#so aside from the family issues theres another political hell

[hayjeon]

Cut Me Open (ft. Yoongi) Part 01 [M]

→ marriedcouple!au, surgeon!au spin-off from CardioPalps → 15k words, rated for sex, possible triggers (talk of divorce/miscarriage/family issues), and medical jargon that took me 5ever to research 

→ part 1 | part 2 coming soon

A/N: So the second part is definitely on its way. It just ended up being way too long together to make it a full fic. But please, don’t think that this is how it ends! Stay tuned for the second part! 

Love. 

Neuroscience and Biology like to tell us that it’s a side-effect of a release of a hormone called Dopamine and oxytocin, the same two hormones released when the guy living under the bridge snorts up another line of coke, and when the horribly suffering and screaming woman holds the human she just pushed out of her vagina for the first time in her arms. 

Doctors like to ignore it, ignore the religious and hippie suggestions that “love can conquer anything,” because we, like many other medical professions, believe in science. 

We don’t believe those superstitions that if a man is diagnosed with a tumor but learns to love his life and fights for it, he is magically healed of his fatal diagnosis. No, we smile and nod at the patient and his family, congratulate him, and then turn around and walk away because we know that it was the chemo therapy and the gamma rays we shined into his thoracic cavity that destroyed all the stomach cancer cells along with his hair follicles. But what the patients don’t know won’t kill them. 

But, aside from love, a reason why the medical field has the third highest divorce rates in the world, is because we doctors are professional line-drawers. 

We draw lines for a living. Not the plastic surgeon, sharpie-a-line-over-your-boob kind of line, but a physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental line. Theres always the line, the one that lies between a living patient and a dead patient. There’s always the line that you mustn’t cross with the people on your surgical table, the difference between a bleeding aorta nicked by the slip of the hand weilding the scalpel and a healthy one. There’s the lines you must draw with your co-workers, the ones who you don’t dare call your friends because then everyone would know that you too don’t have friends outside the workplace. 

And then, there’s the line you draw with those who you love. Whether or not they’re sitting on your table, brain flap open for you to probe, you must draw lines. You can’t operate on someone who’s close or related to you. You can’t offer to waive fees for someone who you once respected back in high school. You can’t be in relationships with your patients, friendly or sexual. 

And you definitely shouldn’t be married to your partner, and co-leader of your department, who currently despises your guts as much as you hate performing rectal exams this far into your career. 

You wished you knew that when you agreed to this job five years ago. 

You park your car and briskly speed walk into the doors of the hospital at 7am sharp. 

Immediately, four people run up to you: Suho, your trusty secretary and friend; Gina, your head nurse; Namjoon, your clumsiest but most hardworking intern; and Jungkook, your most annoying friend, also the head of the Cardio department. 

Suho talks first. “Good morning Doctor. I just updated the board on your surgeries today, and told Chief about the updates you gave me last night on the patient with pneumonia. I also prepared your paperwork for you to sign off of regarding the updates and purchases for the neurosurgery department. I’ll come by later to pick those up.” 

You give him a nod and lower your voice as you step up into the elevator, signaling the others to take the next one that dings open as soon as your doors close. “Any updates on Yoongi’s side?” 

Suho blinks and sighs. “He...he’s hired a lawyer to take care of it. Her name is Ahn Hani, she’s supposedly one of the best in the country.” 

You groan, slumping against the railing. “Is she better than mine? Than Solji?” 

Suho nods grimly. “Unfortunately, when I looked up the statistics, Solji had suceeded in 244 cases. Hani, well, succeeded in 245. Also...I found that she’s also one of the lawyers who helped Dr. Min with his...lawsuit a year ago.” 

You roll your eyes as the elevator dings and opens. “Ah, of course, he had to involve that again. Okay, well, thank you. Please also send me some more information about the merger with the East wing nurses, I want to look more into that before the next head meeting.” 

Suho nods and walks away. Jeongguk beats Gina by jogging up to you. “Hey Y/N! Did you see what I sent you last night?” 

You roll your eyes, walking down the hall towards your office. “Yes, Jungkook, it was stupid. I’m not going to attend any event as Yoongi’s plus one, much less your baby shower. Wouldn’t you want your first baby shower to be one of peace? I don’t think you want me and Yoongi there.” 

He groans. “Please, can you guys just please put your differences aside and just come? She would really like for you to be there, I mean, you were her first resident overseer after all, she’d really be happy to see you there.” 

You huff, “As much as I love your wife, I’m saying this because I love her. She doesn’t want me there, unless you plan on uninviting Yoongi. AND--” You hold up a finger to him, when he tries interrupting you. “I know you won’t budge because Yoongi was your resident when you were an intern here, blah blah blah. So, I’ll be the bigger one here, and send you and your beautiful wife a wonderful gift basket of all the highest quality baby products there is, and spare you two from having to witness one of our fights again.” 

He sighs, and lets you walk by, as Gina scurries up to you and receives your instructions on the surgery you two were going to perform in an hour. Namjoon just hovers around and waits as he listens in on all the medical jargon. You ask him to scrub into the upcoming surgery, and he happily obliges, dropping his pens on his way out your office door. 

Jungkook hovers a bit more, looking a bit disappointed in you, but you shake your head to let him know that you have no intentions of making it to his baby shower, and close the door behind you. “I’m sorry Jungkook,” you sigh, and he nods, giving you your space. 

This was your day, work starts as soon as you walk in, a buttload of problems concerning your department, your surgeries, your subferiors, and the worst one of all, your husband. 

You sigh and change into your coat before making your way down to the meeting room, and taking your seat in the plush leather seating across from all the other men in the hospital helping run their respective department. Jungkook, filling in for both himself and his wife on maternity leave, sits a couple seats down from you, representing the cardiovascular department. Jimin is seated across the mahogany table, staring down at his notes for his upcoming surgery for his Pediatrics devision. Taehyung and his fellow are seated in the corner, discussing their Neonatal surgery division. Jin is playing some stupid game, sitting behind his “Head of Dermatology and Plastic Surgery” plaque, and the owner of the hospital, Dr. Bang waits impatiently as the rest of the department heads file in one by one. 

Suho has faithfully placed your favorite tea, chamomile, on its place and organized your meeting notes in alphabetical order right in front of you. As you flip through the contracts and articles, you bend over to get a closer look when suddenly someone slaps down a thick packet of papers over the ones you were reading. 

Frowning, you look up to see your mortal enemy. 

“What the hell?” You hiss, keeping your voice low. A quick glance at the papers he slapped in front of you was an alimony agreement. You flip through and realize that he was asking for a clean cut, no separation of property, or money. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, not sparing you a glance. “Sign it, and give it to Suho by the end of the week. You make the same amount of money that I do, you’ll be fine.” 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah right, I see what you’re doing. The house is under your name. I want the house.” 

He scoffs, facing you with a glare. “Seriously? I paid the down payment.” 

“We had a joint account! I paid the rent!” You hiss, ready to fight some more about this. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, shall we start this meeting?” Dr. Bang interrupts, clearing his throat. He takes a quick glance around the room to make sure of full attendance before he begins to drone about the updates regarding hospital politics. 

You and Yoongi decide to pocket the conversation, and you shuffle your papers around, placing the alimony agreement underneath your other documents. 

“I’ve scheduled this meeting because we’ve run into a few issues regarding communication within the East Surgery ward,” Chief Bang continues, frowning at the lot of you, “I’ve heard...that there were a couple of issues regarding our efficiency and the cycling of surgeries, am I correct? Dr. Park, do you mind sharing a bit?” 

Jimin’s head pops up, and he looks around bewildered. “Uh, no sir, my department is doing fine. We’ve updated our system to the new program you introduced a month ago, instead of using our beepers, and although it took some time to get used to it, I think everyone is adjusting accordingly.” 

“Dr. Kim Taehyung, you too?” 

Taehyung gives a quick nod, and so do a few more doctors. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Min?” 

You cringe at the combination of your names. Most of the other people in the hospital besides your close friends didn’t really know, but Dr. Bang certainly was aware of the state your marriage was in. He wasn’t so...supportive of the divorce, obviously. 

“We’re fine,” you clench your teeth, signaling for Dr. Bang to move on, and he obliges. Your shoulders deflate and Yoongi leans over to hiss at you, “What the hell, he knows?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Of course he knows, he knows everything.” 

Yoongi slumps in his seat, throwing his hands up subtly. “Well there you go again, not even letting me know.” 

Ignoring him, you sit through the rest of the presentation regarding new communications, and the chief introduces a new program and a team of IT workers who’ll be handling the new system. They file in through the door, introducing themselves, and then place individual laptops in front of each of you to demonstrate the program. It was a new alert system, voice activated so that with a simple command and without having to touch your phones, all the doctors could send messages to each other, departments, schedule Operation Rooms, and call nurses. Everyone nods thoughtfully as the head of the program, Jaehyun, steps up to the podium and finishes his powerpoint. You watch thoughtfully at the new program. 

A tap on your shoulder distracts you and you turn to see Suho leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Chief Bang wants to meet with you in his office.” 

“Now?” You frown, and Suho nods, gesturing towards the door. Sighing, you stand and watch as Yoongi doesn’t even give you a side-long glance as he fixates boredly on the presentation. You walk over to the lavish glass office. 

“Chief, you wanted to see me?” You ask, lingering by the doorway. 

“Ah, y/n,” he says, smiling, “Take a seat.” You oblige, getting comfortable on the leather chairs across from him on his desk. 

“Y/n...” he trails off, thoughtfully frowning at his desk, “You and Yoongi...you...have you guys...?” The question lingers in the air and you understand what he wants to ask. 

“Ah...uh, well, today Yoongi gave me alimony papers.” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs. “He wants a clean split.” 

The chief nods thoughtfully. “Are you going to sign?” 

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know Chief, I really don’t know.” 

He leans back in his chair. “You know...y/n, it’s been what, 10 years since you’ve been working at this hospital? I met you fresh out of med school as a wide-eyed intern and watched you two fall in love and I even officiated your wedding two years after that. And I trust you two...” He trails off, and you let him finish. 

“It’s time for me to retire, y/n.” He says, and your eyes widen as you lean up. “What? A-are you serious?” You stammer, frowning at him. 

The Chief was a general surgeon, who specialized in Cardiothoracic surgery, and worked his way 20 years up to this position as the Chief of Surgery. You’d watched him age during your own stay here, and he was one of the reasons why you didn’t just up and leave to the other hospitals offering you and Yoongi a hefty salary to transfer. This hospital...it was your home. 

“Yes,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m having issues with my vision these days and my wife, she’s...she’s getting a bit lonely, now that the children are off and married, and she’s demanding more of my time. She wants a divorce, you see, and if I don’t take time off now, then I might lose my marriage.” 

“Oh, Chief, I’m so sorry.” You offer, but he waves it off. “No, no, it’s not something to be sorry about. It was my fault...this hospital and surgery wing, I built it with my blood and sweat, and in the meantime I forgot what was really important.” 

He leans forward in his chair, grasping one of your hands. “Which is why I don’t condone this decision, y/n. I’ve watched you two, and you’re still in the stage where you can save this marriage. Me...well I’m 20 years too late. You and Yoongi though, I can still see it. I want to try to convince you just one more time.” 

You sigh. “Chief, what do you want us to do? We...we tried so much. We purposely began taking one more day off per week to make up for the lost time, and even that fell through because we’re always being called in to work. We tried to get pregnant, and we were so overworked and stressed out that it was just putting even more strain on the marriage. Hell, we even took up surgeries together, and that ended up in a disaster when we accidentally mis-diagnosed our patient.” 

You lean back, apologetically removing your hand from his. “I’m sorry Chief, but we were in love almost 10 years ago, when we were in our twenties and fresh out of med school and ready to take on the world. Now...we’ve been working ourselves to the bone for 8 years and leading this division together for 3 within those 8. We’ve...we’ve tried enough.” 

He sighs. “Well, the reason I brought you in here was I was hoping you’d offer to try. I want you two to take my position as Chief of Surgery.” 

Your eyes widen again, and your mouth falls open. “Ch-chief of Surgery? Are you serious? N-no Chief, you can’t retire like that and just leave us here.” 

“Well, I can’t make both of you Chief if you guys are going to get divorced. It’s not professional.” He raises his brows at you and you nod. 

“You two have been here the longest out of all of the department heads, and there isn’t one more person I trust more than you guys to be able to continue what I’ve done here at this hospital. I’ve made my decision to leave, and now I want you to promise me that you will try one more time.” 

“Try? Try what?” You whisper, already knowing the answer. 

“I want you and Yoongi to try and save your marriage, just one more time. Please don’t give up just yet.” He urges, and your heart sinks, as you spin the ring on your fourth finger. 

Was it even possible?

Your romance with Yoongi started out 10 years ago when you walked into Seoul National Hospital, wide-eyed and excited to start your first day as an intern. A group of you had stumbled in with fast-paced hearts and flushed cheeks as you giggled and waited for your resident to come in and give you assignments.

Your locker was placed right next to Yoongi’s locker B6 and B7. You’d greeted him politely when he walked in with a sleepy face, and he’d given you a half-hearted smile and no words as he shuffled over to his locker and began shimmying on his scrubs. Surprised at the cold response, you frowned and slammed your locker shut as you lingered by the doorway instead. 

“Alright, interns, scum-of-the-hospital-earth and from now on labeled 1 through 17, let’s get a move on,” Dr. Do Kyungsoo had snapped as soon as he walked in. 

“You’re from now one named 1, 2, 3...” He goes around snapping and pointing at each intern with a menacing pen tip. You become number 8 and Yoongi happens to be number 12. 

“Alright,” he says, frowning at his clipboard. “There are three rules you must follow before I assign you to your individual residents. One, you move when I move.” He leaves the on-call room, and everyone lingers behind, glancing at each other and wondering what the hell happened. 

His head pops back in, as he yells, “That means now!” Everyone jumps to action and lockers slam shut and scrub elastics are tied tight as everyone jogs out the door to match Dr. Do’s long strides. 

“Two,” he snaps, leading you all to a room with sad-looking bunk beds and cots. “Sleep when you can, where you can. This on-call room is your responsibility and the hospital won’t be taking care of it too often, so make sure you are fully clean as you can be with it. Don’t” he hisses, turning back and pointing his menacing pen at all of you, “Don’t even try to do the nasty in here. I’ll have you arrested for federal public indecency and then I’ll personally neuter both of you.” 

Everyone stares at him in horror, as he drops the menacing look again for a neutral one, and continues on. “Let’s go.” 

“Three,” he says, walking around a corner to a group of doctors waiting near the Nurse desk and turning with them towards the 17 of you, “don’t try to kiss up.” He glares at one particular girl who’d been trailing after his heels and asking him stupid question. “We already hate you and consider you the scum of the hospital, and no ass-kissing will change that. Save a life first, and you’ll slowly work your way up from scum to a sort of algae.” 

You’re lingering at the back of the group as one girl leans over and cringes at you. “I hear he’s called triple D, for Dr. Demon Do, because he’s tiny but is an absolute horror to work with.” 

You shudder as he begins reading off the assignments, listening carefully for your name. Each resident that’s standing by him at the desk, who you remember as Dr. Byun Baekhyun, Dr. Kim Jongdae, and Dr. Park Chanyeol, stands there with their coffee cups and smiling a lot more nicely that Dr. Do was acting earlier. 

Unfortunately, as Dr. Do rattles off your numbers at random, you don’t hear him call 8. All other three residents walk off with their interns trailing after them, and you, number 12, 9, and number 3 are left terrified as Dr. Do turns to the rest of you. 

He sighs, observing your wide eyes. “I’m sure most of you have heard that I’m called the 3D or the triple D here, because I terrorize everyone. It’s true,” he acknowledges casually, to your horror. “But, after I’m finished with all of you, you will be the best interns this hospital has ever seen. So just make sure to keep up. First assignment, we’re gonna go save a life in the ER.” 

He walks off with a flourish, and the four of you just warily eye each other as you all pick up into a jog towards the ER. 

“Number 8, go grab me some sutures for Patient Mr. Jeong in bed 4, now!” Kyungsoo yells, and you immediately spring into action, grabbing a tray, a needle, gauze, and surgical thread and wheel a chair over to the cot. 

A patient there is lying down with a grimace as a huge gash on his leg is being cleaned by a nurse. “I can take it from here,” you assure her, and she gives you a sweet smile as she hands the gauze and alcohol pad to you. That was when you first met Gina, your current and trusty surgical nurse. You loved her to bits. 

Sitting down, you scoot up and begin cleaning the wound. “Alright Mr. Jeong, I’m gonna be cleaning and dressing your wound today, alright? Later, a nurse will come by with some antibiotics that you need to take orally. You said you got caught on a nail at your work?” 

The patient nods painfully, croaking, “Yeah, I was trying to run over to get an order on time, and snagged my leg on this huge ragged nail that was sticking out of one of the walls. It was my damn fault. I’m such a klutz.” 

You smile, and after administering some anesthesia to the area, begin to pinch the skin together and begin suturing. You’d practiced so much at home with some sausages and pig skin, that doing this was normal practice for you. 

“Are you an intern here?” He asks, trying not to think about his wound. 

You nod, smiling. “It’s actually my first day.” 

He grins, “Ever see anything like this?” 

“Yes,” you laugh, “cuts and bruises are a common thing in the ER. You’re in good hands.” 

Cringing, he murmurs, “I feel a little nauseous. Is that normal?”

You finish the stitch, cutting it and starting a new one. “Yes sir, the anesthesia is probably flowing through your system, and you’re probably a little dehydrated as well. We’ll start an IV drip once I’m finished.” 

He nods, his eyes closed and frowning painfully. “I-Is it a little hot in here?” 

“Hey,” one of your fellow interns walks up and hovers over your shoulder. It was the guy you first said hi to. “Uh, did you take a look at his charts yet? Dr. Do asked me to give these to you.” 

“My hands are a bit preoccupied right now,” you say as you focus on cutting the thread. “If you’re not busy, can you read them out for me?” 

He grumbles, “I am.” But opens the file anyway and begins scanning the contents. “Mr. Jeong SaeHyun-ssi, 56 year male, came in for a cut on the upper thigh, and received stitches. What’s taking you so long?” 

You roll your eyes. “Can you just read the charts?” 

He gives you a dirty look and keeps reading. “Uh...wait...WBC count is off the roof,” he mumbles, glancing at your patient. 

“Oh shit, y/n!” He stops you as your patient immediately goes rigid and begins choking, his breaths rugged and loud as his back bows off the table. Yoongi drops the papers and immediately runs over to the other side and holds down the man as he spasms. “Fuck, it’s the tetanus!” 

You also drop your needle and tray and rush to the man’s side to hold his arm down. “What?! No! He already had an antibiotic shot and is scheduled for another dose!” 

Yoongi grunts as the man begins flailing his limbs, shaking the cot side to side, “Well, seems like that shot was a little too late!” 

“Nurse?! Please, help me hold him down!” You yell, and let go of his arm and exchange it with the nurse who anchors him to the bed, while you reach down and feel his abdomen. It’s rock hard, not from the muscles, but from the shock. “Oh my god, he was talking about nausea and fever. He’s having a seizure! Code Blue! Someone page Dr. Do right now!” 

One of the nurses who’s come by to help, frantically helps keeps the man’s legs down. “Dr. Do just scrubbed in for a surgery. We can’t reach him!” 

You panic, “Oh my god, if Mr. Jeong doesn’t get the attention he needs his airways will freeze and he’ll die of oxygen starvation.”

“Y/N! Focus!” Yoongi yells, as the monitor begins beeping like crazy, “It’s started, you’ve got to perform a tracheostomy on him or he’ll die!” The nurse reads out, “His BP is dropping by the second, Doctor.” 

“H-holy sh-shit,” you run a hand through your hair, biting your lip, “I’ve only read about it in textbooks, it’s a m-major surgical procedure and we haven’t gotten a chance to t-train, or to w-watch, I can’t--I don’t know--” 

“Y/N! You can do this! The only one in this ER who can do it right is you. Hurry!” He orders the nurse, “Bring a tracheostomy kit! Pump 100mg Phenobarbital and 2 milligrams Lorazepham.” 

“The Lorazepham isn’t working, and the Pheno isn’t working fast enough. We have to do the tracheostomy first, Doctor, or he’ll die of oxygen starvation.” Gina tells you, frantically trying to stop her muscle spasms. 

“Here,” a nurse runs up with the kit, and hands it to you. Your hands shake with it, and you stare up at Yoongi, who’s now manually pumping air into the man’s mouth, gives you a nod. 

“You want to make an incision vertically, about two fingers long, one inch above the collarbone,” He instructs, staring at you with a steely look. 

You nod, and lean in, measuring about two fingers up from the man’s neck base, and press in, cringing when immediately blood begins to flow out. Nurses rush to press gauze against the blood and Gina swoops in to cauterize the bleeding veins. 

“Alright, good, cut through the fatty tissue and the muscle wall, and then you’ll see a white-ish cartilage-like material, that’s the---” 

“Thyroid,” you cut him off, nodding as you keep cutting. “Got it.” The nurses clamp the tissue to the side. 

Yoongi nods, maintaining his pumping. “Good, now all you gotta do is make a smaller incision, no more than a couple of centimeters to allow the tube in, laterally. Avoid the trachial bones.” 

You nod, making the incision cleanly, and immediately you’re met with a whoosh of air. You scramble to grab the tube and place the outer cannula through the hole, and then seal it with the round cuff to secure it in place. And immediately, the patient draws in a huge breath of air, and the beeping begins to slow. 

“BP is stabilizing.” The nurse reads, patting you on your back. “You did it, Doctor.” 

You collapse onto the chair, breathing heavily, as the nurses surround the patient, closing up the wound and delivering the patient’s final doses of medication. 

Yoongi hands off the plastic bag valve to a nurse, and steps around the cot to stand in front of you. You’re staring off somewhere into space, and he just watches you calmly. “Are you--” 

“What the hell is going on here?!” Doctor Do storms into the ER, dressed in scrubs and removing his surgical cap. He glances over Yoongi’s shoulder to see the patient lying on the cot with a tube sticking out of his neck. “What the fuck?” he observes the procedure, and glares back at the both of you. 

“He was having seizures, and his airways were muscle-locked because of the Tetanus. We had no other choice, Dr. Do.” Yoongi says, and you just stare up at the both of them in a haze. 

“Why didn’t anyone check his charts?” Kyungsoo hisses, flipping through the pages. “Who was responsible for checking them?”

You stand, about to take responsibility when Yoongi steps in. “It was me, Doctor Do. I was supposed to bring them to y/n when you asked me but I saw her doing sutures already and helped out a patient with their Penicillin dose before I went to go get the charts. I’m sorry.” 

“No!” You frown, pushing Yoongi aside and bowing to Dr. Do, “It was me. I was too excited to be doing my first actual stitches that I forgot to read the test results after his chart. I saw all the signs, the rigid abdomen, the heated skin, and the light nausea, but I just attributed it to a first-time reaction to the anesthesia...I’m so so sorry...” You blink away tears as you meet Dr. Do’s angry gaze again.” 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t have time to be standing here and trying to figure out who did it. A doctor must always check the background of the patient before doing any procedure, alright? Now both of you, get scrubbed.” He turns and begins ordering a surgery. 

“Uh,” you scramble up to him, “Dr. Do? What do you mean? You assigned us to the ER for the entire day.” 

He frowns at the both of you lingering by the bed. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Get scrubbed, this patients gonna have to get surgery for the infection, doesn’t he? Since he’s your patient, you get to scrub in.” 

You and intern #12 meet eachother’s eyes, mouths dropping open at the opportunity. Dr. Do begins walking briskly towards the OR and you two both scuttle after him, a skip in your steps. “Y/n,” Dr. Do comments, “Good job at the tracheostomy. It looked good.” 

You blush as the three of you step into the sterile room and begin dressing. “I’m going to go check on my patient I just helped do a tumor removal on, the both of you stay here and help the nurses prep the patient. Watch, and observe what they do.” 

He exits the room, and the both of you let out your breaths as you begin pulling on your protective gear. You see intern #12 struggling with the strings on the back of his scrub shirt. 

“Here,” you breathe out, stepping up, “Let me help.” 

He doesn’t say anything and just peers at you as he turns and hands you the strings. You tie them for him, going down his back with the other strings. “Thank you,” you whisper, “That guy wouldn’t have lived if it weren’t for your encouragement and guiding.” 

He nods, and solemnly turns around, gesturing to tie your strings for you too. “It’s fine,” he says, from behind you, and you can feel the tug of the strings. “You did good, intern 8.” 

“Y/N,” you say, and hold out a hand, and he takes it. “Yoongi.” He says, and hands you a mask to put on. You smile at him and he gives you a sort of small smile before he puts his mask on. 

“Hurry the fuck up! After this, you guys get to pay for making a stupid mistake by doing rectal exams all night!” Kyungsoo calls from inside. 

You both exhale and take a moment before stepping into the OR. 

That was how you met Min Yoongi.

Falling in love with him, well, that wasn’t hard. 

After that first time where he’d literally coached you through your first procedure as an intern, the two of you were a whirlwind, working together like a well-oiled machine. You completed each other’s sentences, pointed out each other’s mistakes, quizzed each other and were the top duo of the entire intern program within the hospital for the next year as interns.

“Yoongi and y/n,” the other residents and interns called you two, “the dynamic doctor duo, the second gen of triple D’s,” they’d laugh as you two scrubbed in on surgeries together, answered resident questions together, and even got the top marks on the intern test together. You two were unbeatable. 

And naturally, you became residents at Seoul National, and the years following that were years of excitement and big changes. You’d both followed in Kyungsoo’s footsteps to choose neurosurgery as your specialties, and just like he’d predicted, were the best damn interns the hospital had seen, and had followed on to become the best damn residents the hospital had seen. 

“Bipolar forceps,” Yoongi grunts as Jongdae, one of the promoted attending Doctors, watches the both of you perform a tumor removal with a hawk eye. The nurse gives him the forceps and he flips open the circular bone flap of the skull you had drilled. 

“Exposing the dura. Scalpel,” you request, the tool was handed to you and you lean in, making a tiny incision on the thick flap of skin that protects the brain, and Yoongi swoops in with the bipolar cautery, burning closed any bleeding veins that might distract you. “Suction,” he says softly, and the nurse sucks away any extra brain tissue that’s revealed as you take scissors and gently cut away a flap of the dura. 

“There’s the tumor,” you murmur, pointing at the white mass a few centimeters down from the skull. Yoongi leans in again with his forceps, burning away any open veins and you move alongside him across the patient, sucking and cutting away any unnecessary brain tissue and exposing the circumference of the tumor. 

Yoongi continues to cauterize the veins and the tissue, holding it taught as you cut away at the non-bleeding tissue of the tumor. And together, you both snip away at the pale white tissue, working seamlessly as a team, without Jongdae needing to step in to help. “A little bleeding there,” you point at a section and Yoongi steps into immediately cauterize the area, carefully sucking away any excess blood to clear his field of vision while you continue to cut away the rest of the tumor’s tissue. 

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the final cut is made, and no excess trauma or bleeding is shown, and everyone in the surgical ward breathes a sigh of relief as you smile and drop the tumor into the metal plate. “Finished. Reattach the bone flap,” Yoongi nods and replaces the removed dura with some material and then replaces the bone flap and drills in the metal plates that keep it intact. You then follow up with stapling together the skin of the head back, right where it should be. Once the final staple is completed, Jongdae nods at the both of you and motions for the nurses, “Please finish up here.” 

“Good job guys,” he breathes as he walks out of the ward and begins removing his protective scrubs. “That was...pretty seamless, didn’t expect any less of the both of you.” 

You smile and nudge Yoongi who just stoically nods at Jongdae’s compliments. Kyungsoo comes in with a little smile, nodding at the both of you. “Heard you performed a tumor removal all on your own. Good job you two.” He gives you a quick thumbs up and the both of you grin back as you receive yet another compliment from the devil. 

You two were attached by the hip, and after an entire six months of shy smiles and inside jokes, he finally asked you nonchalantly if you’d ever want to grab dinner together. 

“But Yoongi!” You mock him, laughing as you can visibly see him die a little on the inside at the thought of actually asking you out on a date, “We’ve gotten dinner together so many times before!” Clasping your hands in front of your heart in exaggerated mockery, you snicker at him as he rolls his eyes, toeing at something on the hospital floor. 

“I mean,” he grumbles, hands shoved into his white coat pockets, “Like something to actually count as dinner, not cup ramen shoved down our throats in a matter of minutes in the on-call room. Dress nicely, all that stuff.” 

You laugh, sauntering past him. “Alrighty then, pick me up at 6?” 

He nods without even looking at you, and you laugh again. 

That night, he’d showed up reluctantly with a bouquet of purple Irises, and you’d received them happily as you let him into your apartment. “Mmm,” you take a big whiff of the flowers and place them in a vase. “You remembered?” 

He grumbles, “Yeah, you said they were really pretty that one time our patient’s mom brought them in for her son.” You smile at him, and smooth down your dress as you pull on your heels. “Ready?” 

He finally looks at you, looking down at your black dress that accentuated your curves, and your nude heels. Your makeup was light, and natural, and your hair done nicely, different from the bun you always had when you were working at the hospital. “You...you look good,” he says lowly, and his eyes rake over your figure, and you have a thought to just ditch the nice dinner and jump him right then and there. After months of incessant flirting and sensual glances, you could eat him up right then. He was dressed in a nice suit, trading in the boring blue scrubs you always saw him in for a nice gray pair of slacks and black dress shirt, and a matching gray jacket to top it off. His black hair was tousled nicely, effortlessly, and he looked so good. 

But you swallow it down and smile prettily, whispering a quiet, “Why thank you,” and let him lead you to his car. 

You had always assumed that Yoongi was the type of guy to take you to a nice steak and wine dinner and call it quits, but actually he knew exactly what kind of person you were when he pulls up to the date night. 

“Sushi?” You frown as you step out of the car. “I didn’t know you like sushi.” 

He helps close the door after you and leads you into the expensive looking restaurant. “I have a friend who works here,” he grins gummily, “and he agreed to let us choose our own sushi, and get this--we get to cut our own and play with the knives.” 

You smile wickedly as you scramble after him. “Min Yoongi you know me so well.” 

After a night of yummy sushi and learning expensive sushi cuts from Yoongi’s friend, you leave the restaurant full and sated, a little tipsy off of the expensive sake he ordered you both. 

“How do you afford all of this with a resident salary?” You ask, frowning as he signs the receipt. 

He chuckles, “Uh, I get a little help here and there.” 

You joke, “Don’t tell me you’re a heir or something.” 

He just laughs it off and leads you outside, to where his car waits. He drives you two to another place, and you laugh as he pulls in. “Classic,” you giggle, as he parks next to the Bodies exhibit that’s been touring the area for a while now. It was an anatomical exhibit with preserved bodies, fetuses, eyeballs, the likes. He just grins at you, “You’re a workaholic, and you love bodies. Couldn’t think of something more fun to do on our first date.” 

He tucks his coat over your bare shoulders as you two walk into the exhibit and you lean into him as you both peruse the aisles of jars and showrooms. 

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” You whisper at him, and he turns to look at you with a look so dark and earnest, that your knees begin to shake a little. Halfway through the exhibit, you stopped looking at the preserved body parts and more at him, wondering where and how the hell Yoongi had dropped into your life to become the man you’ve always dreamed of. A little aloof and grumpy, yes, but he was a great friend, partner, and cared a lot more than he let on. 

If he’d taken you to a traditional dinner, your hopes would’ve been crushed. And if he’d driven you after to a musical symphony concert, or a regular movie, like other dates have done in the past, you would’ve been disappointed that he didn’t know you better. But this first date was the day you knew you wanted to marry Min Yoongi.                                           

He stares at you for a long time before whispering back, “I wanted to make sure,” he says lowly, and reaches over to grip your hand. “It was a bit scary at first.”

“What was?”

“How alike we are.” He fiddles with your fingers, turning your smaller hands in his and gnawing on his lip. “How well we fit.” 

You step forward, gripping his hand. “Yoongi,” you murmur, even though you two are far away from the other visitors at the exhibition. “Let’s go home. Please.” You stare up into his eyes and bite your lower lip subtly, and it takes him just a moment before he’s gripping your hand and heading straight for the exit to his car. 

You can’t keep your hands off of him, giggling as he grips your upper thigh from the driver’s seat and you retaliate by leaning over and nibbling on his ear and tonguing his jawline as he presses on the gas to get home. “Don’t s-stop,” he murmurs. You two run up the stairs, laughing and grabbing butts and whatever skin you can before he’s punching the code in and throwing his apartment door open. You don’t even get a chance to admire the size and beauty of his place. 

He barely gets the door closed before you throw off the jacket around your shoulders and pounce on him, and he presses you against the door, tongue searching your mouth earnestly and swiping across your lips desperately as moans and ragged breaths are released into the darkness of his studio. He groans at your taste, and you moan loudly as his hands rake lasciviously over your breasts and stomach. 

His tongue works wonders against your swollen lips, drawing out moans and licking boldly into your mouth as you suck on his lower lip.  

He quickly works the zipper of your dress down as you unbutton his black dress shirt, not even bothering to slide it down his shoulders in your desperation, but just roaming your hands wide across his white milky torso, scrapping your nails lightly as he tongues against your exposed neck and collarbone. “Hurry!” you ask him, quickly removing your straps and letting the dress slither down your body and pool at your feet. You step out of them and jump as Yoongi catches you, pulling your thighs tight against his hips as he walks you blindly towards his bedroom. 

He drops you onto his mattress and you laugh as he grins at you and quickly undoes his pants and climbs over you, starting to kiss you at your bellybutton and tickling you as he climbs up your body. Reaching behind and unclasping your bra, his gaze grows darker as he stares down at your naked torso. 

“So beautiful,” he mutters, cradling them in between his hands and fluttering kisses all over them and tonguing at your heightened nerves until you’re breathing heavy and stuttering his name, your core clenching around nothing and the wetness making you uncomfortable. “Yoongi,” you moan, grabbing at his boxers, “please, I need you...” 

He understands quickly and obliges, looming over you on his elbows and distracting you with a kiss as he removes your underwear and swipes a finger up your folds to feel your wetness. You’re panting and moaning incoherent things, desperate for the feeling of him in you, for him to touch you, to kiss you. The pressure he puts against your clit with the swipes isn’t good enough, and you mewl for him to hurry.

“Fuck,” he breathes, groaning as he settles between your thighs, “You’re so wet. How long have you been waiting for this?” 

“Too long to remember,” you whine, hiking your thighs up over his hips and anchoring him to you. He groans and your voice hitches in your throat when he finally slides into you, fitting into you like a glove. Your jaw hangs open on his shoulder and your hands are gripping whatever you can grab, the hair at the base of his neck, the bicep that’s pressed against your cheek. 

“Holy shit,” you croak, throwing your head back at the pleasure. It’s dark and you can’t see him but his groans huskily tickling your ear let you know he’s going as crazy as you are. He presses in and out, slowly taking his time and rocking his hips against you in a way that stimulates your clit, rolling his hips against you when he sheathes in and then pressing on his downstroke when he moves out. You retaliate by leaning up and mouthing at his neck and his collarbone, sucking hickey’s into the pale unmarked skin like your life depended on it. 

You remember that night you were almost moved to tears how he loved you, held your body like fine china, kissing and drawing moans and sweet promises from your lips like he couldn’t live without them. He’d moaned your name and muffled his moans when he came by kissing you hard, nibbling lightly at your lower lip as his hand came to tangle in your hand and his hips stuttered. 

He’d murmured “God I can do this for the rest of my life,” against your lips before he fell asleep, and you’d watched him fall asleep, smoothing back the black locks of his hair behind his ear. 

He was beautiful, in a way that you’d never expected yourself to be attracted to. His skin was absolutely pale and milkish, so clean and white that you wanted to spend the rest of your life running your lips and fingers and tongue over them and marking him as yours and learning everything about every inch of his body. 

He had smaller eyes, that crinkled when he smiled, but were dark and held so many promises and loyalty in them. His eyelashes that framed them were as dark as his hair and his eyebrows, so black and thick that you couldn’t resist running your hands through them as he dreamed. 

Although a bit on the skinnier side, Yoongi’s body was beautiful as well. The arm thrown over your waist was still thick and had definition, and his torso well built and broad enough to make you feel like you could sleep on his chest forever. Which you did, at least that night.

And the next morning, he’d woken up to you prancing around in his black dress shirt, making breakfast with a sweet little smile. That’s how it all started, as cheesy as it sounds.

Dating in the workplace, was difficult, at the least. But it helped that you worked in the same hospital, and your schedules were more or less the same, being able to enjoy your days off together at home, or even just sleeping together on the same bed in the on-call room whenever you were both available. 

It wasn’t forbidden for residents to date each other, as long as the relationship didn’t deteriorate performance. And in you and Yoongi’s case, your performance soared together, conquering complicated surgeries and hundreds of patient care issues together as a pair. You both weren’t too romantic elsewhere, and it was your own personal enjoyment to be able to finish eachother’s sentences and complete the most difficult surgeries without a hiccup. 

Getting married with Yoongi was the easiest part of your relationship. Saying yes was so, so easy. 

He’d been thinking about it since the first night you shared together, and two years into your relationship and three into your friendship, he invites you nervously over to his place and cooks you an amazing dinner with wine and candles and the works, and gets on his knees, proclaiming his undying love for you. 

He wasn’t good with words, but it was moments like these that he saved whatever sappiness he could muster up with his skinny little body for all at once. 

“I think...” he begins, watching the way your eyes widen at the sight of him on one knee. “I think a lot. And it’s sometimes hard for me to just feel emotions and stuff. I wasn’t raised like that, and I never really had an experience that forced me to do anything otherwise. But you...y/n, you...you make me feel. You make me excited to see you, you make my heart race when you perform your famous whipping stitch,” he laughs as he reaches up to cup your face and wipe away a tear with his thumb, “and you make me never want to live anyway else, besides the way I’m living right now, here with you.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

You’re crying ugly tears and getting your makeup all messed up, but you nod as you whisper, “Yes,” and let him slip on the beautiful big wedding ring and stand from the chair to meet him in a passionate kiss. 

That night, with your wedding ring the only thing you’re wearing, he proclaims his love to you through his actions, through his hands and his lips and his touches, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you submit to the ecstasy of being completely and actually loved by someone so wholeheartedly. 

You felt at that moment, that you had conquered the world. You had a great job, an even better workplace, and the best fiancee you could ever ask for. He was your partner in crime, your trusted best friend, your husband-to-be. He was your everything. 

Planning the wedding...was easy. 

Both of you weren’t complicated, nor extravagant people. You simply chose a nice venue, chose steak as the dinner, a normal white wedding cake, a nice dress that complimented your figure, and you both had a great relationship with the Chief, so you asked him to officiate the wedding. Your friend took your pictures for you, and you were able to make your wedding playlist in 30 minutes in the waiting room right after a surgery. A couple of your fellow residents and childhood friends were the bridesmaids and thankfully, the ones without medical jobs that sucked out the life and time out of their days, were able to step in and plan the rest of the details of your wedding like the color of the silverware and the texture of the table covers.

No extra musical quartets to play your wedding song, no extravagant flowers besides the nice green ones decorating the tables and your bouquet, and your honeymoon was going to be a nice week-long trip in a tropical island, far far away where the both of you could just enjoy the moment together. 

Simple.  

You found and planned to buy a house, which is when you discovered that Min Yoongi came from a pretty well off family. It was a nice four bedroom place, with a big kitchen and an even bigger living room, and since the both of you were were always tired and busy, you made the finances to hire a maid and gardener to come every weekend and clean your house inside out. 

The only part was...his parents, weren’t easy. At all. 

His father was a strict businesswoman, with a degree in law and economics who’d started his own company from scratch and had built it up to be one of the biggest tech companies in the country. His mother, although not a working woman, was a daughter of another mogul who’d raised her with all the perfect etiquettes required of heiresses like her.  

Meeting her made you almost piss your pants, as you fiddled with your coat for the upteenth time that day, and Yoongi reaches over to grip your hand in a firm hold, leaning over and murmuring, “You look beautiful, don’t worry. She’s gonna love you.” 

That, to this day, was probably the biggest lie your husband ever told you. Well, in addition to the whole “til death do us part” lie he told you at the altar. But you’d go through a thousand of those lies if it meant you didn’t have to deal with his mother. 

She was a fierce-looking lady, with eyeliner sharper than you’d ever been able to master, and pearls hanging from her dainty neck that looked like they’d be shiny and strong enough for her to choke you with. She’d walked in with a piercing stare, giving you a once over at your new Givenchy dress and Chanel coat, and pursed her lips before taking a seat. Damn, an hour of preparing completely unappreciated in seconds, 3,000$ down the drain. 

Yoongi’s father was a bit more loveable, a tired old man who loved to take you camping and outdoorsy stuff that his mother refused to even talk about. You enjoyed fishing and hiking with him whenever you got the chance. But Yoongi’s mother...she was a whole different story. 

The moment she approved of your marriage, she took over. She planned another wedding, much bigger and more lavish than the first friends-and-family-only one you and Yoongi had originally planned for. She hired one of the most popular wedding planners to come in and re-do the entire thing, renting out a traditional huge church for the event and re-doing the entire sanctuary in draping colors of white and pale pink and gold. 

The wedding cake was taller than you, and the food was made by a Michelin star chef who had dozens of professional waiters and waitresses at his beck and call to deliver the plates going around. 

She invited almost four-hundred guests, all important men and women in Yoongi’s father’s business. Potential investors, politicians, local celebrities and moguls, the Board of Trustees, important managers and team leaders from the company, and even families that shared good relationships with her own. 

Immediately, your week was chock-full of scheduled facials, nail salon appointments, dress fittings, and meetings with the planner that your mother-in-law insisted on attending. 

The only thing she let you choose in the entire wedding was your underwear, which you insisted on not wearing the thong that would probably render you sterile for the rest of your life. 

But you gritted your teeth through it as she drove a whirlwind through your once-normal marriage, and you smiled through clenched teeth and did the whole six hours of greeting and nodding and waving alongside Yoongi. Little did your mother-in-law know that at the end of the night, you fucked Yoongi in her kitchen while she was out drinking with her friends. 

It was your dirty little secret.

Your once-normal house was sold quickly and she insisted on you two moving into a huge estate that was much closer to hers, and immediately hired the both of you a set of maids, gardeners, and cooks to make sure the “house was running properly” since you never “have time to do it anyway.” 

If it meant that she’d stay out of your house and not force the both of you to move in with her, you were satisfied. 

All you needed was Yoongi, and you had him through it all. He was the one who coaxed you not to panic when his mother forced you to do a chemical peel for your skin that made you want to die of pain, and assured you that it would all be over, and even offered to run away with you whenever you wanted, whenever you decided that doing this and putting up with his mother and her antics wasn’t worth it all. 

But it was, worth it all. He was worth it all. And so you insisted on just doing it. Your marriage and your happily ever after was worth all the hours and hours of scrubbing your skin clean and lasering your body hair off and squeezing into a corset for your wedding dress. 

You were determined to make sure your marriage with Yoongi was perfect.

Which was probably why when Dr. Do Kyungsoo decided to amicably transfer 5 years later from his promotion into attending status, and 3 years into your marriage with Yoongi, he chose the both of you to head the department in his place. You two were surgeons who worked well together, were happily married, with leadership skills and great relations with the Chief, and it also helped that the both of you together had incredibly high surgical success rates. 

It was a no-brainer, pun intended.

And so you step up, pack up your stuff and move into your own immaculate offices side-by-side, enjoy the perks of being the leaders of the neurosurgery department, with your own assistants and resting rooms, able to access even more surgeries and benefits. 

But also, simultaneously, 3 years into your marriage with Yoongi, was when the questions started. 

“When are you planning to have children?” 

“Are you guys thinking of expanding your family?” 

“Have you been taking those uterine enhancing vitamins I sent to your house last week?” Your mother-in-law would call you, and you’d wince, scrambling up to the fridge in your office to suck on the plastic pouch of useless Eastern medicine as you mumble, “Yes, mother. Everyday now.” 

She huffs over the phone. “Why can’t you get pregnant yet? Have you and Yoongi been trying, even?”

You sigh, “Uh, mother, I can assure you that Yoongi and I have been doing this together, and we will take it at our own pace. I promise you, I’m thinking about this rationally.” 

“Rationally doesn’t mean you agree to leading the department together with your husband. Rational means you, as a woman, let him lead and take a break so that you’re not always running around that hospital and making your uterus less elastic.” 

You don’t even bother explaining how wrong that was medically, because the uterus did not loose elasticity because you were working harder, as she continues to berate you for not taking the traditional role of a wife. 

It...it was complicated. You were raised in a family much different than Yoongi’s. Your parents were high school lovers, who’d married right after graduating college and started their family with your older brothers. After having you, and after 10 more years of marriage, they’d decided that it wasn’t worth it, and that the problems that continued to arise within your family weren’t solvable. 

So they divorced, shuttling you and your two brothers in between them for holidays, and you’d lived your life getting used to having two sets of clothes, two desks, two houses, and two bedrooms. You couldn’t complain, there were children out there with much worse circumstances than yours. But nonetheless, the brokenness of your parents marriage was probably why you were so desperate to prove to everyone that you weren’t like them. 

You wanted to be different. You saw how your mother had rotted at home, lonely and waiting for her surgeon husband to return home. He rarely called once he got promoted to Attending status, and was always late to family events. He always missed dinner, and you distinctly remember walking out into the living room late at night after peeing, and seeing your mother asleep at the dining table, a full meal laid out for him as she slept on the spot next to him. 

Staying at home, rotting away like that...it wasn’t your thing. You wanted to be great, you wanted to excel and prove how good you were, not only to yourself and your own family, but even to Yoongi’s mother. Because of your parents’ divorced status and not-on-the-wealthy-side financial state, she’d looked down at all of you when you first met her a while ago. 

But then Yoongi had graciously taken a moment with her the night after, explaining to her calmly how hard working you were, how you refused to let him help you with your debt, working tirelessly and passionately to support your parents and work off your debt and bills. Only then did she agree to the marriage. 

“...make sure that Yoongi is eating his vegetables. I know I hired you both a chef to make sure you both got your nutrients. He knows and I’m sure he’s doing a great job, but Y/n, a wife should be cooking for her husband from time to time. Go make him some chicken bone healthy soup, I hear its very good for the male body...” she continues to babble on as you see your office door handle twist open and Yoongi lingering in the doorway. 

You spin in your chair to look at him and he smiles apologetically at you.

“My mom?” He mouths, and you nod sadly. 

He walks over and leans against your desk, and you lean forward and press your forehead against his stomach, breathing in his scent. You stay like that for a moment, the smell of Yoongi’s skin calming you. Although the both of you used the same body wash and laundry detergent, there was still something so Yoongi about his smell. You could never replicate it, even though you sometimes secretly spritzed his cologne in your bedroom when you missed him a lot. Hoping that maybe his scent rubbed off on you in the process was all you could do. 

The phone is still pressed against your ear as you mumble out acknowledgements to his mother and he chuckles as he smooths your hair back with one hand. He lifts your head to lean down and deliver a deep kiss, one that makes your lashes flutter and your heart stop. 

You open your eyes to him staring down at you funny, and then a big grin stretches across his face as he holds the mute button down. “Hey,” he grins at you gummily, “let me sit on the chair.” He lets go of the button.

You frown and continue to talk to his mother as you oblige and get up out of the chair to perch against the edge of your desk while he gets comfortable. He grips the back of your head and pulls you down for another searing kiss, one that makes you smile and frown confusedly down at him. 

He just grins and presses the mute button again, “trust me,” he whispers, and begins to kiss at your jawline. 

You hold the phone away from your ear and out of earshot as you hiss, “Oh my god, Yoongi, no.” 

“The doors locked,” he murmurs as he stands up and curls over you against the table to grind his hips against yours. “Keep talking to her.” he says, and his eyes glint with mischevious intent as he continues to travel down your torso. One by one he undoes the little buttons on your blouse, kissing and licking at each new inch of skin that’s revealed. He doesn’t even bother taking off your bra, just hiking it up out of the way and immediately diving and tonguing at your nipples until your struggling to keep your harsh breathing under control and your practically dripping down your thighs. 

“Always so sensitive here,” he smirks, flicking a thumb over your sensitive nipple. 

His mother’s still droning on and on about how your gardener was the best, whatever awards he’s won and what she thinks he should do with your backyard....all while her son is currently getting comfortable in between your legs. 

He pulls up your pencil skirt and snaps the waistband of your panties against your hip, grinning up at you cheekily when he sees the dark spot that reveals your wetness to him. Without even pulling them off, he pushes the band aside and slides two fingers into you without warning, making you choke on whatever agreements you were babbling into the phone. 

“Yes, mother, I think so to---” you completely cut yourself off, literal seconds away from moaning out loud into the receiver. You immediately punch your finger into the mute button, glaring down at Yoongi. “What the fuck?” you hiss, staring at the weighted phone in your hand as you can hear the light crackling of her frantic voice on the other end. “Yoongi, oh my god, we’re gonna get caught.” 

“Not if you keep quiet,” he says, lightly kissing the skin above your bellybutton and continuing to languidly move his fingers within you, curling upwards to press against that spot that has you curling into him, gripping his hair for support, the phone still dangling in between your fingers. You keen, “Oh Yoongi,” you’re shuddering at the onslaught of such direct pressure and squeezing your eyes shut at the sensations. 

The transition from residents to Attendings had been busy, and you’d been coming home with Yoongi only to collapse onto your beds without any energy for anything else. You were starved. 

His mother’s voice crackles loud enough to draw you out of your haze. “Shit,” you mutter and turn off the mute, “Y-yes mother, s-sorry, I choked on some water there.” 

Her voice calms down as she hears you on the line again. “Oh Jesus, I thought you’d passed out or something. Don’t do that again, you’ll stress out your body and stress isn’t good for the baby. Anyway, what was I saying, oh yes. The gardener wants to install a fountain that’s made out of genuine Greek volcanic rock....” 

You tune her out as your head tips back and your eyes close to the feeling of Yoongi’s mouth close over your clit, hot and slick against the drenched fabric of your panties, and making you tremble at how quick he drives you to the edge. Your heeled feet are perched on the handles of your chair, and your clothes in a complete mess. The only thing you can focus on is making sure you mumble a “mhm,” for your mother-in-law to know you’re listening and anchoring Yoongi’s face against your core. 

He moves his tongue slowly, tracing patterns into your flesh, making you all hot from the inside out and making your thighs tremble with the exertion of trying not to buck into him. 

Clenching your jaw, you determine, is the best way of not letting any noises escape and you angle the receiver a bit away from your nose and mouth to make sure his mother doesn’t catch on the heavy breathing. 

Your breaths are labored and shuddery, trying to compensate for the overwhelming sensations Yoongi drives through your system, his hands cradling your hip and the other roughly palming your breast and raking down your body to curl into you once again and press right against the spot only he knows this way. His hair is twisted tight beneath your fingertips but it only spurs him on, and you can literally feel the smile that he grins into your core, as he becomes even more naughty at the nasty thought of you accidentally letting his name slip as a moan in a conversation with his own mother. 

But you manage to hold it in, cumming fiercely and silently, tears pricking your eyes as you curl into Yoongi’s mouth and your jaw hangs open in a silent scream as he tongues and laps at your wetness through it all. 

You’re still shaking and shuddering as you come down from it, and Yoongi waits, leaning back in your leather chair with a satisfied and triumphant grin, his lips shining slightly from your wetness, and you snap. 

“I-I’m sorry, mother, but I h-have to go. There’s an um, emergency p-procedure I have to perform! Right now! Sorry, I’ll call you later, so sorry, bye!” You ignore the frantic questions and slam the receiver down on the cart, and pounce on Yoongi, kissing him and roughly tugging at his hair and grunting in to the kiss to let him know how much you hated and loved him right now. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, tonguing at his lips that are still salty with your taste. “You’re so much nastier than when we first married.” 

He chuckles huskily against your lips. “Says the one who’s kissing me right after I ate you out.” 

You grin down at him. “Switch,” you command, and he obliges, and you put your clothing somewhat back in place before taking his seat and unbuckling his pants. He’s already hard, probably from eating you out and the excitement and thrill of doing so when you’re on the phone with his mother, and you sneer at that. 

You grip him at his base, squeezing tightly and slowly jerking him off. He bites his lip as he watches you, leaning against your desk. “You think you’re real cute huh?” You sneer, leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his tip and suck harshly, making him moan and buckle, his hands flying into the edge of the desk and in your hair. 

You detach, though, before he can get any further pleasure from it and stare up at him. “You know that if we got caught, it wouldn’t even be you in trouble, but me?” 

You reach over and grip his balls, playing with the weight in your hands and rubbing the space right where his cock meets the heavier skin. He groans, biting his lip and you smile wickedly when you feel him jump within your hands. “Fuck,” he groans, watching you with narrowed eyes. He knew he deserved it, and he was loving every bit of it. 

“Next time,” you lean forward and wrap your lips around him again, sucking harshly and then pulling away in a tease, “You’re gonna fuck me in her house, make sure that she knows it’s not me thats nasty, but its all you.” You finally oblige, leaning in and swallowing his length as far as you can, letting him settle heavily against the back of your tongue. You swallow around him and fight the urge to gag, your other hand coming to his base and stroking whatever else you can’t reach with your tongue and mouth. 

Yoongi’s completely at your dispense now, moaning and clenching his eyes shut as his breaths become labored and his hand becomes a bit too tight in the strands of your hair. But you ignore it, rubbing the texture of your tongue against the underside of his cock and moaning to send vibrations straight down his length. 

“Oh sh-shit,” he buckles, “T-too much, t-too fast y/n.” He cringes, but you keep going, bobbing your head back and forth and smoothing your tongue harshly against the spot right on the underside of his cock that makes his stomach muscles clench underneath your hands. 

He cums within seconds of doing that, groaning loudly and fisting his hands in your hair. You continue to stroke him through the orgasm, letting his cum drip down your tongue and you swallow loudly around him, making him buck forward from the extra stimulation. “Fuck,” he breathes out, grinning as you stand and wipe your lip, “That was hot.” 

You roll your eyes, walking over to your closet and stripping off your ruined undies. The offices were nice, and personal, but even better because you and Yoongi could get some actual work done together with the nice locks they provided on your doors. You kept a stash of clean laundry here just in case you needed them for surgeries and important meetings, but your underwear stash was getting suspiciously depleted faster. 

While you’re putting on a clean pair, he surveys the contents of your desk as he observes the packet of Uterine Vitamin Eastern medicine juice. He cringes as he turns over the packet and surveys the contents printed on the back, grimacing at the odd combination of multiple herbs and spices. 

“No wonder you tasted bitter when I kissed you,” he curls his lip in disgust, “what the hell is in this thing? Are you sure it’s not doing the complete opposite of enhancing your vagina?” 

You sigh, closing the closet door. “Imagine what it’s like to have your mother call me every night to remind me to take them.” Walking over, you slot yourself snugly in his arms. 

His voice vibrates in his chest, calming you as you press your cheek against it. “You know, just say the word, and I’ll tell her to stop. I can go tell her that I’m the one who has sperm issues or don’t want kids or something. She’ll stop and listen then.” 

You shake your head, closing your eyes as Yoongi’s chin comes down softly against the crown of your head. One more thing you loved about Yoongi, was that he was the perfect height for you to snuggle into his neck. “I don’t want you to lie to her.” 

His chuckle buzzes against your ear. “I mean, it’s true that we want to wait a little bit, right? With the department changes that are going on and all...it’s okay to wait a little isn’t it?” 

Resting your chin on his chest and peering up at him through tired lashes, you pout, sighing. “But if it happens, I guess it happens. I’m happy either way.” 

He leans down and pecks your lips. “Me too. I’m happy either way.” 

To think about where it all went wrong...well that’s not easy. 

You’d spent three amazing years alone with Yoongi, enjoying your time together as residents, then promoted to Attendings. And although the transition into becoming department heads together was anything but simple or easy, especially with Yoongi’s mother nagging and turning her nose up at your decision every chance she got, it was still bearable. 

But...maybe it had been the extra stuff in your lives that had driven you apart. 

Your google calendar looked like a kid had just drawn squares everywhere with different colors. Your schedule was a mess, not that Suho was anything but organized, he was great. But your schedule was chock-full of important meetings, orientations, interviews, and even hospital events that took up a lot of your time. All you wanted to do was go back to your surgeries with Yoongi, but naturally being a bit more organized and better with human beings than Yoongi was, you ended up taking a bit more of the official part of the job, while he was equally stressed out by the extra patient-meetings and demanding surgeries. 

You couldn’t complain about having to just attending meetings in person and greeting people and sipping champagne while Yoongi was having to deal with rude and stressed out patient families and even a lawsuit regarding one of the surgeries his patient claims could have been done better. Which, was ridiculous, because you and everyone in the entire country knew that Yoongi was one of the best specialists to deal with that patient’s tumor the way he did. 

And neither did he, even though he stumbled in half awake into your home at 3am in the morning with eye bags dragging down to his chin and equally so weak from not being able to eat or drink anything during his surgeries, collapsing onto the couch. 

But you still tried. You made sure that the both of you had Sunday’s off, no matter what, calling in favors from other departments to make sure that your positions were covered. 

Sundays...naturally became a routine. 

You both were up before 7am, just by habit. Yoongi would go into the kitchen and sip on some coffee silently while you went on your morning jog. By the time you got back, Yoongi was taking a nap, which is when you’d shower and get ready and leave the house together by 8:30 towards his parents’ place. 

From 8:30 to 9, you’d help his mother prepare an obnoxious breakfast, full of beautiful cooked eggs, perfect waffles, little salmon and cheese crackers, and even sometimes she whipped out the caviar. 

And together, you’d prepare for Yoongi and his father, who would just discuss a few things here and there while the women cooked. And then until 10, you and Yoongi would share coffee with his parents while his mother nagged you about children and his father would tell one of his fishing stories. 

By noon, you’d both be back home, and Yoongi would groan about how tired he was and collapse into sleep again, and you’d quietly read a book or clean until he woke up around 4, and you’d go watch a movie together. It didn’t matter what movie, but you both just sat there in the darkness watching whatever stupid indie film was popular that week in your local theatre. 

Since it was dark after the movie finished, you’d both make your way over to a small diner or something to grab a bite to eat. And then you’d curl up together infront of the tv or the fireplace and just silently cuddle. 

But at one point, the cuddling didn’t feel as warm anymore. 

Yoongi stopped bringing home flowers randomly. Instead his first words to you when he entered your office or when he came home would be something about the hospital. Sometimes, he was forced to even miss out on the precious Sunday times together because he was called in for an emergency procedure only he could do. Or you’d have to bail and reschedule your silent Sundays together in order to make it to an important hospital event. 

The sex...well it was just sex. 

You both tried changing it up here and there. But being married for three years...really had depleted a lot of your options of your boundaries and the things both of you were comfortable doing. The 15th time doing bondage and tying your hands to the bed just wasn’t as exciting as the first. Just...naturally. 

And that was probably where it went wrong. 

You accepted it, just acknowledged that things becoming like that were normal for any other couple. Great. But what your mistake was, you didn’t do anything about it. You didn’t dare ask him to attend marriage-counseling with you, in fear of disrupting the silence and peace you finally had obtained with his mother, and also, you had access to his calendar. It was impossible to do it together without his mother somehow finding out. She had his calendar too. 

Little by little, you stopped asking. You stopped pressing him to take time off for dates, to separate and designate some time for just the two of you, without having to worry or talk about work. You stopped telling him about your day. And instead, you began to resent the way he always somehow managed to turn a blind eye to the passive side-comments his mother gave you. 

It became a nuisance to hear that his partner in surgery was a beautiful new graduate who was all busty and fresh and innocent  and remarkably good at surgery, and conveniently, working right next to him. 

It also got busier. The hospital began a new TV program to raise public finds for the free clinic. The chief had brought up the idea, proposing a weekly talk-show-ish program where doctors and PA’s would sit at a panel and discuss important health issues and offer the best advice. Naturally, as one of the senior representatives of the neuro-department, and as a woman who was used to being on screens, you were asked to be on the show. 

As your life picked up faster than ever, you had totally missed that, somehow, the marriage you had dreamed of, and had protected with your life, was crumbling with every step you took in your polished Louboutins. 

And then, you took a test. Six weeks after your last pregnancy.

The two lines on the stick you peed on shined bright blue back at you, and you bit your lip as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of finally starting a family with Yoongi. Almost four years of marriage, and you’d finally decided to stop taking the pills. You knew he wanted children, he’d always stare longingly at the children in the park or linger in the children’s toys section in the department stores. 

But it had finally happened. 

Telling him was glorious, he’d cried and kneeled and kissed your stomach until you were giggling and telling him to stop, and he was cooing promises of a family and eternal happiness and gratitude to you. 

Telling his mother...well...was pretty extraordinary. Once she knew, she gathered all family and friends, including...basically everyone at the hospital, and had announced at a brunch party that you and Yoongi were expecting. 

But nonetheless, it lead to a month of a happy marriage. Yoongi began delegating, switching his surgeries off to others to make sure that he was home to have dinner, often bringing home the same bouquets of flowers that you used to receive back when the both of you were interns. He began decorating, and even though you’d laughed and told him that it was still technically risky in the first trimester, had settled for buying a white crib and completely stocking the closet with unisex products, like shower products and carseats and diapers. 

The sex was better. Yoongi refused to do anything to you even a smidgen above vanilla, scared to do anything to the baby. 

“Yoongi,” you moan, head thrown back as he rocks his hips into you, “Spank me.” Begging had always been a secret little kink of Yoongi’s, but this time, he was adamant about not doing anything to stimulate “even any amount of pain for my wife.” 

“No,” he pants, holding his upper body above yours, careful not to drop his weight on you. “What if it hurts the baby?” 

You roll your eyes, throwing your legs around his back and pulling his hips close so they roll against your clit deliciously, and you curve your spine up into him so that your chests rub together. Moaning, you shake your head. “It...it’s okay.” You pant, and Yoongi finally finally relents....into doing doggy style. 

“Switchin’ it up,” he grins, sliding back into you with a moan, and you roll your eyes half from frustration and half from pleasure.

It was fun. It was four weeks of feeling glorious, four weeks of feeling like finally, you had your marriage back. Yoongi was back to his normal, chippy self, finally able to get some more sleep and not throwing himself into his work. Your own work schedule was now a bit more lenient, people understanding when you had to skip out on important meals or appointments because of morning sickness. Co-workers and other subordinates were gushing constantly with blushed cheeks at how jealous they were of your marriage, congratulating you with every chance you got. The mother-in-law had finally stopped hounding you, and instead showed her interest by constantly ordering catalogues to your home about baby products. It was still meddlesome, but it was definitely better than calling you every morning at 9 am to make sure you took your uterine enhancing vitamins. 

And those four weeks, you might have completely forgotten that your marriage had gone through a rough patch. No, a gaping hole and a horrible mess that you both had somehow just glazed over with the thoughts of a baby. You should’ve known that it was too good to be true. 

After a particularly hard day of meetings, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your side, and wince as you stumble a bit. Suho is at your side, a worried look in his face. “Y/N,” he says, “are you okay?” 

Cringing, you take a breath before hesitating. Normally you would have dismissed it for a momentary cramp or a twinge from hunger. But this...you felt something was wrong. Your heart begins to beat faster as your breath becomes short. “S-Sehun,” you whisper, grabbing his arm for support. “I need Sehun, now!” 

You’re ushered into his office and Sehun comes to meet you halfway, a frown on his worried face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, “You don’t look well.” 

You’re crying, anticipating the worst. “I...” you pant, worriedly looking up at him. “I don’t feel good, I-I felt a sharp pain in my side, like a cramp, and all of a sudden...I-I don’t know S-sehun, please just check, I’d f-feel so much better if you would just ch-check...” 

“Okay, yes, of course,” he murmurs, urging you towards the table. 

You settle against the cushion, the papers rustling behind your back as you lay down and you hike up your blouse near your ribcage so that Sehun can smear the gel onto your abdomen as he turns on his Ultrasound. 

The next few moments seem to happen in slow motion. 

“Y/N...” he trails off, turning from the screen to you. His eyes are sad, his face fallen completely as you stare at him in horror. “It...it was embedded in your fallopian tube. If it had stayed there...” he breathes out at your stricken expression, “your tube would have torn open. Its a miracle that you miscarried it naturally.” 

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the blank white ceiling, the bright lights bruning into the back of your skull. And that day, you quietly cancel the rest of your schedules and trudge back home, dazedly walking into your place and seeing that Yoongi’s shoes are in the doorway. 

You pad into the house, hoping that he’d be waiting there with the news, or even if he didn’t know yet out of Sehun’s politeness, just waiting for you to fall into his arms. 

But when you walk into the bedroom, you see a lump of hair and a tired, limp Yoongi sleeping soundly. 

And the sight breaks the dam. You crumple onto the floor, shoulders racking at the sight, and you press your fist into your mouth as you attempt to silence the shudders and cries that pass your lips. The tears dribble down endlessly as you rock yourself back and forth, holding your abdomen close as you pray silent prayers and apologize, over and over and over. 

That night, you fall asleep on the bathroom floor, after hours and hours of just crying and staring at the dots of blood on your underwear.

Months later, all the sad smiles and apologies have stopped and you and Yoongi have lapsed completely back into the same routine. 

Wake up, eat, work, sleep. 

“So,” Wendy grins at the camera, flashing the audience a big smile, “Y/N,” she turns to you, “I think the rest of the panel and the audience have desperately wanted to know since the day you joined our show. What is your marriage like? I assume that being married to another successful surgeon isn’t easy. How do you and Dr. Min manage to make it work?” 

You smile nervously, curling a hair behind your ear. “Uh,” you chuckle, “I-I don’t really have any secrets.” 

Wendy laughs, just playing along to the script. “Oh, don’t tease us Y/N, we know you have a few tips! Please, c’mon, the female audience has been dying to know since your husband guested on the show with you.” 

You clear your throat, plastering on a smile. “Well...it may sound generic,” you begin, “but rule number one, never go to sleep angry.” 

Wrong. 

“Rule number two, always make time to have personal dates, and personal time together.” 

Wrong.

“And rule number three, always remember...never forget the way you fell in love.” 

Wrong.

Yoongi comes home that day, dark circles down to his mouth and not even bothered to have changed out of his dirty scrubs, the door slamming and locking shut behind him. He leans heavily against the doorway, eyes shut as he groans and kicks off his shoes. 

You’re in the living room, waiting for him, but he doesn’t even see and breezes past the area straight for the bedroom. 

You set down your tea and pad after him, watching him slowly undress as he walks, leaving the soiled scrubs behind him as he stumbles into the bedroom. He faceplants straight into your shared bed, naked except for his boxers. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tossing the scrubs into the laundry hamper. “We need to talk.” You grab a fresh set of boxers and a t-shirt for him to wear. Walking forward, you nudge his shoulder until he groans and sits up. 

“What.” he says tiredly, cranky as you hand him the clothes. 

Frowning, you cross your arms. “I know you’re tired but this is important.” 

He wipes his face with his hand, lingering and pressing down a bit on his eyes and temples before tiredly frowning up at you. “Go.” He breathes out, and you fight the urge to pick at his tone. 

“Today,” you whisper, taking the seat at the vanity across from the bed. “The show asked me about my marriage.” 

He just watches you, elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands infront of him. “Mhm.” He mutters.

 Swallowing, you cross your legs, blinking down at the grey of your sweats. “And...I lied.” 

Time seems to stop. You know he knows. Yoongi graduated at the top of his class. He was a genius, and was married to you long enough to have everything about your relationship engrained in his bones. He wasn’t stupid. 

“What...” he trails off, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. “What did you say?” 

You notice he doesn’t repeat the word “lie” again. 

“I told them we were perfect.” You whisper, eyes tearing up for the third time that day. 

You had finished up schedules quite quickly and had rushed home, excited and giddy that hopefully, today would be the day that would transform everything back to its rightful place. Yoongi’s schedule was clear and that would mean only one thing. 

From 6pm for an hour, you’d showered, shaving and exfoliating, and then had put on a mask while you styled your hair, and had taken utmost care to apply your makeup beautifully and choose the outfit that you’d never thought you’d be wearing again at this age. And then you’d waited. 

Sitting against the couch, you had waited, and waited, and waited, calling Yoongi to no avail. At 10pm, and the fourth hour of him not picking up nor responding, you’d given up. 

“Do you remember what today is?” You whisper, shoulders drooping with the effort. It was just so...hard. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

He doesn’t respond, and you answer him before he does. “Our anniversary. Yoongi, its our fourth year married...did...did you forget?” You ask him, eyes brimming with tears. 

His mouth falls open a little and that’s enough to answer your question that hangs in the air. “Oh Y/N,” he says lowly, eyes sadly looking up to you. “I-...I’m so sorry, there was an emergency Craniotomy and my phone was off the entire day and...” He sighs, head falling down. “I’m so sorry.” 

You notice that he doesn’t make the effort to stand up and walk over to you. 

And just like that, you realize that the few feet that stand between the bed and the vanity, and subsequently you and your husband, exemplifies the way you both grew apart. 

All the frustrations, the resentment, the hatred, the pent-up-anger comes up all at once. 

“I....I want a divorce, Yoongi.” 

#bangtan bookclub #bts fics #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #fics #writing #cut me open #bts angst #doctor!yoongi #surgeon!yoongi #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #marriage

[404utopia]

please catch me

Ever since I was little I was always sure of two things. The first one was that I wanted to find someone to love who would love me back, I always thought love was such a beautiful idea. I understand that in reality, its not always so beautiful -- but its definitely possible for some people to find true love. The second was that I always wanted to make an impression on the world. For some reason the idea of impressions were always the foundation of my existence. I still have difficulty trying to put this feeling into words but I guess I’ll try my best.

I guess if I had to pose it in question form, it would go a little like this:

“Do you really exist if you aren’t remembered?”

Even in life and death if you aren’t remembered do you really exist? If you’re the kind of person who suffers from depression and finds it so incredibly difficult to get out of the house and make something of your life chances are that you don’t really have any friends or connections, hopefully you have a family but even then there is something incredibly lacking when it comes to not having any connections to people outside of your own blood. I guess I can touch on that more later in the post but I need to get back to the original point. (Aside from family) if no one is really thinking of you, being all alone in a sense because you have no friends or connections, if you are not remembered, do you really exist? And even after death, once you’re done being remembered, you’re not even a page in the book of the worlds history, its like you never existed once you’re not remembered after death. That idea always kind of fucked with me in the back of my head. I always wanted to do something to make an impression, I know no one can last forever, but if I can at least last a while I think I would be happy.

Lately I’ve been feeling extremely worried for myself. The combination of the state of the world and the state of every single aspect of my personal life is weighing on me too much. I refuse to seek the appropriate help because it would only make me feel worse, it would only ruin my life further. As a human being I have the responsibility of lasting. The second you think of giving up you’re marked as faulty. If any medical record was made over the fact that you felt suicidal you could basically never hope of having a proper future ever again. 

I guess this is the part where I explain whats been weighing on me. I think I’ll put it in list form, because its much easier to transcribe my thoughts into text that way.

1. Obviously, COVID-19 has been really affecting my life. I’ve been extremely worried that it’ll get to my mother, who is the last person in my life who loves me and understands me. If anything happens to my mother I will break.

2. The quarantine has surprisingly been affecting me. I was already home-bound and stuck in my room even before quarantine was in place but for some reason the essence of being forced inside is a lot more mentally taxing. Its almost like, even if I wanted to try and pull myself together and even do something as simple as take a trip to the city alone or go out for dinner alone to temporarily relieve myself - I can’t. Being stuck in my room because I’m depressed is not as bad being stuck in my room because I’m depressed and everyone outside is dying.

3. My parents have been going through a divorce, or so I think? It started but now its been in limbo between them separating and not separating. But its so mentally taxing because every single day my dad mentally abuses my mother and torments my family and my mom does not have the strength to rid herself of over 30 years of marriage. Hearing them fight everyday and seeing my mom be so morbid and depressed in her 50′s is breaking my heart every single second I’m inside the house.

4. I broke up with my first physical girlfriend at least 4 or 5 months ago. I’m over her, I was over her not even days after it, but I think the only thing about it thats been affecting me is the way it ended. She turned around one day and decided she didn’t love me anymore even though I was so careful and delicate about communication and I think it really fucked me up how someone could just turn around in a split second and just decide you no longer matter.

5. My only source of friendship - my online friends, they’ve been really aggressive towards me for a while now. Even when I was still in college and at my peak with irl friends they were being really aggressive towards me. Everyday it feels like they’re tired of my shit, of my existence. They always have a problem with something I say and everyday I feel betrayed and hopeless that these friends I have are not even friends I feel safe to talk to. Maybe its all in my head, but how do I even get it out of my head?

6. I really miss my best friend. I miss her so much. She was the only person I ever met who stuck with me for so long and tried her best to help me learn and develop. She was the only friend who shared so many things in common with me when it came to interests and because I didn’t know any better at the time I fucking ruined it. I knew it would come to it but I really just couldn’t catch my breath when it came to being friends with her. It always felt like everything I experienced with her was so far beyond me. Its so hard to put into words, its a feeling that only exists in my head and in my heart. I’ve learned and grown so much through therapy over the last 2-ish years and I wish I could have another chance to show her how much I’ve grown. I know I already had so many chances but I would do anything to have someone like her be by my side again. I tried reaching out to her and she said she isnt interested. I dont blame her. It hurts a lot but I've gotta accept her feelings. It might be the last time I reach out to anyone. I don't want to make her feel responsible or feel like shit. That's the last thing I want. I'd want her to connect with me again becuase wants to, not because I begged her to.

7. I’m so lonely. Outside of my mom and my online “friends” I’ve got nothing. Nothing at all. I don’t exist outside my room. Theres no other way to put this. its as simple as I’ve got nothing. I really want to just die thinking about it.

8. I was really close to landing a solid job at an airline company before covid became an issue. I was really excited that I was going to get a job so soon after finishing college. I thought even if I was alone at least I would be doing something with my life. And then this pandemic swept the world and that dream got shot down. I was expecting that I could use that job to travel to Japan for free and live a dream that always felt so impossible. I was a step closer to this dream and it got shot down by something so sudden and crazy.

9. The state of the world, humanity, and I guess politics is so draining. Everyday its the same thing over and over again. The country is split in half and everyone hates each other. We live in a world where its so hard to reach out when its almost like every hand is so far off. Its not even just like that in America too which is the fucked up thing. The entire world is dealing with so much hatred and splits and hardships it feels like theres nowhere to run. I’m so tired of politics and hate.

10. The worst part of all of this, is where I was before any of this came to be. It feels like yesterday I had made so many friends on campus and had my best friend to hang out with. It feels like yesterday i was going to the city with friends and going to karaoke and getting drunk with my best friend. It feels like just yesterday I was on discord with my online friends before they felt so distant. it felt like yesterday i was on discord with my friends screaming and joking and laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. It felt like yesterday I was holding my ex’s hand and it felt like yesterday that I could remember how it felt to actually be loved and appreciated. It felt like yesterday my family was all together and we weren’t so depressed and torn. It felt like yesterday I didn’t have to worry about my future. I was still depressed during those times, over different things maybe but even then it felt so different.

When I was depressed back then it still felt like I had something to fall back on. I always thought “well if I don’t have a family at least I have my friends”, “if I dont have my online friends at least I have my best friend”, “if I don’t have my best friend at least i have my girlfriend”. well what now. i’ve got nothing left.

i’m free falling.

i don’t know how much longer i can last.

i’ve always had occasional thoughts of suicide even if I wasn’t even necessarily suicidal. ive never been in a rush to die. i cant say I ever really felt “holy shit I need to fucking end my life right now”.  even right now I don’t feel that way. though I always thought of ways to die. Like I always wondered how I would do  it. But I would always immediately dispel the thought because it felt so wrong and dirty. 

but now. now when I think of suicidal and all the ways I could die i don’t even dispel it. I don’t wash it away immediately. I’m genuinely trying to think of ways I could that would be as quick and painless as possible.

im worried about myself. I need a miracle. i’m free falling and I need to be caught. I can’t do this on my own anymore.

i couldn’t possibly reach out to my mom over this. shes dealing with so much with her divorce, if she knew her son was suicidal all hell would break lose it feels like the very fabric of reality would break. ive been in therapy for around 2 years and ive grown and learned so much but for what?

im still alone and my life is still falling apart, the only difference therapy is offering me is clarity, instead of things seeming so dark is that its clearly dark. its not a foggy kind of depression its a very clear, morbid, understanding kind of depression.