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

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. 

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4 with iw couple!

4. You’re stupid weak for Yoongi doing mundane shit but at least he knows it. Still he’s about as aware as death itself, shaving over the bathroom sink with his shirt unbuttoned down to his waist. If that weren’t bad enough, you’re gritting your teeth to admitting a Rolex kink is even a thing.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now or are you really just that oblivious?”

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iw!yoongi + fluff “are you warm enough”

pairing iw!yoongi/reader

prompt “Are you warm enough?”

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kiwi (m) || myg

⇢ summary: college is supposed to be a time to reinvent yourself, to find new beginnings, make friends, initiate a transformation—and yet you cannot possibly do that with min yoongi, your ex-boyfriend and university tattoo artist, living in the very same apartment complex while looking as if he stepped out of a dream. (post breakup au; enemies to lovers au; college au)

⇢ genre: smut; eventual angst and fluff

⇢ word count: 10.3k

⇢ warnings: sexual content (dom and sub tones, spanking, edging, fingering, body worship, penetration, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, degradation, dirty talk); swearing; alcohol use

⇢ note: inspired by the song kiwi, the fact that my ex lived in the same dorm as me in my first year of uni, and @94hixtape, who helped spit out ideas with me :’)

Love is a fucking joke, you’ve decided.

So is going away to the same university as your ex. So is purchasing a whole new wardrobe with money you do not have to reinvent yourself. So is impulsively getting tattoos in the middle of the evening while stupidly wine-drunk with your newly acquired roommate. So is everything, probably, but perhaps you are merely a very cynical person at the moment.

Alcohol does that to you more often than not.

“Jennie,” you hiss, tugging on your roommate’s arm as she chats up the oddly adorable young man behind the front desk. The ardent buzz of tattoo needles fills your ears like a beehive. “Jennie, come on, this is a really fucking terrible idea—“

Jennie leans forward on the counter, twirling a finger around the ends of her long hair while flashing a million watt smile.

“How long have you been working here, then?” she asks the young man.

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okay but i kinda need yoongi eating your out head cannons

if you say so

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[a drabble in which iw!yoongi cracks under the pressure of being a stay-at-home father and tries to leave]

.

.

“I didn’t sign up to raise this child on my own.” You tell him sourly.

Yoongi is so still in your wrath, except wrath isn’t even really fair to call wrath because it goes so much deeper than anger. Whatever it is, Yoongi is quiet in the presence of it. You know him well enough to know that itch in his fingers is the itch for a drag off a cigarette he doesn’t have. “I never said that.”

“No but my first thought was exactly that. You, leaving, and all I could think about was how the hell I’ll raise our son as a single parent.” You watch his throat go tight and with emphasis on that, you close the gap he’s made between you. Not that he fairs clearer with an invasion of space, but maybe if he’s not in reach, he’ll flee again. He won’t. “Because you know what, if you pulled that shit in college, you’d have come home to an empty house.”

It’s like glass in your own throat to say but Yoongi looks unmoved. You grit your teeth at the feeling.

“I understand this is hard for you when I’m not here to save the day and you’re sulking, but if it were so impossible, millions of parents wouldn’t do it, over and over again.” You finish.

“We’re not millions of parents.” He knows he can’t flee this time but there’s a flit about him. He’s not a fighter.

“Quit pouting, we’ve got it easy. Teen moms, triplets, you think we had the means for that? We planned for this. I work hard to make sure our child is fed and I’m sorry I can’t be the one to feed him, but if it’s so hard for you, no one’s stopping you from being the breadwinner.”

That strikes hard, not off guard but Yoongi looks like he wishes he didn’t have to hear that. “You know damn well I can’t keep this roof over our heads.”

“You’ve got a college degree too.”

“That’s not fair.” He continues over you. “You wanted this house so bad, you knew it was out of our budget and you’d throw it on my shoulders-”

“What do you want then? The kid is too hard, jobs are too hard, you’re a grown father who cowers at one scuffle and suddenly it’s too much to be realistic! I don’t know what you want Yoongi, I don’t know what you need from me. I need you and Roo needs you, but if you ever turn your back and leave us again, I don’t want you to come back.”

His lips curl between his teeth, a reflex to hold his tongue. If it hurts, it shows little. You don’t cry because you don’t fight but you go taut at the back of the throat. “If there’s one of us who could do it alone, it’d be you.”