#reader is a bit of a grump | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 8 months ago

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#THE GRUDGE! g. satoru

☆ sum. perhaps screwing your ex-husband while the kids are out trick-or-treating wasn’t the best idea. but with him, the only treat he wants to trick is not in a basket—it’s right between your legs.. boo!

wc. 6.6k

warnings. fem! reader, ex-husband gojo, mentions of (2) kids, unprotected, pwp, mild hatefùcking, kakashi references eheh, gojo's still whipped, filthy dirty talk, prone bone, praise, implied bréeding, cunnīlingus / face sītting, bóob fondling, possessive themes, size kink, overstim, brat taming, fıngering, squırting, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist

at the gojo’s, you mentally smack yourself as your feet step onto the scream-themed door mat that reads ‘step if you dare.’ part of you wished no one would answer the doorbell, but part of you solely wished he didn’t answer. it was about seven thirty at night, and with it being saturday, you had the kids for a few days. after that, you’d switch with satoru—your jeering hot-headed ex-husband. you decided since you got off early you’d take them trick-or-treating for a bit. but it’s to your utmost ‘surprise’ that satoru opens the door.

“oh! and who are you supposed to be pretty lady?” he’d hum, digging his hands into his pockets. satoru purposely tilts his head down, getting a good look at you while raising a brow. of course, he always went out for his costumes. this year, he’s wearing some sort of green flak jacket, a mask, and a long-sleeved shirt underneath with dark blue pants.

with a grump, you tuck your arms underneath your pits with your purse clinging onto your shoulder. “myself,” and your eyes flicker toward his messy frosted hair that’s spikier than usual. satoru’s wide headband partially droops below his left eye before you finish mumbling, “who are you even supposed to be.”

“uh, kakashi hatake. the man, the myth, the legend,” and satoru leans back against the front door, pulling out a fake kunai. a hand runs through his hair before he snickers at your unamused expression. tough crowd. “aw, you must be here for the kids, yeah? well, they’re out with nanami ‘n suguru trick-or-treatin’. just some blocks down,” and satoru stepped a few feet back once you trod your way inside, mutely cursing yourself that you’d probably have to wait until they got back. as long as they were with nanami and suguru—you didn’t have a problem. satoru shuts the timber wooden-made door behind him before speaking smugly. “oh. sure.. sure, just make yourself right at home, wifey.”

“don’t call me that.”

“just did.”

oh, brother.

the moment you stepped foot into your old spacey luxurious townhome satoru had built personally for you and your kids—the memories all came crawling back. the two of you didn’t end off on a bad note—divorces happen, and you both maintained a healthy relationship with the kids. you each agreed to co-parent, you’d get the week and he’d get the weekend - sometimes switching and vice versa.

“excuse the mess,” satoru hums, grabbing your coat. he tosses it over his shoulder before giving you another up-down glance. “if i knew you were comin’ over around this hour i’d clean a bit,” and he watches you struggle to keep eye contact. “hey. sweetheart, you’re lookin’ down again.”

with a scoff, you meet his gaze again. and fuck, does he look like he’s gotten even more handsome.

satoru gojo was always attractive—there was no doubt about it.

he was in his mid-thirties now, the two of you had settled down after college before having two kids of your own.

again, there wasn’t a reason for your divorce that was relatively a bad thing. you two just both decided to part ways - but of course, it was lots of unprovoked tension.

the costume that he wore was apparently based on some character named ‘kakashi’ whatever, and like always, he dressed the part. every year once the end of october would come around, satoru would wear an outfit just ‘cause. he stood tall, with serrated white hair that was jagged from all angles with the headband hanging off a side of his eye. in the middle part, the symbol was some kind of swirl that was never-ending.

satoru rambled to you that it was something . . something, a hidden leaf—honestly, you tuned out.

he wore the mask part too, covering up a good portion of his face from the nose down, and even had the red slanting scar that kakashi had near the left side of his eye that was probably makeup.

“i don’t wanna fight, gojo.”

“hmph. so it’s ‘gojo’ now,” he rolls his eyes, hanging your coat up near the rack. you take a quick peer around the room, seeing a plethora of toys and multicolored legos everywhere. it nearly makes you smile, remembering when satoru stepped on one of his youngest daughter’s legos. satoru leans against the glassy kitchen island, watching you take a seat near the crimson-red stool before humming. “and i don’t wanna fight either. in fact, i jus’ wanna talk.”

“so . . talk then,” you murmur, shifting your weight in your feet.

a brief smile creases against both sides of his lips before he grins. “soooo,” and it’s an awkward pause. you eye your ex-husband and he’s got somewhat of a bashful expression. rimy eyes of his dart toward your hand—your fingers specifically before he slyly coos. “i see you’re still wearin’ your wedding ring.”

shit.

he had a point.

after all this time, you still had your ring on. satoru did too—he also kept his ring on all the time, happily flashing it in front of countless numbers of women who’d try to hit on him.

you honestly don’t know why you still held on to it, let alone wear it, and to your surprise—you thought he’d stop wearing his those long seven months ago when the two of you officially split.

you bit the inside of your cheek before letting off a snarky, “shut up.”

satoru nearly snickers before he leans up close to you, only a few inches away. he’s so close that you get a loud wafting whiff of his citrusy cologne.

you remember the exact brand too, and it wasn’t exactly cheap either. he’d buy at least a dozen whenever the two of you went out shopping together - well, used to.

there’s so much tension between you both that you could cut it with a knife - the tension was thick, and the awkward dull pauses only made it even more intense.

there’s an annoying voice in your brain that’s screaming at you to just screw it - screw him, make up for lost time, and just . . . kiss him.

you did want to kiss satoru, and your eyes found themselves glancing toward his pearly pink lips that were almost always naturally glossed.

satoru’s eyes intently lock against yours for a few seconds before he casually brings a thumb up to the corner of your mouth, wiping away a bit of your lip gloss before cooing huskily. he expects you to pull away, but you don’t— in fact, you lean into his touch. once he notices, the only thing he replies with is a playful curt utter of,

“make me.”

so you do, but . . not in the way he expected.

not that satoru gojo was ever a man to complain though, especially with you.

and that’s when he found himself in quite a lewd predicament. satoru’s laid back against his cushiony padded mattress with you straddling his perfectly sculptured chin. a gloved hand of his grip near your right hip before he strums a thumb down your sopping wet entrance.

glossy - it’s prettier like he’s never seen it, and he can’t help but lick his lips like an animal preparing to feast the second you start to smear yourself against his chin.

“y’knowww baby, when you told me to shut up i didn’t think you meant sitting on my f—mmph,” and you cut him off mid-sentence by softly planting your cunt back on his mouth.

satoru grunts, bringing his free hand to wrap around the other unoccupied corner of your waist. he grunts, dipping his tongue inside before the familiar taste comes crawling back to his spiraling tastebuds. your taste, he missed your sweetness . . almost as much as he missed you.

as you sweetly moan within each dragging second, you glance down at him with hazed-blown pupils. shifting your wobbly weight and knees against his face, you start to feel his stubble rub on your skin. it almost tickles - but oh, you weren’t laughing.

his tongue had you doing quite the opposite.

“f- fuck,” you huff out, already starting to feel the plunging heaves of your stomach commence. sure, this was probably a bad idea, and sure, you and him probably needed to have an actual conversation at some point but now - you didn’t care about words.

you didn’t care about anything, and part of you kind of missed him.

perhaps his tongue was a majority reason for that part, and each time he rummages inside the deep secluded parts of your pussy, you let off cute individual mewling whimpers. satoru’s always been skilled, and he knew just how to please you.

his tongue always knew how to remind you of how much it’s missed its favorite meal.

curl after fucking curl, he’s leisurely spelling out letters and shapes and symbols with his tongue, taking every few seconds to swallow. satoru groans against your slobbering cunt, feeling you briefly thrust up against his nose and he can’t help but smell your tangy glacé coated sex.

it’s pleasantly sweet, and for a moment, scintillating blue eyes meet back up toward you. “h- heh, ‘s this why you came over? to shut me up ‘n use my fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart?”

“god, you talk t.. too much,” you moan, grabbing a fistful of his hair. in a way - that was true.

satoru was the definition of a blabbermouth.

he’d just talk and talk and talk . . yapping your ear off until you shut him right up in the best (and his personal favorite) way possible - sitting on his pretty face.

a pompous grin stretches across each corner of his lips whilst his jaw’s already dripping due to your slick that paints near the outer crevices of his thin lips. slow, it starts to slowly trickle down his chin at a snail-like pace, creating a shimmery coat of gloss that dribbles underneath his slack mandible.

satoru lays his long pointed tongue flat - savoring every single drop before he’s starting to suck against your clit.

“oh! fuck, right there ‘toru, riiiight there,” and he’s just sloppy. the mask part of his costume was pulled down to his neck as he was using his upper and bottom lip to munch against your sobbing pussy at irregularly paced intervals. your legs failed to stay still and you could already feel the carnal slope of your back starting to form an obtuse-like arch. “fuck, fuckin’ spit on it, ‘toru. pleasepleaseee.”

cute.

you’re calling him ‘toru again, and it makes him cockily grin knowing it was his tongue’s doing.

“wifey’s still as nasty as ever,” satoru whispers against your leaky folds, sliding a thin middle finger near your wet entrance. with a loud ‘psh’ you end up gushing out a bit abruptly and you whine loudly. your thighs rapidly snap together as you blink thrice, feeling his swollen lips glue against your pussy. “mmh, still a wet girl too. my wet girl.” you peek down at satoru who’s the literal epitome of the word smug.

he’s smearing his entire face against your teary slabbering cunt, spitting on it before lapping it right back up again.

you missed his nasty mouth - badly, and it makes your eyes shamelessly roll backward as you start to frailly rut your rickety hips into his mouth.

satoru brings two willowy fingers toward your slit before sliding the icy jewel rock of his wedding ring against your dribbling cunt.

wet, you were soaked and you let off shivering labored breaths once he started to toy with your saturated slick entrance.

with widened doe eyes, you meet his esurient-filled gaze and he hums at you. “listen to how damn wet she is,” he huffs, and you moan at the ridiculously drenching sounds of your pussy. he’s playing with you from between your thighs, chin still dripping with insane amounts of your syrupy juices. “mhm, i know, i know,” and you feel the feeble weight of your thighs quiver the second he’s focusing his attention primarily on your cunt now and not you.

all six eyes were fixated between your legs—

satoru strums the pad of his thumb down your drooling slit before gradually rolling his tongue from top-to-fucking-bottom.

he’s nasty, slithering the tip of his tongue everywhere until your toes curl and you’re letting off the cutest shrilling sounds. satoru even starts to spell out ‘m-a-r-r-y m-e’ and as lewd as it was, he’s proposing to your pussy. he needed you, and satoru knew the both of you divorcing was nearly inevitable, but he missed you.

he especially missed the way you tasted - so sweet, he could eat you out for hours even with his jaw sore ‘n locked. satoru’s a pussy pleaser, making you draw out sweet cries of more as he slurps you clean, his tongue occasionally sliding toward your puckering hole.

“satoru… ngh,” you whimper, the grip of your hand against his hair getting stronger. you’re fucking his face, grinding your slick against his mouth while watching his pretty frosty lashes flap. you’re squelching profusely, and each sloshing slosh of your pussy makes his dick twitch in his pants. “goddd, ‘m gonna cum. make me cum, fuck.”

“let’s see what she thinks,” he purrs, lustrous polished lips flushing into a pearly coat of clear once he licks them. satoru’s entirely pussy drunk, and you shudder once he slowly inserts a lanky middle finger. with a loud ‘pop!’ sound, it dexterously slides itself in, rummaging past the tight ring of your entrance.

fuck, he had such long fingers.

you almost forgot - satoru always joked with you how being ‘the strongest’ came with having six-inch fingers and he wasn’t fucking kidding . .

“hm, should my baby cum? does she deserve it?” and your lips curl up into a pout. he’s serious, having an entire conversation with your pussy. you moaned, maintaining a stiff grip on his hair before satoru started to smear circles against your cunt.

again, you’re just wet. your slickness amused him and satoru can’t help but playfully pat your pretty soddened pussy with the center of his palm once he doesn’t get a reply. the only reply he does get is the cute sloshing sounds that repeatedly gush between your poor quivery thighs.

you’re slowing yourself against his mouth as you straddle him, whimpering at the feeling of his thin digit piercing its way inside of you. you’re close, and you can feel yourself glitching and spasming the second the tip of his finger grazes past your g-spot.

already, he’s located it like ‘x’ marks the spot. your jaw was dropped, and you were on the verge of euphoric death.

satoru stretched your cunt out perfectly with just one finger, and sure . . you’ve had your fair share of intimacy with your ex-husband, but fuck did it always feel like the first time.

you couldn’t help but start to drool a bit, weakly rutting your hips against his face as you’re leisurely getting closer to the brink of your edge.

it’s carnal, you’re stupidly crisscrossed with your eyes flickering back and forth like turning signals before satoru starts to playfully nibble against your cunt again. this time though, he’s adding in another finger and the spongy pressure that’s being played with inside of you earns out a sweet honeyed gasp that sounds like a breathy shriek!

“toru, sato—fuck, ‘m cumming, ‘m gonna cum,” and your words repeated themselves over and over. you’re like a broken recurrent record on a looping vinyl. your cunt continues to sloppily rest against his perfect crooked lips the entire time as you’re blissfully coming undone.

satoru’s staring at you the entire time, practically undressing you with his eyes. he grunts, spotting how your perked nipples noticeably prodded through your silvery blouse. “ugh, fuuuck.” and it hits you like a crashing wave that slams its way into shore.

satoru’s still heartily pumping two slender digits in and out of your splashing cunt whilst you gush right on him, weak defeated hips losing their stability.

you were whimpering, tasting your candied orgasm on your tongue—it felt that good to where it’s like you could taste every nerve against your salivated tastebuds.

only satoru could make you cum on his tongue like this. you were speechless - frantically panting as you released your hand from his ghostly white strands. he’s still leaking your juices from the crannies of his lips before he exhales deeply.

“yeaaah, atta girl. lay it on me,” and you moan as he’s still sliding his long tongue in between the sopping folds of your sensitive cunt, gradually pulling out his lengthy digit pillars of fingers. “fuck, y’r so hot when you try ‘ta put me in my place, sweetheart.”

“stop talking,” you pant, getting off of him. satoru raises a pallid brow, and he grows amused once you suddenly push him to lie flat against his back. with a raspy ‘ugh’ he lands back against the velvet-colored pillows, a sly smirk marinating against his complacent features.

like a slut - he merrily manspreads just for you, long legs spread wide apart with a huge bulge sticking out of his pants.

he’s still got the shinobi headband on, part of it slumping down his left eye. “oh, what’s this?” he lowly gruffs, eyeing you from head to toe again.

this time though, it’s more sensual. satoru’s taking in every piece of fabric that’s protecting your skin, watching as you slowly undress yourself.

he could feel his boner excruciatingly rubbing against his pants the more he watched. he’s taking in your appetizing presented curves . . so pretty. especially after having two kids - his kids.

“gonna ride me, yeah?” he jibes, continuing once you were now left in nothing but a matching set of panties and bra.

coincidentally - the colors matched his exact eye color, and satoru always had a thing for you wearing clothes that matched his eyes. but like always, he just kept on talking. he was too cocky for his good, and maybe one more fuck was just what you needed. what you both needed.

just . . one . . more,

right?

well, that’s what you told yourself.

but all that went out the window the second you’re aligning yourself on his cock. satoru takes a sharp three-second breath, ogling at your every move. it’s like a game of chess. he’s waiting for you - for your cunt to make its move against his throbbing mushroomy tip.

two big hands of his wrap around your waist and he grunts lowly. feeling your slick cunt maneuver itself against his angry reddened tip makes his head slightly toss back in feral rapture.

his tip—it’s got a coral blush, and you let off a moan at feeling his hooked fat plump crownhead try to plummet its way in.

it’s rude, not caring to introduce itself to your cunt but slam its way in instead, asking if your insides remember him.

and it does - it definitely does.

“ohhh fuck,” you sob out a needy moan, your hips eagerly making two solid taut bucks against him.

satoru groans against your ear, swollen sack peeling back as you’re still straddling him. your body, it was in his arms again and he couldn’t help but feel you everywhere.

starting at your hips, he holds them tight, tracing the callused scarred tips of fingers all around the curvature of your body before trailing down toward the juncture of your rear. “god, don’t know how much i missed you ‘n your smart mouth,” and as you let off a surprised gasp, satoru grabs a nice chunk of your ass. “missed this ass just as much.”

“bet you did,” you puff, full lungs already on the verge of collapsing. he’s huge - and barely the tip was in and you could already feel your pussy starting to throw a fit of tantrums. satoru’s girth made him stretch more, and for a second you let off another sweet moan before meeting his gaze.

he’s got a delicious curve to him that always makes your insides twist and churn. it’s a feeling you’ll probably never get used to.

“what’s with the smirk? somethin’ funny?”

“you, baby,” satoru titters, giving you a haughty head nod. you feel your cunt throb as you’re trying to continue to lower yourself down on his cock but the stretch - fuck, pretty soon your poor cunt was about to be met with max fucking capacity.

satoru’s sparkly heavy-lidded eyes linger on you before he cups your chin, swiping a thumb across your wet quavering lips. “all that talk ‘n you still can’t take me. thought i trained my wife’s pussy good,” and with a teasing pout, he shrugs. “guessss not!”

“fuck you.” you moan, mentally groaning the second you felt yourself getting more soaked, just from his words alone.

pathetic - and yet, you wanted more.

satoru clicks his tongue, and with a blink of an eye, he now has you flipped over. you gasp, landing flat on your chest as he’s got your wrists restrained against your back.

satoru rolls his eyes, sprawling out your weak-kneed legs all the way apart to get a good glimpse of your sopping pussy from the back.

god, in his mind - it should have been a crime to be this wet. your sopping, pearly translucent molasses of your slick stream down your pulsing entrance and he grunts.

“fuck you,” he repeats, although he says it cheekily. even though you weren’t even facing him anymore you could almost visibly see the annoying shit-eating grin plastering on his face.

from ear to ear with each of his dimples piercing each wry crevice of his mouth, he's so smug--bastard.

your back arches and you moan the second he starts to smack his rotund tip against your pussy. “myyy, what a fuckin’ mess,” and you suck your teeth, feeling satoru’s loud spanks hit louder. each time his fat cockhead thumps itself against your wet outer folds, the vibrations make you shiver from the waist down.

the tingly tenderness makes your toes immediately curl up once more and your canorous-like moans start to become muffled once you dig your teeth into the edge of a nearby pillow. “still wet after alllll this time like a good messy girl,” he grits. with another smack of his tip, your leg twitches in response. “ooh, she likes that,” and satoru softly spreads your saturated cunt lips apart with two fingers just to see your pulse throb in full filthy action. “fuuck, she’s achin’ for it. look at that pretty ‘lil throb. so cute.”

“are you gonna fuck me or n—”

“listen, honey,” and you moan at the sudden husky drop of his voice. satoru softly wraps a few fingers around your throat, pressing his slim body right against your own. he drops your wrist, watching you sink into the mattress as limp-like. he’s so close that you could feel the outline of his abs prods against his shirt.

inching his lips near the shell of your earlobe, he starts to pant. heavy, sinister breath that ends up making you throb ten times harder. “i’m gonna fuck you,” he grunts, feeling your ass cutely try to jerk its way against him. the costume part of his pants was lazily pulled down, reaching the low area of his ankles. with a husky sigh, satoru brings his tip near the dripping entrance of your sloppy doused cunt. “might as well fuck that bratitude out of ya too while ‘m at it,” and you moan once he’s slowly starting to sink his way in.

satoru grabs ahold of your torso, lifting you slightly to a certain degree. your ass was raised just a few meters with your face smushed against the satiny made bedsheets.

his eyes dart down your body for another time and now, he’s just openly gawking at your exposed skin - your gorgeous physique.

satoru could stare at you all day if he could. “f- fuh—fuck,” you croak, plump lips forming into a hoop-like ‘o’ the moment he’s easing his way inside. there goes his ridiculous girth again, there goes his fat length that never fails to rearrange your clingy needy insides.

your tummy dips from each inch that’s gradually disappearing inside of you like a never-before-seen magic trick until he’s starting to gruffly groan. satoru’s already breaking a frigidly cold sweat.

it was just him feeling your covetous wet cunt voluntarily swallow him up - squeezing him tightly like a vice until you wring him dry. your pussy’s holding him hostage, and with the tight firm grasp you had against him, you never wanted to let go. “ ‘toruuu, ‘s fuckin’ big.”

“allll for you,” he drags out his words through raspy breathy sentences. chalky white brows of his compress together as he’s starting to feel the brief twinge of pleasure that courses through his beefy clenched thighs. with hooded cunt-drunk eyes, satoru already heard your gargling pussy trying to get more bratty words in. “all. for. you,”

and he punctuated his words just like he punctuated his merciless, sloppy thrusts.

the first thrust was rigid, the second thrust was sensual, and the third was damn near powerful. .

you moan loudly, feeling him caress tender circles near the exposed nape of your neck with his thumb as he tries to start up a sufficient pace. it took him a moment before he was fully in, making sure you felt and remembered every single inch.

satoru expands through your cunt like a domain.. the more carnal lewd way though.

it makes you shiver, and with his weight pressing into your ass that was your last fucking straw.

satoru’s got you in prone bone - a position like doggy but better, and he’s got his chiseled hips just barely hovering over your ass. with pounds and pounds of skin against skin—each smack against flesh had your mind going for a whirl ride.

you were already surrounded by his sweltering warmth from the inside and the feeling alone was enough to make your mouth water.

heavy airy pants drew out from your full lungs like you were some sort of animal, then again—it’s satoru gojo, and his dick was just one of a fuckin’ kind..

his cock was heavy, driving through your cunt like it’s been ages, and it kinda has.

with a hypnotic pivot of his askew hips, satoru makes you arch just a bit further. it’s a pretty arch, and he skips a few fingers down your curling spine. he watches you trying to wriggle away but with a cocky, “ah ah. where ya goin'?” he reels you right back into him. he’s so thick, and he only imagined how pretty you looked with your eyes lulling toward the back of your skull. “aw, don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs lowly, and you moan once he gives your ass a rude spank. “wanna hear my wife’s pretty voice. y’r sloppy pussy’s nice but i wanna—ngh, hear you.”

“ex-wife,” you correct him again, and you know he’s just addressing you as that just to tease you. you start to whimper as his rhythm starts to pick up, ploddingly dragging his keen hips further and further into you. “hnghh. stupid-,” you blurb out another weak squalling whimper, gluey lips starting to stick together.

you almost forgot how mean his dick game was, and satoru knew how to fuck.

he had the type of dick where it’d make you question your life choices—so good, each curve of his hips had you getting more and more stupid.

you’re pronounced cock drunk within milliseconds, and it doesn’t even take you long before your eyes were as wide as saucers, tongue lolled, and your back arches to its very limit.

and his stamina . . oh,

it never changed once he aged—he had the stamina of a fucking stallion, and his hips proved the horsepower to back it up.

“whaaat’s that?” satoru chirps, adding a bit more pressure around your throat. it’s safe - but you let off a tiny crooning moan once his strokes become deeper. you feel him reach at unimaginable angles, and your eyes start to roll back again.

satoru’s got you right where he wants, in his bed, the bed that used to be shared between you both.

he’s amping up his delirious pace, striking his feral hips into you quicker before groaning against your ear. in a hoarse tone, he licks a stripe down your neck. “such a brat, bet you don’t slut this pretty pussy out for anyone else, huh?”

you moan, feeling him breathe down your neck. cloudy hot puffs of air aerate against your skin before satoru starts to suck against your shoulder. “mmh. maybe i do. ‘s none of your business.”

“oh girl, please,” satoru replies, and his sass was enough to make your thighs quake.

you still couldn’t get used to his size - the fat fucking size of his cock that nearly makes both of your thighs clamp shut.

the shirt part of his costume snags against your skin as he’s still fucking you raw, buried balls fuckin’ deep before satoru starts to slow down.

with a wet ‘plop!’ he grunts, feeling his dick slip right out of you. “fuuck,” and he takes a moment to stare at the sight underneath him.

you, his pretty ex-wife all arched and hunched over.

your pussy’s pitifully drooling for more - sniveling wetly from the sheeny flaps as you clench around the air for a few seconds.

as a soft needy moan leaves you, you whine out an inaudible noise that sounds almost like you’re saying ‘what happened?’

“so . . fuckin’ hot,” satoru groans, re-aligning himself back against your slick-flooded entrance.

he heard your melodic ‘oooh’ leave from your lips as he was back inside, a content sigh departing from his chest. satoru can’t help but lean himself against you, bringing his hands toward your bouncy tits. “ah, can’t forget about my favorite girls,” and you let off a plethora of whiney whimpers, feeling him drag his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. satoru’s hips start to get sloppy and his cock’s just lazily swerving its way through every filthy orifice. “so pretty ‘n plump. . all mine.”

satoru continues to fondle your breasts as he’s ruthlessly pounding into you, swinish hands desperate to feel every part of your round soft tits. he’s moaning against your ear right with you, and satoru’s starting to feel himself steadily reach toward his vulgar demise.

his cock’s rude, repeatedly hitting itself against your precious beloved g-spot. it’s smothering it with a multitude of sloppy kisses with his tip, making sure it savors every wet smooch. “fuck, fuck me,” you moan, lying in a puddle of your drool that starts to dampen the pillow that rests underneath your chin.

“greedy ‘lil thing,” satoru huffs, and as he’s still playing with your tits, his pumps start to slow down. satoru’s massaging your walls so good that it’s like he’s putting a wicked spell on your pussy.

you could barely even sit up anymore, and he’s holding your hips firmly. “mmhhh, gettin’ me all soaked, baby. should make you lick me right up.”

“how about you stop talking-”

“how about i edge you ‘n let you finish this sloppy pussy yourself, huh?”

radio silence.

you moaned in response and satoru shook his head with another smarmy sneer squeezing across both corners of his pink lips.

“uh huh. ‘s what i thought,” and satoru groans the moment he feels himself starting to shrink up from the inside.

his testes were nothing but wrung out, plump, and swollen underneath you, pap papping against your ass - preparing to be milked full.

the lewd imagery alone makes him grunt, feeling a vein prod down his shaft. satoru’s abs flex through his shirt before he sighs, bringing a kiss near the back of your neck. “hah, tell me where sweetheart. where do you want it, tell me.”

“fuck,” you moan, losing count of each time his pointed tip thrashes itself against the gummy barrier of your cervix.

satoru lowly chortles, panting heavily before making you lie straight down against the bed. “heh, fuck? that’s not an answer, silly.”

“inside, fuckin’ finish inside, ‘toru,” you blurt out, hearing your voice start to strain.

you’ve been moaning your head off, and your chords were starting to sound like they’ve had just about enough.

“nuh uh, manners sweetheart. don’t act brand new,” he teases, tracing a palm over the curved shape of your perked ass. he was in so deep, you felt the pressure press down on your tummy and it gave birth to an entire school of butterflies. you slip out another moan once satoru’s slowing his impactful thrusts down, still filling you to the brim before bringing his hips to a sudden halt. he’s back up against your ear before he whispers hoarsely, “ ‘pretty pleaseee’, c’mon baby. talk to me nice.”

with a guttural whine desperately trying to rip out the back of your throat, you grumble out a bratty, “fuck you.”

“hah, you’re a trip, y’know that?” and you gasp, feeling satoru snake a hand in between your thighs.

as he drags it down to where it stops near your stuffed pussy, he starts to rub his open palm against you. you moan, arching ever further as your ass presses into him. “it’s ‘fuck me’ ‘n yet you’re bent over for me, wet for me, sloppy for fuckin’ me,” and you felt yourself starting to throb quicker the more he spoke.

within each filthy sentence, his words drip with more erotic bass in his voice—

it’s sexy, and satoru’s feeling you trying to weakly grind your ass back against him so he could finish. it’s cute, the way how you’re so impatient but such a brat.

the woman he always knew - his wife.

“sato—satoruuu,” you mewl out, another whimper flying past your spit-slick lips. the gradual sounds of skin slapping resound against the walls of the spacious bedroom before it echoes. you moan once his cock stills itself inside - waiting for you, and with a defeated moan, you huff, “fine, pretty please.”

“pretty please what, sweetheart?”

he’s annoying, and yet here you were shamefully pulsating for him, arched over for him, and babbling his name over and over again like it’s some repetitive sacred mantra.

with a pouty scoff, you grumble out a subtle, “pretty please . . cum inside, ‘toru. please.”

“atta girl, use those words,” he purrs, and you moan once he gently grabs both of your unsteady hips. satoru braces your body underneath him and he grunts once he focuses back on his release. “god, this tummy,” he rasps, and you whimper once you feel his bare hands creep underneath your warm flat body.

satoru’s body remains on top of you - pounding you ruthlessly, and that’s when he softly presses a hand against your stomach. right there, he feels a tiny bulge of himself and it makes him grunt.

you were squeezing around his cock tight, slathering the entirety of his fat cock with your slimy slick before he groans. “mhm, you’d look so pretty plump ‘n round again for me, baby,” and satoru’s starting to feel it. his body - it shakes, damn near erupting as his high’s approaching at a hasty speed. “prettiest fuckin’ mommy. fuck, ‘m gonna give you so much.”

white lashes of his snap shut as he whines into your shoulder, still pumping thick inches into you from behind—skin slapping meanly and resounding off the walls of the room before he groans out a growling, “fuck!” you’re moaning right with him, his heat radiating against your skin. satoru’s strokes were hypnotic, his hips jerk against your ass as you’re barely keeping up. your insides felt churned all the way out as he still had a hand lying on the center of your tummy, drooling at the thought of filling you up again.

when it arrives, it’s quick - it takes him only a few long drawn-out seconds before he finally lets go. white brows of his twist together as he’s slowly pumping you full of ribbons ‘n ribbons of cum.

pearly slimy globs shoot into you, and you moan out a content sigh of your own as the muscles in your shoulders relax. “fuuuck,” you breathe, hearing satoru’s groans overshadow your noises. he’s always been far louder than you, especially whenever he was finishing.

he sounded pretty, angelic almost. satoru’s eyes flicker down toward the mess that’s being made, hearing the sloppy sounds of your pussy gargle and all.

bubbles of ivory-colored seed coat the outer folds of your entrance and you feel his warmth.

gristly silky ropes dribble into you all at once, creating a milky white ring that starts to form around his base. he’s missed filling you up like this - so so bad.

satoru nearly slips out a whine as he’s dumping his all into you—casually filling you to the brim, and that’s when his hips start to get even sloppier.

he was a mess, and you’ve milked him dry. he watches as your pretty pussy’s all filled and glossed - oozing with such amounts of cum.

a bit of stringy strands started to stick and glue against your thighs like adhesive, and he couldn’t help but pull out. it’s a squishy lewd ‘pop’ that sounds the second he drags his weighty cock out from between your creamy flaps. “god, look at how pretty she is after a good fillin’,” he huffs, and you’re still catching your breath once satoru flips you over. you’re lying on your back, meeting his gaze.

you’ve never seen him more in love - oh, he was whipped.

he didn’t even have to tell you those known words because his eyes already spoke for him. satoru rubs his leaky white-coated tip against your cunt, smearing his cum all over your entrance before sighing. after he does that, satoru licks his lips and that’s when you watch his head starting to disappear, going lower.

“can’t . . let it go to waste,” he grumbles, and you moan the second you feel the tip of his tongue starting to create a slope up your right thigh.

slowly, he’s lapping up the remnants of his cum that’s spilling down your skin. you almost forgot just how filthy he was. satoru had no shame, and he even moaned once the taste of his mess met against his tastebuds. “mmh.”

“s- satoru,” you heave, a hand finding its way through his strands again. his lips were soft, and he then started to create sloppy kisses. you moan, writhing against the stained sheets before gingerly bringing his head back up.

with a sleazy grin, his eyebrows raised before you finish your sentence, tangled fingers still fishing through his snowy unkempt tresses. “kiss me.”

“heh, that’s my girl,” he hoarsely, gradually closing the distance between you both. he’s been longing to kiss you, to plant his lips against yours. satoru groans in your mouth, feeling your arms wrap around his slim waist.

he starts grinding his hips against yours, his angered reddened tip blushing the more cold air sets against it. you’ve never felt more hot, and you could feel a smirk carve against satoru’s lips as he’s making out with you.

it’s intense - his tongue explores throughout your mouth, demanding entry as you moan.

satoru’s sweating pinballs, and he presses his forehead against yours. “fuckin’ woman,” he whispers, his voice getting more and more raspy.

you could taste himself on his tongue and so could he.

it was lewd - and yet, he only wanted more. more of you and so much of it..

satoru leans into your touch, sucking on your tongue as pairs of teeth occasionally clash and smash together before that’s when you abruptly pull away.

“h..hey,” he huffs, and he’s entirely flustered. satoru’s got heart eyes in his pupils, and he’s very much whipped. of course, though, he tries not to show it by keeping up his smug, arrogant façade. “what’s— ah.”

like earlier, you switch positions and push him lightly to where he lands on his back. pretty soon, you were sure trick-or-treating was gonna be over soon for the kids—satoru mentioned earlier how they were staying out for about maybe two hours.

as you straddle his lap again, finally listening to that annoying voice in your head, you made up your mind.

fuck it.

fuck him - literally.

“lie back,” you murmur, and you watch as satoru grows sheepish. you’re getting under his skin, and your sudden change in demeanor makes him hard for what was probably the umpteenth time of the night.

like a dog – he’s obedient, going manspread again before a groan escapes out of him. as your drenched flooded cunt hovers over his tip again, you lean in to pepper chaste kisses near his neck.

“oh, finally gonna ride me now, yeah?” satoru raises a brow, though you could tell how his cockiness was fading. he was sensitive - very.

it was almost painful, and now you were just teasingly grinding the entrance of your cock back ‘n forth against his flaccid length that rests against his tummy. “shit,” he swallows, idly bringing a hand toward your waist. he sees the look in your eyes before dryly chuckling. “f- fine. but this means . . you’ll give me another chance?”

you deadpan, playfully flicking his chest back before humming. “we’ll see.”

“i’ll take it,” satoru pants, trying to flash a smile but he ends up moaning the second you’re starting to align himself against his throbbing tip.

he’s still leaking gleaming white droplets from the sides of his dick, his veiny shaft being decorated with globs and globs of pre. with a guttural groan, satoru’s abs flex through his costume before he grabs your ass, giving your left rear cheek its nth spank.

“do your worst fuckin’ then,” satoru stares up at you, a whine desperately trying to leave his slick-spit lips before he squeezes your ass. as you moan, watching his swollen tip gradually disappear between your sappy folds, gojo sighs.

as your unstable hips try to steady themselves against him, you feel satoru rub the front jeweled part of his wedding ring on your sopping cunt one more time right as you prepare to ride him.

“m- make your husband proud, wifey.”

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dissolved-g1rl · 1 month ago

Note

What if buck got a bit self conscious about being way older than the reader, like probably in the early stages of their relationship

Bc maybe someone told him or he overheard something at a bar bc they were hanging out there?

I just want to comfort my boy

imagine me & you ♡

He has his arm around your shoulder, gently running cool metal down your arm as you babble on about something about your stubborn professor who isn’t replying to your e-mails. “Mhm” he hums nodding along in agreement with your complaints. You bat your eyelashes at him, pouting, “You’re not even listening!” you grumble, the little furrow appears when you knit your brows. “Yes I am!” Bucky denies, using his thumb to smooth the little wrinkle. “What’d I just say?” You say lulling your head back. He cups the back of your head, pressing a kiss to you lips till that cute pout he loves is smothered away. “That you need another beer.” He says pulling away

He smiles when you push him towards the bar. He pads over, it’s pretty noisy, a big game going on at a local university. Guys and girls gearing more towards your age make the bar lively. He taps his fingers against the bar, ordering two more beers for the two of you. Two girls wearing sparkly shirts, a sorority he guesses, whisper to one another, cupping around their mouths and giggling—“old enough to be her dad.” he catches. He feels hot under the collar with embarrassment. Great, great, great granddad actually, yet he digresses. He thinks for a centurion he looks pretty good. Sure, he won’t always get your references, but he’s only old by logic. He’s got all the bells and whistles, gets it up just fine—maybe too easy. He’s got some stray grays, you and your drooly cunt like ‘em just fine. And sure, he’s put on a little bit of weight over the years, he doesn’t mind. Despite this, that hot feeling of embarrassment still weighs heavily on his heart. You could do better. Better than a man who has to check his sperm count annually, better than a man who still writes everything in cursive, better than a man who has more years behind him than in front. The clink of glass against the bar redirects his attention, right, beer.

He hands you your beer, you still crinkle your nose when you drink—he used to find it cute. He’s starkly reminded of the fact that you are not used to drinking yet. He sighs, smoothing the frizz in your hair. You raise your brow, patting his leg. “Something wrong?” You ask, tracing a heart onto his knee. He smiles, a bit tight lipped. “Nothin’s wrong baby.” Bucky denies pinching your cheek till you bat his hand away. “Yeah right, you big grump!” You say, draping your arm around his shoulders, shifting till you’re settled onto his lap. Your weight on top of him is a welcomed pressure, he wraps his arms around your middle, peppering your nape in kisses. People cheer, touchdown or something. He thinks it’ll be fine —you and him. He doesn’t have that much to teach you, not really, but you sure do teach him a lot of things everyday. He’ll have you for as long as you have him. Bucky hopes for forever. “Love you.” He chimes, just to you, it’s intimate. Secluded by the booth, yet liveliness surrounds you. “I love you too Buck!” You reply easily, you mean it—showing him your pretty smile that makes him almost queasy with how sweet you look. The three words soothe his worries, thats right, you love him, and he loves you.

credit to @cursed-carmine for dividers

a/n: not proof read, sowwy for any mistakes

#bucky barns x fem reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barns #anon ask #thanks anon!#.☘︎ ݁˖#anon

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eddies-ashtray · 10 months ago

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

Text

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

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cherrygirlfriend · 1 month ago

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─── COFFEE CAKE ☕️

☕️ pairing: jackson!joel x fwb!reader

☕️ summary: you bake to make your favorite grump feel better. he wants to pay you back. 1.3K

☕️ warnings / tags: smut, fingering, oral (fem. receiving) MDNI!

☕️ author's note: i hope you like this <3 @inbred-eater

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

joel wasn't shy about his love of for coffee. unfortunately, when the outbreak happened, not only did the fancy hipster coffee shops go out of business, but even the shitty coffee grounds people used to have to drink with a grimace on their face became a delicacy. but whenever joel managed to get his hands on some of it, he'd savor it.

joel hadn't been in too good of a mood recently, his relationship with ellie having been strained due to reasons he refused to disclose with you, but you were determined to make him feel better. the best way to do that in your mind? baking.

you leafed through the pages of an old cookbook, until something finally caught your eye. 'classic coffee cake with a coffee icing!' with a victorious smile on your lips, you started writing down the ingredients needed for the cake.

it took you a few days, but you'd eventually managed to garner up all the ingredients, and after spending the afternoon baking, you'd ended up with a slightly messy, yet still delicious-looking version of the cake you'd seen on the cookbook. you packed it up into a reusable cake box, and started making your way to the miller residence.

you lifted your free hand to knock on the door, and after a few short moments, joel's gruff face turned up behind the door, brows raising in a moment of surprise, "what... what you doin' here?"

"i brought you something." you smiled, holding up the cake box, as well as a thermos you'd poured the rest of the coffee leftover from your baking, "that coffee?" he asked, nodding to the red, plaid-patterned thermos, "yup. made it this in the afternoon so it's a bit chilly but still good. you gonna invite me in?" joel tutted his lips, looking between your face along with the cake box and the thermos, and after a moment of deliberation, the greying man stepped aside to let you inside.

joel led you into the kitchen, and you set the cake and the thermos down onto the dining table, watching as the man grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard, "what's that?" he gestured to the cake box, "it's comfort food." you smiled, lifting the lid off the cake box, "ta-da!"

he put the two cups down onto the table, taking a look into the box, "that coffee cake?" "that it is." you smiled, unscrewing the cap off the thermos, pouring the dark liquid into the two mugs as joel placed a cake cutter onto the table, "i know you've been having trouble with ellie, and... i guess i wanted to cheer you up."

"y'didn't have to do that..." joel mumbled, scratching the grey hairs at the back of his neck, "our... situation doesn't mean y'gotta comfort me." "i know." you shrugged, cutting a piece of cake for him and placing it onto a plate, "i wanted to. tell me what you think."

the wrinkles around his eyes became more pronounced as he smiled, and you slid the plateful of cake to him, joel's long, thick fingers a strange contrast around the small teaspoon. "shit…" he mumbled, chewing the cake and swallowing, taking a small sip of coffee, "this is amazing." "really?" you asked, the smile on your face widening as you watched him eat, taking a sip of your own coffee. just as joel put down his spoon to take a sip of coffee, you snatched it and cut up a small bit with the side of the spoon, bringing it to your mouth. joel watched in slight amusement, shaking his head, "you were right. it is good."

"you know you can just take your own piece. it's your cake." "your piece tastes better." "well, i don't really like sharin'." joel tuts, making you roll your eyes playfully. "so, you wanna talk to me and tell me what's up with you two?" "just… ellie bein' a teenager." the man grumbled, taking another bite of cake.

"and you being a stubborn old man i'm guessing?" you chimed, "you know, there's a reason for the 'friend' part in friends with benefits. you can talk to me about stuff." "that what we are?" joel chuckled dryly, "i think that's what the kids call it these days."

you watched as joel finished his slice of cake, leaving a few crumbs on the plate as he leaned back on the seat, crossing his arms, "we could talk." he took a long slurp from his cup before setting it down, "or, i could use my mouth for somethin' else."

you grin, getting up to your feet. you walked over to joel with tentative steps, your bottom lip between your teeth. you plop yourself down to sit on his lap, causing him to let out a low hiss as you wrapped your arms around joel's neck, running your fingers over the short hairs on the nape of his neck. "so, what are you gonna use your mouth for?"

"i'm thinkin'…" joel brings his hand just below the hem of your skirt, rubbing the soft skin there with his calloused thumb in a way that causes little sparks of electricity to run through your veins, "i have a second dessert." "yeah?" you whisper, bringing your face close to joel's, touching the side of his nose with yours, a small smile playing on your lips. his hand started trailing up your thigh, pushing your skirt up. "yeah."

joel chuckled softly when he saw the small, wet spot starting to form on your black panties, lifting his gaze up to meet yours, "looks like you think it's a good idea." you felt your cheeks warming up, hiding your face into his shoulder in slight embarrassment, only for the older man to tut his lips and scoop you up into his arms, making you squeal in surprise as he carried you up into his bedroom.

it didn't take long for your clothes to be discarded somewhere on the floor while joel was still mostly clothed, his mostly-grey head inbetween your legs, your back arching off the bed as you felt joel's tongue at your entrance, only for the man to trace it up your slit until it met your clit.

the man gave the throbbing bud a roll of his tongue before pulling away slightly, "fuck, tastes better than your cake..." he breathed into your cunt in a way that made you shiver.

you let out a breathy chuckle, your grip on his sheets tightening when you felt joel's lips close around your clit, the pads of his calloused fingers circling your entrance. "god, joel..." you moan, your walls clenching around nothing.

joel pushed two of his fingers into you, and you rolled your hips to meet his fingers, only for joel to pull his long fingers out of you, making you whine. the man chuckled into your clit, the vibrations causing a shiver to go up your spine.

he thrust his fingers back into you, arching them inside of you so they hit that soft spot inside of you, one of your hands finding its way to joel's hair, tugging on the grey strands and pulling him further into your cunt as his fingers moved inside of you. "feels so good..." you moaned.

his tongue circled your clit, joel separating his fingers and making scissoring movements inside of you to stretch you out, before continuing to thrust them into you. your head felt dizzy with pleasure, the warmth in your stomach building up...

his tongue wrote his name on your cunt, lewd slurping sounds mixing with your heavy breaths as you tugged on joel's hair, the man starting to suck on your clit more intensely, the pace of his fingers picking up, the feeling driving you crazy.

"joe, 'm gonna come..." you whine, the force of your tug growing harsher each time you felt his fingers kiss your cervix, until finally, your walls clenched around his fingers, the force of your climax nearly trapping his fingers inside of you. joel let go of your throbbing clit with a wet pop! pulling his head back as his fingers slowed down inside of you, letting you come down from your orgasm.

when the clenching finally slowed down, joel pulled his fingers out of you, slick with your arousal. he moved up your body to face you, a small grin on his slick lips.

"yeah. i definitely preferred that over the cake."

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covenofagatha · 1 month ago

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Agnes x reader age gap headcanons (NSFW)

Writing is hard right now but I'm having thoughts about a coworker/age gap (where agnes is a bit insecure about it) agnes x reader relationship so thought I'd just bullet point them to get it out lol but I might try to write the whole thing at some point

You've known Agnes from afar for a long time but you've gotten closer to her over the past few weeks now and even though you're about twenty-five years younger than her and new on the police force, you both get along very well

She's a tough nut to crack and known as the sarcastic grump around the station but you always manage to make her laugh

It's hard to tell how she feels because sometimes she's cold but sometimes she pats you on the knee and invites you to her office so you can sit there while she works

You like to tease her and be a little bit of a brat towards her but you think that she likes it

Someone tells her that she "looks good for her age" and she's a bit offended so you crack jokes about it because she's the hottest woman you know and it's easy to hide that if you say it sarcastically (but you also want her to know that she's attractive)

She calls you "kid" sometimes and you know that you shouldn't like it as much as you do and it's supposed to put some distance between the two of you but you think she might like calling you that too

At the end of the quarter, a few officers go out to a bar to celebrate and the only reason you go along is because Agnes is going

You talk to her the whole time, but what's more important is that she wants to talk to you the whole time

Two drinks later, you're a bit tipsy and being overly touchy with her and she says, "Didn't take you for a lightweight, kid." And because you're not thinking clearly, you tell her that you just want her attention

She smirks and says, "You always have it" and your stomach heats up with a mix of the alcohol and the sentiment

You don't remember much after that but you do know that you end up almost sitting in her lap without a care in the world about if anyone else sees you

The humid air sobers you up when it's time to leave and you slowly walk next to Agnes to where your cars are parked (because you parked right next to hers just to make the evening last longer) and you're desperate to keep her here with you

But she just leans against the hood of her police cruiser because maybe, just maybe, she doesn't want to leave yet either

The conversation becomes more flirtatious on both sides and you're so close to her that your knees are brushing against hers and you can still smell the beer on her mouth

She says something funny and flattering and the faint buzzing in your brain overrides all logic and you lean into kiss her softly

"Come on, kid, you don't want someone old like me," she scoffs

You show her just how much you do by wrapping your arms over her shoulders and riding her thigh right there in the parking lot until you come

Her hands dig into your hips to guide you while she grunts in your ear and all you can think about is how thankful you are that you both parked far away from everyone else

"Not bad for someone your age," you quip after her pant leg is drenched with your wetness and she barks out a laugh before spanking your ass and pulling you into the backseat of her car to fuck you properly

She likes to pack while at work and make sure you know about it from the beginning of the day and then tease you by pressing against you and making suggestive comments but she doesn't give you any relief until work is over

It's absolute torture but there's something so rewarding about sinking to your knees under her desk after everyone else leaves to pull the toy out from her pants and look up at her through your eyelashes while you suck on it and she gives you praises through gritted teeth

"Such a good slut" and "you're sucking on my cock so good, hon" and "what a desperate whore for someone twice your age" and "come on, kid, I know you can take more"

You straddle her in her chair and ride her until she picks you up and lays you on her desk and fucks you hard and rough and then both of you come all over her police reports that you distract her from doing

The chief makes comments about how they're always sticky when she turns them in and you just snicker while Agnes glares at you

You make it up to her by getting under her desk during your lunch break and eating her out until she comes all over your face twice and has to actively pull you away while you're going for a third time because she's too sensitive

"Kid, you're going to kill me," she says, trying to sound gruff but her voice is thick

You smirk and lean your wet cheek against the inside of her knee. "Too old for more?"

Agnes frowns and you know you're going to pay for that later, but it's completely worth it

You make sure to tell her how hot she is all the time because you know she gets a little insecure about her age but she can't call you a liar because you'll just drag her hand down between your legs so she can feel for herself just how hot you find her

The age stuff stops bothering her after a little bit

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agnes x reader #agnes o'connor #covsfics #def not a projection or anything

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mugglebornmarvelite · 6 months ago

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A Snowstorm, a Grump, and a Game

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: The snowstorm traps everyone inside the compound, but you're determined to make the best of it. The rest of the team is scattered around, playing games or lounging, but you’re already on a mission: pestering Bucky into joining you for board games.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Fluff, like two swear words, teasing, playful threats

Author’s Note: Thank you to my mom for unintentionally giving me this idea <3

Navigation

The compound was a war zone of boredom. The snowstorm raging outside had the Avengers grounded for what felt like forever, and everyone was handling it differently. Tony was shouting at Clint for cheating in Monopoly, and Natasha was kicking Steve's ass at poker. You were up to something different. You’d made it your personal mission to annoy Bucky Barnes until he played a game with you.

You hummed, skipping into the Common Room, with a miechvious smile on our face. You spotted him on the couch, with a book in hand, looking like every bit of a grump. Your favorite grump.

His hair was messy, dark strands a little messed up from him running his fingers through it, and his scowl was as deep as ever. Perfect.

“Mr. Barnes,” you called, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You’re such a buzzkill. It’s not even fun teasing you anymore. I may just give it up entirely.”

“Good,” he said without looking up, his voice as flat as he was pretending to read, his attention now on you. “Now fuck off.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “You wound me, Bucky. Right in the soul. How am I supposed to enjoy board games without my partner in crime?”

His eyes flicked up from the book, unimpressed. “Sounds like a you problem, baby.”

Determined, you slid closer, reaching for the dice you’d conveniently left on the table next to him, knowing it would bait him hook, line and sinker. “I don’t need your attitude, I just need these-”

Before you could grab them, he moved quicker.

In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, making you yelp in surprise. His vibranium arm was around your waist, pinning you down like you weighed nothing.

“Stop being a fucking menace,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. “You send my blood pressure up.”

You wiggled, grinning despite yourself. “Oh no, what will I do now? Big, scary Bucky Barnes has me trapped,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock distress. “I’m terrified.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, a rare sound that made you feel like you’d won something. “You should be,” he said, though his grip on you was more protective than punishing.

His hands were strong, but he held you like you were breakable, and something about that made your cheeks heat. That heat also pooling in your stomach.

“I am not even scared, not even a little bit,” you pointed out, squirming just to annoy him more. “Honestly, this is kind of disappointing. I expected more from you, old man.”

He huffed, setting his book down without loosening his hold on you. “You’re impossible, дорогой.” Sweetheart.

“And you secretly love it,” you shot back, leaning your head against his shoulder with a satisfied smile.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side. You melted like butter on warm toast.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost fond. “Yeah, well, don’t push your luck, doll.”

You sighed contently.

“Will you play a game with me later?” you asked, batting your lashes at him like a total brat.

“We’ll see, brat,” he said gruffly, looking at the ceiling, avoiding your doe eyes.

“Please?”

“Maybe.”

“Please!”

“Don’t whine.” He tugged on a strand of your hair.

You were undeterred, already used to how he pretended to be mad at you but always handled you gently. Your smile grew even wider as you started chanting, “Please, please, please—”

“If you don’t shut up-” he growled, but you cut him off by leaning in and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.

The room seemed to freeze. His blue eyes widened slightly, and his gruff demeanor faltered for a split second before he exhaled sharply, huffing like a frustrated old man. He was your old man.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you in a snowstorm for that,” he muttered, but his hand on your waist betrayed him, his thumb brushing soft reassuring circles against your side.

You tilted your head, trying to hold back a laugh as you watched his icy exterior crack just a little more. “So you’ll play a game with me? Pretty please?”

He sighed like it physically hurt him to give in, but he always did.

“Fine.” Bucky said so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You grinned liked the cat the ate the canary.

“One game. If it’ll get you to shut the hell up.” His large hand was warm on your back.

“Two games.” You pushed, with a hopeful smile and poppy dog eyes.

“Don’t push it, sweet girl,” he warned, though his tone lacked any real bite.

You grinned triumphantly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you made yourself comfortable. “We both know you’ll cave,” you teased, your voice full of smug satisfaction. “You always do.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. His tone was low, threatening in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Are you so sure, дорогой?”

“Keep it up, and the only game we’re playing is who can survive the longest in the damn snowstorm. Spoiler alert, it’s not gonna be you.”

You laughed, the sound soft and bright, and you felt his chest rumble faintly with a chuckle of his own.

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Just don’t forget, I always win.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he replied, “The only thing you’re winning is a one-way ticket to getting thrown off this couch, your cute little ass hitting the ground.”

And yet, neither of you made any move to separate, content to sit there tangled up in each other as the snowstorm raged on outside.

You soon fell asleep on his lap and Bucky made no move to wake you.

In fact, when Peter came to poke you, Bucky hissed at him, and Peter scampered off.

Bucky pulled a blanket over you, holding you snuggly against him, cradling the back of your head with one hand and rubbing circles on your lower back with the other.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

#james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #winter feels #comehomebucky

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miaouwkz · 2 months ago

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“No One Dims My Girl’s Light”

Grumpy/Protective!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader |

Fluff, Comfort, Protective Bucky

Word Count: 3k

----------------------------

Disclaimers: Mentions of self-doubt, being insecure, self-deprecating jokes (off-screen), people being rude and insensitive, and of course, Bucky (yes, he's a disclaimer.) Reader is mentioned to go by she/her pronouns.

----------------------------

Bucky Barnes wasn’t known for many things. He was the guy who glared at children and made baristas flinch just by ordering a coffee. He had a resting scowl that could rival storm clouds, and he wore sarcasm like a second skin.

But somehow, inexplicably, he’d fallen head over combat boots for the human equivalent of a summer day.

You.

You, who complimented strangers on their nail polish.

You, who brought cookies to team meetings even though Tony never ate carbs.

You, who danced around the compound kitchen in fuzzy socks and sang ABBA or performed a whole musical into a spatula like it was the goddamn Grammy stage.

You made Bucky Barnes smile. Actual, verifiable smiles. Steve called it a miracle. Sam called it blackmail material. But, Bucky didn’t care. Not when you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Not when you looked at him as if he was the sun that lit up your life.

So when it happened—when someone had the audacity to insult you—he was seconds from forgetting he was reformed.

It happened at a gala, of all places. You were glowing in a soft yellow dress, hair curled just the way Bucky liked it, smile bright as always. You were laughing with a few people, your hand on Bucky’s arm like it belonged there (it did), when a woman from one of the investor tables tilted her head and said, “You’re just… a bit much, aren’t you?”

The group laughed like it was a joke. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But Bucky saw how your smile dimmed just a little, how your fingers tightened on his arm, how your laughter caught in your throat like it didn’t quite fit anymore.

You played it off. Of course you did. Made some self-deprecating joke, chuckled like it didn’t matter and excused yourself, muttering something about getting some fresh air.

Bucky (as hard as it was for him) decided that instead of berating that woman that had the nerve to even breathe in the same air as you, would rather just come after you and pull you out of the room and spend the night showing you how perfect you were.

So, he took off without any explanation towards the people at the table, and ran after you.

When you thought no one was looking, Bucky saw you staring down at yourself, smoothing over your dress like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

That was all it took.

He marched back into the room, found the woman sipping champagne like she hadn’t just tried to crush the sun, and leveled her with a look that could freeze hell.

“Next time you think about opening your mouth to dim someone else’s light, don’t,” he said, voice low, deadly calm. “Especially not hers.”

She stammered something about it being a joke, but Bucky had already turned. You were all that mattered now.

He found you again outside, sitting on the steps, hands clasped in your lap.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Of course. I mean, maybe I am a bit much sometimes. Not everyone likes.. sunshine nor a loud personality.”

His jaw tightened. He sat beside you and pulled you into his arms without asking.

“Doll, listen to me,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “You are everything. You’re warmth and joy and hope all wrapped into one stubborn little package, and I don’t ever want you to change. Not for them. Not even for me.”

You blinked, eyes wide. “Even when I sing ABBA at 7am?”

“Even then.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Especially then. No one—and I mean no one—gets to dim your light. Not even you.”

You exhaled shakily, then leaned into his chest, heart pounding against his like it finally found home.

And Bucky, the former Winter Soldier, the grumpiest grump to ever grump, pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered,

"Shine on, darling. The world needs more of you."

----------------------------

Heyy! So, this is my first time to ever publish - or even wrote, something. I am absolutely in love with the Bucky fics i've read over here, and I thought.. why not give it a try?

I hope y'all enjoyed it!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes imagine #hurt/comfort #grumpy x sunshine #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female reader

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voxisdaddy · 1 year ago

Text

Love Me, Please

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairings: Alastor/Lucifer/Adam/Husk/Angel/Vox/Valentino/Tom Trench/Saint Peter

Type: Scenarios/Comfort

C/TW: Swearing, blood, reader written with fem parts in mind (bc this bout periods, duh)

In which you miss your boyfriend/cling to your boyfriend and are being emotional about it. Basically—period emotions.

This is more for me bc it’s that time of the month and I desperately want some comfort lol | also Angel’s I left up to either be platonic or romantic

Alastor

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He was at yet another unremarkable overlord meeting when he felt something pulling on him. Back at the hotel, you laid on your bed wrapped in a cocoon of sorts, eyes tiredly watching your shadow pulling on one of Alastor’s shadows-which he left to keep an eye on you. Alastor’s grin turned to one of amusement—oh how needy you are when it’s that time of the month for you. The meeting finally came to a close and instead of making his way back to the hotel with a lovely stroll, he disappears in his shadows. Not before bidding a friendly farewell with his dear friend, Rosie. He materializes in the center of your room with a shit eating grin as he twirls his microphone around.

“I was hardly apart from you for more than an hour, my dear.”

Lucifer

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lucifer had errands he couldn’t postpone today and so he made you promise to text him when you miss him and he’ll make his way right back in a jiffy! The bedroom door only closed behind him when he got a text from you. An ‘I miss you’ along with a sad face emoticon. He burst the door open, tears welling up in his eyes, as he crawled back into bed with you to hold you close. You honestly thought he was more emotional than you at the moment.

“My poor ducky! I’m sowwy!”

Adam

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Adam has been around for ages so I like to think he knows a bit about menstruation. On top of that, he has an army of baddies he likes spending time with-usually training but that's still time spent with them regardless. However he's definitely still rough around the edges since usually with his girls, he uses that to egg them on into being tougher fighters either physically or emotionally. If you're a person who's quick to be a grump or a crying mess then uhhh...just know he doesn't mean to be a dick all the time. He tries though, despite how annoying and tiresome it is. Especially since you make him feel oh so special with how you seem to demand his attention and his attention only. Right now you lay on his chest, looking on at the items set on the coffee table with a glint of amusement.

"Babe-you said pads with wings! I got that! I even made sure the chicken wings came with the good sauce."

Husk

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Husk is very vigilant so he's quickly able to come to the conclusion that you're on your period before even you realize it. It was just after he finished closing up the bar and returned to your room for a late nights rest when he smelt it. He might technically be an old man, but he's a respectful one and has been around for quite some time. He knows that small. Despite knowing you might be embarrassed to find out that he can smell it, he figured you'd be more grateful that he woke you up so you can deal with it before you wake up feeling all gross and annoyed in the morning. Plus it was worth it to almost immediately get a hug from you after being apart for a few extra hours than he liked.

"Come on. Don't wanna ruin your new pajama's now, do you baby doll?

Angel Dust

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This man was out on a much needed night out with his long time bestie, Cherri Bomb. You of course coming as his plus one that his bestie always welcomed like the supportive girly she is. He couldn't quite enjoy himself as much this time around though as he sat at in a corner booth with you hunched over your drink. You're hand gripping one of his hands as if you're afraid he's gonna leave. Despite how awkward he felt trying to comfort you, he did his best and allowed himself to be as sympathetic as much as he could.

"Toot's-if you wanna leave it's okay! You know I'll stick with ya! No need to make ya headache worse than it already is!"

Vox

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vox still holds certain belief's and mindsets he had from his time in the 1950's. Part of that meaning him being 'grossed out' by your period and beliefs in woman faking or over exaggerating their monthly disturbances. He learned to keep his opinions to himself though, due to previous encounters with Velvette, and found it easier to just well, cater to your needs. They were easy enough for the most part. Food and beverage cravings? He's got ya covered. Cramps and aches? You're in luck because this man is basically one large heating pad. Which quickly became a downside for him because then you wanted him all the time. Didn't matter if he was working or not. He tried to put his foot down once but it only made you emotional so uhhh-

"Honey, I'll only be gone for one hour. As soon as the meeting ends, I'll lay my head on your stomach, okay?"

Valentino

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino can only smirk to himself when he finds out it's now your time of the month. Which isn't hard to figure out since he woke up to you latched onto him like a koala this morning. A puff of red smoke invades your senses as a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders, a third hand coming to play with the top of your head. Valentino, spending years working with woman and people who endure this bloody cycle, knows a few...remedy's. He has his favourite solutions, obviously. Only if you're down. The last time he tried being more...persuasive with his advances to you during these times, it didn't go well-to put it lightly.

"Mi cariño~A good fucking helps with this time of the month, you kno-" ... "Or we could share some snacks. Kitty!"

Tom Trench

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ For this man I pray you are not a bitch on your period. Poor guy already has to deal with his co-star Katie Killjoy everyday. Whatever you deal with on your period though, just know your man is there and keeps your needy ass close. Such as right now, as you sit in an oversized fuzzy hoodie on Tom's couch, watching him and Katie host the latest news live. You glance down at your phone with Tom's messages open. You want to text him but you knew it wouldn't reach him anyways-they had to keep their devices on silent while they hosted. As soon as they were finished with their shift of the day however, Tom rushed to his dressing room to find you staring at the door with open arms.

"The interns told me you were waiting for me."

Saint Peter

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This man would never admit it out loud, and if he did he would word it very carefully, but he loves it when its your time of the month. I mean he feels bad for you obviously; dealing with an inconvenience once a month even in your afterlife does not sound like any sort of blessing, but he's clingy and affectionate himself. And you clinging to him just as much? Oh it's like he's died and went to Heaven-again! Currently he lays on the couch with you in his arms, you both engulfing each other in a snuggly cuddle. He periodically checks the time-as much as he loves this he's still got a job to do. He voices this but quickly finds himself soothing you.

"I'm only going to work, sweetheart! P-please don't cry!"

This was supposed to be reader missing them but some of them became not exactly that and I’m sorry lol

I’ve had this in my drafts for a month, felt about right to finally post it. I’m also ashamed to admit, it took me way too long trynna figure out what to write for Tom’s dialogue. I love him but if I don’t know him as well as I thought 😭

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screampied · 10 months ago

Text

❛ BON APPÉTIT, BABY! ❜ g. satoru

☆ sum. stupid ovulation week is approaching soon and out of nowhere, you get baby fever. you ask your sugar daddy for help but his version of ‘help’ is trying to get you pregnant.

wc. 5.1k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), praise, dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy, implied multiple rounds, size kink, ōral (f! receiving), he makes out w your panties, overstim, major brēeding kink, nıpple play, spıt, impact play, petnames.

➤ sd! gojo masterlist.

fuck, these cramps never knew when to quit.

you were crawled up in a ball on the sofa, suffering in agonizing silence. you sigh, taking a brisk glance near the grandfather clock that sits beside satoru gojo, your sugar daddy’s glass cabinets. oh, you missed him. it’s been a few good months with him as his sugar baby and you felt like a princess—no, a queen. he’s showered you with many many praises, not just gifts but of course, that too. you’re so lonely in his mansion, but you wondered what he was doing right now. probably working, you knew how busy of a businessman he was, but you missed him. his smell, his presence, his petnames. whipping out your phone, you unlock it, skimming toward his contact. ‘toru’ with a pretty pink heart as his contact, you text him a sweet forward ‘miss you.’

not even seconds later, he replies, giving your message a heart. ‘Hi, sweetheart. i miss you too. being a good girl for me, yeah?’

with a pout, your eyes skim through his flirty words and you press the video call button. you couldn’t wait. . you needed to see him. satoru answers it, and as expected, he’s sat upright in his office. so handsome, his snowy white hair was ruffled yet neatly slicked back and parted. he wore the suit you picked out for him, the jet-black one with a tie that makes his pretty blue eyes pop. “hey you,” a raspy voice utters on the phone, and he’s snickering at how you’re just lazily slump on the couch, bored out of your damn skull. “put some clothes on, darlin’.”

“no,” you grump, although you did have clothes on. clothes that basically consisted of a thin sage tank top and panties. satoru was typing on his computer. you heard the quickness of his fingers typing away as he’s taking every few glances to look at you again. “come home, ‘toru. these cramps are killin’ me,” and you mumble the last part under your breath. “. . andiwantababy.”

it’s a long silent pause and he’s fully looking at you through the screen now. all that could be heard in the background was the screeching and beeps of his costly fax machine.

satoru’s got a glint in his eyes before his voice pitches, and he slyly hums. “oh, you want a baby, sweets? my, you really do need me ‘ta come home, huh.”

you squeeze your thighs together, positioning your phone to lie in landscape mode—you were still a bit sensitive from earlier, from touching yourself. as your breath excitingly hitches, you couldn’t help but pout again.

“ ‘toru, think ‘m havin’ baby fever or something,” and your words were oh so sweet. satoru’s sitting up against his chair, leaning up against his palm. the shine of his expensive g-shock glimmers in the light within each time he moves. “come home, please.”

“sweetheart,” he tsks, two white arched brows piercing together. he could never say no to you, he spoiled you so much . . not that he never minded either. you were his baby, and satoru playfully scoffs at your needy declaration. “you really can’t wait another hour? i’m almost done.”

“no,” you grouse, a cute glower stretching across your features, marinating as you speak. satoru chuckles at your bratty persistence, and you watch as he fixes his tie, lightly tugging on it.

“fine, fine,” he gruffs. “i’m coming, princess. wear that new designer set i bought for you, okay? ya know the one, the rose-gold?”

smearing your glossed lips against each other, you give him a nod. you ached for him, each second you spent on the phone was a constant reminder of how he wasn’t there with you. satoru found your clinginess adorable though. it was cute how you’d always text and call him while he’s at work. even if his responses were hours late, he’d always get back to you, sending you sweet ‘hi baby’ and ‘i miss you more, pretty,’ ‘s.

if you were feeling bold, you’d send him a few pictures of yourself in one of the many expensive custom-made sets of lingerie he buys you.

his favorite would have to be the ‘satoru gojo’ exclusive brand of lingerie for women, he literally bought the entire stock of all colors just for you.

“okay,” you mumble, already making your way toward his bedroom. a few of his servants and butlers were dusting away at furniture and his entire mansion was huge. it was spacey, you could practically get lost in it. as you stomp lightly, the bare soles of your feet slide against the glassy-textured floor before you glance down at your screen. “drive safe.”

“i will, sweets. see you soon, yeah?”

with a beep, the call ends and it’s just you trapped in your own silent thoughts.

as you made your way to the master bedroom, immediately, you’re met with the loud cologne scent of satoru. it’s enchanting, it’s always the same smell of cinnamon and spices. satoru gojo always smelled rich regardless. rich was his middle name. you dig through your walk-in closet he had made for you, fishing out the set he wanted to see you wear. it was dashingly pretty.

he bought the rose-gold set as a gift for your birthday, and even if it did hurt his pockets a lot, he never cared. anything for you—his pretty baby.

about forty minutes later, satoru returns home finally and he yawns, stretching his long limbs. you scurry to him, your head reaching just near the center of his chest and he lightly jerks back.

“hey baby,” he returns the hug, big callused hands roaming up and down your exposed skin. the lingerie fit you perfectly, displaying your curves and gorgeous physique. satoru buried his face into the crook of your neck, planting a soft kiss. “you’re so spoiled. i can’t always leave work jus’ because you miss me, y’know.”

“i know,” you let off a soft moan, his soft lips creating gingerly mushy traces everywhere near your skin. he was always so tender, nips of kisses slowly turning into flicks with his tongue. satoru’s left hand slowly snakes near your leg, raising it up before wrapping it around his slim torso. your ankle rubs against the burberry belt he wore. it clanks loudly and he then lifts you up. “s- satoru!”

“what?” he hums, leading you closer toward the bed.

you heard the playfulness in his tone, and he’s got you in such a firm grasp. his fingertips continue to roam down your soft skin, snagging against the laced fabric that wraps around your body like a christmas present. “god, you’re so hot,” he murmurs in a raspy tone, and you glance at his parted slick backed hair. it’s unkempt now, white strands and tresses running down his eyes. he lies you down on the bed gently, and that’s when he gets on top of you.

you gulp, meeting the eyes of satoru. pretty blue eyes, they’re always so mesmerizing to look at.

but this time, he’s got a more feral look in his pupils as they dilate. “sweetheart,” he whispers, using a thumb to caress the edge of your twitching lip. with the way you’re prettily sprawled all out like this for him at his very mercy, there’s so much he wanted to do. satoru’s eyes never leave yours, not for a single second. “do you really want a baby or is just the baby fever?”

“b- both,” you gasp, not even noticing his hand creeping down between your legs, parting them apart.

you moan, feeling his palm rub up against the outline of your panties. so soaked, satoru’s breath hitches at your sweet whimpers and he’s so close up to you. so close that his rock-hard boner presses up against you and fuck, it’s hard. a visible tinted bulge was sticking out the center of his slacks and it’s driving him mad.

the mental image of you with a swollen tummy, all plump and baring his child, it makes him groan. satoru’s had his fair share amount of sugar babies in the past, but none of them were you.

“such a silly little girl,” he huffs, a bit of humor in his tone. but not wanting to waste any time, he leans in, capturing your lips into a deep hungry kiss.

whiny moans pour into his mouth - he’s sweet.

the minty kind of sweet where you taste peppermint lingering on his tongue.

satoru kisses sloppy this time, gradually grinding his body against yours. it’s incredibly sloppy, not much passion and more-so filth—strings of spit tangle with each other, forming little lustrous cobwebs of saliva before he sucks on your tongue. his pretty white lashes flutter before he opens them, staring at you, grunting right in your mouth. his boner continues to rub off against your clothed pussy and his groans only grow louder.

“fuuuuckk,” he swears, smacks of lips ringing through his ears. it was something about you, he didn’t know what it was but you were addicting.

satoru starts to peel off the pieces of lingerie piece by piece. by peel, he’s carelessly tearing through it as if the entire designer set didn’t cost him an arm, a leg, and a fucking torso. but again, even with his pockets swollen and suffering because of you, he’d buy you the whole world if he could. well, he probably could. he’s satoru gojo. “sweets, ‘m gonna devour you.”

five words.

five words that constantly went on a loop in your head as satoru’s eating out your cunt like a starved man.

he was starved, it’s been hours since he’s seen you. as he’s delving his face right between the plush of your thighs. you moan, chomping the front row of your teeth down on your quivering bottom lip. fuck, he was just nasty.

merely seconds passed and he’s already slobbering over your pussy. strands and strands of glossy spit trickles from his lips and onto your folds. “ ‘toruuuu,” you whimper, relishing in the way his tongue curls all throughout your drooling core. he’s maneuvering all kinds of shapes and circles, even spelling all letters of his name on your cunt with his tongue. scarlet plump lips of his gently kiss near your labia whilst warm breath ghosts near your sappy slit. shaking all from his tongue, the bed grows rickety from your movements and you inhale a sharp breath.

your fingers get intertwined between his white locks of hair and you pull tight.

his head tugs forward into you and he grunts, swaying his slick pink muscle in and out of your cunt. “mngh,” he groans, and that’s when he sneaks a hand between your pried open legs.

you stare down at him as he’s devouring you whole, slurping everything out of you until he’s satisfied - and that won’t be for a good while.

it doesn’t take a while before he’s already completely pussy drunk.

satoru’s fingers slither near your pussy and as his flat tongue repeats to lap lap lap up your syrupy sweet juices, he pops inside a single finger.

an exasperated breathy gasp snatches straight out the back of throat before you immediately feel the mouthwatering stretch of his digits and it’s toe curling.

if it was one thing about satoru, his fingers were long, slender, and also very very thick.

with a single swirl motion he’s making with his finger shoved deep inside, you’re already at the verge of breaking. crumbling because of his sloppy tongue. his fingers could stretch you out just as much as his cock could.

satoru even had you keep your panties on for him. the same panties he bought you as a gift.

a gift where he collaborated with victoria’s secret, your panties had both of his infamous initials bedazzled on the front and back. god, every time he traces his tongue over the tiny little beads, it drives him crazy every time.

you drive him crazy.

his flat laid tongue teasingly licks at the silk fabric before it turns into a whole raunchy make out sesh. pretty white lashes flap as he’s slurping everything out of you, missing no spot.

he couldn’t afford to, not when you tasted this good.

“we’re a ‘lil squirmy today, huh,” he snickers, feeling your weak thighs writhe because of his tongue.

it felt so good, the way he’s casually slurping you, eating your pussy as if it was the last thing to devour on earth. such raunchy sloshing sloshes cry out from your cunt and he groans. your fingers remain tangled in his hair, yanking on his messy tresses before he flicks his tongue against that spot.

it’s soft and spongy, and with the help of his long fingers curling and scissoring in and out of your sopping pussy, you let off a candied three-second shriek. “oh, darlin. found it, did i?”

“fuck, ‘toru,” your body falls back against the silk pillows.

multiple wanton whimpers slither from your lips as he’s continuously toying his tongue against your g-spot. it seemed as if his tongue was helping with your cramps entirely. such pressure builds up in your body and you were just so hot that you felt like you were gonna explode. “gonna cum, fuck fuck.” you’re babbling out pathetic cries that fall deaf to his pointed ears. satoru hums in smug amusement, jaw feeling tight and locking but he doesn’t care.

he was feeling pretty exhausted from coming back from work but just a single taste of your pussy and suddenly, he was energized once again.

ironic.

his two fingers continue to swivel around inside your gripping walls as your body slumps into the mattress in lewd defeat. satoru grunts, grinding his boner against the edge of the bed to calm himself but you made it so hard.

you made him hard.

as he’s luxuriating in this eagle view of your legs prettily laid up for him, he’s merely knuckles deep.

you can barely stay still and the bed’s staring to grow rickety. satoru’s speed of his tongue doesn’t falters, and as he’s slurping every drop from your sappy folds—you let out your final elongated moan. it’s long, your legs erupt dramatically and shake within his hold before you’re finally cumming. it drags for a long time and you’re just nothing but hysterical.

overwrought with emotions and pleasure, your legs finally collapse—as if they weren’t already basically limp, you exhale deeply.

“fuck, fuck fuuuck,” you repeat, watching with hazy murky eyes as he pulls your panties back toward the center with his teeth. satoru licks up your sweet saccharine-flavored juices that seep out from you, savoring the honeyed taste on his tongue before you pull on his hair . . hard.

“tsk. watch the hair, girl,” he warns you, still being cheeky and playful.

your cunt embarrassingly twitches once he makes eye contact with you again. satoru sits up, his entire chin coated with nothing but your slit. its a stream of it and it’s pretty. it was just the way it trickles down and he laps the crevices of his lips with his tongue. “so cute,” he murmurs, and he closes the gap between you both. as satoru feels your trembly legs wrap around his waist, he pulls you into another deep passionate kiss.

you moan right into his mouth, lazily tossing your arms over his broad-built shoulders before feeling him yank your panties down your legs and ankles.

satoru’s body was hot.

he still had his business attire on, and he feels your hand slowly removing his tie. your other hand runs down his tux, sliding inside the center to feel his washboard chiseled and hiding underneath the piles of formal work clothes.

“such a needy ‘lil thing,” he whispers gruffly between kisses, chuckling once he sees the forming pout tweak against your swollen lips.

satoru rubs a thumb over you lip before his crystalline-colored irises meet yours. the silence was cold, he’s got a wolffish smirk compressing against his lips before he mutters right near your ear. “now, let’s give ya that baby, sweetheart.”

saying ‘baby’ was an understatement.

with the way satoru was about to fuck you, he planned on giving you triplets.

maybe even more, and the constant rambles of how little ‘ole you was stuck in his mansion all day with baby fever did something to him. oh, poor thing, suffering with cramps all day. it was the end of the world. to you at least it was. but like the loving sugar daddy he was, satoru figured he’d do his best to ease your little ‘problems.’

“gimme that pretty arch, goooood..” he purrs, using a hand to rub down your exposed back.

satoru groans—his formal trousers / pants were pulled down to his ankles and he’s staring at your pretty ass. so cute. he watches with a carnal glint in his eye as you position yourself, gnawing on your lip and the bars of your enclosure. the anticipation was about to bury you six feet under.

his leaky tip slowly smears and bedaubs against your dripping clit and you whine. your hands, clammy and all, roughly grip onto the richly-made sheets.

his tip was fat, it’s got a glistening swollen head that’s teasing you. satoru’s breathing grows shallow once he sees your pussy cutely trying to swallow. “fuck, please,” you croak, desperate for him to go inside. he always does this—everytime.

right before he’s preparing himself to fuck you raw, satoru smacks his bulbous cockhead against your sappy weeping folds, hearing your sweet little cries grow unsatisfied. all you could think about was having him breed you full . . over and over and over again, you didn’t just want it, you needed it.

you needed him.

“relaaaax, sweet thing. ‘m comin,” a chortle dies from his throat as he feels you trying to wriggle your hips.

you’re impatient, and once he’s fully aligned, he’s finally dipping his weighty cock inside your perfectly tucked folds.

suddenly, your needy whines stop and they turn into whines of rapture. satoru trails a big hand toward the cusps of your ass, tracing down the cute curvy curvature of your body before your skin’s met with a rude swat.

you moan as he’s easing himself inside your gummy walls, stretching you open even more than his fingers did. “atta fuckin’ girl. let me in, biiiiiig stretch, there we go.”

the stretch . . you’d never get used to it, never.

your stomach heaves once he’s reeling his hips in. “s- shit,” you kiss your teeth, your knees already buckling and becoming weak. satoru spanks your bare ass again just to hear those sweet yelps leave your lips. he’s so fucking big, it doesn’t take long before he’s bottoming out and you hear the welcoming ‘pop’. satoru groans once he starts to move, one hand holding onto your hip—another focused on your pretty perked ass. he likes this view, the view of his sweet girl arched over on all fours. satoru bites his lip as he starts to make delicious haste with his sharp keen hips.

“god,” his head throws itself back briefly at a certain angle.

already, white strands stick to his forehead with the help of his sweat substituting as glue. satoru’s voice shakes as his cock’s fully in, your clingy gripping walls were so warm and it makes his mouth water from the inside. “missed my favorite pussy so fuckin’ bad, so bad,” and you feel a few droplets plop down your back. satoru’s eyes rove over, watching you writhe again and he sheepishly snickers.

he was drooling.

“heh, sorry.” and he wipes his mouth with his wrist, the feral feeling pooling in his gut never fading.

you’re a mess underneath him, the second he starts to drill his hips into you—it’s over.

satoru’s stamina was always unhinged.

the bed croaks and groans from the constant shakes ‘n creaks it has to endure each second. the hinges were quite loud, you heard the rusty creaking wood that reverbs throughout the room. his cock continued to pound into you as his body’s on top of yours, in full sync with your own sloppy movement.

you’re whimpering, your head already being smushed against the pillow as the undersides of his thigh start to feel minuscule pangs. “toru, toruuu,” you mewl out in a melodic whisper. he’s hitting you deep, your glossed lips part into a circle before you huff.

each strike of his hips felt more precise and brutal. . you wanted more, you wanted to feel him more.

“i know, i know,” he coos, thumbs circling around your waist as he holds you in place.

satoru’s hips were so sculptured and sharp that they give you whiplash every time. he’s got such power within each salacious strike that it makes your head spin. every single stroke, you’re left stupid and speechless with your tongue already dangling out of your mouth. the room grew steamy within a span of a few minutes. it smells like nothing but pure passionate sex.

by now, your eyes were rolling toward the very backs of your sockets in utter elated pleasure. you’re seeing nothing but splashes of ivory black and white. “aht aht. c’mere, don’t fuckin’ run sweetheart,” his voice was as smooth as silk. satoru feels your unsteady hips trying to crawl away but he reels you back in. “nuh uh. take it, take it, take it, girl.” he groans, his heavy hanging balls thwacking right against your ass within each pivotal thrust.

the band of his platinum-colored watch rubs off against your skin again—he’s watching you jerk back against him. his cock was so full, he licks his lips at the thought of your pretty pussy and how you were gonna wring him dry like you always do.

“fuck me, fuck me ‘toru,” your whimpering words were repeating itself over and over as if you were a broken record. the pit of your stomach coils as each second draws itself out before he’s grunting gruffly. your cunt’s sloppy, coating his base with sheeny amounts and globs of slick. white hairs from his neat pubes stick against his skin and satoru’s now grinding into you. “ah, right there, ngh please.”

“thaaaaat’s it pretty girl,” he snarls in a raspy voice, feeling the fat smacking stings of your ass jolt backward into his pelvis. “fuck me right back, mhm. gimme this pussy, make me proud baby.”

as he’s whispering all sorts of praises and dirty words, you can feel yourself reaching your limit soon — it’s so close.

a fluttering sensation brews up inside your stomach before satoru suddenly groans. “fuck,” his cock’s wholly stretching you out to your elastic limit before it meets that same textured spongey barrier again. he knows right away because your knees buckle, your breath grows quicker, and you let off another surprised shriek.

right there, x marks the spot after all and he was constantly hitting his tip there until you let out cute shrilling screams.

“goddamn, ‘m gonna cum, sweets,” and his voice grows more shakier the longer he’s inside.

it’s as if time stood still.

the constant rotation of swiveling gyrations from each angle, each body has your head spinning like a merri-go-‘round.

you were probably looking a dumb cock-drunk mess. unkempt strands of hair were already flopping down your face and occluding your view of vision entirely. satoru pierces his white brows together before lightly shoving you further into the mattress. as you’re cutely arched forward with your ass raised up, he leans way into your back, wrapping a hand softly around the back your throat.

“gonna fuckin’ give ya twins. one isn’t enough, pretty girl. need that tummy swollen ‘n plump s- so bad,” and he inches his lips toward your spine, still pumping into you deep. “gonna make you my pretty ‘lil mama.”

as he continued to spoke, you whine as his cock plummets into your wet sopping cunt over and over. it’s to the point where your ears recognize the slapping sounds of skin. the squelches your wet cunt made had him groaning.

he’s breathing in huge chunks of air as he’s merely crushing you with his weight. as you both robustly rut into each other in flawless unison, satoru’s hefty weight that hovers over you anchors into yours, slamming further into you.

“fuck, don’t stop, hngh,” and your words were as shaky as your chattering teeth.

he couldn’t keep his hands off you, literally.

sweaty open palms paw at every part of your body. near your doughy tits, your ass—his favorite part, and even your pretty plush thighs that were nearly gluing together. “satoru, satoru, pleaseee.”

“mhm, sweets..” his voice tremors and cracks before a sharp gasp wretches out of him. out of nowhere, you feel his hips come to an abrupt stop and he groans loudly.

it’s so loud that it’s an almost bellowing roar, both of his ears clank at the blissful sensations. satoru grows quiet once he feels it, that familiar pressure that’s been stored full inside him for the longest.

he’s cumming, and it’s so much, a slimy knot shoots out and freely dribbles into your inviting swollen cunt and he chews the inside of his cheek. “fuck m- me,” he stammers, still holding both sides of your rickety hips.

the room’s filled with husky pants and skin slapping until he’s slowing down - velvety stringy ribbons spurt into you raw until he’s hoarsely panting like a dog at the sight.

he can’t stop staring. such a mess, but you’re his mess. god, the way it just leisurely trickles inside of you, spilling all down the sides of your jittery folds because it can’t keep all of it in. the sounds were even more filthy, sloshing squeaks feels the room and he goes quiet just to get a good enough listen. satoru came so much—so so much that it lasted for a plethora of long obscene seconds. as he’s trying to get over his orgasm, he’s still chewing at the inside of his cheek, his face growing flustered. his hips become strikingly sloppy and he’s basically humping you. “god, have my fuckin’ kids, sweetheart. ugh,” and satoru’s as prettiest as he’s ever been.

with his lip dragging from his teeth biting near the bottom, his eyes scrunch shut and white brows curl up. huffing out a big deep exhale, he’s sweating bullets.

his thick calves felt like they were on fire but he didn’t have enough of you yet. there was never enough of you. you had him whipped—he’s allowing you to milk him, relishing in the fact that your sweet cunt was just wringing him dry to the max.

satoru steadies your hips with his quavery hands, peering down at the masses of sweltering hot cum that drips down your legs and he grunts. “s- satoru,” you shiver, gasping once he pulls out only to flip you right over.

“not done. still got so much more ‘ta give my pretty girl,” he breathes, and it’s a feral look in his eyes. satoru raises your leg up slowly, his rings tickling against your bare skin. “lie on your back. i fuckin’ need more.”

satoru fucks you for hours.

any position you could even think of, he’s doing it.

both stacked bodies glisten with sheets of sweat as they rut back and forth against each other, fingers merrily intertwined. he’s determined to get you pregnant and your moans only fuel him. the rowdy snaps of his vigorous hips only grew stronger.

his stamina, you’re blinking, wondering if he’s even human. despite the drops of perspiration tearing from the sides of his face and his heaving long breaths, satoru showed no signs of fatigue.

he was drilling his thick cock into you again and again—giving you orgasm after orgasm.

your toes curl as you’re trying to keep up with him but it’s to no avail. weighty balls continue to rigorously slam into your core as you’re currently in mating press. the compressing weight of satoru melting against you makes you whine.

he’s so warm, and with the way he’s breathing down your neck, babbling how he’s gonna make you the most prettiest mommy in the world makes your cunt throb. “you’re so pretty like this,” he moans into your neck, his thrusts becoming weak yet again.

globs of cum dribble from your pussy as he’s right between your thighs, his cock springing up. he hisses at the feeling, feeling your arms wrap around his back. satoru groans at the twinge near his extensor muscles that flex.

you gave him scratches that ran all down his back. he pays for your weekly manicures just so you can paint his back with scratches with your pretty acrylics.

his pretty girl.

you’re a stammering mess, plugged all the way up with such creamy thin ropes and your body was already limp. with his dick still delved inside, satoru grabs your chin—pressing another kiss against your lips. you moan, twisting and tangling your balmy hot tongue with his before he presses a hand down on your tummy. you whine in his mouth, skimming your crumped up fingers down his little undercut.

satoru groans at the feeling of your digits toying with the back part of his hair. “s- satoru,” you speak between kisses in short gasps for air. your ankle brushes up and down his back and it makes him grunt - your touch made him weak. “ ‘m so full, fuck.”

“yeah you fuckin’ are, sweetheart,” he licks near your bottom lip.

satoru’s body was so hot against yours, even while he was fully milked out he was still stuffing you full. the sheets were a mess, but he didn’t care in the slightest. his cerulean-blue eyes rove down towards your chest before he leans down. you stare at him, panting—and that’s when he latches his tongue against your neglected tits.

so perfect,

he makes sure to lather viscous strings of saliva on both of them, including your sensitive perky nipples. “mhm.” he groans, feeling your fingers fish through his white tangled strands. he’s sucking on each of your breasts with the most stupidest pussy drunken grin.

after a few seconds, he removes his spit-slick lips, a string of saliva following before he gazes up at you. with a sly worn out gaze, he cups both of your tits with his hands, giving them a good squeeze. “aw. my girls are gonna be full of milk soon,” and satoru kisses near your chin, your forehead, your cheek, and then finally, your lips.

you return the wet sultry kiss before he abruptly pulls away, holding your chin. “can’t wait to be a daddy, darlin,” he says in a gruff drowsy voice. you watch as he gradually pulls out, moving his head down toward your bare tummy. satoru presses a kiss near your navel before his eyes stare right back up at you.

“now let’s wait for this pretty ‘lil bump, hm?”

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deepspacenova · 6 months ago

Text

between the strokes of midnight

it starts out with you doing your best to pull sylus out of his cynicism at a new year's eve party. it ends with you succeeding.

➻➻ ABOUT | 1500 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | new year's eve. flirting. banter. fluff. first kiss.

NOTE: Just a little something while I get in my feels about how thankful I am for this little corner of the internet. Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy year ahead xx

"One hour 'til the countdown starts!"

Sylus rolls his eyes at the cheers and squeals that erupt through the room when the arbitrary announcement reverberates its way through the balloons and decorations that swath the hotel lobby. As if there isn't a device capable of tracking the passage of time in every pocket of the increasingly stifling room.

“Oh don't be such a grump. Even you must find some redeeming qualities about New Year's Eve."

The melody of that voice is an invisible string, trailing its softness along the shell of his ear before it tugs up the corners of his downturned lips. "Hm," he considers. "I guess it does end with explosions."

He turns to face you right as you stumble into him, the scent of the warm spice clinging to your hair curling around him when he frowns in the direction of the passerby who'd bumped their weight into yours. Pressing his palms into the back of your bare arms, he pulls you both back a few steps until you're closer to the wall and further from the chaos.

He watches laughter flicker through your eyes before he hears your soft giggle. "You know what I mean! The allure of it, the romance." Sylus raises his brow in amused confusion, eliciting an admonishing huff from your lips. "Don't tell me you've never taken advantage of telling some nameless beauty that she'll be the 'first thing on your to-do list' in the new year."

The incredulous sound that slips from his mouth is somewhere between a scoff and a guffaw. "Was that an insult, kitten? You think my romancing skills are so banal and cliché?"

"No, the opposite actually." Your face comes closer to his when you shift your weight to your toes and a small ember breathes to life where your palm connects with his chest. "It just seems like you'd have the perfect formula to make sure you ring in the new year with... a bang. And yet, you're avoiding the question," you tease, a gleam of mischief bounces off the apple of your cheek.

“I didn’t hear a question,” he replies. A shadow appears behind you and Sylus pauses to glare daggers at a vaguely familiar Hunter hesitantly approaching you from behind. By the time you turn around to see what has him distracted, your hopeful colleague is long gone.

When you turn back to face him, the sequined, silver ‘Happy New Year’ headband that crowns your updo bounces with the movement. “You’re telling me you’ve never kissed someone at midnight on New Year's Eve?”

Sylus hopes his casual shrug distracts you from the way his weight shifts from one leg to the other. “You know how I am about my investments, sweetie. And tying my luck to someone whose name I don't know for a whole year doesn't sound like a good one.”

The distant sound of his name seems to distort around the edges when he watches your bottom lip disappear behind your front teeth and your head shake. "Luck? You're the least superstitious businessman in the whole city. You literally only came here with me because you're trying to strike a deal. Try again."

His fingernail scratches at a piece of lint in the pocket of his charcoal trousers. And maybe it's the gold color of your dress that unexpectedly matches his tie. Maybe it's the two glasses of gin fizz already sending bubbles of air through his body. Or maybe the way you keep getting closer to him is interfering with the amount of oxygen making it to his brain. But the next words that stagger out of his mouth come a bit closer to the truth than he means them to.

"I just haven't liked anyone enough to make a commitment like that," he drawled. "Happy now, sweetie?"

Sylus thinks he sees surprise soften your eyes but when you open your mouth to respond, his name is called — this time clear and insistent and right behind him.

When his business for the night is finally concluded, you've melted into the crowd. No longer in the spot he left you.

You take another sip from your flute, watching the champagne swirl around like liquid starlight. The cityscape is on display before you, the windows from the buildings reflecting the fractured patterns of light that dance around you as impatient revelers set off bursts of fireworks a few minutes before the city's are meant to debut.

And though the balcony you stand on is largely empty — too cold to be hospitable for most — it still feels enchanting, as if nothing can siphon the magic from the space.

"Had a feeling you'd be out here."

You startle as the rasp of Sylus' voice rouses you from your reverie, your hand flying to your chest to keep your heart from fluttering away. Smiling at him briefly, you turn your attention back to the performance of color around you.

"Didn't you hear our fiftieth reminder of the night?" he quips dryly. "Five minutes until the countdown."

Your brow lifts slightly. "I did. But I'm surprised you came out here to tell me, Mr. Cynical."

The snowflakes dust his face like kisses of frost, standing out against the dark fabric of his suit while melting into the strands of his silvery hair. When his body is close enough to heat the air around you and he leans an elbow against the railing, he sighs.

"Maybe I just need someone to explain it to me." He gestures to the city in front of them. "The 'allure' of this night, as you put it. The... romance." He leans toward you and watches your face intently, like your answer holds its own gravitational pull.

Seeing his sincerity, that he isn’t being sarcastic or facetious, you stare out at the skyline and start slowly. Drawing out your words as if speaking too quickly might break the spell. "It's not just the night itself. It's... the feeling. Time seems to, to hold its breath for a moment. There's this magic in the air and the world feels... softer somehow. That's the romance."

As you finish your thought, you shift your focus from the view in front of you back to him and you're struck simultaneously by the intent yet inscrutable expression on his face, as well as how striking and dear that face is.

You wait for him to break the strand of lightning that crackles between you, but he doesn't. He just stands there gliding his garnet gaze over your cheeks, your lips, your shoulders. Like a thread of silk, tangling your ribs and heart and lungs into knots until it's almost too hard for you to breathe.

"And there's this anticipation," you say, giving into the dizzying feeling. "Waiting for the stroke of midnight like it's a portal to something new. A chance to start something. It’s the belief that anything can happen." Your words trip over the gasp of air he steals. "And maybe it will."

You jerk in surprise when a shrill Ten!... Nine!... Eight!... Seven! buzzes its way across the balcony.

Never taking his eyes off you, Sylus takes a slow, deliberate step closer. "A chance to start something...” he considers, his voice low and velvety, the gin fizz on his breath painting the skin of your cheeks pink.

Six!... Five!... Four!

You frown in confusion when he reaches out and plucks the flute out of your hand, carelessly disposing of the glass on the railing behind him. His gaze drops to your lips, a flicker of hunger in his eyes.

"Three!… Two!… One!… Happy New Year!"

He surges forward and catches your lips in his. Your pulse quickens, the world outside blurring into a backdrop of lights and fireworks. Each explosion and pop harmonizes with the fizzing heat that's crackling through you every time he lets your lips go and recaptures them at a new angle.

You don't remember how the strands of his hair slither their way between your fingers, or how the softness of your thigh comes to hug the hard ridge of his hip, or how the inside of his forearm becomes a band that slots you so tightly into him, you can feel his shirt buttons branding your chest, your diaphragm, your navel.

All you know is the intoxicating taste of his tongue. The vibration of his groan.

All you know is the rhythmic sound of your panting. The heat of his fingers and then his mouth stamping their prints into your cheek and jaw.

All you know is that the strokes of midnight seem to suspend you both in that moment in time.

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neeeooon · 4 months ago

Note

Hiii!! Hope you're doing well! I wanted to make a BLLK HC request!

Can you do one where the characters suddenly get a lot of cuteness aggression for their s/o and then proceed to smother them with affection? SORRY THIS IS SO CRINGY BUT AT LEAST IM FREE 😔

For the characters, can you do Sae, Rin, Reo, Isagi and whatever other ones you like?

AGAIN SORRY FOR THE CRINGY REQUEST

NO DW ITS NOT CRINGY thank you for the request!! 🫶

when you’re affectionate toward them ;

bf bllk x cuteness overload reader

itoshi sae

-> sae has been doted on his entire life. becoming a famous soccer player didn’t chance that, the praise just heightened, especially from fans

-> your affection was different, because you didn’t use meaningless words to compliment your boyfriend on his talent or skill. you simply thought he was the most adorable thing on the planet

-> “i’m gonna get an indent in my cheek from how much you poke it.” “I WOULDNT POKE IT SO MUCH IF YOU WERENT SUCH A GRUMP.” “but when i smile you cry—“ “CAUSE YOURE SO CUTE OH MY GOD???”

itoshi rin

-> having someone as aggressive with their affection as you was a bit shocking, especially since rin isn’t the type to show much love

-> you sat across the couch, staring at him, when you felt a swell in your chest. a need to jump on him. who were you to ignore your impulse?

-> “y/n, why are you looking at me li—OOF.” “GOD YOURE SO ADORABLE I COULD THROW UP.” “i’m just sitting here..” “WELL STOP. ITS TOO CUTE.” “okay..”

mikage reo

-> you out-affection him and he doesn’t know how to feel about it

-> the first time he smothered you in kisses was like opening pandora’s box. now that you knew it was safe to be your weird, affection-crazy self around your boyfriend, there was no going back

-> you’re walking together when you slip your hand into his back pocket. “y/n, what if someone sees?” “sees what? i’m just walking with my boyfriend!” “your hand is in my pants.” “your back pocket!! that doesn’t count, couples do it all the time!” “i feel your hand on my skin!” “then you have a hole somewhere. not my fault!” “you’re so weird.” “you love it~”

isagi yoichi

-> it’s the hair, you conclude as you cradle isagi’s head to your chest. “y/n.. can’t… breathe..!” “IM SORRY I CANT HELP IT. YOURE TOO CUTE.” “goodbye.. world..”

-> no but you cannot keep your hands to yourself, and isagi doesn’t care. he’s gotten used to your mindless affection, your need to be close to him, and has adapted to involve you in his daily life

-> “y/n, are you okay?” “hm? why, what’s up?” “you’re not invading my personal space nearly as much as usual..” “AWW YOICHI ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT ME??” “i mean—“ “I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MY CUTIEKINS! KISS ME.”

michael kaiser

-> it took him a looooong time to get comfortable enough around you to accept your affection, but you didn’t mind waiting

-> the only time you allowed yourself to smother him with affection was after he initiated it first. a simple hand on the knee meant he wanted your touch, a squeeze meant he wanted cuddles

-> you were sitting together when you felt his hand tentatively brush your leg. you waited for him to do it again, and when he gave your ankle a little squeeze, you flung yourself into him, smothering his face with enough kisses to make him laugh. “you’re gonna kill me one day by kissing me to death!” “then you’ll certainly die a happy man <3”

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

Text

IN STITCHES | PSH | PART 2

pairing: grump surgeon! sunghoon x surgeon! reader

WC: 6k

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.

part 1

The hospital parking lot was already full when they pulled in, the sun just barely lifting over the horizon. She straightened her coat, tucking her hair behind her ears and sneaking a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

“We can’t walk in together,” she said as she reached for the door.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got your strictest attending face on and I have ‘I-woke-up-in-my-crush’s-hoodie’ energy. They’ll know.”

Sunghoon leaned back, resting one hand on the wheel as he looked at her. “Then get out first. I’ll follow five minutes after.”

She paused. “You’re not even gonna tease me for being paranoid?”

“I’m being respectful, baby.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“Baby.”

He leaned in just a little, voice dropping into that smooth, amused register that always made her stomach flutter. “Fine. Yeobo.”

She gasped and lightly hit his arm before climbing out of the car, mouthing you’re so annoying before turning to make her escape.

But not before he smirked behind the windshield, eyes fond as they lingered on her retreating figure.

Five minutes later, when he stepped into the hospital looking every bit the composed, cold surgeon again, no one would have guessed he’d just been kissed goodbye in a parked car with a stray piece of pancake syrup still clinging to his collar.

Well—except for the observant nurse at the front desk who raised a brow and said with a smirk:

“You look unusually… rested today, Dr. Park.”

He didn’t respond.

But the faintest smile betrayed him.

Rounds were quiet that morning, but the tension between them buzzed like static in the air.

Y/N stood at the nurse’s station, flipping through patient charts, when she felt it—that prickling sensation of someone watching her. She glanced up to find Sunghoon across the hallway, mid-discussion with another attending, but his eyes were unmistakably on her.

The second their eyes met, he looked away, far too quickly. Like a schoolboy caught staring. Like he hadn’t just kissed her senseless twelve hours ago.

She ducked her head, smiling behind the edge of the chart.

Still, he was back to his usual self—curt, direct, the perfectionist. But now, even in the sharpness of his tone during rounds, there was a gentler rhythm to it when he spoke to her. No one else would notice. But she did.

During lunch break, she found an empty table in the back of the residents’ lounge, picking at her sandwich. He passed by behind her, pausing just long enough to drop something on the table.

Her favorite drink. No words, no glance.

She blinked.

Moments later, a second-year resident plopped down next to her, eyes narrowed in teasing suspicion. “Sooo… when were you gonna tell me you and Dr. Park have a thing?”

She choked on her bite. “We don’t.”

The resident smirked. “You mean you don’t officially.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re glowing. You never glow. You’re like… caffeine and chaos in human form, and today you’re soft.”

Before she could argue, Sunghoon passed the doorway. He paused—just a fraction of a second—and tilted his head toward her with the subtlest smirk.

The resident’s eyes widened. “Okay. Now I see it.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in her arms.

⸻

Later that day, while reviewing scans together in a dimmed diagnostics room, their fingers brushed on the touch screen. She didn’t pull away this time. Neither did he.

He looked at her, voice quiet. “Lunch was decent?”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “The drink made it better.”

A pause.

Their gazes lingered just a little too long.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and the spell broke.

But not entirely.

They both turned back to the screen, acting like nothing happened—but their reflections on the glass betrayed a small, shared smile.

It was a rare Friday night where none of them were on call. One of the nurses was celebrating a birthday, so someone booked out the private back room of a cozy gastropub near the hospital. String lights twinkled overhead, laughter echoed, and the sound of cutlery against plates filled the space.

Y/N arrived first, dressed casually but warm, cheeks flushed from the cold. She was sipping something sweet when Sunghoon walked in—slightly late, still in a pressed shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up like usual. The second their eyes met, something softened in him.

He didn’t walk over right away. He nodded to a few people, greeted the birthday nurse, made small talk with the chief resident.

But then, slowly, naturally, he found his way beside her.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just smiled up at him, and he sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world—close enough that their knees brushed under the table.

Their friends exchanged glances.

It was subtle at first—him reaching for her glass to sip it absentmindedly, her nudging his shoulder when he teased her for not finishing her meal. Nothing scandalous. Nothing overt.

Until—

“Okay,” the birthday nurse said, raising a toast. “I just want to thank you all for being my favorite group of overworked zombies. I love you all—even the grumpy ones.” Her eyes landed on Sunghoon, pointed.

He raised a brow but didn’t deny it.

Someone from across the table chimed in, “Honestly, I thought someone would’ve mellowed him out by now.”

Y/N was mid-sip when someone added, “Wait, actually… you’ve been way less terrifying lately, Dr. Park. Suspiciously mellow.”

And then came the boldest one: “Don’t tell me it’s because of her?” Eyes flicked toward Y/N.

All eyes turned.

She froze slightly, glancing at Sunghoon in mild panic.

But to everyone’s surprise… he didn’t flinch. Didn’t deflect.

Instead, he reached out under the table, laced their fingers together, and casually lifted their joined hands onto the table in full view.

“I guess the rumors weren’t as subtle as we thought,” he said, tone cool but eyes impossibly soft.

The room went silent—then exploded.

“What—!”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Pay up! I told you they were a thing!”

Laughter erupted. The nurse threw a napkin in the air like confetti. A resident whooped. Someone actually dropped a fork.

Y/N just leaned into the chaos, covering her face in mock embarrassment while Sunghoon—smug as ever—sipped her drink again like it was just another night.

Later, as the group quieted down and conversations splintered into smaller circles, he leaned into her ear and murmured, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She turned to him, glowing. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

He kissed her temple. “Only a little.”

The city buzzed around them, but their world had slowed to a calm hum. The gathering had finally wrapped up, and the streets were painted gold from scattered streetlights and the occasional passing car.

They walked side by side, his jacket now draped over her shoulders because he said she’d catch a cold otherwise. She hadn’t argued. Not this time.

The sidewalk was quiet, their footsteps in sync.

“Still embarrassed?” he asked, voice low, hands tucked into his pockets.

“A little,” she admitted, but she smiled anyway. “You didn’t even blink.”

He chuckled, soft and low. “I figured if we were going to get caught, I’d rather control the moment.”

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Classic.”

Sunghoon glanced over, taking her in—eyes shining under the streetlights, lips slightly chapped from the wind, his jacket swallowing her frame. “You looked happy tonight.”

“I was,” she said honestly, then hesitated. “I think I’ve been happy a lot lately.”

There was a beat of silence between them before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

They stopped at a quiet corner, just outside her apartment building. She turned to face him fully, hands still tucked in the sleeves of his jacket.

“I meant it, you know,” she said softly. “Back there. Thank you—for letting me in.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered at her jaw, thumb grazing her cheek gently.

“You were patient,” he murmured. “Even when I wasn’t easy to read. You didn’t push.”

“I didn’t have to,” she whispered. “You found me anyway.”

And he kissed her—slow, steady, like a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, chuckling faintly. “You still doing that puppy eyes thing?”

She blinked up at him. “Maybe.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll stay over again. But only because I like the way your couch smells like lavender.”

“It’s not the couch you’re staying for and you know it.”

He smirked. “No. It’s definitely you.”

Hand in hand, they climbed the steps up to her door.

The city kept humming—but for now, it felt like just the two of them.

Six Months Later

Spring had settled softly over the city, painting the hospital courtyard in warm gold and gentle breezes. Inside, things were as busy as ever—stretchers rolling, monitors beeping, lives changing. But one thing had definitely shifted.

Dr. Park Sunghoon, the once sharp-edged, no-nonsense surgeon, now paused at a child’s bedside just a beat longer than necessary. He ruffled their hair, smiled when they clutched his finger tight, crouched down to explain procedures in calm, careful tones. His voice had lost none of its clarity—but it carried warmth now. Hope.

He still walked fast, still demanded excellence. But now, he also remembered birthdays. He brought coffee to overworked interns. He laughed, sometimes—low and rare, but real. And every once in a while, he’d hum softly in the hallway when he thought no one was listening.

Y/N was reviewing a patient chart when one of the older nurses sidled up beside her, slipping a piece of chocolate into her pocket like a secret.

“You’ve done something no one else could,” the nurse said, eyes crinkling. “You brought him back.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Dr. Park,” she smiled knowingly. “He was brilliant before. But now? Now he’s also good. Kind. Human.” Her voice softened. “We thought we lost that part of him forever.”

Y/N’s heart ached a little at that—for what he had to lose to build his walls, and for how carefully they’d been taken down.

She turned slightly, glancing through the glass of the OR observation deck where Sunghoon stood, post-surgery, patiently explaining something to a wide-eyed young patient and their anxious parent. He placed a reassuring hand on the father’s shoulder before stepping back with a nod.

The father shook his hand like it was something sacred.

Y/N smiled to herself.

Later that evening, as they sat in the quiet on-call room with half a sandwich between them, she nudged his knee.

“You’re getting soft, Dr. Park.”

He gave her a look but didn’t deny it. “Only for my favorite people.”

She raised a brow. “Patients?”

He leaned in closer, brushing her nose with his. “You.”

—

It was a rare day off. No white coats. No pagers. Just them and the open sky above.

Sunghoon had told her to dress comfortably—“nothing fancy, just layers”—and drove her out of the city. She didn’t ask questions, just watched him steal glances at her the whole ride, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel, a small curve tugging at his lips like he was holding back a secret.

They pulled into a quiet town near the mountains, where spring flowers bloomed along the fences and children rode bikes with streamers in their handlebars. It felt like a pocket of time, untouched and slow.

He led her down a quiet dirt path, up a small hill—and there it was.

A tiny, unfinished cabin. Wooden beams, no windows yet, just the skeleton of a home—but she could already picture it in the warm light, filled with laughter and life. Their future.

“It’s not much,” he said beside her, slightly breathless, “but I’ve been working with an architect on and off. It’s not even built yet.”

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “Is this…?”

“For us,” he said. “Someday.”

The wind blew gently. She was quiet—processing.

“I know it’s early,” he continued quickly, hands shoved in his pockets. “But when I think about what I want—where I want to rest after long shifts, who I want to build this with, who I want to drink coffee with on the porch before surgeries… it’s always you.”

She blinked, her throat tight.

He stepped closer, pulling a small, velvet box from his coat. Not flashy. Simple. Honest.

“I don’t need to wait to know,” he murmured. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

For a moment, neither of them breathed.

Then her hands flew to her mouth, eyes brimming. “Sunghoon…”

“I’m not asking for a wedding tomorrow,” he added gently. “Just for a promise. That you’ll build this life with me. That when the time’s right—we’ll already know it started here.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. You’re already home.”

He slipped the ring on her finger, pulling her into his arms as the sky turned gold behind them. He held her close—tight like a man who’d found his anchor—and kissed her like a vow.

Back at the hospital, the week rolled on like always—cases, charts, rounds. But there was a quiet buzz around them now. Something in the way Y/N hummed while updating files, in the way Sunghoon let his hand linger a second longer on her back when they passed in the hall. Something different.

And of course, Mrs. Kang noticed.

The elderly patient had been in and out of the general ward for months now, recovering from a stubborn heart condition and endlessly entertained by the unfolding drama of her favorite real-life hospital romance.

So when both Sunghoon and Y/N walked in for her morning rounds—Sunghoon holding her chart, Y/N holding coffee, both trying (and failing) not to look giddy—Mrs. Kang narrowed her eyes immediately.

“Well, well,” she said, voice raspy but smug. “There’s a glow in this room that’s not from the IV drip.”

Y/N laughed, ducking her head. Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge of his mouth twitched upward.

Mrs. Kang squinted harder, then pointed at Y/N’s hand. “Hold on. Is that what I think it is?”

Y/N tried to play coy, lifting her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. But the ring shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“Hmm?” she said, voice teasing. “Oh, this?”

Mrs. Kang gasped, loud enough to make the nurse across the hallway peek in.

“You sneaky little lovebirds!”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “We were going to tell you.”

“Oh, I knew it,” she said proudly, eyes twinkling. “From the way he brought you soup that one night to how you glared at him like a kicked puppy the next morning—I knew it.”

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “She glared at me like that for months.”

“And you loved every second,” Y/N muttered with a grin.

Mrs. Kang reached out, taking Y/N’s hand in both of hers. “You take good care of each other, alright? It’s rare—finding someone who sees all your rough edges and chooses to stay anyway.”

“I will,” Y/N promised, eyes soft. “We will.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything—but when Mrs. Kang winked at him, he smiled. For real. No restraint. No hesitation.

Just warmth.

And for the rest of her stay, Mrs. Kang insisted on referring to them exclusively as “the engaged power couple” whenever nurses came by.

It happened during lunch break the next day.

Y/N had stepped into Mrs. Kang’s room with her usual tea and a short visit before afternoon rounds, Sunghoon trailing in with a fresh update on her test results. It was supposed to be a quick check-in.

But Mrs. Kang had other plans.

As the nurse came by to check vitals, and a couple of residents lingered just outside the door with charts in hand, Mrs. Kang looked over her glasses at the small crowd, her voice deceptively casual.

“Well, since we’ve got an audience,” she began, tapping her spoon on the side of her tray like a gavel, “I think it’s time everyone knew that my favorite doctors are engaged.”

The room paused.

A silence fell so sharp you could hear the ECG beep.

Y/N blinked, halfway through handing her tea. Sunghoon stared for a beat. The door swung open wider as curious heads peeked in.

The nurse dropped her pen. “Wait, what?”

“They’ve been all smiles and shared glances lately,” Mrs. Kang declared proudly, pointing at Y/N’s hand again. “Look at the ring! You think I’d miss that kind of sparkle?”

Y/N turned a brilliant shade of pink, subtly slipping her hand behind her back. Sunghoon just… sighed. Then shrugged.

“It’s true,” he said calmly, slipping his hand into Y/N’s with the smoothness of someone who no longer had anything to hide.

Cue the chaos.

Gasps. Cheers. One resident screamed. Someone clapped. The pediatric fellow across the hall yelled, “I knew it!” while the neurosurgery guy slumped against the wall like he’d lost a bet.

Even Chief Min passed by, arched a brow, and muttered, “About time,” before walking off with her coffee.

Y/N covered her face with her hand, laughing through her embarrassment. Sunghoon just stood there, smug and soft all at once, thumb brushing across the back of her knuckles.

Mrs. Kang leaned back against her pillows, smugger than ever.

“Told you,” she whispered to the nurse. “I’ve still got the eye.”

The hospital was quieter than usual by the time they slipped away, the afternoon rush of patients and staff finally beginning to taper off. Sunghoon and Y/N found themselves in the small, secluded corner of the hospital rooftop, a spot they often retreated to when they needed to escape the chaos. The skyline stretched out in front of them, the city slowly fading into the orange hues of the setting sun.

Y/N leaned back against the railing, feeling the cool breeze tug at her hair, her heart still fluttering from the unexpected reveal in Mrs. Kang’s room. She glanced at Sunghoon, who had his hands tucked into his pockets, a rare calmness in his demeanor.

He was quieter than usual, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the city. After everything—the teasing, the surprise, the reactions from everyone—it felt like the world had shifted just a little bit. And for the first time in a long while, it was a shift that felt… right.

“Mrs. Kang really knows how to make an entrance,” Y/N said, breaking the silence with a soft laugh. She glanced at him. “I didn’t think she’d tell the whole hospital like that.”

Sunghoon chuckled, a low sound that seemed to warm the air between them. “She’s impossible to keep a secret from,” he said with a playful shrug. “But I’m glad she did.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him for a moment. The calmness in his eyes, the softness in the way he stood beside her—he wasn’t the same Sunghoon who had first walked into her life months ago. She’d seen more than just the gruff exterior. She’d seen the quiet tenderness, the rare smile that made her heart skip a beat.

“I think… I think I’m still a little shocked,” she confessed softly. “It’s not exactly how I imagined telling everyone.”

Sunghoon turned to face her, the corners of his lips curling up slightly as he caught her gaze. “Yeah, well, you’ve got Mrs. Kang to thank for that. But… I’m okay with it,” he said, his voice steady but full of a warmth that made her pulse quicken.

There was something different in the way he looked at her now. The walls he’d so carefully built around himself, the ones he’d been reluctant to let anyone past—those walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and it felt like she was the one holding the sledgehammer.

“You know, I never expected to find someone like you,” Sunghoon murmured, his eyes softening, the playful smirk slipping from his face. “Someone who doesn’t just… fit into my world. Someone who changes it.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “I never expected to fall for someone like you either,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess we’ve been doing a lot of unexpected things together, haven’t we?”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, taking a small step closer, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The contact was brief but electric, the warmth of his touch sending a spark through her entire body.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, the words coming out like a secret shared between just the two of them. “A lot of unexpected things.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind and the distant hum of the city below. Their hands were so close now, just a whisper of space between them.

And then, without thinking, Y/N closed the distance, slipping her hand into his, the contact familiar but still full of that soft magic that always seemed to linger when they were together.

Sunghoon squeezed her hand gently, his thumb grazing over her knuckles in the same quiet, reassuring rhythm that had become so familiar.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” he said quietly, his voice low but certain.

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest, comforting and soft. “I’m glad too,” she said, her voice full of a tenderness she hadn’t known she was capable of before.

For a moment, there were no hospital corridors to rush through, no patients waiting for answers. Just the two of them on the rooftop, the evening light casting a warm glow over their quiet, shared space. No walls. No barriers.

Just the two of them, letting the world spin around them while they took a breath and simply existed, together.

Sunghoon chuckled softly, the sound rich with fondness. “You know,” he began, a playful glint in his eye, “you never mentioned how memorable our first meeting was.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “Oh, I don’t know if it was memorable for you,” she teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “But I do recall that you were the one getting drenched in coffee.”

Sunghoon’s lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. “You spilled an entire cup on me. I was pretty sure you were the clumsiest person I’d ever met.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and carefree. “And yet, here we are,” she said with a shrug, her eyes sparkling. “Guess that coffee spill wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

The quiet rooftop moment was suddenly filled with the warmth of their shared memories. Sunghoon glanced down at their intertwined hands, his thumb absently tracing circles on her skin. “You’ve had a way of getting under my skin from the very beginning,” he said, his tone lighter now but still tinged with affection.

Y/N grinned, leaning in just slightly, her voice dropping to a more playful tone. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. I’d say you’ve gotten pretty used to me spilling coffee on you by now.”

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that moment.” There was a beat, and then he added, almost as if it was a secret shared just between them, “But I’m not complaining.”

Y/N leaned back against the railing again, her hand still nestled in his. “Yeah, me neither,” she said softly, looking out at the horizon, a smile still tugging at her lips. “Funny how life works. We start with coffee stains and end up here.”

Sunghoon watched her, his expression softening. “Yeah… funny how life works.”

And for a long moment, neither of them spoke, both of them content in the quiet understanding that had grown between them, the kind of intimacy that wasn’t built in grand gestures but in the little, unexpected moments. Like spilled coffee, and the way their hands fit together so perfectly now.

Three Years Later

The hospital lights hadn’t changed, but time had softened the sharp edges. The corridors still hummed with urgency, the air still smelled faintly of antiseptic, but there was a different kind of energy now—one that came with stability, with growth.

Y/N walked slowly down the hallway, a chart tucked under her arm and her other hand resting lightly over her growing bump. She wore compression socks under her loose scrubs, a quiet rebellion against the swelling in her ankles. At seven months along, she was still stubborn about helping with the lighter patient loads—case reviews, check-ins, post-ops—but everyone knew better than to let her near anything remotely chaotic.

A few nurses passed her with knowing smiles.

“Doc Y/N, you’re glowing more than the fluorescent lights,” one teased.

She laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “It’s probably just the ten layers of cocoa butter I slathered on this morning.”

She turned the corner into the staff lounge just as her pager buzzed. It was a short message.

ER - Code Yellow. Dr. Park in.

Her heart jumped—not in worry, just instinct. Even after all this time, Sunghoon being called to emergency meant high stakes. She knew he could handle it. He always could. But she also knew that he pushed himself harder than anyone else, always calm, always focused… except these days, his first glance was always to see where she was, or if she was resting.

She sank gently into a chair, setting down the chart. She absentmindedly rubbed her belly, murmuring, “Daddy’s probably elbow-deep in something serious, little bean.”

As if on cue, the door burst open. Sunghoon stepped in, hair tousled, gloves hanging out of his pocket, his expression still carrying the storm of the ER. But the moment his eyes landed on her, it was like a wave breaking.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down,” he said, not unkindly, just soft and breathless from the adrenaline still coursing through him.

“I am sitting down,” she replied with a grin.

He came over, crouching in front of her without hesitation. His hand went to her belly like a reflex, thumb brushing over the side as if grounding himself. “How are you feeling? You were up early.”

“Tired,” she admitted. “But good. Kicked me during rounds again.”

Sunghoon smirked. “That’s my kid.”

She combed her fingers gently through his hair, pushing a strand off his forehead. “Rough case?”

“Teenager. Motorcycle. Lucky to be alive.” He rested his head lightly on her lap for a second. “I hate that I get used to this.”

She held his cheek in her palm. “You don’t get used to it. You just grow around it.”

He closed his eyes, quiet for a beat. Then, “Come home with me after this?”

She tilted her head. “I wasn’t planning on doing a double shift, Park.”

He cracked a smile. “I mean it. Let’s just… disappear for the rest of the day. I’ll bring your favorite dumplings. Foot rub included.”

Y/N laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Deal. Only because our kid might inherit your grumpiness and needs balance.”

“You say that like I’m not the softest person in this room.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Sunghoon stood and helped her up gently, his hand protectively bracing her back. They walked out of the lounge slowly, fingers linked, like the world had shifted around them and they were just walking through the new rhythm—one heartbeat at a time.

Bonus Scene: The Day Park Sungjae Was Born

The pain was something else. Y/N had always known childbirth was intense—she’d walked patients through it, held hands, whispered calm—but nothing quite prepared her for being on the other side of the curtain.

The hospital room was warm, bathed in that oddly sterile comfort only a maternity ward could offer. It smelled like peppermint oil and something floral that someone must have spritzed earlier in hopes of calming her. But all she could focus on now was the squeeze in her lower back and the warm, steady hand that hadn’t left hers since the contractions started.

Sunghoon.

He was by her side, masked up, hair messy, scrubs wrinkled from hours of pacing and worry.

His eyes never once left hers.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Almost there. Just one more push, okay?” he whispered, voice tight but gentle, as if every fiber in him was holding on for both of them.

She gritted her teeth and pushed—hard.

And then—

A cry pierced the room.

A loud, raw, beautiful sound that shattered the tension like glass.

Y/N collapsed back against the pillows, tears already gathering in her lashes as the doctor lifted their son and placed him on her chest. Tiny. Warm. Real.

Sunghoon froze.

His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers barely brushing over the baby’s soft hair. His chest rose sharply, and he let out a breath that caught halfway through. Y/N turned to look at him.

And that was when she saw it—the crack, the shift.

Sunghoon cried.

Not in silence this time. Not behind closed doors. He cried openly, eyes wet and red, voice gone hoarse as he whispered, “He’s so small… he’s

here.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “He’s perfect.”

He bent down slowly and kissed her forehead. “Park Sungjae,” he said softly, almost reverently. “You did it. You both did.”

Y/N smiled, exhausted but full. “You’re crying again, Dr. Park.”

“That’s the third time,” he admitted, laughing through his tears. “Wedding, pregnancy, and now this.”

“Wanna aim for four?” she joked weakly, a tease in her voice.

He chuckled, still brushing his knuckle gently across Sungjae’s cheek. “Let me survive this one first.”

Then the baby let out another tiny cry and instinctively grasped Sunghoon’s finger.

His breath hitched again. “Hi, little guy,” he whispered, eyes soft and overflowing. “I’m your dad. And I promise—whatever this world throws at you… I’ll be right here.”

And for a moment, in that room filled with quiet awe and lingering tears, everything stood still—like time had paused just to let them feel every second of their brand-new beginning.

First Night Home

The soft whimpering of newborn cries echoed gently through the apartment, but there was no panic, no urgency. Just soft footsteps, a lullaby hum, and the warm glow of the nursery light casting golden halos on the walls.

Sunghoon gently rocked Park Sungjae in his arms, the tiny bundle swaddled in mint green, resting against his chest like he belonged there all along.

“Shhh, baby. You’re home now,” he whispered, voice low, warm, and endlessly soft. He walked slowly in circles, bare feet padding against the wooden floor. Y/N watched from the doorway, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she leaned against the frame.

“You’ve been doing that for thirty minutes,” she murmured.

“I know,” he whispered, not stopping. “He likes it. He stopped crying.”

“You’re wrapped around his finger already.”

Sunghoon turned his head and smiled, tired but glowing. “It’s not even funny how fast it happened.”

Y/N stepped inside, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his arm. They stood there like that for a while, the three of them in the soft hum of domestic peace.

Later, when Sungjae was finally fast asleep in his crib, they curled up on the couch with Y/N tucked against Sunghoon’s chest, a blanket draped over them, the soft sound of rain tapping against the windows.

“You’re a natural,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he murmured back. “But I think we made an overachiever.”

She laughed. “He gets it from his dad.”

Sunghoon pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand rubbing soothing circles into her back. “This… all of this… I never thought I’d get here. With you. With him.”

“You’re here now,” she said, tracing his knuckles. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

Time Skip: Sungjae, Age 2½

The hospital lobby was a little livelier than usual.

A giggle rang out across the nurse’s station as Park Sungjae toddled along the hallway with his tiny backpack bouncing and his little fists full of stickers. He was chasing after a nurse, determined to show off the drawing he made of a dinosaur—complete with messy crayon scribbles and hearts.

“He said it’s you,” Y/N called out to Sunghoon, who emerged from the elevator with a file in hand and a helpless smile spreading across his face.

Sungjae stopped in his tracks. “Appa!”

Sunghoon crouched instinctively, opening his arms. “Come here, little man.”

Sungjae ran and crashed into his father’s chest, giggling uncontrollably as Sunghoon picked him up and kissed his chubby cheek.

One of the nurses leaned over to Y/N with a smirk. “Dr. Park’s turned into a giant softie since Sungjae was born. You should see the way he talks to the kids now. You fixed him.”

Y/N smiled. “He was never broken. Just waiting.”

Just then, Mrs. Kang, who had been eavesdropping from her wheelchair nearby, pointed to their hands—matching silver bands glinting in the light.

“Told you they were endgame,” she declared proudly to the other patients. “Now look at them—ringed up, loved up, and with a mini-me who runs this place.”

Sunghoon heard her, glanced at his wife, and smirked. He lifted Sungjae’s little hand and flexed both their rings subtly toward Mrs. Kang.

She winked. “Show off.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. Sunghoon pressed a kiss to her cheek in front of everyone, uncaring now of being seen, of being known like this.

Together. Strong. Soft. Home.

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