trauma bay doors. Sunghoon stood beside her, steady and calm—but his eyes flicked to her just once, landing on the set of her jaw.

“You okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… kids always get me.” His voice was low. “Same.”

The gurney rolled in, chaos surrounding them—nurses shouting vitals, blood pooling beneath the child’s shirt, a terrified mother in tears nearby. The girl’s lips were pale, her breathing shallow “Possible spleen rupture,” one nurse shouted. “BP dropping fast.”

Sunghoon’s voice cut through the noise. “OR now.”

They rushed together. He barked out commands, she assisted without hesitation—already anticipating his steps, handing instruments, suctioning blood. Her hands didn’t shake. Not once. She didn’t flinch when things got messier. She held pressure where needed, held eye contact when he needed confirmation.

They saved her.

It took everything. But they did it.

⸻

Afterward, silence.

The girl was stable. Post-op team had taken over. Y/N leaned against the scrub sink, gloves off, surgical gown untied and hanging from her shoulders. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Sunghoon stood beside her, washing his hands slowly. His sleeves were soaked, hair mussed, voice hoarse when he finally said, “You were good in there.”

She turned her head. “You too.”

He glanced over. “I always am.”

She gave a soft laugh. “And there’s the arrogant lead again.”

He smirked—just faintly. Then his expression softened. “But tonight… I couldn’t have done it without you.” Her breath caught. The silence between them shifted—heavier now, but not with anger or grief. With something warmer. Closer. Unspoken.

“I—” she started, but didn’t know where she was going with it.

He stepped closer. Not too close. Just enough that her back straightened, and she could feel the static rising between them like the charged hum before lightning strikes. “You really don’t give up on people, do you?” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “No. Not even you.”

A beat passed.

Sunghoon reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face—slow, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right, but did it anyway.Her eyes searched his. “You can care, Sunghoon. And still be brilliant.”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned in.

Not all the way.

Close enough that she could feel his breath. Close enough that if either of them moved even an inch—

A nurse barged in. “Dr. Park! Radiology needs—oh.”

They both froze.

The nurse blinked, then cleared her throat. “Sorry. Just—whenever you’re ready.” Sunghoon took a slow step back, jaw tightening. But his eyes never left hers. Not even for a second. When the nurse was gone, he said nothing.

Neither did she.

They just stood there in the silence. Both wondering what would’ve happened if no one had walked in.

—

After the almost-kiss, everything felt different—but Y/N wasn’t sure if she liked it. Her mind raced the entire drive home. Why had her heart fluttered? Why had his touch felt like it meant something when they’d spent so much time fighting, pushing each other away?

She stared at the ceiling for hours, the memory of his gaze lingering. She replayed it over and over in her mind, wondering if she had imagined the tension—or if there was something real there. Something more than just the exhaustion and the adrenaline of the surgery.

The next day, she tried to push it out of her head, but it lingered, creeping into every interaction they had. Sunghoon was still Sunghoon—cool, collected, and distant. But there were little things. Moments that made her heart trip over itself.

—

It started with him offering to drive her home after a late shift.It wasn’t anything grand. Just a simple, “I’m going that way. Get in.”

She almost said no—except she didn’t want to walk in the dark by herself. And there was something undeniably reassuring about him offering without asking for anything in return.

“Thanks,” she said, quietly getting into the car. The hum of the engine filled the space between them as he drove, the headlights cutting through the streets.

The drive was short, but still, it felt like time had slowed. He didn’t speak much, just focusing on the road. But every now and then, his eyes flicked to her—just for a split second—like he was checking to make sure she was okay. When they reached her apartment, she was about to open the door when he handed her a bag from the passenger seat.

“Here. Snacks,” he muttered, a little awkwardly. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

She blinked, surprised. “I—thanks. I didn’t—”

He just nodded, turning the key in the ignition as if it were nothing. “Get some sleep,” he said before she could close the door. “You look like you could use it.” She nodded, feeling a rush of warmth in her chest. And just like that, he was gone. But it didn’t feel like the same cold, indifferent Sunghoon. There was a softness there now—quiet but there, nestled beneath the layers of his usual tough exterior.

—

Rumors started to spread a few days later. At first, they were innocuous—lighthearted teasing from the other doctors and nurses, all focused on the new dynamic between her and Sunghoon.

“Did you notice how he handed you the snacks? Just like a couple.”

“You’re telling me he actually offered to drive you home? Dr. Park? That’s—wow.”

But then, as these things often go, the rumors fizzled out just as quickly as they started. The teasing slowly died, conversations returned to the usual medical chatter, and life resumed as normal. They’d even been assigned to different surgeries for a while, their paths crossing less and less. Still, the air between them was different. It wasn’t as charged as it had been that night, but it wasn’t as distant, either. There was an undercurrent to everything they did—little glances, half-smiles, and more moments where their eyes lingered longer than they should.

—

The change wasn’t just in the rumors. It was in how he kept appearing at unexpected moments.

Another long shift came, and this time, it was his turn to bring in coffee. It wasn’t even a special occasion, just a Tuesday afternoon. And yet, when he set the cup in front of her without saying a word, she felt that familiar flutter again.

“You didn’t have to,” she said, looking up at him in surprise.

“I know.” He shrugged, standing there like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You were up all night with that trauma patient. You look like you need it.” She took a slow sip, eyes studying him. He looked so calm on the surface, but she could feel the tension just beneath it. Something had shifted in him, and she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or if he was letting his guard down—just a little.

“I appreciate it,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. And he actually smiled at her then—a small, genuine thing that took her by surprise “Don’t mention it,” he said, turning to leave. But before he stepped away, he looked at her over his shoulder. “I’ll check on you later. Make sure you’re not about to fall asleep standing up.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.After all the walls he’d put up, the small gestures felt like a breakthrough. A crack in his armor. As the days went on, those small gestures kept coming—more rides, more snacks, more lingering moments of silence that said more than words ever could. He never pushed for more. Never made a big deal out of it.

But she noticed.

And for the first time, she realized that she wasn’t the only one starting to care.

⸻

It started with her laughter.

A quiet evening in the resident lounge. Most of the staff had gone home. Y/N was curled up on the beat-up couch with a granola bar and a chart in her lap, lips pressed together in deep concentration—until something on the page made her snort softly. She didn’t even realize he was there. Sunghoon watched from the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he hadn’t just frozen when he heard the sound.

“You always read discharge notes like they’re comedy scripts?” he asked, stepping in.

She looked up, startled, but relaxed when she saw him. “Sorry. This kid just wrote ‘Doctor Park is scary but he saved my guts, so I guess he’s alright.’” She grinned, eyes flickering toward him. “You’re earning a fanbase.” He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Terrifying and efficient. That’s my brand.”

She smiled—bright, easy. And he didn’t look away.

It was quiet after that. Not uncomfortable. Just…quiet.She scooted over slightly, patting the empty spot beside her without thinking. “You can sit, you know. I won’t bite.”

He hesitated—but only for a second.

Then he sat.

Too close.

Or maybe just close enough.

They didn’t speak for a while. Her shoulder brushed his when she reached for her drink. His knee accidentally bumped hers. He didn’t apologize. Neither did she. The tension wasn’t sharp anymore. It was soft, slow, warm—like settling into something unspoken.

“You don’t stay late unless you’re avoiding something,” she said quietly, still flipping through her notes. He didn’t answer right away. Just watched her fingers trace the lines of ink on the page. “And you don’t bring snacks to people unless you like them,” he replied.

She paused. Looked at him. “So you do like me?”

He held her gaze for a beat too long.

“I never said I didn’t.”

That made her breath catch—just a little. Enough that she had to look away.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted, the words coming out softer than she meant. “The in-between. The almosts.” He turned slightly toward her. “Then let’s stop pretending it’s an almost.”

The air shifted.

Again.

And this time, it didn’t feel like something to run from.

His hand found hers, resting between them on the couch. He didn’t grab it. Didn’t squeeze.

Just let it sit there, his fingers brushing hers—tentative but real. She looked down at their hands.

Then up at him.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, smiling.

“And yet here you are,” he said. And he was smiling, too—more with his eyes than anything else.

They didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

But when she leaned her head gently against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away—instead letting out a quiet breath like he’d been waiting for this—they both knew something had changed.

Not a crack in the wall.

A door.

Opening.

Just enough.

⸻

Y/N didn’t expect to see anyone from the hospital on her day off. She had planned for coffee, maybe a walk around the park, and a moment to breathe without pagers screaming in her ear.

So when she saw him—Park Sunghoon, dressed down in a hoodie and joggers, standing outside a boutique pet store with a pristine white poodle perched in his arms—she froze.

Her first thought: He’s kind of hot when he’s not telling me I’m doing things wrong.

Her second: Is that a dog?

“Dr. Park?” she called, half in disbelief, half in amusement. Sunghoon turned, clearly not expecting to see her either. His expression didn’t soften right away, but his posture relaxed, and the corner of his mouth twitched. The poodle—fluffy, snow-white, with a little pink bow on her collar—blinked curiously at Y/N.

“Y/N,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying my day off. Clearly not as productively as you,” she teased, nodding to the dog. “This yours?” He adjusted the dog in his arms, like he didn’t quite know what to do with her fluff. “Gaeul. Technically my sister’s. I’m just filling in while she’s out of town. Temporarily.”

“Sure,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You look natural with her.”

“I’m being judged by a resident and a poodle,” he muttered, but his lips tugged into something suspiciously like a smile. Before he could say more, Gaeul wiggled excitedly in his arms, clearly interested in Y/N. Sunghoon hesitated—then extended the leash. “You want to walk with us?”

It wasn’t phrased like a date. Not even close. But it felt like one.

—

The walk wasn’t long, but it was peaceful—quiet jokes, soft teasing, and a few moments of silence that didn’t feel awkward at all. She kept glancing at him when he wasn’t looking, surprised by how easy it felt. How different he was out here, in the sun, not shrouded in harsh fluorescent light or tense OR pressure.

He caught her looking once.

She quickly looked away. “I just can’t believe you own chew toys.” “They’re not mine.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, not buying it. “I bet you even talk to her in baby voice when no one’s around.” He didn’t respond.

Which meant he absolutely did.

—

Later, they ended up near a small bistro she liked, tucked between buildings, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and fairy lights strung across the outdoor patio. He glanced at her as they paused in front of it.

“You eaten yet?”

“No.”

“You want to?”

She blinked. “With you?”

“Unless you’ve got another emergency poodle date lined up.” She laughed—and it felt good, falling out of her chest that easily. “Okay. Let’s eat.”

—

Dinner was simple. Pasta, wine, shared appetizers. Gaeul napped peacefully in the seat beside Sunghoon, occasionally pawing at his hand when she wanted a scrap of food. Y/N watched him sneak her a piece of chicken, and something in her heart melted. She didn’t even realize how long they’d been sitting there until the sun dipped lower, coloring the sky peach and gold. The conversation had wandered—from their most annoying patients to childhood stories to travel dreams—and somehow, without meaning to, their knees were touching under the table.

“You’re different outside the hospital,” she murmured.

He raised a brow. “Better or worse?”

“Still grumpy,” she said. “But less… guarded.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched her for a moment, then leaned back.

“This was nice,” he said quietly. “You. Here.”

Her heart did a little somersault.

“So was this, like… a date?” she asked, teasing—but there was a hopeful edge under her voice she couldn’t hide. He didn’t tease back.

Instead, he tilted his head, watching her with eyes a little too serious. “I don’t know,” he said. “Do you want it to be?” Her smile was slow. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Sunghoon nodded once, then leaned forward, just enough for his voice to drop slightly. “Then let’s call it one.” And just like that—unofficial, simple, but undeniably something—the shift between them became real.

No masks. No operating room tension. Just him, her, and the warm beginning of more.

⸻

The morning air in the hospital was brisk, the corridors buzzing with early rounds and shuffling residents. But Y/N walked in lighter than usual, barely noticing the chill. She wasn’t just glowing—she was radiating. Like some invisible switch had been flipped, and everything suddenly felt warmer, brighter, closer.

Of course, someone noticed.

“You’re smiling,” Heeseung, one of the cardio fellows, said as they scrubbed in side by side. “That’s suspicious. Who let you have fun?” Y/N rolled her eyes, hiding the faint color creeping up her neck. “I’m just in a good mood.

“Right,” Heeseung said with a smirk. “Totally unrelated to you being seen near a very broody attending last night with a dog that looked like a cloud.”

She nearly dropped her surgical cap.

“You saw that?”

“I was walking back from the clinic. Couldn’t miss it. You two looked…” He cocked his head, playful. “Uncharacteristically cozy.”Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he asked, grinning.

Before she could reply, the OR doors pushed open—cue the very subject of their conversation.

Park Sunghoon entered with a clipboard in hand, his usual calm intensity intact. Except… something about him was off. He didn’t bark at anyone. He didn’t rush. And when he passed by her at the sink, his fingers grazed hers—barely—but deliberately. A blink-and-you-miss-it kind of touch.

And then—he smirked.

Tiny. Barely there. But real.

Her brain short-circuited.

She glanced sideways at Heeseung, who now looked like he was watching a drama unfold in real-time. “I take it back,” he whispered. “This is better than TV.”

“Shut up,” she muttered.

But she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

—

During the procedure, it was business as usual—Sunghoon giving instructions, Y/N assisting like always, but the atmosphere between them was subtly different. When she handed him instruments, his fingers lingered for just a breath longer. When she asked for clarification, he actually gave her a soft nod instead of an irritated sigh. And when the surgery wrapped up and she peeled off her gloves, she felt his eyes follow her for a second longer than necessary. Outside the OR, she pressed her back to the wall, trying to cool off the butterflies flapping against her ribs.

Heeseung passed by, clapping her lightly on the shoulder. “So. Coffee? Or should I just start planning your engagement party?” She shoved him down the hall. Behind her, Sunghoon’s voice rang out calmly. “Dr. Lee. If you’re done playing matchmaker, rounds start in ten.”

Heeseung straightened immediately. “Yes, sir.”

But as he passed, Sunghoon flicked his eyes toward Y/N—still faintly amused, still very much aware—and added with an almost imperceptible twitch of his lips:

“Glad someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

Y/N didn’t stop smiling for the rest of her shift.

⸻

Her shift dragged longer than expected, the kind of slow where time felt thick, and her body begged for rest. But even through the fatigue, her mind kept drifting—back to last night, to his quiet smirk this morning, to the way his fingers brushed hers in passing like it meant nothing and everything all at once. Y/N found him late that evening reviewing scans in the diagnostics lounge. Most of the hospital had quieted by then. The vending machine buzzed faintly behind her, and the soft hum of a nearby ECG monitor pulsed in rhythm with her nerves.

She knocked lightly on the doorframe.

He looked up. “You’re still here?”

“Barely,” she said, stepping in. “I was going to grab dinner before I collapse. Thought I’d ask if you wanted to join. Since you—” she paused, gathering her courage, “—seemed like you didn’t hate my company last night.” Sunghoon’s brows lifted, surprised—but not unpleasantly.

“You’re asking me out?” he said carefully, not mocking, but definitely amused.

“Technically, I’m asking if you want udon and maybe a beer at that tiny hole-in-the-wall spot by the train station,” she said, arms crossed, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. “But if you need to call it a date—” He stood slowly, slipping the folder under his arm, that same unreadable expression settling over his features.

“I’ll call it dinner,” he said simply. “Unless you decide otherwise.” Her heart thudded, and she followed him out with a soft smile.

—

The place was dim and warm, all steam and sizzling broth and cheap plastic stools. It didn’t take much for conversation to flow again—stories about ridiculous patients, gossip they’d both overheard, moments they’d survived in chaotic silence. At one point, she laughed so hard she accidentally choked on a sip of beer, and he leaned forward with concern—hands braced on the table, eyes focused.

“You okay?”

She coughed once, nodding, waving a hand. “I’m fine.”

“You should chew before you drink,” he murmured, sliding a napkin toward her. “It’s basic survival.”

She grinned as she wiped her mouth. “You’re bossy even off-duty.” He tilted his head, eyes lingering a second too long. “You wouldn’t like me if I weren’t.”

“I think I already do,” she blurted—then froze.

His gaze sharpened, but instead of teasing her, he said—softly, without irony:

“I know.”

Her throat tightened, caught between panic and warmth.

The rest of dinner passed in that quiet, humming space—closer now. Like they were both slowly inching toward something they couldn’t define yet, but neither wanted to stop. Outside, under the glow of streetlights, he didn’t offer to drive her home.

He just walked beside her, hands in his coat pockets, shoulder brushing hers every few steps. When they reached the corner where their paths split, she turned to say goodbye—but Sunghoon spoke first.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said. “Whatever… this is.” She didn’t respond right away. Just stepped closer.

“Then don’t think too hard about it tonight,” she whispered. “Just walk me home.” So he did.

⸻

The next morning, Y/N showed up early to rounds with a coffee in each hand—one hers, the other a quiet gamble. She didn’t expect much. Maybe a nod. Maybe nothing. But when she passed Sunghoon in the hallway outside the nurse’s station, he took the cup without a word. Their fingers brushed. His gaze dipped to the coffee sleeve, then to her. “Still trying to bribe your way into my good graces?” he murmured, a corner of his mouth twitching.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “Bribes are more effective than flattery with you. That much I’ve learned.” A beat passed. His voice was lower when he added, “You’re not wrong.”

—

They were checking in on a sweet older patient in recovery—a woman who’d had a complicated mitral valve repair that Sunghoon had handled with his usual precision. Y/N stood beside him as he reviewed the charts, jotting quick notes. The woman, Mrs. Choi, smiled up at them from her bed with knowing eyes and years of unspoken wisdom crinkled at the corners.

“Doctor Park,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but clear. “You’re different when she’s around. Sunghoon paused mid-note, not looking up. “I’m always professional.”

She waved a frail hand. “Professional, yes. But warmer. Not so much like a machine.” Y/N choked back a laugh, quickly glancing at Sunghoon—who, for the first time in weeks, looked genuinely flustered. “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Choi added kindly. “It’s a compliment. She brings the color out of you. You both make a good pair. In surgery and in life.” Sunghoon didn’t respond right away, flipping a page in her chart with more force than necessary. But then, without looking at Y/N, he said under his breath, “Tell me when your fan club starts mailing out T-shirts.”

Y/N smiled. “Only if you promise to wear one.”

—

Later that afternoon, they passed in the hallway again, mid-shift. No words. But he slowed down just long enough to let his fingers graze hers—barely a touch, almost an accident.

Except it wasn’t.

She turned, heart stuttering, only to find him already walking away. But his hand lifted briefly in a lazy half-wave—uncharacteristically casual.

She couldn’t stop the grin that followed.

⸻

It was nearly 3AM by the time they finally peeled off their scrubs, the adrenaline of the six-hour operation slowly bleeding out into exhaustion. The OR had been tense—delicate vascular repair on a child, high-risk and high-stakes. They’d barely spoken during the procedure, every move precise, instinctive. In sync. Now, the silence in the break room felt heavier, softer somehow.

Y/N sat on the worn-out cot first, back against the wall, her eyelids already drooping as she clutched a water bottle with trembling fingers. Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a long beat. “You should sleep,” he said quietly.

She looked up, too tired to smile. “You too. You look like hell.”

He scoffed lightly, but there was no bite to it. “Flattery again?”

“Always.”

He finally moved, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of the chair. Then he hesitated—just for a second—before sitting beside her on the cot. There wasn’t much space. Their shoulders brushed. He didn’t pull away.

Neither did she.

The room was dim, the air slightly too warm. Her head dropped onto his shoulder without warning, and when she realized it, she jolted back with a quiet gasp.

“Sorry—”

He caught her wrist gently before she could move further. “It’s fine,” he said, softer than she’d ever heard him. So she settled back in, slower this time.

She felt his breath steady beside her. His body warm and solid. After a while, he shifted just enough to ease her down gently onto the cot, stretching out beside her. She blinked at him, eyes wide.

“You’re going to sleep here too?”

“You think I’ll leave you unsupervised after today?” he murmured. “You’ll probably try to round on three patients in your dreams.”

She chuckled, eyes fluttering shut.

Then came the quiet surprise—his arm sliding around her waist, anchoring her close. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t bold.

It was careful. Considerate. Quiet.

Like everything he did with her lately.

She melted into it, letting her hand rest lightly against his chest. His heartbeat thudded against her palm—steady, controlled, but undeniably there.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Neither of them moved. Just before she drifted off, she whispered, “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.” He didn’t respond. But the grip of his arm around her tightened just a little.

Enough to say, I know.

⸻

When Y/N blinked awake, the room was filled with that hazy, gray pre-dawn light seeping through the slats of the blinds. Her body ached with the kind of deep, all-consuming fatigue only surgeons knew—but it wasn’t discomfort that pulled her out of sleep.

It was warmth.

Steady, solid warmth wrapped around her like a cocoon. A strong arm still draped over her waist, and the quiet rhythm of someone breathing close—too close to be anyone but him. Her head was resting on his chest. Her fingers were curled loosely into the soft fabric of his shirt. And Sunghoon… Sunghoon hadn’t moved. She froze for a second, trying to process how close they still were, how completely tangled. She could hear his heartbeat. Feel it. She could feel everything. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her head just enough to see his face. Eyes closed. Jaw relaxed. Breathing even. Asleep. Or pretending to be.

She let herself look—really look—for just a second. This version of him, stripped of sharp lines and distance, was softer. Younger. And heartbreakingly human. A flutter moved through her chest. Unwelcome and warm.

She shifted slightly, trying to untangle herself without waking him—but as soon as she moved, his hand flexed on her waist. Not tight. Just deliberate. And then she heard his voice. Low. Raspy with sleep.

“…You talk in your sleep again.”

Her breath caught. “I wasn’t asleep yet.”

A beat. His eyes opened—just a sliver, just enough to meet hers. There was no smirk. No teasing. Just that quiet, unreadable look she was starting to memorize. “You said my name,” he murmured.

She flushed instantly, words scrambling. “I—I don’t remember—”

“I do.”

The silence that followed stretched thin, warm, alive with something unspoken. Her fingers curled unconsciously against his shirt again.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he closed his eyes again and said quietly, “Five more minutes. Then you can go back to pretending we don’t like each other.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “Deal.”

And so they stayed like that—still, silent, suspended in the soft gray hour between night and morning. Not quite a confession. Not quite a denial. But something real in between.

⸻

By noon, they were back in their whites. Sunghoon was reviewing scans with his usual unreadable expression, and Y/N was beside him, slightly more relaxed than usual—though her hands still fidgeted with the corner of the tablet as she read vitals over his shoulder. When she reached for a pen at the same time he did, their fingers brushed—brief, but enough to make her flinch half an inch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he just kept writing, deadpan. “You can’t keep doing that every time we touch.”

“Doing what?” she said, a little too quickly.

“Acting like it didn’t happen,” he murmured without looking up.

She blinked. Her pulse fluttered. And when she stole a glance at him—just a flick of her eyes—his mouth twitched like he’d caught it. Later, in the OR, they worked on a post-op complication together. Fast. Fluid. Almost like they could read each other’s thoughts.

“Clamp,” she said.

He passed it.

“Retract?”

He was already moving. “I’m on it.”

“Pressure’s stable—”

“Keep it there. Good.”

One of the scrub nurses muttered to the anesthesiologist, “They always been this in sync?”

The other nurse shrugged. “Didn’t use to be. Something changed.”

⸻

After surgery, they scrubbed out together in silence—shoulders brushing as they reached for the same towel. Again.

This time, neither of them moved away.

“I’m just saying,” said Dr. Ryu, a junior resident passing by with a smug smile, “if you two want to start finishing each other’s sentences, the rest of us will just assume it’s a married couple thing.” Y/N nearly dropped her towel. Sunghoon didn’t even blink. But then he turned to her, eyes steady, and said dryly, “We’ll have to work on our vows then.”

She stared at him, completely thrown.

He walked away.

She was left blushing by the sinks, heart hammering, while the other resident practically cackled.

⸻

It was nearing the end of their shift when Y/N noticed the blood.Just a faint smear against Sunghoon’s glove, but enough to stop her mid-sentence. She followed the trail with her eyes—to the side of his hand, just beneath the wrist. A shallow but angry-looking gash.

“Hey,” she said sharply. “What happened?”

He barely glanced at it. “Caught it on the edge of the equipment cart earlier. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” she snapped, louder than she intended.

He raised a brow at her. “Y/N—”

“You didn’t even clean it?”

“I didn’t have time.”

She exhaled tightly, already pulling gloves and antiseptic from the drawer beside her. “Sit.”

“I’m not a patient.”

“Well, you’re bleeding like one, so shut up and sit.”

There was something wild in her eyes, not just frustration but worry—sharp and real. He sat.She took his hand gently, pressing a sterile cloth against the cut. He flinched, just barely, and she softened her touch instantly.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “You have to take care of yourself too, you know.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“No,” she said, voice quieter now. “You are. You do this thing—like if you ignore it, it won’t hurt. That’s not how it works. You’re not invincible, Sunghoon.”

His name on her lips made his fingers twitch in hers.

She wrapped the gauze slowly, carefully, her brow furrowed. Her touch was precise, but tender—almost reverent. He watched her, watched the way she handled him like something she couldn’t afford to break.And when she finally looked up, their faces were too close. The air between them pulsed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Her eyes flicked to his. “For what?”

“For caring. Even when I make it hard.”

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Because her hand was still on his, and he hadn’t pulled away, and something in her chest was fluttering, aching, burning.

He leaned in—slowly, hesitantly—as if giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

Their lips met gently, barely more than a brush at first—but it deepened quickly, quietly, like something inevitable. Like the world narrowed to just this moment. His uninjured hand cupped the side of her neck, pulling her in, anchoring her there. Her fingers gripped his wrist—not his bandaged one, but the other—steady, sure, as if grounding herself.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t impulsive.

It was earned—built from every sleepless shift, every whispered name, every quiet act of care they never spoke about.

When they finally parted, neither of them moved right away. His forehead rested against hers. Their breaths tangled.

“Was that okay?” he asked, low, vulnerable.

She nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled, just the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

⸻

The hospital was as chaotic as ever the next morning—stretchers rolling in, pages echoing through the halls, the clatter of carts and calls for consults. But beneath all of it, something felt… different.

Not between everyone.

Just between them.

Y/N found Sunghoon in the hallway outside the cardiology wing, reviewing a file. He looked up the moment he felt her approach—like he’d already known she was coming.

No words at first. Just a lingering look.

Not the cold kind. Not the unreadable one.

This was the quiet acknowledgment of something shared. Something real.

He handed her the chart without breaking eye contact. “You’re late.”

She took it, unbothered. “You’re always early.”

“Habit.”

“Control freak.”

He smirked. “Still talking in your sleep?”

“Only when someone forgets to give me a blanket.”

He didn’t laugh—but his smile stayed. Barely-there, but constant. And warm. They walked down the hall in sync. She was reading vitals. He was adjusting his watch. Their hands brushed again—this time, neither pulled away.

⸻

In the recovery room, an elderly patient tilted her head at them after her post-op checkup. Mrs. Kang

“You two married?” she asked with a sly grin.

Y/N choked slightly. Sunghoon didn’t even blink.

“Not yet,” he said smoothly, turning the page on her chart.

Y/N turned bright red. “Dr. Park—!”

He passed her the clipboard like nothing happened, eyes twinkling as he whispered, “Don’t deny fate, Y/N.” She shot him a glare that had no real heat. Just a flustered kind of fondness.

The patient just chuckled to herself and said, “Well, I’ll be alive long enough to see it, I hope.”

Sunghoon, for the first time in front of someone else, let himself smile fully. “Count on it.”

⸻

The day passed in a rhythm. They shared notes without asking. Their silences were no longer tense—just comfortable. He offered her a ride home again, and this time, she didn’t hesitate.

When they reached her building, he didn’t say anything at first. Just reached into the backseat and handed her a little paper bag.

“What’s this?”

“Your favorite snack,” he said like it was obvious.

She stared. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did.”

There was no teasing this time. No sarcasm.

Just honesty.

She softened. “You’re really not that grumpy.”

He glanced at her, mouth tugging into that small, familiar smile again. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”

She laughed—and leaned in. A small kiss to his cheek this time, just as she stepped out. He blinked. Clearly not expecting it.

“See you tomorrow, Dr. Park.”

His voice followed her up the stairs. “Don’t be late, Dr. Y/N.”And for the first time in a long time, the shift in both of them wasn’t looming or confusing.

It just was.

Settled. Steady. Real.

⸻

Their rare day off was quiet, the kind of morning where even the city seemed to hush. Sunghoon didn’t tell her where they were going at first—just that he was picking her up early and to wear something warm.

They drove in companionable silence. The road stretched away from the city and into the hills, lined with budding trees and spring wind. She didn’t ask. She could tell from the way he gripped the wheel—steady, focused—that this wasn’t just a casual drive.

When they arrived, he parked at the edge of a small cemetery. Clean. Peaceful. Tucked behind rows of cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom.

Y/N followed him up the gentle slope until they stopped in front of a simple headstone: Kang Jiwoo. The inscription was brief. The flowers beside it fresh.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, hands in his coat pockets, gaze fixed on the stone. Y/N didn’t speak either. She just waited.

After a moment, he exhaled quietly.

“I come here every year,” he said, almost absently. “More often in the beginning. Now… when it feels right.” She glanced at him. He looked calm, but not distant. Like this wasn’t a weight he carried alone anymore.

“She was a nurse,” he continued. “Bright. Too bright for someone like me, really. She used to call me a robot.”

Y/N smiled softly. “She had a point.”

He huffed, faintly amused.

“She made me less rigid,” he said. “Taught me how to slow down. How to care without calculating the risk.” His voice dipped. “I forgot that after I lost her.” Y/N stepped closer but didn’t touch him—just let her presence be known, steady and quiet. He turned to her then, and for the first time, there was no shadow behind his eyes when he looked at her. Just something open. Braver.

“I wanted you to meet her,” he said. “In a way. Because… I think she would’ve liked you.”

Y/N’s eyes prickled, but she blinked it back. She knelt, brushing a stray leaf from the base of the stone, and whispered under her breath.

“Hi, Jiwoo,” she said softly. “I’m not here to take anything. Just asking for a little blessing.”

She smiled, tilting her head up toward the sky. “I’ve been waiting for someone who could make me feel safe without making me smaller. Who doesn’t need me to be perfect. Just… me.”

Sunghoon’s chest ached in a way he hadn’t expected. “And I think I found him,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper. “So if you’re watching over him… maybe you could watch over me, too?” He crouched beside her then. Not touching. Just being close.

Their shoulders brushed. The wind moved gently through the trees.

“I think,” he said quietly, “she already is.”

⸻

They drove back with lighter hearts. He let her control the playlist this time. She didn’t tease him when he hummed along. And when she reached across the center console to lace her fingers through his, he didn’t hesitate.

Not this time.

Sunghoon didn’t take her home right away.

Instead, he drove them into a quiet town square nearby. It was the kind of place with cobbled sidewalks, sun-washed shop windows, and a single family-run restaurant that smelled like warmth and comfort the moment they stepped in.

The old couple who ran the place greeted Sunghoon like an old friend.

“Aigoo, Doctor Park!” the ahjumma beamed, wiping her hands on her apron. “You finally brought someone!”

Y/N blinked, slightly startled. Sunghoon rubbed the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard. “We’re just—”

But the ahjussi had already waved them in. “Sit, sit! We’ll bring your usual. And something sweet for the lady, hmm?” They sat at the small wooden table by the window, surrounded by cozy mismatched chairs and plants in chipped mugs. Y/N leaned her chin on her palm, amused.

“Finally brought someone?’ You bring girls here often, Dr. Park?”

“Never,” he said, not even blinking. “You’re the first.”

That shut her up.

Lunch came fast—simple, homey dishes. Kimchi jjigae, crispy jeon, and a little plate of tteok for dessert. Midway through the meal, the ahjumma came over to refill their water, squinting at them like she was trying to solve a happy mystery.

“Are you two married already?” she asked brightly. “You look like a couple with a toddler waiting at home.” Y/N nearly choked on her bite. “N-No! We’re not—”

Sunghoon just raised a brow but didn’t correct her. The ahjumma chuckled, clearly not buying it. “He always looked too serious before, but now look—he’s all soft around the edges.” She winked at Y/N. ���That’s love, yeobo.”

The word hit Y/N like a jolt of warm electricity.

Sunghoon stood to pay before she could respond, muttering something about “old people being nosy” under his breath. As they walked out, Y/N nudged him, eyes still sparkling.

“You gonna call me yeobo now, too?”

“Do you want me to?” he asked, completely straight-faced. She laughed—full and real. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He opened the car door for her and leaned in just slightly.

“Try me, yeobo.”

She flushed to the tips of her ears and swatted his chest, climbing in with a flustered smile that didn’t leave her face for hours.

⸻

After lunch, they strolled through the small town center, ducking into shops just for the fun of it. She made him try on ridiculous sunglasses. He made her pick a snack from the bakery “for later,” even though she insisted she wasn’t hungry.

They walked shoulder to shoulder, brushing arms, laughing quietly like the world had softened just for them. No pager, no emergencies. Just them. He bought her a tiny ceramic poodle figurine after she giggled at how much it looked like Gaeul. She didn’t say it out loud, but she wrapped her fingers around it carefully like it meant more than just a joke.

Dinner was unplanned. A small grill restaurant, tucked between two boutiques. The kind of place with sizzling meat and clinking plates and the warmth of shared stories over charcoal smoke. Y/N tried to pour him soju, and he dodged it at first—“I’m driving”—but she pouted until he let her at least fill his glass with cider.

“I had a really good day,” she said at one point, poking at her bowl of rice. “Thank you for letting me in.”

He looked at her for a moment longer than he should have. “You’re already in,” he said quietly. “You’ve been in for a while.”

The sky had long gone dark by the time they drove back. The road home was quiet, lined with streetlamps casting warm pools of light on the asphalt.

She fell asleep somewhere along the way, her head tipping toward the window before finally sliding softly to his shoulder. Her breath was slow, steady, warm against his shirt.

Sunghoon didn’t move. He just let her rest.

When they pulled up to her apartment, he cut the engine and sat for a second longer than he needed to. Her eyes fluttered open, a little dazed and blinking at him.

“We’re home,” he murmured.

She nodded slowly, stretching with a yawn. But when he got out and walked her to the door like he always did, she didn’t open it right away. Instead, she turned, leaned against it, and looked up at him.

“You could stay,” she said, softly.

He blinked. “Y/N…”

She pulled her best weapon—those wide eyes, full of mischief and something gentler underneath. “Just to talk. Watch something. You know. Rest. He arched a brow. “This isn’t how resting usually works.” “You haven’t rested all day either.” He hesitated. But then she tugged his sleeve, and he caved like he always did.

Inside, she handed him a blanket and told him to sit while she made tea. He didn’t say anything, just followed her lead, the corners of his mouth twitching into something almost boyish as he looked around her apartment like he was seeing it for the first time. And when she finally flopped down beside him, tea in hand, he whispered without looking at her, “You know this doesn’t feel temporary, right?” She sipped her tea, leaned against him, and whispered back, “It doesn’t have to be.”

⸻

They didn’t pick anything serious to watch. Just a random drama that was trending—one with overly dramatic plot twists, too-pretty doctors, and love triangles that made them both scoff. She sat curled up under one end of the blanket. He sat beside her, long legs stretched out, sipping the tea she made like it wasn’t too sweet for his taste. At one point, she laughed—loud and unfiltered—at a particularly absurd scene. Sunghoon turned toward her with a small, incredulous smile.

“You’re really into this, huh?”

“It’s terrible. But I need to know if the second lead confesses before the wedding.”

He chuckled under his breath and shook his head, but when she leaned into him during the next episode without saying a word, he didn’t shift away. He just pulled the blanket up around her shoulders a little more securely. By the third episode, her eyes started fluttering closed again.

“You’re falling asleep,” he said softly.

She hummed. “’M not.”

He glanced down to find her curled into his side, tea long abandoned on the table. Her breathing deepened. His shoulder had become her pillow again. He didn’t mind.

⸻

When the credits rolled, he muted the TV and let the silence fill the room. A soft hum from the fridge, the occasional car passing outside.She stirred in her sleep but didn’t wake. Sunghoon watched her for a moment—her hair slightly messy from the couch pillow, one hand resting over her stomach like a sleeping child, a small frown between her brows even now. Always so much feeling in her. His fingers hovered above her cheek for a second before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You really are something else,” he murmured, voice so low it got swallowed by the dark. He leaned back, head tilting against the couch, and closed his eyes.

⸻

They woke tangled.

She stirred first—blinking blearily, realizing her hand was on his chest and her legs draped over his.“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Hmm?” he groaned, eyes half-lidded. “You move a lot.”“You’re literally hugging me.” He looked down, then shrugged, completely unapologetic. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

She flushed, but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto her lips. “So… you’re staying for breakfast?” He smirked, brushing a thumb against the back of her hand before standing to stretch. “Only if you’re making pancakes.”

“Only if you’re doing the dishes.”

“Deal.”

It was the kind of morning that felt like they’d been doing this for years.

⸻

The scent of butter and warm batter filled the small kitchen, sunlight pouring in through the half-open blinds. Y/N stood by the stove, flipping the pancakes with practiced ease, still wearing her sleep shirt and the flannel pants she’d tossed on earlier. Her hair was a little messy. Her eyes still carried that post-nap haze. But there was a softness in the air, one that hadn’t quite left since they woke up.

She didn’t hear him walk in at first.So when Sunghoon wrapped his arms around her from behind, she let out a startled little squeak, only for him to chuckle and bury his face into the crook of her neck.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

She relaxed into him instinctively, the spatula in her hand hovering over the pan. “You’re clingy,” she said, but there was no bite—only fondness.

“You’re pretty,” he replied, arms tightening a little as he nuzzled behind her ear. “Baby.” She blinked at the pet name, her breath hitching just a little. It came out so effortlessly.

As if he’d always meant to call her that.

“I’m trying to make you breakfast,” she whispered, heart thudding quietly in her chest.

“I know,” he said, smiling into her skin. “But it’s unfair. You’re cooking and looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like the girl I’m… falling for.”

She went still, just for a beat. Not dramatic. Not heavy. Just honest. Soft-spoken and steady, like he wasn’t afraid of the truth anymore. She turned slightly, just enough to see his face. “That so?” Sunghoon kissed her temple, then her cheek. “Mm. I like waking up with you. Like this.”“Even if I burn your pancakes?”

“I’ll eat them anyway.”

She turned fully, wrapping her arms around his waist this time, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “Then let me finish, clingy boy.” “Fine.” He smirked. “But I’m still hugging you while you do it.” And he did—standing there behind her, arms around her middle, chin on her shoulder while she made breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

part 2

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Made for Me | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

summary: after a long day on the job, all terry wants is the warmth of his woman and the comfort of home. but when she’s not waiting at the door, he finds something even sweeter waiting in bed and a night that reminds him just how lucky he is.

word count: 2.3K

warnings: fluff, explicit smut (18+), praise kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, domestic intimacy, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, spanking, dirty talk, themes of possessiveness + ownership, aftercare

a/n: soft!dom terry and wife worship ?? sign me up

The door creaked open on its hinges, the familiar weight of it grounding Terry as he stepped inside, steel-toe boots thudding heavily against the floor. The scent of home hit him first, something warm, seasoned, and slow-cooked. His stomach grumbled. His shoulders ached. Muscles pulled taut from a long shift, grease still clinging under his fingernails and grit caked into the lines of his palms.

The house was quiet.

No soft footsteps rushing to the door. No warm body throwing arms around his neck, peppering kisses across his jaw, teasing him for smelling like diesel and sweat. Just silence, low-lit lamps, and the soft hum of something playing faintly from the kitchen radio.

He paused, brows drawing together. Not in frustration, just… surprise. He had been used to her. To that light in his day, that little smile she always wore just for him, like she had been waiting all afternoon just to make him feel like a king walking through the door.

Instead, he found a plate waiting on the kitchen counter, wrapped neatly in foil. Beside it, a little note written in her hand:

“Eat up, baby. I made your favourite. Didn’t want it to get cold. I’ll be waiting in bed. I love you.”

—x—

A slow smile curved across his face as he pulled off his jacket, fingers lingering on the note. His chest swelled, soft with affection and longing. God, he loved her.

Still… something about the house without her presence at the door made it feel too still. Like it hadn’t quite turned into home yet.

He sat down, ate with quiet gratitude, licking sauce from his thumb and letting the warmth of her cooking settle in his bones. But the thing he really craved?

Was upstairs.

Waiting for him.

Terry set his empty plate in the sink, gave the note one last glance, and sighed like a man already half-asleep on his feet. Every muscle begged for rest, but his mind was fixed on her - how quiet the house felt without her laughter drifting from the living room, or the scent of her skin hugging him in welcome.

Upstairs, he peeled off his clothes slow. Not for show, he never did anything just for show but because that was how he unwound. Belt undone, jeans shrugged off one leg at a time, T-shirt pulled over his head and tossed into the hamper with a tired grunt.

The shower steamed quickly, hot and heavy as he stepped beneath the spray. Dirt and sweat ran in rivulets down his broad back, his arms, his thick thighs. He braced one hand on the wall, head bowed, letting the water drum against sore shoulders. Another day down.

He reached for the soap, lathered up slowly, scrubbing the grime from his skin. A breathy chuckle escaped as he murmured to himself, low and fond,

“She’d still call me handsome even when I come home smelling like work. Crazy little thing.”

He thought of her in that second, probably curled up in bed, half-asleep, wearing one of those soft nightgowns she swore weren’t sexy. But to him?

God, nothing had ever looked better.

He washed his neck, thinking of her lips there. Washed between his legs, thinking of how her hands always fit just right. She had been in every thought, every muscle memory, every sigh that left his lungs.

He finished up with another long pass of water over his face, letting the day slide off him completely. Then, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, he stepped out, silent and barefoot, ready to find the heart of his home.

The bedroom was dim and quiet, moonlight cutting soft lines across the floor. Terry stepped in, still towel-clad, still warm from the shower, and stopped in his tracks.

There she was.

Curled up on her side of the bed, delicate and small despite how deeply she filled every corner of his heart. One arm tucked under her head, legs drawn up, nightdress bunched up high on her thighs like it always did when she slept deep and undisturbed.

It wasn’t anything flashy; no lace, no satin. Just a soft, worn little thing. Wife-core to the bone. But it was hers. And on her? Christ. It clung to every soft swell and gentle curve like it was stitched by the hands of fate just for her and his eyes alone.

Terry stood there for a long moment, just watching. Chest aching with something bigger than exhaustion, heavier than lust. That familiar swell behind the ribs, the feeling that this was what made every long shift worth it.

He padded closer, slow and quiet, not wanting to startle her. The towel slipped lower on his hips as he knelt beside the bed and reached out.

His fingers brushed the bare skin of her calf, warm and smooth under his calloused hand.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice low and thick with longing. “Come into bed more. You know I couldn’t sleep without holdin’ my girl.”

She stirred, slow and groggy, barely blinking as she turned her head toward him. Her voice was a breath of air, soft and drowsy:

“Wanted to leave space for you…”

God.

It hit him like a punch to the gut - the kind that stole your breath not from pain, but from love so thick it pressed into your lungs.

“Aw, sweetheart…”

He eased the blanket back, climbed in beside her, strong arms snaking around her waist. One hand slid up her side, coaxing her gently toward him, cradling her like she was made of spun sugar.

She stretched in that half-asleep way, arms forward, legs back, and her body arched, slow and feline. The hem of her nightdress hiked up over her hips in the process. And that was when he saw it.

Nothing underneath.

No panties. Just bare, warm, glistening skin.

Terry stilled.

His breath stopped in his chest, then spilled out in one slow, ragged draw. That pulse between his legs kicked alive, instant and undeniable.

“Ooooh fuck, woman…” His voice was thick, almost reverent, laced with a growl at the end. “The things you do to me.”

He didn’t pounce. He didn’t rush.

No, he slid out from under the covers, knelt behind her at the edge of the bed, and just looked.

Big hands spread her thighs with reverent care. He groaned under his breath at the sight—soft folds slick and glistening, waiting, aching. Her warmth already called to him.

“You tryna kill me, leavin’ this sweet little thing waitin’ for me like that?” His voice dipped lower, rougher. He palmed the curve of her ass, leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, slow and indulgent.

One hand kept her spread while the other ran up her spine, settling over her lower back. His mouth hovered just barely above her cunt, his breath ghosting over sensitive skin.

He kissed her again, right there, tongue parting her lips in a slow, deliberate lick from back to front.

“Mmhm… you taste like my girl. My good little wife. Built for me, huh?”

Terry was already on his knees, shoulders square between her thighs. The room was quiet, still, save for the soft sigh of her breathing and the low hum of his voice, thick with hunger.

He leaned in again, tongue flattening as he licked a long, deliberate stripe up her soaked centre. Her thighs twitched. He hummed into her, pleased.

“You taste like my whole damn world, baby…” he groaned, barely audible as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss to her folds. “This pussy’s heaven.”

He didn’t rush. He savoured.

Slow, deep licks. Tongue flicking against her clit, then dipping lower to tease her entrance, then lower still, giving her ass the same reverence, like she was made of gold and he was here to worship.

He ate like a man starved. Gripping the meat of her thighs to keep her still while he feasted, each moan vibrating against her until she was gasping, trembling, toes curled into the sheets.

“Can’t believe this is mine…” he panted, between licks. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I ever tasted. Goddamn, girl, you spoil me.”

She tried to wriggle, the pressure building too fast—but he didn’t let her go.

“Uh-uh, stay right there. Don’t you run from me.”

He groaned as she began to fall apart, her thighs squeezing around his head, her voice cracking with breathless, desperate moans.

That was what he wanted. That was what he needed.

She came with a whimper, shaking, face buried in a pillow, and he didn’t stop, not until she was gasping, twitching, overstimulated.

Only then did he pull back, face wet, eyes dark, voice wrecked with praise.

“That’s my good girl… makin’ Daddy proud.

The moment he sank into her, it was deep, slow—deliberate. He paused just for a second, allowing her to adjust to the fullness of him before pulling her closer. The weight of him stretched her, making her gasp softly. He watched her closely, his hands digging into her waist, fingers marking her skin as if he wanted to brand her.

He let her ride for a moment, a slow rhythm at first. Her hips rolled against him, taking what he gave her, each movement driving him mad with the sweet friction.

Then, with one swift motion, he flipped her. Her body landed with a soft thud against the bed, and he loomed over her, a grin playing on his lips, cock still buried deep inside her. He couldn’t stop himself from praising her, the words spilling out like they’d been pent up for far too long.

“The boys at work don’t know I come home to a pussy like this,” he gritted, voice rough and possessive. “They can only dream about this. My perfect little wife. Built just for me, aren’t you?”

Her brain was fogged with pleasure. Her body could barely keep up. She wanted to respond, but all she could manage was a desperate, incoherent whimper.

Terry chuckled darkly at her lack of words. His hand came down on her ass with a sharp, satisfying crack. The sound reverberated in the room, making the heat between them even hotter. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, gravelly and commanding.

“Say it. Tell Daddy who owned this sweet fuckin’ cunt.”

Her body trembled, and she could barely speak through the haze of pleasure. But she knew what he wanted. She knew he would never let up until she gave him what he needed.

“Y-You, Terry,” she gasped, voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “You own me. All yours.”

The words sent a surge of possessiveness through him, and he rutted into her, pushing deeper. His body moved like an unstoppable force, each thrust a little harder, a little faster, until she was gasping, clinging to the sheets beneath her.

He could feel her tightness, her heat, her desperate need for him. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her, keeping her in place as he took what was his.

“Good girl,” he murmured, praising her through gritted teeth. “So fuckin’ good for me. I could never share you. You’re built just for me.”

Her body trembled with the force of each thrust, and Terry could feel the way she tightened around him, her orgasm building. He slapped her ass again, louder this time, and heard her voice break with pleasure, feeling her pussy flutter around him in response.

Her moans fuelled him, making him want to lose himself in her.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice thick with need. “Tell me who owned this pussy.”

Her words spilled out in a rush, breathless and full of need. “You do, Terry! You own me! I’m yours!”

Her response spurred him on, and his pace quickened. He felt himself getting closer, he could feel the tightening in his gut, the familiar rush of pleasure building inside him. Her cries became more frantic, her body rocking in time with his.

Then, just when he thought he couldn’t hold back anymore, he hit that perfect spot—the spot that made her scream out in pleasure. She cried his name, her orgasm rushing over her in waves. Her body shook, and the sound of her release drove him wild.

The warmth of her pleasure, the way her body tightened around him, pushed him over the edge. With a final groan, he released, burying himself deep inside her as his own orgasm hit, flooding her with his warmth.

He stayed still for a moment, chest heaving, both of them caught in the aftershocks of the intensity of it all.

The room felt thick with warmth and sweat, the air still humming with the echoes of their bodies. Terry moved slowly, as if the world had quieted around them. He reached for a soft towel by the bed, careful not to pull too far from her. His movements were gentle, reverent, like he was handling something sacred.

He murmured something low, a kiss pressed to the curve of her shoulder. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

She whimpered softly, spent and pliant, trusting him entirely as he cleaned her up. Every swipe was tender, not rushed, like he was committing her to memory all over again. He tossed the towel aside when he was done and slipped back under the blankets, gathering her close until her body curved perfectly into his.

One arm wrapped firmly around her middle, the other came up to stroke her hair—slow, soothing, like he could lull her to sleep just with the rhythm of his touch. His nose nuzzled the top of her head, breath brushing her temple.

“You’re all I ever wanted,” he whispered, voice thick with everything he didn’t say aloud. “My good girl. My whole damn heart.”

She didn’t speak right away, too heavy-limbed and sated, but when she did, her voice was small and drowsy.

“You’re mine too.”

Her words settled into him like a prayer, anchoring him. Terry tightened his hold just slightly, grounding himself in the weight of her, the scent of her skin, the soft rise and fall of her chest against his.

Outside, the moonlight peeked in faint silver slivers through the curtains. But inside their little world, everything was warm and still.

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶��🫶🏾🫶🏾

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ reckless driver [frank langdon x f!reader]

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

synopsis: we all need a little bit of healing (or frank patches you up after an accident)

a/n: i got really badly injured at a waterfall and then proceeded to write this while holding back tears. also i binged the pitt and i'm so deeply in love with frank i love my wet rat babygirl.

thank you to @eurydiceauxenfers for being the best beta a girl can ask for <3

tagging @mayfieldss and @a-house-of-endless-fandoms for suffering through my pitt tangents

This wasn’t out of the norm for you.

Not the type of injury, of course, just ending up injured. You were prone to tripping, falling, hitting something, pretty much any accident under the sun. You woke up with bruises and cuts you didn’t remember receiving, and aches that weren’t there before. As long as you weren’t bleeding, you considered it fine. Take some ibuprofen and call it a day. As befits a doctor, you were horrible at taking care of yourself.

It was that flippant attitude that ended with you in this situation. You took the bus to work, like every morning, getting off at the closest spot to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It was still a 10-minute walk, but the sun was out, so you didn’t mind. Until you saw a dog run out into the road in front of a car, and then decided to run and push the dog out of the way. You always did have a soft spot for animals.

Of course, the car didn’t stop. You would consider the treatment you got a love tap. Sure, you landed flat on your back on the pavement, but no broken bones. You weren’t dead. You weren’t bleeding too badly. It took you all of five minutes to tell people that ‘yes, I’m fine’ and ‘I’m a doctor, I would know’ before they’d leave you alone. It took you another five minutes to (calmly) chastise the driver for their negligence.

You were late to work and unhappy about it.

A couple of minutes into your walk, the adrenaline wore off, and your leg started to hurt. Like, really badly. Your head kinda swam too, but you ignored that. The driver did hit your leg straight on, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But you really didn’t want to worry your colleagues.

Robby would make you go home; he was overprotective like that. Dana would follow you around like a mother hen. And Langdon would…be Langdon.

You never knew with Frank. He was one year ahead of you in his residency and usually full of snark and a boundless energy you couldn’t match. You thought he was cute the first day and hid that info by being as sarcastic as he was. Using humor to deflect your feelings was one of the best ways to avoid getting hurt. Especially when the inevitable would be nothing happening and him finding someone else.

(It would absolutely devastate you anyway.)

But the few times you got hurt to the point of it being a problem, there was a switch in Frank. He would become worse than Dana, but a whole lot more argumentative. Part of you liked to think he cared, the other part wondered if it was exasperation in his tone. 

(You would keep getting hurt if it meant you could feel his touch on you.)

You made it to the hospital by slowly limping as fast as you could. You entered the ER, slowed to a stroll to hide your leg, planning on waiting until you could corner Samira to help you out. She always was good with confidentiality. 

You were never that lucky. You took approximately ten steps, said hello to Robby, who was waiting at central, before getting called back by him. He had taken one look at you and known something was wrong.

“Morning, doc,” you saluted, hiking your bag up on your shoulder. He narrowed his eyes.

“What happened.”

It wasn’t a question the way he said it.

“Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit. What happened.”

Robby was like a bloodhound when someone he cared about was hurt. It was very annoying. Probably what made him a good doctor.

“Just had a run in, not a big deal,” you shrugged. He still didn’t believe you. Footsteps behind you made you inwardly curse.

“What’s up?” Frank asked, jogging up. He looked like he had his morning Red Bull and was raring to go.

“Dr. L/N was going to tell us how she got hurt this morning.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“What? You’re hurt?” Frank immediately stepped toward you, tone serious and brows furrowed. You glared at them both.

“No, I’m totally fine. See?” You twirled on your feet, clenching your teeth as your leg protested. Robby noticed.

“I want you to walk normally in a straight line,” Robby crossed his arms, looking you up and down. You blinked back at him. You walked slowly until Robby narrowed his eyes, and you were forced to pick up the pace. You felt tears prick your eyes. “I’ll ask you again. What. Happened.”

Robby had this tone he got with his residents, like they were unruly children lying about their report card, and you hated to hear it. It made you feel like you should be in time out.

You mumbled about the car.

“I’m sorry?” Robby leaned forward.

“I maybe accidentally, perhaps, been hit by a car,” you rushed out, taking a step back as if you could escape to the lockers. 

“What?!” Robby and Langdon both said at the same time. You flinched at the noise. 

“Room 2. Now,” Robby snapped, grabbing your arm and dragging you forward. You dug your heels in despite the pain and refused to budge. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine! I don’t need medical attention!” You seethed, trying to wrench out of his grip.

“Langdon. Grab her.”

Frank immediately stepped up behind you, blocking your escape. 

“Sorry, princess,” he shrugged, picking you up when you wouldn’t move. He ended up throwing you over his shoulder when you proved to be difficult. “Would you stop hitting me?!”

“Let me down or so help me God—“

“You’ll what? Limp toward me in fury?”

“Motherfu—“

Langdon plopped you on the patient bed in a huff. Robby closed the door, and you knew that you had lost this battle. No way getting past these two. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” Robby sighed.

“I don’t like bothering people,” you crossed your arms, leaning back on the pillows. Before he could examine you, one of the nurses knocked on the door, telling Robby they needed him. He looked between you and Langdon, running his hand over his head.

“Langdon, take care of her. I’ll be back,” Robby stated, nodding at you before leaving.

This was a nightmare.

“You don’t have to be doing this,” you murmured. Langdon checked your eyes and vitals, ignoring your statement.

“How did you even get hit by a car?” he asked, putting on his stethoscope. You tried to mellow your heart, but it was hard when he was close.

“I…was saving a dog.”

He looked at you in disbelief for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Only you,” he chuckled. “I’m going to order a CT, because I don’t trust that there isn’t something wrong with your head. Roll up the pants for me.”

You did as instructed. He touched along the calf, and you hissed. He pulled his hands away. 

“Any other injuries you’re refusing to show me?”

You stuck your tongue out at him but reluctantly offered up your palms, which were scraped from supporting your fall. He pulled up a chair and grabbed some first aid, sitting close to you as he grabbed your hands. His touch sent electricity down your spine, even as he cleaned the wounds with antiseptic spray. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” you whispered. He looked up at you, that one lock of hair falling into his eyes and driving you mad.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like I shouldn’t care,” he responded. He wrapped your palm in gauze, not letting the hand go, even when it was bandaged. He traced your fingers with his thumb, staring down at your hands. “I do care. Why is that weird?”

“Because you’re usually an ass.”

You watched him suppress a smile at that. He finally looked up at you, blue gaze steely. You felt like you fell into the deep end of the waters and couldn’t get back up. You wondered if you’d even want to.

“Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me?”

The question caught you off guard. So off guard, you actually just stared at him, blinking for several seconds. Then you remembered you had to answer.

“I, uh, yes, um…I do want to date. Go on a date with you,” you stammered. 

“Really?” He looked so hopeful that it made your heart hurt. 

“Really,” you smiled, honestly. And then your heart flipped as Frank kissed your palm, returning your hand to you. He was a tease, and both of you knew it. 

“Kisses make everything better, medical fact,” Frank smirked. 

“Are you kissing your patients? Because that seems like an HR case,” you jibed, your voice dying out as he kissed your other palm. He ignored your teasing.

“Any other injuries?” He inquired. You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking.

“I think I scraped my lip.”

“Did you now?”

“Yep, totally. Happened when I face planted the pavement.”

“I think I have something for that,” Frank smirked, before leaning in and kissing you. His hand cupped your cheek, so gentle and yet so firm in his affections, it made the butterflies in your stomach go on overdrive. He tasted like caffeine and spearmint, and you wondered if you could survive on him alone.

“Jesus fuck, I asked you to take care of her not hit on her,” Robby groaned, stepping inside the room. You both broke apart, you with heat rushing to your cheeks and mortification in your eyes. Frank, with a sort of smug satisfaction. Bastard.

“I was providing care.”

“Sure,” Robby rolled his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Just need a head CT,” you coughed out. You still couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Then get on that,” Robby sighed. “Now, break it up, lovebirds. Langdon, I need you now.”

Lovebirds. That’s all you thought of as Frank left with a wink. 

Maybe you should get hit by a car more often.

[xjulixred45x]

For me while reading the au I imagined yuu to be abt 17-19 like most of the boys so I was wondering what you think the boys reactions (or at least the Housewarden + Jamil) would think/react to finding out Yuu is pregnant!

TW: Sensitive topics (implied)

Honestly, at first, most people are a little worried about Yuu, mostly about whether the baby is unwanted or not (or how the baby was conceived...) and they want to be 100% sure that Yuu truly wants to be a mother so young above all else, that it's HER decision and no one else's.

If Yuu comes from a bad background, the dorm leaders will act as support for her and try to be safe spaces in their own way. The same goes for the first-years.

Riddle continues to act protectively toward Yuu, but at the same time he demands academically (without going overboard, obviously; he's much softer with Yuu than with the other Heartsabyul students), precisely because he believes that if Yuu is going to have a baby, he has to give it a good future from a young age. The further along the pregnancy progresses, the more anxious he becomes and the less strict he is. He definitely doesn't take lightly the harassment/bullying Yuu might receive for being a teenage mother; any transgression of that kind gets immediately a "Off with your head!"

When the baby is born, Riddle probably personally talks to the teachers about getting Yuu off homework for a couple of weeks. He has two doctor parents, and he KNOWS the effects of giving birth. He's still tense about baby Sheila (as I decided to name the baby) but isn't opposed to keeping an eye on her so Yuu can study properly. Riddle is definitely the type of person who talks to babies like adults; it's funny (Cater has the Riddle and Sheila "conversations" on video for everyone's enjoyment).

Leona is worried, even if he doesn't show it. Did you see when she meets Yuu in the greenhouse? He probably realized she was pregnant at that moment and left right away. He may be an idiot, but not an jackass. After the events of Book 3, he probably has Ruggie or Jack check in on Yuu from time to time (either by helping her with homework, bringing her snacks, or something like that).

Leona isn't one to pry into Yuu's personal life, and if she continues with the pregnancy, it's because she wants the baby. He respects that, so, surprisingly, he can get quite defensive of Yuu (in the "only I can make fun of them (affectionately)" kind of way), even when Sheila is born—or rather, ESPECIALLY when Sheila is born. He'll definitely criticize Yuu more for being impulsive now that she's a mother. Shouldn't he be thinking more about her daughter? Gosh…

Azul would feel a little bad about trying to take a dorm away from a pregnant teenager, yes, but at least he's not heartless enough to not give her another option. He doesn't ask questions about the baby, but he makes certain assumptions based on what Yuu tells him and builds a mental picture from there (both good and bad). It takes him a ridiculous amount of time to convince Yuu to eat at Monstre Louge (for free) as her pregnancy progresses.

When Sheila is born healthy and Yuu recovers well, Azul is quite relieved (he was definitely very stressed seeing the mortality rate of teenage pregnancies in humans), and on more than one occasion he offers to let Yuu study in the VIP lounge while Floyd and Jade take care of Shayla (or "mini Shrimpy"), of course, constantly checking that everything is okay, he wouldn't trust a baby to the twins for too long either...

Kalim doesn't really treat Yuu any differently if she were an adult or if she were his age. He continues to bring the baby a ton of gifts, gives advice that helped his mother when she was pregnant, and continues to offer help at Ramshackle if she needs it. The only difference is that he also offers to form a study group so that Yuu doesn't miss any classes once she starts missing due to her advanced pregnancy.

Jamil, on the other hand, is a bit more cautious. He's more aware that in this scenario, Yuu might not have wanted the baby at such a young age, so he's quite surprised to see her excitement about becoming a mother; it's almost contagious. Along with Riddle, he's the one who offers to prepare bentos or nutritious meals for the pregnancy, and he also tries to prevent Kalim from overdoing it with gifts or things that might harm Yuu/the baby.

Vil is mostly shocked when he realizes Yuu is pregnant, but he doesn't comment on it; he's unusually reserved around her, actually. The truth is that Vil, on the one hand, doesn't understand why Yuu would want to be a mother so young, while on the other hand, he admires that she still wants to continue her studies, being perseverant and enjoying the things that make her happy. He respects her greatly.

When Sheila is eventually born, it's a MUST that the members of Pomefiore take care of her. She ends up with several new onesies, a tiara, three plushies, among many other things, just for being adorable. Meanwhile, Yuu gets a skincare routine for the first time in weeks, much to Vil's delight.

Idia doesn't interact differently with Yuu if she's an adult or a teenager. He still believes she's going to ruin their baby somehow because "that's just how he is," but he's willing to help her with things like ultrasound equipment, medicine, using Ortho to check on the baby, etc. He was definitely super scared when he heard the screams on ramshackle. He genuinely thought Yuu was going to die and almost fainted from relief when they told him she and Sheila were okay.

Would Malleus even notice the difference between a teenage Yuu and an adult Yuu? Regardless, Malleus is protective of his pregnant daughter of men, no matter how old she is. He'll view any sudden or unwanted approach as a potential threat. Want to take Yuu by surprise? BOOM! Electrocuted. Want to touch Yuu's pregnant belly without asking? Electrocuted! Want to wake Yuu up after a sleepless night of kicking? Guess what happens :)

Malleus is extremely careful with Sheila once she's born. He holds her with both hands and looks her in the eyes VERY DIRECTLY while talking about the same topics he used to talk about while she was still in the womb, as if resuming a conversation.

In general, they're a little more cautious about the subject, but just as encouraging and supportive.

___________

(ESPAÑOL)

TW: temas sensibles (implícito)

Sinceramente, al principio la mayoría se preocupa un poco por Yuu, mas que nada por si el bebe es deseado o no (o como fue que el bebe fue concebido…) y querrían asegurarse al cien por ciento de que Yuu realmente quiera ser madre tan joven por encima de todo, que sea decisión de ELLA y de nadie más.

Si Yuu viene de un mal entorno, los líderes de dormitorio actuaran como soporte para ella y trataran de ser espacios seguros a sus maneras. Lo mismo con los de primer año.

Riddle sigue actuando de forma protectora con Yuu, pero al mismo tiempo le exige en el ámbito académico (sin sobrepasarse obviamente, es mucho más blando con Yuu que con los otros estudiantes de Heartsabyul), justamente porque cree que, si Yuu va a tener un bebe, tiene que darle un buen futuro desde joven. Mientras más avanza el embarazo, mas ansioso se vuelve y menos estricto es. Definitivamente no se toma a la ligera el acoso/Bullying que Yuu podría llegar a recibir por ser madre adolecente, cualquier transgresión de ese estilo es fuera con sus cabezas en el acto.

Cuando el bebe nace, Riddle probablemente habla personalmente con los profesores para que Yuu sea exenta de tarea durante un par de semanas, el tiene dos padres médicos, SABE los efectos de dar a luz. Sigue siendo tenso con la beba Sheila (como decidí ponerle a la beba) pero no se opone a vigilarla para que Yuu pueda estudiar adecuadamente. Riddle definitivamente es el tipo de persona que le habla a los bebes como adultos, es gracioso (Cater tiene las “conversaciones” de Riddle y Sheila en video para el disfrute de todos).

Leona esta preocupado, aun si no lo demuestra ¿viste cuando conoce a Yuu en el invernadero? Probablemente se dio cuenta en ese momento que estaba embarazada y directamente se fue, será un idiota, pero no un imbécil. Después de los eventos del libro 3, probablemente hace que Ruggie o Jack chequen a Yuu de vez en cuando (ya sea ayudándole con la tarea, trayéndole snacks, cosas por el estilo).

Leona no es de indagar en la vida personal de Yuu, y si ella continua con el embarazo es porque ella quiere al bebe, el respeta eso, por lo mismo, sorprendentemente, puede ponerse bastante a la defensiva de Yuu (del tipo “solo yo puedo burlarme de ellos (afectuosamente)”), incluso cuando Sheila nace, o mejor dicho, ESPECIALMENTE cuando Sheila nace. Definitivamente criticara más a Yuu por ser impulsiva ahora que es madre ¿no debería pensar más en su hija? Cielos…

Azul se sentiría un poco mal de intentar quitarle el dormitorio a una adolecente embaraza, sí, pero al menos no es lo suficientemente desalmado como para no darle otra opción de domicilio. El no hace preguntas con respecto al bebe, pero hace ciertas conjeturas basadas en lo que Yuu le llega a contar y se arma una imagen mental a partir de ahí (tanto para bien como para mal). Le toma una estúpida cantidad de tiempo convencer a Yuu de comer en el Monstre Louge (gratis) cuando su embarazo avanza.

Cuando Sheila nace sana y Yuu se recupera bien, Azul está bastante aliviado (definitivamente estuvo muy estresado al ver la tasa de mortalidad de embarazos adolescentes en humanos), y en más de una ocasión ofrece que Yuu estudie en la sala VIP mientras que Floyd y Jade cuidan de Shayla (o “mini Shrimpy”) claro, checando que todo este bien constantemente, el tampoco confiaría un bebe demasiado tiempo a los gemelos…

Kalim realmente no trata de forma diferente a Yuu si es que fuera una adulta o si fuera de su edad, le sigue trayendo un monton de regalos al bebe, da consejos que le ayudaron a su mama cuando estuvo embarazada, le sigue ofreciendo ayuda en Ramshackle si es que la necesita, la única diferencia es que tambien ofrece hacer un grupo de estudio para que Yuu no se pierda de ninguna clase una vez que ella empieza a faltar debido al embarazo avanzado.

Jamil, por otro lado, es un poco más cuidadoso, es más consciente de que en este escenario Yuu podría no haber querido al bebe siendo tan joven, por lo que se sorprende bastante al ver la emoción que tiene al ser madre, es casi contagioso. Junto a Riddle, es quien ofrece preparar bentos o comidas nutritivas para el embarazo, también trata de evitar que Kalim se exceda con los regalos o las cosas que puedan dañar a Yuu/El bebe.

Vil esta principalmente shockeado cuando se da cuenta de que Yuu está embarazada, pero no comenta al respecto, esta inusualmente reservado cuando está cerca de ella en realidad. La verdad es que Vil por una parte no entiende porque Yuu querría ser madre tan joven, mientras que por otro lado admira que aun así quiera continuar con los estudios, siendo perseverante y disfrutando las cosas que la hacen feliz, la respeta mucho.

Cuando eventualmente Sheila nace, es una NECESIDAD que los miembros de Pomefiore la cuiden, termina con varios onesies nuevos, una tiara, tres peluches, entre muchas cosas más, solo por ser adorable. Mientras tanto Yuu se hace una rutina de cuidado de la piel por primera vez en semanas, para la alegría de Vil.

Idia no interactúa de forma diferente con Yuu si es adulta o adolecente, sigue creyendo que va a arruinar a su bebe de alguna forma porque “él es así”, pero está dispuesto a ayudarla con cosas como equipo para el ultrasonido, medicinas, usar a Ortho para checar al bebe, etc. Definitivamente estaba super asustado cuando escucho los gritos en ramshackle, pensó genuinamente que Yuu iba a morir y casi se desmaya del alivio cuando le dijeron que ella y Sheila estaban bien.

¿Malleus siquiera notaria la diferencia si es una Yuu adolecente o una Yuu adulta? Indiferentemente de eso, Malleus es protector con su hija de hombre embarazada, no importa la edad que tenga, tomara cualquier acercamiento repentino o indeseado como una posible amenaza ¿quieres tomar por sorpresa a Yuu? BOOM electrocutado ¿quieres tocar la panza de embarazada de Yuu sin pedir permiso? ¡electrocutado! ¿quieres despertar a Yuu despues de una noche de insomnio por culpa de las pataditas? Adivina que pasa 

Malleus es super cuidadoso con Sheila una vez que nace, la sostiene con ambas manos y le mira a los ojos MUY FIJAMENTE mientras le habla de los temas que solia hablar cuando estaba en la panza, como si estuviera retomando una conversación.

En general, son un poco mas cuidadosos con el tema, pero igual de alentadores y solidarios.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[vamplvs]

DC MEN AS ROMANCE TROPES

INCLUDES -> dick grayson, clark kent, jason todd, bruce wayne WARNINGS -> it's all fluff, some swearing and maybe some minor angst bc i can't help myself NOTES -> making my return to tumblr (hopefully for longer this time)! comments & rbs are much appreciated <3

DICK GRAYSON. — 100% the guy who spills coffee all over you in the middle of the cafe you’re at. granted, it’s not piping hot so things could certainly be worse, but he’s left scrambling and trying to apologize to the really attractive person in front of him and you’re trying to figure out how to get this dork’s number without being weird about it.

“i am so, so sorry-“ the man in front of you was grabbing napkins from the nearest dispenser and shoving them into your hands, clearly in a panic.

“it’s fine,” you gave him your best reassuring smile, not that it seemed to do much to calm his nerves, but he just urged you again to grab the shitty cafe napkins from him.

and it was then that he really seemed to look you in the eye and take in what you were wearing. it wasn’t necessarily formal, but you certainly looked like you were going somewhere important. your sleeves were rolled up your forearms and shirt tucked neatly into your pants. if you had payed closer attention to him, you might’ve noticed the way his eyes caught on your hands or your weak attempt at reassuring him with a smile.

“shit, you’re probably going somewhere too,” he shucked off his bag and rooted around for something in it without waiting for you to answer.

“don’t worry about it, i don’t have to be there until-“ you were cut off by him pushing a sweater towards you with a blush on his cheeks that you hadn’t noticed before.

“take it,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “so that i can feel a little less guilty over spilling total coffee on a hot stranger-“ you felt your face heat up at his words and his face went bright red as soon as his mind caught up to his mouth. “i meant hot coffee on a total stranger!”

you laughed as he tried to rectify his blunder and took the sweater from him, pulling it towards your chest and bringing your hand to your face to cover up your laughter. he paused for a minute and grinned at you, ears still tinged pink, before he laughed along with you.

it took a moment, but you finally found your words again and said, “why don’t you make it up to me by giving me your number, mr. hot coffee?” now it was your turn to wait for your mind to catch up to your mouth. “so i can give you the sweater back, i mean,” you amended.

“well, i owe us both a coffee,” he looked down at his partially empty cup and back up to your stained shirt, “and i probably owe you a new shirt.” he grabbed another one of the awful cafe napkins and searched for a pen in his bag to scribble something on the napkin.

he passed it off to you and checked his watch, muttering something about being late. “sorry again for your shirt!” he waved a goodbye as he walked out of the cafe, leaving you with his number (along with a smiley face) and a racing heart.

CLARK KENT. — he’s the guy that every parent likes, no matter who they are, and thus makes a great contender for a fake date. he lets you lead him around the event and call him baby or love, but he’s more worried about the butterflies in his stomach than how well the lie will hold up.

“are you sure this is a good idea?” he fiddled with the end of his tie, looking for something to do with his hands.

“of course it is,” you muttered, swatting his hands away from his tie and readjusting it, “i needed a date, and you’re the perfect candidate-" your hand reached for his and he reveled in the heat of your palm, “-and besides, we’ve known each other for long enough to pull this off. we got this.” you looked to him and grinned a wide, toothy smile, one that he couldn’t help but return.

his nerves were gradually getting worse, though, as you both approached your family's house. he was really doing this, really playing the part of a boyfriend, a part he was not used to playing with you.

you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as you both walked into the party, your parents walking up to the both of you almost immediately. and as much has clark wanted to pay attention to the conversation with your parents—even though you seemed to have it handled—he couldn’t stop thinking about the comforting warmth of your hand in his.

as a matter of fact, he couldn't stop thinking about you at all. thoughts of this "date" swam through his mind nauseatingly, and his palms were already starting to sweat. pet names, affection, love, and that wasn't even getting started on the issue of meeting your parents already.

“-isn’t that right, clark?” you looked to him expectantly, and he nodded, trying not to let the warmth on his face betray him.

JASON TODD. — listen, alright? enemies/rivals to lovers with a hint of bakery au. it just makes sense in my mind. maybe you run a local cafe that seems to be getting more customers than his bakery and he’s a little iffy about it, not that he’d ever admit to that.

“morning, todd!” you shouted from across the street, waving at jason with a grin on your face, and he had to suppress the urge to return the greeting with a smile of his own.

he did, however, give you a curt nod and march into the shop as quickly as he could. it wasn’t fair, he thought, that you could gain that many customers within just a few months of opening and also have such a pretty smile. there was probably something that connected the two, but he knew that if he thought about it for longer, he’d never get any work done.

so he pushed any thought of you to the back of his mind for the rest of the day, and it worked until dick walked in at his usual hour. there was another voice alongside his that he wasn’t used to hearing, and after a short moment he realized it was you.

dick was laughing with you about something. the gall, his own brother betraying him like this. you hung back by the door for a brief moment while dick went up to order his usual (with an extra serving for you).

“really?” jason raised an eyebrow. “you’re getting a pastry for my rival?” he realized how stupid that sounded after saying it, but it was true. you were right across the street, and that made you a rival of his. regardless of that, he turned around to get the order prepared for the both of you.

“relax, it’s not like they’ll steal your recipes, jaybird.”

“yeah, jaybird, relax.” he whipped his head around and saw the shit eating grin you had on your face. “it’s not like i even sell pastries.” you looked down at your hands, the grin from before turning into a softer smile, “besides, i’ve wanted to meet the competition for a while now. aside from the fact that he avoided me like the plague,” dick snickered at that and jason shot him a look that hopefully told him to shut up, “he seemed pretty nice.”

BRUCE WAYNE. — childhood friends to lovers for sure. there’s no way this guy would date someone he doesn’t trust, and his childhood best friend is the best bet for that. platonic love morphing slowly over years into something else, the quiet pining, a sudden and horrifying realization all feel so bruce.

he was never totally sure when you two got as close as you were. it was like, all of a sudden, the two of you went from teasing banter to being his date for galas to quiet movie nights with just the two of you. it was strange—not bad, but certainly strange.

“what’s gotten in that pretty head of yours, bruce?” he frowned, realizing that the two of you had gotten far more familiar than he had really wanted to admit. your head was in his lap and your hands were playing with his, your fingers drawing random patterns across his skin like it was totally normal. when did it become so normal? so instead of voicing that, he just hummed like it’ll answer your question.

“c’mon,” you sat up and he nearly tugged you back towards him before he thought better of it, “you have that look on your face that you used to have when something was bothering you, so let up.”

“it’s nothing.” you raised an eyebrow at him, knowing that if it really was nothing then he would have said something.

“then spill.”

“no.”

“something’s up and i’ve known you for long enough to know that ‘nothing’ is a lie, so spill it.” you cross your arms and stare him down.

curse you and your frown and furrowed brow.

“fine.” he pulled one of his hands away from yours, silently mourning the loss. “when did this happen?” he gestured vaguely as if you were a mind reader.

“well, i’ve had an apartment for a while now, bruce-”

“no, i mean the movie nights, the galas,” he lifted his hand that was still holding onto yours, “this. when did this happen?”

your frown deepens and he can’t help but regret his choice of words. “shit, sorry. i think- i think i misunderstood something.” the warmth at his side, along with your hand in his, vanished. “god, i’m such an idiot. i mean, playboy bruce wayne, right?” you laughed bitterly and ran a hand down your face.

“what?” his eyebrows knit together, trying to figure out what you were saying.

“you know, you have a reputation, and i thought, maybe, i was the exception or something, and-”

“oh.” the playboy thing was a ruse, an act for the press, and he thought you understood that. he thought you knew that this was so much more to him.

"yeah." that word landed heavily in the air. "i'm sorry, i should go now."

bruce watched you get up, the world's greatest detective himself still trying to wrap his mind around what you told him. "no, wait-" he pulled you back by the wrist. "stay."

"no, bruce, really," you sighed, your eyes hardly meeting his.

"please," his voice was soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

when finally you look at him, he's looking directly into your eyes. its a tender and scared look, a look so intense that you don't doubt for a second that he needs you to stay with him.

[somebodyssherlock-heterodyne]

So this got too long for tags:

I feel like Hal tries to stay human outside his lessons about the ring, and Abin Sur encourages this because he'd really like Hal to be a fully developed adult before he goes around fighting cosmic bullshit. So Hal grows up with Martin Jordan's absence and Abin Sur's presence (grows up with the echo of a father that let death stop him and the voice of the one that fought death tooth and nail for Hal, before he even knew his name). I think Carol probably finds out at some point while they're growing up. (I think there are probably times during another boring/infuriating day in life as a business heiress that she is seethingly jealous, but that there are also times they bond over both their paths being set before them without much input on their parts).

I feel like Hal joins the Air Force because it's his last chance for a connection to his first father, and also that Abin Sur is strongly against this course of action. They've fought before, but Hal always showed up and Abin Sur always came back and sometimes they talked about it and sometimes they just let it blow over.

Not this time. This is their first BIG fight. And Hal runs off to join the military where he's never afforded any real privacy, so even if Abin Sur wanted to show up, he couldn't. For a while it's a nice, petty way to get back at him- for a while it feels like breaking free of the green path he got put on, you know?

Until he realizes that the US military kind of sucks and all he's done was trade one place he felt trapped in for another place he feels even more trapped in. Until he realizes that he chose Martin Jordan's echo which is incapable of caring over Abin Sur's presence who cares so much he stuck around even though he was DEAD. I think it'd be so crunchy if Hal got dishonorably discharged over the ring- he can't wear it, so he keeps it on his dog tags, and his CO doesn't even know what it is, doesn't know that it's anything, just knows Hal is too loose a cannon for military taste and the ring could be leveraged to bring him to heel.

Hal doesn't even let them get a good look at it, and during the whole incident ends up screaming "THIS RING BELONGED TO MY FATHER-" and he doesn't even know it until he says it, but it's true. He gets kicked out for his refusal to let anyone take his only piece of Abin Sur, and it feels like the right choice. Possibly the first right choice he's ever made for himself.

His privacy returns and Abin Sur returns with it. The reunion hits right in the feels. Abin Sur has been quietly prepping Hal for the very real possibility that he'll have to take on the Guardians one day, and he starts really finalizing that. Eventually he realizes that he's got nothing left to teach Hal.

Hal says "but you'll still come back, right? Even if it's less often, you'll still come back. You won't just leave me."

And I think Abin Sur tries his damndest not to, but that he knows it's all borrowed time now. The hourglass has had a hole in it this entire time, and he's out of ways to get more sand.

Oa considers him MIA, likely dead, and quite possibly that his ring was destroyed. Sinestro, loyal as he is, has been looking for him anyway. Abin Sur allows himself to be found.

Hal and Sinestro hate each other on sight. Hal's a cocky little shit, Sinestro is a perpetually composed planner, and both of them have very particular neuroses about Abin Sur. This is very inconvenient because these two are the best Draw Four cards he can play against the Guardians. The Indigo tribe is still Plan B but if these two ever manage to spend five minutes in the same room without arguing they can just overthrow the Guardians and lead the Corps themselves.

Abin Sur runs out of time. Hal and Sin are both absolutely devastated when they have to say goodbye. Sin is better at hiding it. He looks at this human- this infuriating human who's incomparable will is going to make him the greatest Lantern ever seen- and only really sees him now, in the moment he says goodbye to the only father he actually knew.

Hal loses everything all over again. At least this time he got to say goodbye.

He and Sinestro end up bonding over Abin Sur on the trip to Oa, trading stories. They can only get along like he wanted them to now that he's not here to see it.

They get to Oa, and the dominoes that took eons to line up finally start to fall.

what if AU where abin sur crash lands on earth right after hal’s dad dies and “learns no fear,” and when dying abin sur tells his ring to find the earthling with no fear and he sees a child, he’s like oh shit oh no what the fuck, and every day he has to muster up the willpower from Emerald Space to form a ghost form to mentor an 11yo grieving wild child who he accidentally stuck with the greatest weapon in the universe

[earlgreylatte]

The Weak Link

Kids and dogs always know who to direct the puppy dog eyes to.

While on the way back to Earth, laying on the floor of the ship, you had insisted that you would pass your new younger brother as your own and take him with you on your travels across the globe as the public school, suburban route you and Mark lived wouldn’t be possible for a purple baby with accelerated aging. Mark had scoffed, expressing his skepticism at your child rearing skills and how feasible your plan even was. You accused him of just being mad that you made him change baby grape’s diapers. He told you to stop calling him that. Maybe you would if baby ube cheesecake would stop reminding you of how long it’s been since you’ve had any Earth food.

Stupid conversations and predictions filled the air as you both looked at the endlessness of space, as the still unnamed baby babbled. It was fun imagining the person your baby brother would become, especially when you wouldn’t have to wait too long to see it. You said he’d probably end up streaming Minecraft or whatever kids were into. Mark insisted he’d be much more cultured and would enjoy something as nuanced as Seance Dog. Maybe he’d be a better artist than you two and create something of his own.

Like comics were actually going to last.

Cradling your baby brother closer to your chest, you look down at his face, round, drowsy eyes staring up at you calmly as you finally reached Earth’s atmosphere, you found yourself feeling something besides dread when thinking about tomorrow for once.

(Slumped against the kitchen island, you watch your mom scrub the counters, the now named baby Oliver asleep in a crib your mom brought up from the basement. Mark had rushed back to his university, you could only wince at the thought of missing nearly a whole semester. Yes, life as a freelancer was much easier.

“Okay, what is it?” She finally asks, turning around to face you.

“What makes you think I want something? I’m just hanging around,” You deflect.

“Because you’re spending time with your mother rather than flying out to the wilderness or staying cooped up in your room,” she smirks, placing a hand on her hip, eyebrow raised, daring you to challenge her.

You hum, readily accepting defeat. You knew better than to enter a verbal duel with her of all people.

“Well,” you start off, somewhat awkwardly, your mom staring at you encouragingly, “Uh, just wanted to make sure you actually want to do…this. Raise Oliver. That isn’t really something people do when their spouses start another family. I mean, I could figure something out, release some travel guides like he did. Stick around in one spot for…however long it takes for a half bug baby to be old enough for college.”

You avoid making eye contact, mostly out of shame for whatever blob of words you just spat out.

You feel a hand rub your head, and glancing up, she’s smiling at you, “My baby looking after a baby? That’s something I’d rather wait to see happen.”

“I’m not going to be a teen mom or anything, I’m old enough to drink now,” you scoff, playfully.

“You’d certainly pass as one! And sooner or later, you’d be dragging around a moody preteen!” She laughs, before her eyes soften, “Oliver is my family too, not because of your father but because you and Mark are connected him in a way unique to only you three. And if you really want to step up, then you can do it from here, write what you want and go off when you want, I won’t interfere with that, but it’d be nice to have you back home.”

“I mean, your cooking might beat living off protein shakes and fast food…” you acquiesce and a moment of comfortable silence passes as you both smile at each other.

“I was looking through some of your father’s travel guides recently, actually. He was so proud when he was able to use your pictures for it,” she speaks up, suddenly, “You two were always going off, seeing what Earth had to offer…I’m sure you’ll pass on that trait to Oliver too before long.

You sniff, blinking a bit as your mom places an hand on your arm before she returns back to the kitchen counter.

“So, I’m guessing you’ll be taking your room back rather than turning it into Oliver’s nursery?” She asks.

You shake your head, getting up to go check on Oliver, “Nah, he’ll need the space. I’ll just take the guest room.”

“Very mature of you.”

“Yup, that’s me, the Mature Grayson, especially apparent when placed next to an actual infant.”

She calls your name, causing you to pause by the staircase, “If Oliver’s going to take your room, at least take down your little video game men posters. And don’t just play with Oliver! I’m going to feed you an actual meal!”

“…okay.”)

It was hard to believe that it hasn’t even been half a year since you first brought Oliver home, the once infant, now a walking, talking kid with the energy levels of a border collie.

Besides being purple, he’s just like any other boy in the neighbourhood. He likes playing on your old PSP and Mark’s old NDS to the point he plays it past his bedtime, he loves to play outside, and he eats all your snacks without asking. Mark calls you out for being unfair, considering you stranded him high up a tree in the backyard when you two were in middle school. He claims you’ve mellowed out, as if you were some raging dog before.

In actuality, your dynamic with Oliver was something new. You’ve always been an older sister, but you and Mark were always at the same point in life, going to school together and living the same experiences. You looked out for him, played video games with him, and microwaved pizza pockets for dinner when your parents were running late, but you also nearly knocked him out in a pillow fight and laughed at his humiliating moments. You couldn’t do that to Oliver. He’s a baby! You’re an adult!

…Technically.

You knew Mark felt the same way, knowing that you were responsible for shaping Oliver into a functional person, one that knows how to control himself, has manners and is courteous, all while keeping him cooped up. Oliver’s world is small, and it’s up to you that he becomes the best version of himself possible.

Better than you.

Better than Nolan Grayson.

But with that said, you find it a tab bit difficult to be…stern with him.

Something that causes Mark to stare at you in shock and Oliver to know to take advantage of.

In Oliver’s eyes, it’s not ‘your dessert’, it’s ‘our dessert’, always asking you to bring him something whenever you go out and barging into your room while you’re asleep to urge you to play with him.

And when faced with your mom’s sharp glare or Mark’s attempt at a stern face, he knows who to hide behind or shoot a pleading look.

You’ve had to bail Oliver out of a lecture more than once.

(“Seriously?” Mark groans, watching Oliver hook his arms around your stomach, sticking his tongue out at him as you pat his head comfortingly. “He ate the last slice of cake! That I bought!”

“Like you weren’t doing the same every time I brought back anything before you got your powers,” you retort as Oliver giggles.

“And you beat me up for it! You literally slapped me just last week!”

“That was for training, Cecil wants us in top form,” you dismiss with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You could have punched me? That slap was way too personal!”

“That self centred train of thought is what happens when you don’t drink enough water,” you loudly whisper to Oliver, who nods back at you seriously.

Mark throws up his hands in exasperation, stalking away, his place as the middle child apparently too much for him.)

So, when you come home after a quick trip to the Canadian Rockies, aiding a geologist who wanted some pictures for a book he was in the midst of publishing, you’re armed with maple candy and rare rocks to share with your family, you excitedly land in the backyard, only to see Oliver hovering in the air near the glass door, clearly eavesdropping on a conversation between your mom and Mark.

He looks at you like a deer in headlights, but you only gesture for him to move towards you, leading him back to his room through his window. The pictures you took of his Mother and Thraxa decorating his walls, your old room now unrecognizable.

“So, someone got their powers,” you comment, sitting on his bed.

He shrugs, avoiding looking at you.

“They’re not against you having powers. They’re just worried they kicked in so early. Especially since Mark was a late bloomer. It’s not everyday a kid gets the ability to fly whenever and wherever, you know.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “I thought it’d be different. I didn’t know—“

“Didn’t know?” You urge.

“Didn’t know keeping secrets was bad. I didn’t mean to make mom sad,” he admits.

“Secrets aren’t always bad. I mean, it depends,” you try to explain, “Mom’s just worried about you going off and getting into fights like, me and Mark. It’s just not something a parent wants their kid doing. She wants you to be safe, and for you to be safe you need to keep us in the loop. Power like ours is…heavy. You need control and judgement before you even think of doing anything with them. You need to prove you can be responsible, that you won’t end up hurting yourself or others. That means telling at least one of us if anything as big as this happens.“

“You got your powers pretty young though, you were out with dad all the time! April told me!” He blurts out, and you jolt. She did!?

“Ah, right, I guess we were seen together for a while back then. Everyone thought I was his sidekick for a while,” you muse. “Well, I might be exactly why they’re so worried about you.”

“Huh? How does that work? You’re Singularity! You’re so…! Well, you’re kind of cool!”

“That’s because I’m grown up now, things used to be different. Honestly, back then, I was constantly getting my…behind handed to me. And I was a bit of a crybaby, so that made things worse, haha.” You recall neutrally, “It wasn’t all bad. I learnt a lot of things, from dad and my own experiences. But when it was, I never told anyone. And that hurt mom. Things are even more different now. We need to look after each other, to trust each other. And, sadly that means talking about ourselves, whether it has to do with powers, or just how we’re feeling.”

Oliver stares up at you, pensively, before brightening when you pull out your wallet. “Are we—!?”

“Now, us going out to get some midnight milkshakes? Well, that’s the good kind of secret, one between just us,” you two exchange twin grins.

“This is why you’re way cooler and nicer than Mark!” Oliver cheers, shooting up and grabbing a hoodie from his closet, before rushing back to you and tugging you off the bed and towards the window with his new strength.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s—“

Maybe you were getting soft.

Oliver: I’m going to be a kid hero!

Mark and Debbie, looking at Singularity: Not in a million years——

*

Cecil: Debbie why didn’t you tell me Oliver got his powers

Debbie: why didn’t you tell me about my then underage daughter’s various injuries and mission turned disasters where both guardians should have been notified?

Cecil: …she told me not to?

*

Singularity: I mean, despite dad, we turned out pretty okay

Mark: um!?

Singularity: what

Mark: you literally threw up two hours ago because you accidentally broke someone’s nose??

Singularity: must be an off day

Mark: your brain damage is catching up to you, and if it’s not that, then it has to be that hole dad punched through you

Singularity: saiyan rules mark, near death experiences make us stronger, it’s like exp, that’s why you’re underleveled

Mark: oh, god you actually have brain damage

Oliver haters dni

Series Masterlist, Masterlist

[everrinsly]

a/n: i'm glad there's a few of you who also love sugar daddy suna, thank you; i really need him in this economy. we all need him haha ╰(*´︶`*)╯

~~~~~

suna may be a famous pro athlete, but he is first and foremost your best friend vibes.

and he loves spending money on you (especially on your weekly grocery hauls).

sugar daddying part 3 (450 pieces of candy and a pack of chuppets in aisle 8) with suna. long drabble. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

sugar daddy suna | part 1 | part 2

more reads!

~~~~~

Maybe your first mistake was letting Suna push the cart. And your second mistake... was becoming his best friend because he had all your favorite foods and snacks memorized now—

"There's those peach-milk candies you like. Lemme grab them real quick."

"You want those fancy-ass yogurt drinks, angel? What flavor?"

"I'm gonna grab your favorite brand of udon, so we can make it later, yeah?"

"Mochi ice cream. Vanilla or matcha—actually, nah."

(He threw them both in the cart).

—so what started as a 'quick grocery run' turned into him casually knowing all the likes and dislikes of your tastebuds, speed-running your entire favorites list like it was a shopping game show.

You adored Suna, really. But it gets to a point where you're going to have to fight him at the cash register because you can't afford all of this.

"Rinnie," you sighed softly, tugging on the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie.

“Hm?” He didn’t even turn, just kept scanning the candy aisle like a predator tracking prey, probably looking for those Hi-Chew candies he knows you love so much (he's right, it's your second favorite).

You leaned over the cart. “Why are there five packs of those fancy yogurt drinks in here—and..." you trailed off, counting. "One... two... three... four—eight?!"

You gave him a look, one that made him just want to squish your cheeks (you don't know that though).

"Rin! Why are there eight packs of peach-milk candies?!"

"You said you liked them," he said blandly.

"There's fifty pieces in each pack!" You slapped a hand against his chest.

Suna hummed, then shrugged, tossing another into the cart anyway. “Well, now you have nine. 450 pieces total. Stay sweet, angel.”

You flushed, groaning into your sleeves, which only made him grin as he pushed the cart forward with the lazy swagger and nonchalance of someone who had way too much money and not enough shame.

And then, when he tossed in your favorite seaweed snacks, your arms flailed.

“Rintarou! No—”

He blinked innocently, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “These? Oh, my bad. Thought they were for me.”

“You said they're too salty for you.”

“Yeah... but you like them. And I like you.”

Your breath caught. He didn't even look at you when he said it, too busy grabbing three of your go-to instant ramen cups.

You squinted at him, heart fluttering in your chest, just begging to be released to Suna's arms.

Suna stared down at you, like he was mentally asking 'you got anything else to say?'

You sputtered. No, you didn't have anything else to say.

Suna smirked like he'd just won a very quiet war. Then, he reached for your favorite brand of fresh milk bread and tossed it in the cart without a word.

"…You don’t even know how much this is gonna cost," you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably.

Suna finally turned to face you, leaning over the cart, his arms folded on the handle like he had all the time in the world.

"I literally make more per match than this whole store makes in a day."

“Still. You don’t have to—”

"I want to," he said simply.

And that shut you up again. Because you knew he meant it. Just like he meant it when he ordered your favorite takeout when you were sad. Or when he kept your favorite playlist downloaded on his phone even though he 'hated that shit.' Or when he drove forty-five minutes to your college campus just to bring you a new laptop charger because yours broke.

You sighed, cheeks warm. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

Suna smiled, a real one, slow and soft. "Yeah. But I'm your annoying."

And just like that, in the fluorescent lights of aisle 8, with your favorite snacks piled high in an overflowing cart, you felt your heart flutter in that dangerous, hopeful way it always did around him.

You didn’t say anything. He didn't say anything.

But you reached out, plucked a bag of his favorite multiflavored chuppets from the shelf and piled it on top of your snacks. Then quietly mumbled, “…Thanks, Rinnie.”

And in true Suna fashion, he pretended not to hear you, but the way his lips twitched gave him away.

Though, you weren't sure if that was caused by you or the chuppets.

[httpsdana]

Heyyy, love your work🤍

would you write one of Yildiz and reader being in an argument and reader crying because of the accumulated stress(happend to me today, sm alike:(

Breaking Point~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: im so sorry you're feeling like this :( hopefully this can make you feel a bit better <33

It started so stupidly. A left dish in the sink, and now both of them were just yelling nonsense at each other.

"I'm always the one who has to do every single thing in this house! You never help with anything!" she yelled, throwing her arms in the air.

"What?" Kenan snapped back. "I'm always trying to help, but you're too damn stubborn to tell me what's wrong!"

"Nothing's wrong!" she said through gritted teeth.

"Listen, if something's wrong, you have to tell me, because I can't read your damn mind," he said, his tone lower this time.

Tears welled up in her eyes quickly, and before she could stop them, they started falling down her cheeks.

Kenan noticed immediately, stepping closer and cradling her face in his hands.

"Hey, hey, don't cry, baby. It's not worth it," he muttered, confused by her sudden breakdown.

He let her cry into his chest for a few minutes, full sobs and hot tears streaming down her face.

After a while, she calmed down a bit and pulled away from his embrace. When she tried walking away, he was quick to pull her back in.

"Hey…" He cupped her cheek, making her look up at him. "Tell me what's really wrong. I know you're not crying over an unwashed dish."

She shook her head, then let out a long sigh.

"I'm just very stressed, and everything has been accumulating. I feel like a failure," she took a deep breath before continuing, "and nothing I do seems to be enough. And now you probably think I'm dramatic for crying over this-but I'm just so tired, Kenan," she mumbled, her eyes welling up again.

Kenan felt his heart shatter at her confession, cursing himself for not noticing how she'd been feeling earlier. He pressed a long kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin.

"First of all, you're not a failure. You're the most successful woman I know," he said, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

"Second of all, you're more than enough, my love. You have no idea how amazing you're doing, and I'm so proud of you and every single thing you've accomplished," he added, kissing her other cheek.

"And finally, I don't think you're dramatic. You've been under a lot of stress, bottling everything up without telling me. It's my fault I didn't notice earlier, and I'm so sorry. But I promise you-none of the things you said are true. You're so strong for carrying all this weight alone. But let me help you carry some of it now, okay?" he said softly, pulling away to look at her tear-stained face.

She nodded hesitantly before wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," she mumbled against his hoodie.

"It's okay. I'm sorry for leaving that dish unwashed in the first place and not noticing how you’ve been feeling," he muttered against her hair, brushing his lips against the top of her head.

They stood there in the kitchen for a while, just wrapped in each other’s arms and enjoying the silence.

"I love you," he whispered, as if his voice might break her even more.

"I love you more," she whispered, pulling back just enough for her lips to graze his jaw.

He leaned down slightly, pressing his lips to hers in a soft, tender kiss, one that whispered 'I'll always be here'

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[kairakeiji]

note: alcohol consumption! and also lowkey suggestive :DD

“will you go out with me?”

the words are slightly slurred when they leave akaashi’s lips. his eyes are a little hazy as they stare down at you, trapped between him and the wall behind you. your gaze darts up to his at his question, widening slightly.

“what?”

and this is why you should never let keiji akaashi consume alcohol. one minute he’s sitting and observing the party around him, nursing a small drink, the next bokuto, who was rather inebriated himself, is begging him to do a shot with him before dragging him away from his little corner and into the center of attention. he begrudgingly followed his best friend, who consistently told him to “loosen up ‘kaashi,” and that “you never go out anyway, we gotta celebrate when you do.”

curse his decade long friendship with bokuto. if it weren’t for their prior history, akaashi wouldn’t have given in so easily.

you came up to him with the same grin you always gave him, the one that always made his heart flutter, before laughing at bokuto’s antics. he begged you to get him out of this but before you could save him, bokuto’s held another shot in his hands, whispering that akaashi looked a bit too nervous standing before you.

the shot was gone before he could even register what kind of alcohol it was.

vodka, the really shitty kind too, the one that people buy for $10 and drink to ensure they don’t remember the rest of the night. akaashi had a coughing fit after, which prompted you to bring him back to his little corner. akaashi swore the world was spinning around him, not even registering that you were holding his hand, eyes full of concern. “are you okay?” you question, the noise of the party dying down slightly.

“i think so,” he mumbles.

“you drank a lot pretty quickly,” you tell him as you hand him a bottle of water, “this should help you for now.”

he only nodded as he took the drink from your hand, the surprisingly cold bottle acting as a wake up call. you were standing in front of him, taking care of him, making sure he was okay. and he, well, he was unfortunately drunk, moreso than he had been in a really long time.

“thank you,” he tells you.

you wave it off, “not a problem.”

“it is a bit, though,” he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. he begins to walk forward, a little hazy.

“keiji, are you okay?”

you never call him by first name.

“keiji?” he questions softly.

“sorry, you mumbled. “accident.”

“no no,” he replies walking closer to you. “it’s fine, i don’t mind.”

“oh,” he keeps walking, and you find yourself matching his steps backwards. “if you say so.” your back hit the wall behind you, a shock going down your spine at the slight presence.

“i actually,” his hand rests on the wall behind you, caging you in as your heart beat picks up. “kinda like it.”

and that’s how you both ended up here, eyes locked on his as his question lingers in the air.

“i never even knew you liked me,” you mumble to akaashi.

“i have for awhile,” he tells you rather candidly. “i hate that i’m telling you like this though.” you shrink in slightly, not really realize how close he was to you. his face mere inches from yours. “especially in a position like this.”

you meet his gaze at that. he’s never been this close, you swear you could see every detail, even in the dim lighting.

your heart races. “akaashi i-”

“keiji,” he cuts you off.

“keiji,” you correct softly. “i-”

“if you don’t feel the same it’s fine,” he tells you softly, “especially after this, i would understand. i mean who am i to drop this on you so suddenly?”

“someone drunk,” you can’t help but laugh.

and akaashi shakes his head, “i’m sorry, i really wanted to tell you at a different time,” he explains. “but i think that’s why bokuto was making me down shots.”

“you never party,” you tell him.

“neither do you,” he counters. “did he make you drink?”

“yeah, right before he pulled you in,” you sigh. “but i don’t think it’s really hit yet.”

“why are you here?”

“probably for the same reason as you,”

and a certain boy with silver spiked hair pops into akaashi’s mind.

“he set us up,” he sighs before his hand leaves the wall behind you.

but your hand reaches up for the collar of his shirt, pulling him in back into you. akaashi’s eyes widen as both his hands reach for the wall this time, hoping to save himself from fully tripping. “what are you-”

“don’t go yet,” you tell him, the party around you being drowned by your heartbeat. “we don’t want his efforts going to waste.” you must’ve jinxed yourself in that moment, as the world blurs out slightly.

“besides, i like having you this close.”

his lips are inches from yours, and it’s all he can find himself staring at. “how do you feel about me?” the questions slips out before he can think.

“let’s see,” you start. “bokuto invited two of his closest friends who never really party out, he got them both drunk around the same time, and now we’re standing here.”

akaashi blinks.

and you cant help but shake your head, your grip on his collar, slightly tightening. “for someone who’s normally so smart, you’re being really stupid right now.”

“i-”

you pull him in, as you stand up slightly on your toes, his lips crashing into yours. one of his hands slips off the wall to find the small of your back, holding you steady as the hand on his collar reaches up towards his neck. he pulls you off the wall and closer to him, his other hand traveling up your figure to your cheek. akaashi finds himself chasing your lips as you pull away, a slight smile curling in your lips when you notice.

“does that say enough?” you tease.

“one more,” he tells you before he pulls you back in. you can’t help but smile as you kiss him, hands beginning to travel to his shoulders before you lead him backwards. he follows your lead, his touch remains light as his hands move to your waist. your back rest on the wall once again as he pulls away, eyes meeting yours. akaashi kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, and you can’t help the sigh you let out as he kisses the column of your neck. “you never answered my question,” he tells you between kisses.

“what was your question again,” you tease slightly. he kisses up your neck before pulling back to meet your eyes, face inches from yours.

“you’re gonna make me repeat it?” he questions. akaashi’s slightly out of breath, eyes hooded and as dazed out as ever.

you can’t help but laugh, “i’m dense, i truly can’t remember.”

and he shakes his head, “you just want me to say it again.”

“maybe,” you sigh. “it’s me, i know you will.”

and you’re right.

“go out with me,” he tells you.

and you nod, “okay.”

the things i'd give for keiji to pin me to a wall like that...i mean whaaaat who said that???

thank you for reading, this is so self indulgent, so i hope you like it :DD

[writesvani]

coming down | 08

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): sexual tension, body image issues, self-consciousness, crude language, implied sexual content, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of past trauma, substance references, toilet humor, illness, physical discomfort, vomiting, food-related discomfort, anxiety, frustration, teasing, manipulation, objectification, inappropriate comments

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,5k // date: 29th of March 2025

CHAPTER EIGHT — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: she’s baaaack, yuh yuh yuh. where are my coming down enthusiasts at? y/n, gojo, ren, and the whole chaotic side character crew are back, and i’m pretty sure i’ve missed them more than i’ve missed sleep. this chapter? one of my absolute faves. and oh, just WAIT until next chapter. it’s about to get wild in here, so buckle up.

i'm not doing a note goal for this one, mostly because i have no idea if anyone’s still around, honestly. i’ll just let this chapter set the tone for future note goals. if you liked it, PLEASE comment. i miss the hell out of you guys analyzing coming down. your asks keep me alive. this fic was my debut baby, and when it gets some love, i get all warm and fuzzy inside. help a girl out, please.

Gojo Satoru might be many things—insufferable, unreasonably pretty, allergic to boundaries—but one thing he isn’t is a liar.

And God, how you wish he was.

You wish he’d just been being his usual drama queen self when he dropped the bomb about your parents planning a cozy little family weekend getaway with his. But no. That would’ve been too easy.

Instead, here you are: imprisoned in the backseat of your parents’ car, Ren snoring against your shoulder like it’s his full-time job (drool included, of course), some truly offensive country song groaning through the speakers—not the Taylor Swift kind, the "my truck left me and so did Jesus" kind—and worst of all? No weed. Not even a crumb.

Three full days of pretending to be a model child while your parents pretend they didn’t once threaten to send you to military school.

Ren could’ve driven with his own parents, but with four younger siblings stuffed into their car like a clown show, he chose to suffer in silence beside you instead. His parents are trailing somewhere behind, probably already regretting accepting your parents offer to tag along to this trip.

And behind them? In a white suburban car so pristine it makes you want to commit arson, the Gojo family rides like some kind of godforsaken Hallmark commercial.

And in the backseat of that SUV? You know exactly who's there.

He’s probably reclined like he owns the world, earbuds in, looking like a Pinterest board made of sins and smugness, those glacier blue eyes already locked on the back of your parents’ car like he's psychically manifesting chaos.

You swear you can feel him smirking.

You are not going to think about that.

You have bigger things to worry about—like your dad giving you the side-eye every time you reach for another snack, as if carbs are a federal crime. Like surviving three whole days without a single hit of your precious joint, because your parents finding out about your “ways of life” would absolutely send them into cardiac arrest.

There’s also your mom’s Olympic-level passive aggression when you mention your grades dropped just a little, and of course, maintaining your sanity around Ren’s siblings—because even though you actually like kids, spending an entire weekend mediating tantrums isn’t exactly your idea of peace.

And Gojo Satoru? Yeah. He and his perfectly polite, terrifyingly well-dressed parents—mostly his mom—are just the cherry on top of this absolute disaster cake you're being forced to eat with a plastic spork.

At least you have Ren. Thank God for that.

When the cars finally pull up to the hotel, you're… surprisingly satisfied. It's a solid four-star place—not too fancy, not too run-down. Aesthetic enough to snap a few spicy Instagram pictures when your parents aren’t breathing down your neck. The exterior is minimalist, modern. The kind of place that screams we’re middle class, but we have rich taste.

You mentally give your mom her props—she always had the patience (and obsession) to hunt down places that are both budget-friendly and cute enough to make it seem like life doesn’t suck.

Five minutes later, the Gojo family glides in like they’re the finale of a fashion week runway. His dad steps out first, offering a polite nod and a quick, warm smile to everyone—including you.

You smile back. You've always liked his dad. He’s… real. Grounded. The type who doesn’t look at you like you’re broken glass someone else has to clean up. He never judged you. And that’s rare.

Even your own parents used to judge you. Maybe they still do. Probably.

But whatever. You're here now. You’ll have your room key soon. You have Ren. You can survive this.

Probably.

“I see everyone’s arrived,” Mr. Gojo finally says, voice warm as he leans down to high-five Ren’s little siblings. They giggle and swarm him like he’s Santa in a business-casual jacket. All except Mark, the only teen here, because he's too cool for that. Classic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Gojo chimes in next, her voice sugary sweet and her smile dazzlingly fake. You watch her eyes sweep the group like she’s mentally organizing everyone by usefulness. Then her gaze lands on you. It flutters for a moment—just long enough for you to notice—before it returns to its tight, polished place on her face.

“Mrs. Gojo,” you say, plastering on your own customer service grin, “long time no see.”

“Long time indeed, sweetheart,” she replies, the endearment curling around her teeth like poison in honey.

“Hello everyone,” Gojo says politely, too politely, and your eyes almost roll out of your skull. He even bows slightly. Who is this man? Certainly not the one who once lit a blunt with the candle on your birthday cake years ago.

His mom nods, positively glowing, pleased with her son's pristine little act—an act she doesn’t even realize is an act. You wonder how smug she’d look if she knew her beloved boy wasn’t a perfect Catholic child but a campus menace with a body count longer than the Bible she swears by.

You and the others exchange quick greetings before making your way into the hotel.

“Kids, don’t touch that!” Ren’s mom cries out, nearly tripping over a suitcase as she tries to wrangle her four hyperactive children. The chaos doesn’t let up until you're finally at the front desk, and the receptionist starts handing out keys.

You’re satisfied with your roommate for the weekend—Ren. His parents look way too pleased about that, flashing each other hopeful glances like they still think there’s a shot of you two ending up together. It’s sweet, in an oblivious kind of way. Ren’s not comfortable talking about his sexuality with them yet. He once told you he probably never will be. And that’s okay.

Still, you’re beyond relieved you don’t have to spend three days trapped in a room with your parents. So, Ren it is.

His parents and siblings are piling into one of those family-style suites—like the ones that look suspiciously like apartments, what’s the name for that again? Your brain short-circuits at pulling the right term, as usual.

Your parents are tucked away in their own room, of course. And the Gojos? Also in their own little suite. Naturally.

Gojo Satoru, golden boy deluxe, gets a room all to himself. Because apparently, sharing a room with you and Ren is beneath him. Or maybe that’s just his mom’s rule. Not like she’d ever let her precious son share space—let alone four walls—with the girl who once turned his life into something similar to a PR nightmare.

Not after everything.

You’re thankful for that, though. So, so thankful.

“Jesus, why do I feel like Gojo’s mother shot disapproval down our spines the second she spotted us?” Ren sighs, shutting the hotel room door behind him and dropping his suspiciously large suitcase with a loud thud.

You flop onto the bed, one brow raised. “Because she totally did. She hates us—well, mostly me. You’re just collateral damage.”

“True. I’m only hated by association. Otherwise, I’m just too damn perfect.”

“You are, bestie. Did you see Gojo’s little bow? I almost shit myself from how fake it was.”

“YEAH. But also—Gojo’s always been polite to elders. Not even surprised, honestly.”

“Hey. Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending him, I’m literally just stating facts.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” You wave him off. “Anyway, when’s dinner? I haven’t eaten since this morning. My mom said the food here is, like, divine or whatever."

“Seven. Sharp. My dad spammed me with messages about it—apparently I’m too likely to forget.”

“So, an hour?”

“Mhm.”

“Bro, I’m going to starve.”

“Suck it up, pretty. Food’s coming soon.”

You nod, dramatically collapsing onto the bed with a groan, arms spread wide like you’ve been through war.

Ren, ever the neat freak in disguise, is already unpacking both your suitcase and his, folding your clothes into perfect little rectangles.

“Why are you unpacking us for a two-day trip?” you mumble, watching him from the bed. “We can just dig through the suitcase like normal people.”

“Because,” he says, holding up a pair of your red lacey thongs, “Wait—why did you bring these to a trip with your parents?”

“You never know. Maybe I’ll meet a cutie and finally get laid.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

He sighs, still folding. “Anyway, I’m doing this because it calms me down. I’m nervous about the whole thing.”

“This thing?”

“This trip, bestie. I can already feel how awkward it’s going to be.”

“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know why Gojo’s parents even accepted the invite.”

“You mean his mom?”

“Obviously. She is the devil reincarnated.”

Ren chuckles, holding up one of your shirts. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me…”

“Oh? Spilling tea already?”

“You know how my mom gossips like it’s a full-time job, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently your dad and Gojo’s dad started some kind of business thing together. They’ve been hanging out more.”

“I knew about that. Still doesn’t explain this cursed reunion.”

“Patience, drama queen.” He sighs, folding your thong with way too much care. “Word is, Mrs. Gojo was so against it.”

“Could’ve never guessed,” you deadpan.

“She even made a whole ass scene. Said he was mixing the firm with your ‘deranged’ family—just like her precious son got mixed up with you.”

You blink. Then smirk.

“Me. The deranged daughter. Honestly? Poetic.”

“Yeah, and your dad was pissed,” Ren says, tossing a hoodie into the drawer. “He almost backed out because of it. But Mr. Gojo? He needs your dad for this deal. So he ended up apologizing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Gojo apologized?”

“Yup. And then your dad went off about how you’ve changed, how you regret what happened, how it physically and mentally hurts him when someone bashes his daughter’s name.”

You blink. “Damn. Didn’t know my dad was dramatic like that.”

Ren smirks. “Yeah, you probably got it from him.”

“Rude.”

“So Mr. Gojo made his wife apologize to your dad.”

“Okay, but Ren—that still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“Stop interrupting me, then.” He folds another shirt, clearly enjoying the drama. “Anyway. Turns out this trip was already planned by your parents and mine. Like, a while ago. Some family bonding thing.”

You groan, flopping onto your stomach. “That sounds like something my mom would do.”

“But here’s the kicker,” Ren leans in like he’s about to drop nuclear gossip. “Mrs. Gojo accidentally let the whole fight with your dad slip to my mom during brunch. And you know my mom. She called yours instantly. So your mom spilled the rest of the tea.”

“I literally can’t even keep up anymore.”

“Honey,” Ren says, flopping beside you, “we’re trapped in a high-stakes episode of Real Housewives: Family Feud Edition.”

You snort. “With better outfits.”

“And worse intentions, anyway,” Ren continues, “your mom was still bitter about the whole thing. She told my mom to invite the Gojos and something like, ‘If she’s really sorry, she’ll accept the invite. Let her see for herself how much my daughter has changed.’ So, my mom invited the Gojos—and, well, the rest is history.”

You scoff. “There’s no way that woman is sorry.”

“Obviously not. She’s probably here just to witness your downfall.”

“Right? Like, I still can’t believe she called me and my whole family deranged. Okay, maybe I am—but my parents? Please. They’re all perfect smiles and pristine public image. 10 out of 10.”

“It’s just because they defended you back then. That’s what pissed her off.”

“Yeah, well, what’d she expect them to do? Side with her? Sure, I was fucking Satoru and snorting coke, but I was still their daughter.”

Ren chokes on air, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ—never thought I’d hear ‘daughter,’ ‘fucking,’ and ‘snorting’ in the same sentence.”

You grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Ren and you spend the rest of the hour just chilling—him folding clothes like it’s a religion, you sprawled out across the mattress, shoving your phone in his face every two minutes with some cursed TikTok. He complains you’re distracting him, but laughs every time. So, who’s the real clown?

Eventually, you both freshen up for dinner and head downstairs, stomachs rumbling. But the second you step into the hotel restaurant, the situation becomes very clear.

There’s a parents’ table—all polished smiles and subtle judgment—and then there’s your table. Or more accurately, the kids’ table. Gojo, that smug little fucker, is already there, looking completely at home. He’s sitting with Ren’s younger siblings like he belongs there, entertaining them with whatever golden garbage is coming out of his mouth.

Next to them: two empty seats. Perfectly positioned. Reserved for you and Ren, obviously.

You wave toward the grown-ups’ table, and they all wave back. Even Mrs. Gojo gives you one of those creepy royal family waves—wrist twist and all—that makes your skin crawl.

Ren slides into the seat beside Gojo with a resigned sigh. You follow, flopping down next to him.

“Hi, hi, hi!” Ren’s 10-year-old sister Ivy chirps, practically bouncing in her seat.

You immediately grin and squish her cheeks. “Hi, love. What are you eating?”

“Pizza! It’s so good. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely, hand it over.”

“Ivy, sweetheart,” Gojo cuts in, voice dripping with fake concern, “I’m not sure you want her lips on your food.”

You whip your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. Seriously? In front of children?

Ivy looks confused. “Why? I don’t mind sharing my food. What are you saying, Sato?”

Gojo leans back, fake-smiling like the menace he is. “Just saying you should be mindful about who you share with.”

“Well,” Ivy says with the confidence of a child raised by wolves and angels, “I’d rather share with Y/N than you. She’s way cooler. You act like a boomer.”

You nearly choke laughing. Ren full-on wheezes. Gojo’s smile twitches.

God, you love this kid.

“That’s so true,” Ren’s little brother, Mark, finally looks up from his phone, smirking like he’s about to drop some wisdom on everyone. He’s 13, at that age where he’s convinced he’s the smartest person in the room. “You’re literally one of those guys who refuses to download TikTok and just watches Instagram Reels.”

Gojo scoffs like he’s offended. “TikTok is a disease. You’ll see when you get older,” he says, attempting some kind of lecture.

Mark just flips him off, unbothered. You can practically hear Gojo’s ego deflating.

“Markie, Mom said that finger is bad,” Marie, one of the youngest ones pipes up from her seat, twin brother in tow.

Her brother, sensing an opportunity to team up, nods seriously, clearly siding with his sister. You watch with amusement as their little pact forms.

You lean over to Marie and whisper conspiratorially, “Middle finger’s only okay if you show it to Satoru, okay?”

Marie’s eyes light up like she’s just been handed the keys to the kingdom. Without missing a beat, she raises her hand, dramatically exaggerating the gesture like she’s in some kind of spy movie. Her twin brother quickly shields her from the parents’ table, then, with all the confidence in the world, Marie flips Gojo off.

You catch the corner of Gojo’s eye from your side, and he glares daggers in your direction. Oh, he looks pissed. Cute.

Ivy mutters under her breath, panic creeping into her voice, “Put it down, Mom will see you.”

But Marie, completely unfazed, smirks. “Damn, Marie, what the hell did I do to you?” Gojo’s voice is laced with disbelief.

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, eyes wide in mock innocence. “It’s just fun.”

You almost choke on your water, Ren laughing next to you. Honestly, you’re not sure which is more entertaining—the kids or the way Gojo’s about to combust.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Gojo mutters, aggressively shaking salt onto his fries. You lean back in your chair, casually taking a bite of your burger. Honestly, you love how your mom always orders for you when you're on vacation. It's like a mini vacation from decision-making. But, as always, in the back of your mind, old habits creep up—you can’t help but wonder how many calories are in this thing. It’s like a reflex you wish you could shake.

“Right, and your mom seems to agree,” you say, casually leaning back even more. You can practically hear the gears grinding in Gojo’s head. His expression shifts, his jaw tightening, and his grip on his sparkling water turns borderline aggressive.

“I’m not my mother.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed,” you smirk. “But you’re on track to become her one day.”

Ren, who has been silently shoveling fries into his mouth this whole time, glances back and forth between you two, clearly enjoying the show. Nobody else at the table is really paying attention to you and Gojo. Marie and Chris are too busy discussing the finer points of their 6-year-old drama. Ivy’s lost in a YouTube video, and Mark is texting his girlfriend like he’s in some secret love affair.

“You’re just trying to get under my skin, aren’t you?” Gojo mutters through gritted teeth.

“Am I succeeding?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“No, you’re just getting more ridiculous with every word.”

“Ah, classic defense mechanism. Takes one to know one.” You flash him a grin, leaning back even further as if you're lounging on a beach.

Gojo looks like he might explode. Ren's just trying to finish his meal in peace, but you can practically hear him snickering under his breath. At least one of you is enjoying this.

Gojo glares at you, but you can see the twitch in his jaw as he tries to keep his cool. You’ve got him just where you want him—irritated but unable to show it too much. It's almost too easy.

You smirk, taking another bite of your burger, but your thoughts stray for a moment to the old, familiar spiral about calories. You shake it off, chewing slowly, focusing on the conversation instead of your own head. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife, but it's a weird kind of comforting. You've known Gojo long enough that this playful banter has become the norm. Still, you can feel how different this interaction is compared to years ago, and not in the good way.

Ren, sensing the growing tension, clears his throat. “Maybe we should just let it go, yeah?” he says casually, but the amusement in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to resist whatever retort he wants to shoot your way. "You're just full of shit, aren't you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Says the guy who can’t stop talking."

“Touché,” Gojo mutters, but there's a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Ren snorts quietly, clearly trying to keep his composure. “At least it’s entertaining.”

You look over at the kids, who are still blissfully unaware of the subtle war happening between you and Satoru.

You lean back further, making sure Gojo knows you’re not backing down from this. "I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll become your mom whether you like it or not. It’s in your blood."

Gojo’s eyes narrow, but he can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

"Means," you pause dramatically, "that you’re a little too much like her already. Pretentious, overly controlling, and maybe—just maybe— a little lonely."

Ren coughs awkwardly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalates. "Alright, alright. Can we just eat in peace, please?"

Gojo turns his glare on Ren, but it’s not as fiery as before. “You’re one to talk,” he says, eyes flicking back to you. “You’re both just as bad as each other.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You’re welcome for the entertainment.”

At that, Gojo just sighs, letting the conversation fall silent. You, on the other hand, can’t help but feel a little smug. Sometimes you don’t need to win an argument to win, you just need to get under his skin. And it looks like you did just that.

You don’t expect what comes after dinner.

The original plan was simple: after a long day of forced family interaction, you and Ren would crash early. No more chit-chat, no more smiling politely. Just sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But then you overheard your parents gushing about the hotel amenities—a jacuzzi, a sauna, a whole pool area “designed for relaxation.” And like the menaces you are, the plan shifted. Operation: Late-Night Spa was born.

Except fate had other plans.

“Ren?” you call out, knocking gently on the bathroom door, where he’s been holed up for the past twenty minutes.

“I’m dying,” his voice comes out muffled and despairing. “I can’t stop shitting. It’s like a crime scene in here.”

You blink. “Okay. First of all—why the hell would you describe it like that?”

“Because you asked how I was doing!” he yells, voice strained. “You don’t get to complain when I answer honestly.”

You sit outside the bathroom like an abandoned child, knees pulled to your chest, dramatically sighing. “This is not how I imagined our spa night.”

“Neither did I!” Ren cries. “Every time I travel and eat hotel food—every goddamn time. My intestines turn against me. They betray me like an ex who suddenly discovers therapy and self-worth.”

“I mean… maybe it’s food poisoning?”

“If it was, you’d be on this toilet, too. This is personal. This is targeted.”

You wince as the sound of a flush echoes through the room, followed by the telltale rustle of clothes. You brace yourself—and you were right to do so. The bathroom door creaks open, and with it, a scent of death wafts into the room.

“Close it!” you yell, scrambling to your feet like your life depends on it.

Ren groans and slams the door shut again. When he finally emerges—for real this time—he looks like a shell of a man. His skin is pale, hair damp with sweat, steps uneven as he stumbles toward the bed like he’s survived a war.

“Babe,” he croaks, collapsing onto the mattress, “why does this happen to me?”

“I don’t know,” you say gently, flopping down beside him. “Maybe it’s psychological. Like... a gut-level rebellion.”

“It’s very much physical too,” he grunts. “I’m literally hollow.”

You snort. “Well, at least you’re emotionally consistent.”

He throws an arm over his eyes. “This vacation sucks.”

“Give it one night. You’ll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever happened, and I’ll be dragging you out of the sauna before you melt into the floor.”

Ren lets out a pitiful whimper. “Tell my future husband I loved him.”

“Sure. Do you want me to deliver that message before or after I pour bleach on that bathroom floor?”

He weakly flips you off, and despite everything, you both laugh.

“Wait,” Ren croaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t you getting ready for the spa?”

You glance over at him, sprawled across the bed like a Victorian maiden struck down by consumption. “Because you’re sick. I’m not going if you’re not going.”

Ren jerks up with a sudden burst of energy, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’re skipping a free spa night because I have diarrhea? Do you hear how absurd that sounds?”

You frown, folding your arms. “What am I supposed to do there without you? Soak in lavender-scented loneliness?”

“Exactly! You'll relax. Channel your inner peace. Get into your Zen or whatever it is normal people do when they aren’t shitting their souls out.”

“But I can’t just leave you alone here like this.”

“I’m not sick sick,” he insists, waving his hand dismissively. “Think of it like… a mild allergic reaction to overpriced hotel food.”

“If this is mild, I’d hate to see what severe looks like.”

“You don’t want to know,” he says with a haunted look. “Once, in Spain, I—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.”

He chuckles weakly, eyes closing again as his head flops back onto the pillow. “Look. You staying won’t magically cure me. No offense, babe, but your presence isn’t made of Imodium.”

You blink at him. “So you’re just… throwing me out?”

“No,” he groans. “I’m lovingly shoving you toward a steamy, eucalyptus-scented escape while I suffer in peace. There’s a difference.”

“Ugh.”

“Please,” he whines, dramatically. “Don’t make my diarrhea worse by staying here and making me feel guilty.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But if I drown in that jacuzzi from sheer sadness, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he mutters, already half-asleep. “Just don’t haunt me.”

You hover for a second longer, chewing your lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not about the spa at all. Maybe it’s about not wanting to be alone right now. Not after dinner.

But you don’t say that. You just grab your stuff and head for the door.

“Oh, and if you see any hotties,” Ren calls out, “text me. I need to be emotionally prepared for tomorrow.”

You turn, arching a brow. “Ren, babe, you quite literally can’t stop shitting.”

“That just means I’ll be sparkling clean and ready for action if the universe decides to bless me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously under his blanket cocoon.

“You’re the only person I know who can connect explosive diarrhea to sex.”

“It’s because I’m gifted. A prophet, even.” He fans himself dramatically. “Now go. Shoo. Get your ass in that spa. Stop prolonging your inevitable rebirth in a sauna.”

You hesitate in the doorway, watching him nest deeper into the pillows, color slowly returning to his cheeks. “You sure?”

Ren’s voice softens just a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go live your best life. Just don’t come back with stories unless they involve hot people and bad decisions.”

You smile faintly, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll bring you gossip. Maybe even a name or two.”

“Godspeed, my love!” he yells after you, already pulling the covers over his head. “And don’t let anyone ugly flirt with you—I refuse to live vicariously through bad taste.”

The spa cabins are stunning, admittedly. Too clean. Too perfect. The kind of place that makes you feel like you’re already failing at relaxation the moment you step in. The walls are pearly white, soft lilac vines curling at the corners like some fairytale you don’t believe in. The hotel name is etched on the door in cursive, trying a little too hard to be elegant.

You peel off your clothes and slip into your most flattering bikini—the one that says I tried without looking like you did. Family friendly, just in case. You toss your clothes into the locker and twist the key into your backpack. The lock clicks, even though you know no one’s desperate enough to steal anything here. No one’s hungry. Everyone’s too full of money, wine, or disappointment to want anything you have.

The pool is the first stop. It’s massive, quiet, glowing faintly under soft lights. Pale blue tiles, water warm enough to trick you into thinking you’re safe. It’s almost romantic. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You dive in.

At first, it’s a release. Your limbs stretch out, your body finally feels like it belongs somewhere. You do a few laps, chest rising and falling, muscles burning with that old, aching nostalgia. You remember what it felt like to be strong. To not think twice before diving. To breathe deep and stay under water just for the thrill of it.

But your lungs don’t agree anymore. Years of not training. Years of cigarettes and weed.

Years of saying I’ll quit soon.

Now you can’t even hold your breath long enough to stay under. Your strokes lose strength halfway through. Your body floats, but not from peace. From weakness.

The tension leaves your muscles—but frustration takes its place.

Heavy, bitter frustration.

You don’t want to feel weak here.

Not in this pretty place.

Not tonight.

You wipe the water from your eyes, jaw clenched. No more swimming. No more pretending.

Jacuzzi it is.

You walk toward it, dripping and quiet. Because what else are you supposed to do—keep swimming in the disappointment?

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe never again.

The jacuzzi is hidden from the pool by a wall, the kind that doesn’t quite touch the floor, leaving a gap where you know someone could easily peer through. Not that you would ever do that. The two spaces are separated enough that the pool’s quiet hum doesn’t invade the jacuzzi’s warm embrace. There’s a barrier, but it’s a shallow one. A suggestion of privacy.

You didn’t expect to see him here. Of all the places, of all the times.

Gojo Satoru is reclining in the jacuzzi, arms draped lazily over the sides, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he’s a god surveying his kingdom. His eyes, a pale blue that matches the water swirling around him, seem to glow against the soft lighting of the room. You’re not sure if it’s the water illuminating his eyes or the other way around. Either way, it’s mesmerizing. Unsettling.

He’s too perfect. Too effortless. Too him.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze in the doorway. For a moment, you think about retreating, slipping back into the pool. It’d be safer, less there, less him. But the thought of him winning that little battle is enough to make your chest tighten.

So you do what you always do when faced with him: you power through.

You step in and sit at the opposite end of the jacuzzi, a little too loudly, plopping down like you didn’t just have a mini existential crisis about sitting in a hot tub. The water is hot, soothing, and the bubbles feel good against your back. You lean your head back, trying to ignore the fact that he’s right there—smug, annoying, and totally at ease.

“Well, well…” He says, voice dripping with that teasing edge that always gets under your skin. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Same goes for you,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the water, pretending to focus on the swirl of bubbles around you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his tone light and amused, “You’re here because you knew I’d be here.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see. “You’re delusional.”

“Let me guess,” he leans back further, eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maybe you were too bored at the sauna. Nah, you wouldn’t go to the sauna alone. The massage finally over? Nah, you’d look more relaxed if you had a massage. Or, or, or… maaaaaybe you realized you can’t swim as well as you used to.”

You snap, the last thread of your patience wearing thin. “Can you shut the fuck up for once? I literally didn’t ask you anything.”

Gojo’s grin widens, that infuriating smirk curling up at the corners of his lips. “So that’s a yes, baby. Knew it.”

“If you knew it, baby, you didn’t have to speak,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with the kind of sass you only reserve for him.

But he’s not fazed. Of course he isn’t.

“You used to like me all mouthy like that,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, teasing but with a hint of something else. A pull you can’t quite place.

“Key word: used to,” you respond quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. The water hums around you, the air heavy with something unsaid. Gojo’s gaze drifts over to you, but you don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s slipping, and you’re both trying so hard to pretend nothing ever happened between you two.

But Gojo’s never been one to let things stay quiet for long. And you’re both too far gone to ever turn back.

“Nice tits,” he says with a smirk, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “That bikini suits you.”

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes, surprised by his boldness.

“I’m just saying, it looks great on you. You got your tits done or something?” He raises an eyebrow playfully.

“First of all, no. Second of all, maybe you should keep your compliments to yourself,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He chuckles. “I’m not trying to offend you. Just think you look good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “You could’ve kept that to yourself.”

He leans back, not missing a beat. “Where’s the fun in that? I think it’s nice to tell people when they or their assets look good.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He grins like he’s won some silent game between you two. “I bet you’re feeling all flushed now. It’s probably the heat of the water.”

You give him a look, trying to dismiss his words. “Not even close.”

He leans closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I could think of a few ways to make this moment even more... interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh. “Yeah? Well, I’m not sure you could pull that off.”

He smiles, a little too smug. “Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” you say, a challenge in your tone.

He leans back with a devilish grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Game on, then.”

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea @eolivy @4thansstuff

@crankyarchives @mrswanggae @blobbyblogsdraws @saoirses-things @linaaeatsfamilies @momoewn @hellish4ever @emneedshelp @gojoscumslut

[miaoua3]

hii ! could you do a jeonghan drabble where like hes cuddling reader and soothing her period cramps away ? also could u make it 600 words+ (if u can!!) becus i LOVE jeonghan fluff and i only can find those short ones ☹️ thank you !

hii! ofc i can do it, i just don’t know if i can make it 600+ words as that is quite long and i have 20+ requests in my inbox atm😭 still, i hope that you like it!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(pairing: bf! jeonghan x f! reader)

warning: mentions of cramps and blood

you twist your whole body until your face ends up buried inside your pillow, eyebrows furrowed as you try to brave for another wave of pain and cramps.

you really hated surprises, especially when it’s a surprise period that we are talking about. you weren’t supposed to get it for another few days, usually somewhat on time. to say that you were completely unprepared for this is an understatement.

the cramps are so bad this time, you can’t honestly remember the last time they were this bad. unfortunately for you, the medicine doesn’t seem to be kicking in for some reason, leave you at mercy of the strong pain in your tummy.

you hold onto your tummy strongly, pushing your hands into your skin as you moan and groan in pain. you peak with one eye at the bloody sheets that you only had the strength to peel them off and throw them onto the floor, mentally making a note to put them to wash later, once your cramps stop feeling as if you are getting stabbed.

it is at moments like this you wish your boyfriend had a more flexible job, just so you could call him and ask him to come home.

almost like a prayer getting answered, you hear the front door unlocking, opening and closing, before you hear hannie’s sweet voice calling for you.

“angel? are you there? i’m home!”

you groan as you weakly call out “in the bedroom”.

in the matter of seconds, hannie appears, his joyful mood immediately souring at your state, cooing in empathy.

“oh baby why didn’t you say anything? i would’ve been home much earlier had i known that you got your period.”, he slowly approaches you before he sits down beside you, pushing the messy and frizzy hair out of your face as he looks at you with sad eyes.

you close your eyes as another wave of pain and nausea hits you, before you answer him through gritted teeth “didn’t want to bother you…plus you are here earlier either way so..”

jeonghan frowns at your words for a second before he bends down to kiss your temple, softly mumbling against your warm skin “you are never a bother to me, baby. next time, whatever the case-if you need me, call me.”

from there on, you completely shut your brain off, because jeonghan takes over and does everything he can think of to help you relax. takes a shower with you where he makes sure that the water is hot enough that it burns his skin off but he ignores the pain because he can see that it helps you with your pain. changes the sheets and puts the bloody ones into the washing machine. boils the water for the hot water bottle for you to hold onto.

and lastly, he gets into bed with you, his strong chest pressed deeply into your back as he hugs you from behind.

it seems that the painkiller finally started to kick in, or maybe your boyfriend has a magic touch, because the moment he stuck his hand under your shirt and started to softly massage and rub your tummy, your cramps started to get better, finally allowing you to relax and enjoy your boyfriends presence.

you close your eyes as you enjoy the series of kisses jeonghan softly presses into the nape of your neck, his lips taking time as he presses them into your skin. although you can feel how they are a bit scratchy, probably due to him biting them from all the stress he had to endure during the day, you just ignore the feeling and just…let his presence calm yours down.

his big and strong hand on your tummy continues to rub slow circles on it, the warm water bottle completely abandoned by you in the name of feeling the warmth jeonghan provides to you. his other hand (the one you are laying on) is intertwined with one of yours, thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand.

you two don’t speak, whatever show playing on your tv providing the only sounds within the four walls of your shared bedroom.

you feel yourself slowly drifting off to dreamland, but before you can fully succumb to the sweet dreams, jeonghan presses one soft kiss onto your cheek, waking you up immediately upon feeling the touch on your skin.

his tired yet soft voice gently asks you “feeling better, my angel?”

you only have it in yourself to nod and whisper a small ‘thank you’ before you feel your eyes slowly close again, all on their own.

as you drift away, almost pain free and completely comfortable in your lover’s embrace, you hear his voice softly say

“nothing to thank me for. anything for you, baby. anything for you.”

[insomniac4000]

Cold Brew and Hot Takes

An enemies to lovers WillNE fic. 3077 words.

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled, almost too cheerful for the energy that followed it. As usual, he walked in like he owned the place.

“Morning,” he said, dragging out the word in that deep Geordie accent that had somehow become synonymous with smugness to everyone behind the counter.

She didn’t look up. Not yet. She needed a second to prepare herself, and then;

“I’ll have an iced coffee,” WillNE announced, already taking out his card before she could even blink.

“No please? Shocking,” she muttered under her breath, glancing at the screen as she punched it in.

He heard it. He always did.

“I’d say sorry, but it wouldn’t be very me, would it?” he said, flashing a grin that made two of her colleagues giggle behind the pastry case. Traitors she thought as she tried to avoid eye contact with him at all costs and set about to make his drink.

Undeterred Will leaned casually against the counter, watching as she filled a cup with ice and coffee. “Y’know, if I weren’t loyal to this place, I’d start my own chain. Probably call it, like, Will’s Brews or something. I’d make a fortune. Could probably do it better.”

She shot him a look. “You said that yesterday.”

“I say a lot of things,” he shrugged. “Like how I could make a viral video out of just walking in here and annoying you.”

She handed over the iced coffee without a word, but with the kind of passive-aggressive smile that could kill a man if it came with a straw. He took the drink and sauntered to a corner table, pulling out a laptop covered in Quadrant and YouTube stickers. Always on brand. Always visible.

“Is that him again?” Lia whispered to her once he was out of earshot.

“Of course it is,” she muttered. “Mr. I-Invented-Caffeine. If he says ‘I could do it better’ one more time, I’m going to tip espresso over his MacBook.”

“Careful,” their manager joked. “He’s technically a loyal customer. Comes in almost every day.”

“Yeah, like a cocky ghost that just haunts me at this point.”

Despite herself, she glanced over. Will was already sipping the iced coffee like it had wronged him. He pulled a face.

“Needs more syrup!” he shouted across the room.

“Make your own!” she snapped, and heard Lia try (and fail) to suppress a laugh.

The weirdest part wasn’t how often he came in; it was how often he stayed.

Sometimes, Will would grab the iced coffee and vanish within minutes, probably off to shoot a video or go shout at someone on a podcast. Sometimes he came in with his friend “Jim” she had heard him be called but often he was alone. But more and more lately, he lingered. Laptop open, AirPods in, tapping away at some document or spreadsheet that screamed fake productivity.

And on those days, when the shop was slow, she ended up talking to her co-workers about things. Life. Her friends. Her ridiculous family. And sometimes… her ex.

“I just let it go on for too long,” she’d said one afternoon, while frothing milk. “He’d nitpick everything. Who I texted, what I wore, if I wanted to go out with friends. And the worst part is, I knew. I knew he was controlling. I just… I let it happen.”

Will didn’t look up from his laptop, but he had paused typing.

“And then one day, I just snapped. Threw his crap out, blocked his number. Never felt lighter.”

Lia had said something supportive, and they moved on. But Will didn’t type again for a good ten minutes after that, when she glanced over it his table was sitting there staring out the window while stirring his drink.

It was another Tuesday same as any other really, the group of old women had came in at opening for their tea and cake before their community centre exercise lesson, older kids had come in for their sugar syrup concoctions or hot chocolates and the commuter rush had them off their feet for a while but that was over now it was nine thirty.

Will walked in, sunglasses on indoors like the walking red flag she insisted he was. She braced herself.

“Iced coffee,” he said. “And tell Lia she still makes it better than you.”

“She’s off today,” she replied, already grinding beans. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Shame. Guess I’ll just power through.”

He stayed again that day. Stayed and listened to her talk to the manager about how she’d gone on a Hinge date that was “so catastrophically bad it almost made her miss her ex.”

“Not quite,” she’d added. “But close.”

It was a grey Thursday, drizzly and dull. Will was there typing something or pretending to, when the front door opened and he walked in.

Her stomach dropped.

Tall, broad, leather jacket. That same patronizing smirk that had made her skin crawl in the final months. Her ex. How did he even find out she was working here?

He looked around the shop until he spotted her, then strode up to the counter.

“Didn’t answer my texts,” he said. No hello no pleasantries.

Her spine straightened. “That’s because I blocked you.”

“Then unblock me. We need to talk.”

“I don’t think we do.”

He leaned closer, voice lower now, sharper. “Don’t be like this. You know this thing between us; it’s not over. You’re just in a phase.”

A phase. Like she was a teenage rebellion, like she didn’t know her own mind. She knew the signs now he was trying to get under her skin, trying to manipulate her.

“Back off,” she said, louder than she meant to.

Customers were starting to look. Will had stood up.

“I don’t want to cause a scene,” her ex said, raising both hands in mock surrender. “I just think you’re making a mistake. We both know you can’t cope without me.”

“And I think you should leave,” she said, her voice shaking now, but not with fear. With anger.

“Or what?” he challenged.

Then Will was there. She hadn’t even seen him move. One second he was at the back, the next he was between her and the ex.

“She said to back off,” Will said, arms folded, voice calm but firm.

Her ex sized him up. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone with ears. And zero tolerance for creeps who don’t understand boundaries.”

“Mate, this is none of your business—”

Will stepped forward. “It is when you walk in here and start harassing someone. She doesn’t owe you a conversation. She doesn’t owe you anything. You lost your chance. So maybe walk away before you embarrass yourself further.”

A tense pause.

Her ex scoffed, but the bravado cracked just slightly. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I was just trying to be civil.”

And then he left, the door slamming behind him hard enough to make the bell clang.

Silence fell.

Will turned to her. “You okay?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah. I… thanks.”

“No worries,” he said, scratching the back of his neck like it had just hit him that everyone was watching.

She blinked. “I mean it. That could’ve gone badly.”

“Well,” Will smirked, “what can I say? I might be a pain in the arse, but I don’t like bullies.”

She let out a small laugh, the tension finally beginning to melt from her shoulders.

“Maybe you’re not a complete egomaniac.”

“Careful,” he said, stepping back with a grin. “You say enough nice things, I might think we’re friends.”

She rolled her eyes, but something in her chest had shifted. For the first time, she wasn’t looking at WillNE and seeing arrogance or antics or an overconfident YouTuber with a caffeine problem.

She saw someone who’d actually heard her. Someone who’d stepped up.

And that was new.

It was later on in that day and the adrenaline had long worn off, replaced with a bone-deep tiredness as the sky outside slipped from grey to black. The afternoon rush had died down, and it was closing time, the bell dinged again

“Sorry we’re just about to clo…” she started but smiled a little on seeing Will.

“I know, I was just about to go home but wanted to check in and see how you were doing?”. That was how it started, we watched her clean initially as she tried to convince him she was fine Will then ended up drying mugs, of all things.

“Y’know,” he said, holding one up to the light like it was a precious artifact, “this is dangerously close to real work.”

She raised a brow, sweeping crumbs from the counter. “Didn’t think you were the type to help close up.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, “but figured since I stepped into someone else’s argument like some low-rent superhero, I might as well follow through.”

She gave him a smirk. “Low-rent’s accurate.”

He let out a laugh—loud, genuine, startled. It was the kind of laugh that made her feel slightly proud for pulling it out of him.

They cleaned in a quiet rhythm for a few minutes, the silence companionable for the first time.

Then, Will glanced over. “Can I ask you something, though? Not like... nosey. Proper question.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve been thinking about starting a coffee brand. Been talking with James, you know the massive tall guy I’m sometimes with about it for months. No name yet we’re currently in the research phase.”

She shook her head, amused. “So… what’s the plan? Just slap your face on a bag of beans and go?”

“That was option one, yeah,” he deadpanned. “It’s going to be iced coffee of course but more coffee shop standard but at home. I started thinking, I come in here nearly every day. I see people’s orders, see how they act. There’s patterns. And I thought… you probably know all that stuff better than I ever could. The psychology of coffee drinkers or whatever.”

She gave him a long, slightly surprised look.

“That’s… actually kind of thoughtful.”

He put a hand to his chest. “Please don’t ruin my reputation.”

She laughed. “Alright, well—okay. There are patterns. Not wanting to stereotype at all but some things are mostly true, younger people love their syrups and flavours. Out of the alternatives oat makes the best coffee. Tea people are tea people and can never be converted,”

Will cracked up again.

“And,” she continued, now warming to it, “Americano drinkers are either in finance, in therapy, or need to be. You can tell a lot from someone’s drink. Especially how they treat you while ordering it.”

Will looked oddly thoughtful. “That's… kinda brilliant.”

She shrugged, a little bashful. “It’s just stuff you notice when you make a thousand drinks a week.”

“No, seriously,” he said. “You talk about it like an actual craft. Like it’s not just... pouring things into cups.”

“Well,” she said, quieter now, “it’s kind of the only thing I had to rebuild with.”

He looked at her then—not with that cocky spark he usually had, but with genuine interest.

“I was doing art full-time,” she explained. “Illustration. Freelance gigs, murals. But my ex didn’t exactly encourage that. Said it wasn’t stable, and we couldn’t have two people with unstable careers. So I gave it up.”

Will was silent.

“And when I left him, I had nothing. No savings, no place to live. Started over. Took the first job I could get. It was this place.”

“Damn,” Will said softly. “That’s heavy.”

She gave a small smile. “It’s better now. Slowly getting back into it. Sketched a bit again last month. Felt like remembering a part of me I forgot.”

He paused. “Would you ever want to do something with it again? Like, fully?”

“God, yeah,” she admitted, laughing. “If I could afford it. If I had the time. If I had the confidence again.”

He nodded slowly, then, in a voice that surprised her with its seriousness: “What if you did something for me?”

She blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said, setting a mug down carefully. “We need a logo, a website. Something bold and weird. But like… cool weird. Not too weird and off the wall.”

She snorted. “You’re terrible at selling yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’m great at selling other people,” he said, grinning. “I’ll pay you properly, obviously. Could even plug your work in the promo. Get you commissions again.”

She was quiet for a long beat. “…That’s actually really kind of you.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You’re talented. And you haven’t called me a ‘walking ego problem’ once tonight. Growth.”

She laughed, warm and surprised. “Give it time.”

The next morning, he came in like always.

But instead of barking “iced coffee” like it was a military command, he gave her a lopsided smile and said, “Morning. I’ll get the usual, please.”

She blinked.

“Wow. A please? Did you hit your head on the way in?”

“Shh,” Will whispered. “Don’t let the others know. They expect a certain level of cheek.”

She handed him the iced coffee. “You’re evolving. Like a caffeinated Pokémon.”

He chuckled, stepping aside. “Also, I’ve got a mood board I wanna show you. For the coffee packaging.”

Her eyes widened. “Already?”

“What can I say? I’m a man of impulsive brilliance.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

Over the next few weeks, the vibe between them changed.

He’d bring her snacks sometimes. They’d swap memes and jokes and she made his drink. She started showing him sketches during her breaks, and he’d give brutally honest but helpful feedback. (“This one’s sick.” “That one looks great but not really what we’re looking for.”) She appreciated his honesty.

And one quiet afternoon, she caught herself watching him laugh with Lia and thought: Maybe he’s not so bad.

Maybe, in fact, he was something else entirely.

It had rained that morning London rain, soft and annoying and everywhere, the fine rain that soaked you through. She was wiping off the counter near the window when Will came in. Hood up, trainers soaked, coffee order already on his lips.

But instead of the usual cheeky grin, he looked… drained.

“Morning,” he said, his voice lower than usual. “Can I just… get something warm today?”

She blinked. “What, no iced coffee? Who are you and what’ve you done with my most irritating regular?”

That earned the faintest smirk. “I know. The drama.”

She started on a flat white. “You alright?”

He scratched the back of his neck, still dripping a bit. “Didn’t sleep.”

She paused, glanced at him. Something wasn’t right.

He slid onto the stool at the end of the counter as she passed him the coffee.

“I had this shoot last night,” he started, “for some mates content. Long, late, lots of lights, mates kept talking about how I’ve changed.”

She furrowed her brow. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. But it got in my head.”

A quiet settled between them, the usual noise of the shop feeling distant.

“I think,” he said slowly, fingers tracing the rim of the cup, “I’ve been a bit depressed lately, I was seeing this girl for five years we broke up, no big drama just grew apart and I think I isolated myself a little. My mates kept banging on about how I kept bringing the mood down all the time, I don’t think I realised just how sad and lonely I became.

She stayed silent. Let him talk.

“And lately… I dunno. I’ve been wondering if I actually like who I am off camera. Or if I’ve spent so long turning everything into a bit that I forgot how to just… exist. Be normal. Whatever that is. Maybe just a bit of an indentity crisis I guess, happens to content creators a lot.”

He laughed, bitterly. “Listen to me. Getting all weirdly philosophical in a coffee shop like some divorced poet.”

She gave him a soft look. “You’re not weird. You’re just being honest.”

“Dangerous game,” he muttered, looking out the rain-smeared window. “Especially in front of you. You used to want to poison my coffee.”

“Still do sometimes,” she teased, and he laughed, more genuinely this time.

“I think…” she said after a moment, “you’re allowed to outgrow who people think you are. Especially if that person was always performing for someone else’s expectations.”

He looked over at her, something softer in his eyes now. “That your therapist voice?”

“No,” she said, suddenly bashful. “That’s just… me. Trying to make sense of stuff too.”

They stayed there for a while.

Later that week, he came in after closing.

“Got you a thank-you gift,” he announced, holding up a bottle of wine and a bag of tortilla chips.

“Classy,” she said, amused.

“I contain multitudes,” he replied, grinning.

They sat on the counter, lights dimmed, wine in mismatched mugs. She kicked off her shoes. He shed his coat.

They talked. Really talked.

About pressure, about art, about how her ex once threw out a sketchbook because he said it was “a waste of energy.” Will swore under his breath and handed her the chips like they were a prize for surviving it.

About Will’s first viral video and how for years, he wondered if that version of him—the loud, sarcastic, shouty guy—was the only thing people wanted.

“You’re different when it’s just us,” she said, eyes on the way he swirled his wine without realizing.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Better or worse?”

“Real,” she said simply. “I like it.”

He looked at her then, eyes steady and searching.

“You know,” he murmured, “you’ve got this way of seeing straight through people. Kind of terrifying.”

“You hide it well. Most people don’t notice.”

“I do,” he said. Quiet. Almost reverent.

The silence bloomed between them again—but this time, it wasn’t awkward.

It was electric.

When he kissed her, it was hesitant at first. Like he was checking she wouldn’t flinch or bolt or make a joke. But she didn’t. She leaned in, let it happen. Let it deepen.

When they pulled away, neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

Then Will whispered, “You still gonna call me a walking ego tomorrow?”

She smiled. “Oh, absolutely. Maybe more now.”

He laughed and rested his forehead against hers.

Outside, the city moved. Inside, for once, they didn’t.

[pearlescentparade]

OK PL SENDING MOINE IM GLAD I HAD IT PRE TYPED .

Noobador fluff request where player just has to relearn how to fight after chapter 3 because the ghostwalker weakened them a ton.. so they just.. go to Noobador while embarrassed about it. bantering ouuuhhhhhh.... Maybe some resting and focus on self-care..

-🍙

on your feet 🥊 noobador x reader fluff 💝

your linked sword weighs heavy in your hand.

almost like you haven't picked it up for a long time. but you know well that that's not the case, it couldn't be, you literally just used it in the battle for the ghostwalker.. you've swung it with ease ever since you embarked on this journey up until you collected that sword, at that point it was like an extension of your arm with how well it worked in tandem with you.

and yet, it now felt like it had the weight of the world, pulling your aching arms downward to the floor. it almost strains them.

the makeshift training dummy looks down on you, pitiful. if it could come alive, it'd laugh its straw stuffing out at you. the damn thing looks just about untouched, anyone would've thought that you only started training now if they happened to walk in right at this moment. but it's been an hour, and you've barely dented it with anything that somewhat resembles a scratch.

nevertheless, you brace yourself to take another shot. deep down, you're more than aware that it's foolish of you to keep trying when you know it won't work. but even deeper down, there's that tiny sliver of naive hope that a miracle will occur, that you'll cut down that stupid dummy and prove to yourself that you're fine.

despite your shaking hands, you steady your legs and raise the sword as best as you can (said best being slightly above your navel) to cut the dummy down. you swallow down your saliva, your doubt, to heal your dry and tight throat. your eyes, aflame with resolution, fix on your target, viciously glaring at it through your brows. the goofy eyes drawn on its paper bag head innocently reciprocate the stare.

down comes your blade, with all of your strength put behind it. and in that mighty swing...

the sword lightly drags diagonally across the dummy's torso.

it doesn't even pierce the fiber of its skin of sack. you basically just tenderly caressed it like it was your lover.

your eye twitches. you aggressively exhale, like a bull seeing red.

frustrated, you simply drop the sword, carelessly letting the metal clatter on the ground. you would've thrown it, but your arms are screaming at you enough. they seem to calm down now that you've let go, though.

you sigh, the unfortunate truth dawning on you: you're not in the condition to fight or continue on your quest. but what are you to do if not that?? it's been some time since you've done anything that didn't pertain to your quest.

...as sad as it sounded, you could really use a friend. what was the saying, misery enjoys company? yea, you'd love some of that right now, because you're downright miserable. and besides, speaking in terms of street smarts, it's always smart to be with someone you trust if you're vulnerable.

but who?

griefer is the absolute last person you want to see in this state, immediate no. he'd probably hiss at and make fun of you, and it'd piss you off more because you wouldn't be able to beat him up at the moment and it'd only make him laugh at you more.

you couldn't bear to bother kyoko when she's out exploring. besides, you don't really know where she is. for all you know, she could be towns away! the spontaneous nature of adventurers...

red and blue will tire you out for a fact. they're good kids, but they're kids. they will not let you have peace.

out of everyone, only one person really appeals to you as the best to go to.

or, he did at the time.

but now that you're standing face to face with him, you can't help but feel a bit ashamed of your state. despite having finished fighting a non-sentient and still object that had absolutely no way of damaging you, you look just as poor as you feel: disheveled hair, dirty clothing, and every limb quivering. and though noobador literally answers the door in a loose tank top and sweats, he looks miles beyond proper compared to you.

"...it's you."

noobador's eyes widen ever so slightly upon seeing you at his front door as he states the obvious. it makes you shrink even further into yourself than you already are, avoiding any possible eye contact with him as you mindlessly twiddle with your fingers.

was now not a good time? he doesn't sound particularly ecstatic to see you.. no, are you serious? it's just you, he doesn't owe you an excited greeting, don't be so full of yourself- maybe he's tired. or just stunned. you don't look too good, it's probably that. yea, you'd be shocked if you saw yourself too.

"..yeah. it is." your ears feel warm as you breathlessly mutter, borderline inaudible. meanwhile, your eyes find the hinges of his door incredibly captivating. how wonderfully brassy and rusted they are. oh my, they look recently oiled. yes, much more interesting than the man standing in front of you.

noobador takes one glance over at your shaking form, scrutinizing, as if carefully considering how he should approach you. then, he leans in and holds a hand up behind his ear to block out all other noise. "whaaatt? i can't hear you if you're gonna murmur, kid."

at the first chance he gets to tease you, noobador pounces for it, the sound of a smirk weaseling its way into his tone. you're funny like this, he thinks. it's not usually in his nature to torment others, but it's not usually in yours to be so skittish, so cut him some slack.

you squint up at him, looking directly at him. finally, noobador thinks.

"i- just repeated what you said, you don't need to hear it louder!" luckily for you, noobador's lighthearted mocking reminds you to be casual. part of your anxiety quells as you scowl at him. on the other hand, you're only growing more upset when he simply laughs. though you suppose you can't be too mad, given that you're not shaking like a twig anymore.

he then leans on the doorframe, quirking a curious brow with the intention of getting down to business. "well? you need something? i'm not too keen on having a staring contest on my porch all day."

huffing, you roll your eyes, "yea, i was getting to that." after taking a moment to mentally prepare yourself, you exhale. "okay, this might be kinda out of the blue, but can i please just chill in your place? i.. i need a break and i j- uagh!"

abruptly, noobador's large hand pushes you inside by your back, and you stumble over your feet a little from the force. before you can whip around to squabble with him again, he's already moving to the kitchen, leaving you standing in his living room dumbfounded.

"make yourself at home. red and blue should be out for most of the day, so we won't be having any disturbances." his gruff voice still rings clear, even when muted slightly from the next room over.

any witty remarks you wanted to make die on your tongue, as you sit on the couch in resigned defeat. from what you've seen of him, noobador is that 'what i say, goes' type, so it really shouldn't surprise you at this point. though, when you're the boss and parent of two children, it's impossible to not be a bit pushy.

what does surprise you is how unbelievably soft this couch is. despite its somewhat worn appearance making it look like it was picked off of the side of the road, you can't help but sink yourself deeper into it. you bring your legs up and lay on your side, nuzzling your head on a pillow next to the arm of the couch.

now that you're resting, the exhaustion creeps onto your feeble body, even more so with your newfound weakness. you could almost fall asleep right here.. and your heavy, drooping eyelids definitely agree.

"taking 'make yourself at home' a bit literally, aren't we?" you immediately jolt up. or, would've- if not for noobador's hand once again playing an unstoppable force and pushing you back to laying down. as fast as you got up, you're back down, square one.

with his other hand, noobador gently sets down a steaming cup on his coffee table with a light clink. "woah- take it easy, kid. i'm just messing with ya. sleep on my couch all you want, i don't care."

when he sees your curious eyes naturally draw to the cup, he elaborates, "oh, this? 's green tea. what, you want some??" you nod, a little too enthusiastically. with the terrible day you've had, noobador almost snorts at how your eyes practically light up.

but noobador brings his hand over the top of the cup and scoots it closer to himself, safeguarding his rightfully-earned pick-me-up. "then get up and go make some yourself, since you're so comfortable now." you shoot him a deadly glare, narrowing your eyes. what was the point of offering, then?! and how evil, to tell you to get up when your body has basically already thrown in the towel..!

he holds your gaze for a short while, before he huffs amusedly, deciding he's had his healthy dose of poking fun of you today anyway. "fine, ya got me. it's for you. don't get any on my couch or i'll knock you out."

he moves to carefully hand it to you. clearly experienced and traumatized from his own kids, he takes the liberty of warning you about the scorching bottom and facing the handle towards you so as to encourage you to hold the cup from there.

"yea, yea.. thanks."

you bring it to your face and lightly blow, before cautiously sipping. a rush of warmth seeps into your bones and blooms in your blood, and you can't fight smiling against the rim of the cup. even if it's a placebo effect tricking your mind, you'd like to think it's helping you regain some of your strength back.

noobador lays back against the couch. "you young punks sure like to throw yourselves in danger, huh? hardly my age, but doing double my work.. you'll get wrinkles earlier, going on like that."

you pout, "eww, i'm not gonna get wrinkly like you.. it's just this lil hiccup and i'll be back in business!"

"even small injuries can flare up into something bigger. take it from me," a reminiscent look glosses over his eyes, no doubt thinking back to his own moments of carelessness. and there's lots to spare, with the years of experience he's had.

"wow~ inspirational," you snicker, completely unserious. but you're listening, peering at the side of his head as you take another long sip.

he groans, bringing his hands up to rub his temples. "just take care of yourself, kid. 'cause nobody's gonna do it for you."

"really? 'cause you are." the mental image of noobador constantly looking after you like some kind of housewife makes you giggle. if only! you'd take breaks waaaaay more often.

he suddenly slaps his hands on his knees and pushes off of them to get up. "what i'm hearing is that you don't want anymore tea."

wildly, you gasp, crying after him as he walks off into a different room. "what- noo! fine, you're right! i'm sooorryyy, come backk!!" your hand half-heartedly reaches out for his back, before you let it fall on the arm of the sofa.

though it doesn't take long before noobador is back, this time with a comically huge and thick blanket in his hands. did he get that from his bedroom...?

before you can comment, he throws it on you, immediately engulfing you in fluffy darkness. while you vehemently fight to find the exit, grappling and tussling underneath the blanket, you can hear his haughty laugh from outside of your prison. jerk.

by the time you pop your head out, he's already reclaiming his seat next to you. "there. now you can get your precious beauty sleep."

"and what about my pillow?"

he rolls his eyes, mutters under his breath about how 'spoiled' you are, then stretches out his arm behind your head. you grin in victory, laying your head back against his firm muscle. you are spoiled, but he indulges you, so who's really to blame here?

surrounded by warmth, everything begins to feel heavy again. fuzz coalesces in your senses, and before you drift off, you think you feel yourself being pulled towards another warm body.

(parade postscript: exams aint got SHIT ON ME oooff this one turned out way longer than i intended in classic pp fashion but can you blame a writer for liking writing!!!!!)

[meathunt]

Hello!

I want to say I love your vampire dads au

Elias being sweet while Thomas is firm but gentle or (coaxing?) With his methods is something I enjoy (sorry if I might have mixed up between names)

.I think reader were a human before their turning and I think you mentioned them being turned twice? As like Thomas marked them once and elias marked them also so that would make them have two sires or am I wrong?

. If you don't mind I want to ask for scenario about reader , when they wake up and everything is cleared for them like pain is bearable and no more frogynes? Or their headache? , what would their reaction be knowing they got fully turned into vampire and is probably in their fledgling phase and their reaction to discovering they consumed blood from their sire and that they would have to feed from them for while , would reader get scared and get fussy with them or except it because they feel same around their sires's?

. Sorry if it's too long also English is not my main language so I lack in some terms and tried to explain as best as I could 😅

- anyways keep your passion and hard work and thank you for drinking our crocodile tears with your amazing writing lol

-R

Thank you! Hope you keep enjoying my works!!! Well you are right but also wrong! I will explain kinda what happened in reader's process of turning and siring in another post as i will probably make it a bit long haha. When i write it you can find it here! Now for the scenario :] ---

You felt too warm in the position you were laying down at the moment, rolling to the other side in search for a cooler place to keep sleeping.

The bed felt very nice from under you, firm but not hard, and the blanket that you were currently hiding your face in was so wonderful, the fluffy material softly caressing your face.

It was very soft huh....

 ....

You are pretty sure you didn't own anything this nice, even if you did you are pretty sure it would be one small blanket.

But now that you felt more awake you could recognize that almost everything around you was way out of your budget. From the pillows and blankets around you to the soft fluffy clothes you were wearing at the moment.

You slowly sat up from the bed, now noticing that it mostly looks like a bedding made of multiple pillows, blankets and few plushies here and there.

But the most notable detail of it all was that you didn't recognize any of it, no windows to get a feel of what time it was. You woke up fully now, and for the first time of what you feel have been months, you really felt awake, fully conscious, actually aware of your surroundings, slow panic rising as your situation fully set in.

Your last clear-ish memory was drinking yourself silly in some bar, after that is just some blurry scenes that make you nervous the more you try to figure out what actually happened, the more you feel panic rising inside you, unconsciously fidgeting with the blanket in your hands. A whimper on the tip of your tongue, but you hold it back, deciding to put a pin on it and come back later, for now you have to figure out where are you.

You go to stand up from where you were sitting and almost instantly feel your legs give out from under you. Well that’s strange, you go to stand up again feeling how you struggle to maintain balance when you finally stood up, you stretch a bit, feeling your bones pop with the action. Some parts of your body feel a bit sore when you go to walk to the door, having to take it slowly, stumbling a bit on the way as your legs feel a bit weaker, opening and looking into the corridor. Well, now you can clearly say you are not in your house, or somewhere you could really afford, even the light features in here look way out of you budget, you walk out of the room, deciding that exploring the place is your game plan for now.

After some minutes you are almost sure you are completely alone in the house, you haven’t heard anyone around for a bit, and if you are being honest you haven’t heard anything, the house being strangely quiet.

While walking aimlessly and judging the decoration of the house you are currently in you encounter what could only be living room, and while very comfortable you note the lack of technology in here, not even clocks to give you a clue of what day or time it is. You note that there is a door to the balcony, but before you can open it a hand grabs you by the shoulder.

“And where do you think you are going Sunshine?”

His voice almost made you jump out of your skin, turning around to see a burly man towering man over you made you stop breathing for a second, how did this mountain of a man managed to sneak up on you is a mystery.

“U-uhm.” You tried to figure out who he was but nothing came to mind, but as you looked into his eyes full of care and just happiness to see you, you are a bit shocked so you really don’t react until he is practically in front of you and immediately going to carry you, but before he could really get comfortable you stopped him “Hey, hey! It’s okay, I can walk!”

He visibly tenses by your words and immediately looks into your eyes, even when he towers above you and could possibly force you if he chose to, you don’t feel in danger, his eyes don’t look angry, but a bit more hurt, a bit more inquisitive, like he’s not used to you denying him things.

Before any of you could say or do anything else another person stepped into the room “Oh cutie, you should let Papa carry you, after all you can barely stand on your own”

Huh? What was he talking about-

You go to take a step back but just as if in command your legs fail you, if not for the man in front of you that with inhuman speed held you and settled you against his chest you would have probably be on the ground and most likely hit your head.

“Love, let’s go take a sit at the sofa, seems our little one has many questions in their little head” Thomas says as he is already on his way.

Elias carries you no problem as you try to make sense of what even is going on. You stay on Elias’s lap even when he already took a sit, and you don’t make a move to get off because you are almost sure he won’t allow it. You don’t want to acknowledge that it also feels just right, like you will be safe here.

You all stay silent for a bit, them waiting for you to ask something, and you trying to think of what to ask first, who are they? Where are you? How did you get here?

You look up at Thomas, trying to decide as your mind is flooded by questions, but even if you feel some kind of connection with him your mind also raises an alert. He doesn’t seem as strong as the man holding you, but you still think you won’t be able to take him in a fight. But as you focus more on him that sense of wrongness grows, you can’t put your finger on why, he looks like a common rich dude, maybe softer.

But then it clicks, his chest.

His chest is not rising. That almost instinctive rise and fall from the chest is just not happening, he’s not breathing, and since he entered the room he hasn’t being doing such a simple, common thing. And then your question comes immediately to mind “…what are you?”

Thomas smiles at you, a smile that has too many teeth, sharper than any humans would be.

Elias strokes your back as you almost instinctually nuzzle on his chest in look for comfort, even if you really didn’t realize you were doing it. --

Almost two hours after they answered all the question you had.

Vampires, fucking vampires.

You didn’t want to admit that it was the only thing that actually made sense with the meager memories you had, that it was reasonable once they answered all of the questions. You were freaking out, internally, mentally you were freaking out about all the new findings. Because physically you weren’t.

Somewhere in the talk Thomas decided to take you from Elias’s arms and take your place, no you were laying on his chest while in a cuddle pile between him and Elias. And you were angry, you wanted to shout and scream and cry about what fate brought to you, about the things you just figured out you lost, about the life you will never get back and weren’t able to properly say goodbye to.

That you were able to get mad, even when Elias’s hand strokes your back in a comforting manner, and the purring from Thomas chest wasn’t relaxing you further into his hold.

And as Elias brought his wrist to your mouth and you immediately closed your eyes, you tried to convince yourself that as the irony smell hit your nose you didn’t latched onto the source like a kid with ice-cream, and as it flowed inside you and you felt tears burning in your eyes that it was disgust what you felt instead of warm comfort as the liquid settled in your stomach.

And that the vibration of your chest was contained hiccups instead of a happy purring escaping you after realizing that your captors, caretakers, will never be far from you.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

OH we technically guessed it right, we are getting an episode with 3 after all. Hell yeah! For that, friends, we each get an ice cream (gonna get myself some mint chocolate chip)

Now that we have our snack, let's enjoy the episode, shall we?

(the following is my live reaction:)

(god i love the intro so much, it makes my brain happy like :3 I'm telling you it's my Saturday morning cartoon)

YOOO are we getting more of 3 and Bob dynamic? oh HELL YEAH!

You gotta admit, we've been waiting for interesting character dynamics!! This was the ones I was on my list ever since the "No TV Make Mario No Okie Dokie" episode (but fr can they be money-loving besties? for me specifically?)

"sugar" right......

Well..... I mean, they are pretty valuable. Which ones were they? Someone pass me some thin mints

Bob: "And I took those cookies from you!" Why do I imagine 3 pulling the whole "taking candy from a baby" scenario and steal a wagon of those cookies from a Girl Scout? Either that or 3's scout leader for the SMG4 Kids, Girl Scout being gender neutral. Eh, probably the former, but could you imagine? *secretly writes this down*

Y'know it would be crazy if it was in the daycare and it was the kids

their lil brave march into the daycare, that really got a giggle out of me hehe

Bob: "These are dangerous guys." He's not wrong, they can be scary sometimes

the RETURN of Gooby4.... oh....

*WOTFI 2024 flashbacks* 😶 huh. (let's just move on, ok?)

(update: yeah don't think I didn't see 3 with the brainrot smh)

3: "I'M TOO YOUNG AND GORGEOUS TO DIE" PFFT HAHAHA that seriously got me, that's good ......wait. y'know how I said that 3 might be insecure about his self-image? huh. well, guess what's gonna be a new addition to the tier list :D

MEGGY?

ah, that makes sense 😊↕️ look at her, she looks so happy like :>

oh gurl, not that you would know but that's not what they meant /lh

YAY the M&M (sibling) duo is here! ofc he would be

"sugar rush" HAHAHA man they really do be saying some great lines this episode

oop that little bit of animation with 3, love that they sneak those lil bits in

welp, worst person you can have to teach about how "sharing is caring" haha (if anyone's going to bring up the endorsement usb, that didn't count, let's be clear on that)

wait, hang on, I got another bit of these:

writer Ink: "...And then the rat gang surround Bob and pull out their cheese swords." producer Ink: "Wow, I get it'll be tough for him to get out of that situation." writer Ink: "Actually, it's going to be easy, barely an inconvenience!" producer Ink: "Oh, really?" writer Ink: "Yeah, he's just going to show off how hot he is and then the rats would die from his attractiveness. Like they would say 'Oh no, he's hot!'" producer Ink: "Every one of them?" writer Ink: "Every one of them." producer Ink: "Wow, I'm glad he was able to defeat them with the power of gay awakenings... or something, I can't tell." writer Ink: "I mean, is anyone in the SMG4 universe really a 100% straight and/or cis?" producer Ink: "Fair enough! But what about Francis?" writer Ink: "Hey, shut up (he's dead)"

/silly

anyway, look how happy 3 is, enjoying that story :)

as someone who watched all of the final destination and saw movies, 3's not wrong

me likey :D

hold on, how come the kids get a free cappuccino? I want one! I wanna try 3's coffee >:( /silly

Bob: "Please go the fuck to sleep" OMG I haven't heard this audio for SO LONG, it was bc the I was rewatching a 64 Blooper "Shoot to the Observatory in the Sky". For what? uuuh it's confidential for the time being, folks. anyway this really hit me with nostalgia like you have no idea

PFFT HAHAHAHAHA I might pass out oh fuck

idc what anyone says, this is the joke of all time

oh i hate that png of Mario and his teeth /lh

NO MARIO THAT'S NOT IT

AY now Mario can match with Pirate 4 from the "Mario PC Virus" episode

btw he's so sweet with the kids like 4 does 😭 (just unfortunately putting them in dangerous situations unintentionally, whoops)

*head in hands* naurrrrr

*wheeze* the cutaway from that tho

yep, everything coming together, huh boys?

c'mon Bob, you got us in this mess, just give them the money!!

😦 and we're fuuuuuuuuuucked

OUGH I felt that to my core. stepping on legos are the worst smh

YES lesson here, folks: adapt on the battlefield

OUGH i felt that AGAIN

See? Bob was right, kids are dangerous (if you give them the right stuff) 😊↕️

goddammit we were so close

the boss? MARTY?! OH SHIT HE'S BACK, I TOLD YALL

ik 3, ik but that's GOOD, for me specifically

I gotta love this moment bc genuinely Marty is a menacing villain if you think about every crime he's ever done but because he's a cardboard cutout, most of us in the audience don't really take him seriously. For 3 and Mario tho, being in WOTFI 2023 and the poisonous pasta sauce fiasco, they know what he's capable of but they can always kick his ass again, just like last time

please puzzles, can you recruit marty? it would be cool i swear

oh, is Marty going to be mad about what 3 did?

*blink blink* wha?

Oh, I guess we're gonna have to go with that narrative. Like I said, we gotta adapt. it's time to improvise!!

Marty: "I'll let this sugar incident slide...this time." 👀 this time?

OOP and the cops got him. wait. WAITWAITWAIT HE'S GOING TO JAIL! maybe not in the same row but MAYBE he's with Puzzles rn in the same jail!!

sorry, this is just so adorable to see 💙

one day, we'll get "I need a hero" (shrek 2 cover) on an episode *cough cough* PV plus *cough*. Hey, if I was able to manifest the "Friends on the Other Side" into the show, we can do this

😨 OWWWW THIS IS WORSE THAN THE LEGO I FELT THAT SOMEHOW

sidenote: I do love 3's sunglasses here, slay honestly! It kinda reminds me a lot of Shadow's from the Sonic calendar art, strange for me to just say that but it's true (one day I'll have "Mario in Sonic 3". one day.......)

YUP this is a different jail from last time!! Not that this would stop him from escaping but wouldn't it be cool if we... gee idk... have him recruited for some revenge thing. perhaps 👀

(Team, if you pan to the right and we see puzzles, I would scream)

Oh, but trust. the cardboard kid is gonna come back somehow. Probably not alive bc the one who did it for Marty was Mario (y'know, aka the Avatar), but this cutout's going to be important somehow

Congrats to ElisCZ for your art being featured in the end credits! 🎉 And anniversary fanart for Puzzlevision no less, hell yea!!

(hey Team, why Puzzles? Not that I hate the choice but any particular reason why? hmmm *sits cutely* /silly)

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Wow, this was such a silly and fun episode! Seriously Team, you've done a great job, yall got be CRACKLING throughout the whole thing which isn't an easy feat. AND a 3 + Bob dynamic? I LOVE IT!! This was so good and I really hope we get to have more episodes like this, either with team-up dynamics or character exploration (like 3 in particular).

Now, as for my tier list I mentioned earlier, here's the updated version from the first one:

yep, 3's self-image issues are definitely in the "it keeps me up at night" pile 😌↕️

Anyway MARTY IS BACK!! Oh man, I'm REALLY hoping Puzzles would also recruit him into the revenge plan. He would be, dare I say it, perfect for it. Ok ok, you guys gotta see my (creative) vision here:

we will need Marty to transfer to solitary confinement row with Puzzles, or just have them in the same building, either one works

Then, for the next arc around June, WPNZ breaks Puzzles out of jail (and Marty uses the opportunity to get out of there too with his "son"), and then our two antagonists get a chance to have a whole arc for themselves to bond. y'know the whole strangers to friends to breakup (read: divorce) to reconciling. Hell, the Crew doesn't even need to be part of it at all, and that way we raise the stakes higher for the future. Side note: they didn't know Marty was in jail.

WOTFI 2025 would have Marty as the main anatagonist but this time, the whole Crew (yes. even Karen) would be there and once he's defeated but not killed, Puzzles would come and recruit him. Idk, probably for Marty losing his son or something bc of them.

THEN we get Puzzlevision Plus/IGBP 2 (+ the ultimate test of 3's character development if he gets recruited right before it)

😎 eh eh? how's that? *crickets* .....yea, like that's ever gonna happen hehe. I'll just uh. leave this in my concept vault and hopefully I'll get the fic out before the next arc. I wouldn't even count that tho if I were you. I really don't have much to say for this review other than that this was such an enjoyable episode, so have these instead:

Look at the cuties ^^. That's all from me, folks! I'll see yall in the next one, and remember: numbers always go first!