revenge is a dish best served sweet
Hoshina Soshiro x Doctor!Reader
Summary: The five times Hoshina flusters you and the one time you fluster him-
It all started late one night.
You rubbed your tired eyes and swallowed back a yawn. The quiet, empty hallway echoed with your footsteps as you dragged yourself back to your assigned quarters. The medical ward had been swarmed with injured officers following the Sagamihara Neutralization Operation. You had expected the usual cuts and bruises typical of any mission–but the appearance of Kaiju No. 9 had left some of the rookies in much worse shape.
Ichikawa had multiple puncture wounds scattered across his body and had lost a considerable amount of blood. The only saving grace was that none of his vital organs were impacted–his quick thinking with his shield had saved him. Furuhashi was luckier, only sustaining minor injuries, but you still placed him on strict bed rest to monitor his wounds.
They seemed to be on the mend, but you stayed until you were sure both had fallen asleep peacefully. You shook your head with a small smile at the thought of them. For teenagers who'd just survived having literal holes poked through their bodies, they were impossibly energetic and talkative–sometimes to the point where you regretted putting them on bed rest. But you couldn't bring yourself to be mad at them. They were obviously well-loved by their fellow soldiers, and it was easy to see why.
'Sensei! Have a piece of this apple!' the pink-haired boy offered with his boisterous voice.
'Thank you for the offer, Furuhashi-kun, but I will have to decline,' you say with a smile. When you saw a pout forming on Furuhashi's face, your expression softened, 'You should eat up so you get better soon,' you added warmly.
Furuhashi's frown deepened, but he nodded earnestly, 'Yeah, you're right, I think I will if it means getting better faster. Thanks for worrying about me, Sensei!'
You smiled, 'Anytime, Furuhashi-kun.'
Before you realized it, your feet had carried you to your floor. You sighed in relief, ready to hop into the shower and let the hot water wash away the day's fatigue from your body. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a faint light spilling from underneath one of the training room doors.
Who could possibly be up at this hour?
You should have just turned around. You should've let the promise of a hot shower pull you back towards your quarters. But curiosity got the better of you.
You slowly pushed the door open–and froze.
There he was. Vice Captain Hoshina, dressed only in a tight, sweat-dampened compression shirt. And judging by the way his chest rose and fell rapidly followed by the sheen of sweat adorning his skin, he appeared to have just finished his late night training session.
The dim lights above caught the sharp angles of his shoulders and the taut muscles of his upper back. Every sinew and line was visible beneath the thin fabric, showcasing a physique honed by years of rigorous training. His broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist, and the shirt clinging tightly to his body left little to imagination. The outline of the firm curve of his bicep was apparent as he lifted his arm to pull at the collar for air.
He stood with an easy, natural strength, every inch of him radiating a quiet confidence that made it impossible for you to look away.
He had his back to you, seemingly unaware of your presence. You watched as he dragged a hand through the neck of his shirt to let in some air, stretching the fabric thin enough for it to become almost see-through.
You let out a soft gasp at the sight of his skin.
That was all it took. Hoshina turned towards you slowly, his red irises locking on to yours.
"Like what ya see, Sensei?" he asked, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I-I'm sorry! I was just–checking if someone left the lights on," you stammered, feeling heat rushing to your cheeks as you quickly averted your gaze.
His smirk deepened, "That sure didn't sound like ya were just checkin' on the lights."
Hoshina stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on the doorframe beside your head, boxing you in with ease. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body, and the scent of his sweat and fabric softener hitting you all at once. His crimson eyes stayed locked on yours, amused and unbothered–like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
“Yer face is bright red~" his voice dropped to a teasing drawl.
And something in you snapped.
Maybe it was the exhaustion gnawing at your bones. Maybe it was the embarrassment of being red-handed practically ogling your vice captain. Or maybe it was the sheer audacity of him–so casual, so close, and so smug. Whatever it was, the combination of fatigue, adrenaline, and flustered panic short-circuited every rational thought in your head.
Without another word, you spun on your heel and bolted–racing down the hallway like your life depended on it. You didn't look back. You didn't dare. Because you knew if Vice Captain Hoshina really wanted to catch you, he could. Your heart thundered in your ears, face burning hot enough to rival a fever.
Behind you, the soft sound of laughter echoed from the training room.
"Better be careful, Sensei," Hoshina called out lazily, "Keep lookin' at me like that, and I might start thinkin' ya like me."
Little did you know, this was the start of something terrible.
You avoided Hoshina like he was the plague–and to your credit, you were doing a darn good job at it.
The only real risk of running into him was in the mess hall. So you conveniently decided that now was the perfect time for you to start bringing your food into your office under the guise of eating while you caught up on “paperwork.” And frankly, the uninterrupted hour of silence was a blessing you didn’t realize you needed.
Konomi frowned when she noticed you slipping away with a full tray in hand, “You should really take it easy, you know. I’m worried about you.”
“I could say the same to you,” you shot back with a grin. “Don’t pretend like you don’t practically live in the operations room.”
“That’s because I have to, not because I want to! There’s a difference!” she huffed, hands on her hips, the crease between her brows deepening.
You waved her off as you continued on your way, “Whatever you say, Konomi.”
But if Konomi had taken notice of your behavior, it was only a matter of time for Hoshina to catch onto your antics. And when he did, that was when a game of cat and mouse between you and the Vice Captain began.
Hoshina began showing up in places he’d never previously bothered with. A corner of the hallway when you were headed to file reports. The medical ward at odd hours. Even once in the medical supply room under the pretense of “inspecting requisitions.” It was as if he was waging psychological warfare against you. Forcing you to stay on your toes, always watching, as you never knew where he would appear next.
“Can’t a man check on ‘is favorite doc?”, he’d say, voice all innocent and filled with feigned hurt, but you found that hard to believe as the mirth twinkling in his eyes told a different story.
The memory of that night still hung in the air like a shared secret neither of you dared speak aloud. You didn’t need to say anything. It lived in the awkward tension, the pointed silences, and the way your heartbeat skipped a beat whenever he got too close.
You refused to give him the satisfaction.
“As you can see, Vice Captain Hoshina, I am currently pre-occupied,” you replied coolly, carefully finishing the dressing on a junior officer’s wound. “Unless you are in need of medical attention, I’d appreciate it if you leave and let me do my job.”
He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, entirely unbothered. “Mah, no need to be so cold, Sensei. And here I thought we were gettin’ better acquainted these days-“
“Ow! Sensei, the bandages are kinda tight-“
You apologized profusely, “I’m so sorry–hold still, I’ll loosen them right now. Are you okay?”
The officer nodded sheepishly, and just behind you, a quiet snicker interrupted the silence.
You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Your glare over your shoulder confirmed it. Hoshina, looking smug as ever, threw his hands up in mock surrender.
Before you finished contemplating whether or not to chuck a suture kit at his head, he had already slipped out the door, victorious.
You sincerely hoped the man never got injured again–because if you ever had to be alone with him in a room one-on-one, it might just kill you.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
You had forgotten about the annual medical checkups.
The Defense Force offered its employees annual health check ups by the Doctors assigned on base. And every officer, operator, and high-ranking personnel on base was scheduled for one–standard procedure. Naturally, that also included Vice Captain Hoshina.
You sat in your chair, the cold medal of the stethoscope resting against your collarbones, and took a deep breath.
It’s no big deal. Just treat him like any other patient. Stay professional.
The door slides open with a hiss.
“I’ll be in yer care today, Sensei~”
“Of course, Vice Captain. Please, have a seat,” you smiled.
He strolled in casually, dropping into the chair across from you with his usual relaxed mannerism. You managed to keep your expression neutral, running through the procedure of the exam with practiced ease. The results of his Perrla assessment, blood oxygen, blood pressure, and reflexes all came back normal, all in line for a healthy adult.
All that was left was auscultation. And, of course, you’d save it for last. You pointedly ignored the damned compression shirt he decided to wear to your appointment and focused on the task on hand.
You lifted your stethoscope and stepped closer towards him.
“Please take a few deep breaths,” you said, your voice measured and professional. The diaphragm of the stethoscope pressed gently in-between his intercostal space.
Hoshina obeyed without a word, but you noticed the subtle hitch in his breathing–less from discomfort but more from awareness. His chest rose and fell under your hand, each breath slightly uneven.
Many patients got a little weird when they were told to focus on their breathing. It was normal.
“Vice Captain,” you said whilst readjusting the stethoscope, “Try to breathe normally.”
Then, with a voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine, he murmured, “Hard to when yer this close, Sensei.”
You froze. His breath ghosted your skin–warm, steady–and his eyes pinned you in place. Crimson, sharp as a blade’s edge, but lacking their usual glint of mischief. The playful sparkle you’d come to expect was gone–replaced by something heavier. More focused. More real.
You held his gaze, searching for a hint of teasing, a smirk, anything in order to break this tension that was creeping in from all around you.
Just quiet intensity. And it rattled you more than any smirk ever could.
Stay professional, You remind yourself, but your body had already betrayed you–your pulse quickened, heat crawled up the back your neck, and your fingers trembled ever so slightly.
You quickly busy your hands, moving the stethoscope away from his chest as if it had burned you.
“That concludes the exam,” you said a little too quickly. “Everything seems normal. You’re in excellent health.”
Hoshina leaned back in his chair, watching you closely, a knowing smirk returning to his lips.
“Good to know,” he said smoothly, rising to his feet with the same catlike grace he always carried. “Wouldn’t want to give ya any more work than necessary.”
You opened your mouth–to reply or to breathe, you weren’t sure–but he was already at the door when you came to your senses.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming again, “Thanks for takin’ such good care of me, Sensei.”
And with that, he was gone.
You stared at the empty doorway for a moment too long, the heavy weight of the stethoscope resting pointedly against your chest, while you try to will your hammering heartbeat into its regular rhythm.
You were in so much trouble.
The ward was quieter than usual, but the smell of antiseptic hung thick in the air. You sat on a rolling stool, fingers deftly unwinding a fresh roll of gauze, while Hoshina sat shirtless on the examination table. His lean torso was a patchwork of fading bruises and angry red gashes, the ribs on his left side still wrapped from his fight with Kaiju No. 10. His calm expression masked his pain well but the subconscious flinch of his body whenever you grazed his wounds gave him away. Sweat had dried in streaks across his skin, his dark hair falling loosely over his forehead.
He still wore his usual lazy grin, but there was something unmistakably different about him tonight.
He looked tired. Not just physically, but in the way his shoulders sagged slightly, in the way his eyes didn’t quite have their usual spark behind the teasing gleam.
“You should’ve come in sooner,” you said quietly, voice more gentle than scolding. “You’re healing, but your bandages need to be changed regularly. What were you thinking?”
He shrugged, “Didn’t feel urgent.”
“It doesn’t have to be urgent for you to take care of yourself, Vice Captain,” you said, smoothing a hand over his side before beginning to rewrap his wounds. “You’re allowed to rest too, you know.”
He exhaled through his nose–not quite a sigh, but close.
“You’re not,” you replied without hesitation, meeting his eyes, “You’ve been pushing yourself nonstop since the fight with No. 10. And now with… everything else coming out about Kafka…”
You didn’t say it directly–you didn’t need to. The news of Kafka’s identity had hit the entire Defense Force completely out of left field. And for Hoshina, who had fought alongside him, who had pointed a blade at him not long ago, the fallout had landed heavier than most.
He went still against your touch.
You softened, “I know you’re doing what you think is right. I know it’s not easy, but… even you have limits, Hoshina.”
He looked down for a moment, expression unreadable, “Yeah. Guess I do.”
You sat in silence for a while. It stretched on, not uncomfortable but charged, like something unspoken lingered in the air. You gently pulled the bandage snug across his ribs, fingers ghosting over his skin.
“I just…” you hesitated, then continued. “I don’t like seeing you run yourself into the ground. You already carry more than most people realize.”
Hoshina turned to look at you then–really looked. The grin faded from his lips, replaced by something quieter. Warmer.
“…Thanks,” he said, voice low, “But if I don’t carry it, who will?”
You gave him a tired smile, “Maybe let someone else carry it with you once in a while.”
A beat passed. You adjusted the last of the bandages, careful and steady.
Then, in a voice just above a murmur, he added, “If I’m bein’ honest… kinda glad it was ya patchin’ me up.”
You blinked, hands stilling.
He didn’t look away–just tilted his head, that familiar grin tugging at his lips again, softer this time, “Feels better, somehow. When it’s ya.”
Your grip on the bandages you were holding on slipped, causing it to slip right through your fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud. You stared down at it like it had personally betrayed you.
When you looked back up, Hoshina was already watching you, smugness having returned to him.
“What’s wrong, Sensei? Didn’t think I could be sincere?”
You crouched quickly, trying to hide the rising head crawling up your face. “That’s not it. I just… happened to drop it, that’s all.”
You resumed your work in silence, tying off the last knot of the bandage–maybe a little tighter than necessary.
Hoshina winced, “Sheesh. Rough bedside manner.”
He chuckled, the sound lower now, more tired than mocking. But there was still that teasing glint in his eye as he slid off the table.
As he moved to the door, slower than usual, he paused–hand resting on the frame–and glanced back.
“Don’t work too hard, Sensei. Would hate to see ya wear yerself out… before I get the chance to.”
You stared after him, jaw slack.
What does not even mean??
The door hissed shut behind him.
You dropped the bandages again.
Lunch hour had now became your safe haven–a brief time in the day where you could eat in peace, catch up on chart prep, and mentally regroup before the second half of your shift. But today you had admittedly bitten off more than you could chew.
You balanced a full tray of food in one hand and a precarious stack of paperwork in the other, navigating your way through the crowded mess hall like you were playing a game of dodge ball. The tray wobbled with each step you took, and the files threatened to slide out of your grip at any moment. You were so focused on avoiding the surrounding officers that you didn’t see the chair leg jutting out just enough to catch your foot.
Your balance tipped–try wobbling, files shifting–and you braced yourself for the impending crash.
A strong arm slid around your waist, pulling you close until your back came into contact with their solid chest. His hand settled firmly at your hip, steadying you before you could even process what had happened.
“Careful now,” Hoshina said, his warm breath tickling your ear, “Docs shouldn’t go throwing themselves across the cafeteria floor.”
You blinked, caught between mortification and the fact that his hand was still very much there, palm flush against the curve of your hips.
“I wasn’t throwing myself anywhere,” you grumbled, straightening up quickly, forcing yourself to step away from his warm embrace.
He chuckled and proceeded to casually pluck the files and tray from your hand like it was nothing, “Ya sure? Looked to me like you were on a mission to get concussed.”
“I was fine,” you protested, though you face was already starting to heat up, “I just tripped–“
“I’m takin’ ya to yer office,”he said simply, leaving no room for argument, “Can’t have ya trippin’ over chairs again.”
You glanced towards him but didn’t pull away when you felt his hand move towards the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. And you let him.
Before you could protest, he murmured, soft enough so only you could hear, “Let me take care of ya for once, yeah?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t find the right words. Instead you nodded once and walked with him.
The walk back to your office was brief, but the silence between you stretched thick with unspoken things. Neither of you said much. The only sound was the soft echo of your footsteps down the hallway, the occasional rustle of your white coat, and the rhythmic click of his boots beside you.
He didn’t touch you again. But his presence alone was enough to make you hyperaware of the space between you two… or the lack there of.
Every brush of his shoulder against yours. Every glance of him you stole from the corner of your eye. Every moment you both could’ve spoken but chose not to.
By the time you reached your office, your pulse was a quiet drumbeat in your ears.
“Thanks,” you said, picking your things back up from him, “For the help.”
His lips quirked into his usual smile that you were starting to find dangerous, “Anytime, Sensei.”
And then he was gone–just like that–leaving you standing in your doorway with a tray of food, some files, and the echo of his words lingering in your head.
You didn’t drop the tray this time.
But you might have if he had stayed a second longer.
There was a buss in the Division 3 office that morning, a rare occurrence. Turns out, a courier from the Headquarters had delivered two massive white boxes adorned with golden embellishments and some incoherent French name printed on top of it.
Inside? Pastries. Fancy ones.
Apparently, some higher up decided that nearly dying every other week was grounds for some morale boost in the form of processed sugar. You weren’t about to argue with free dessert, especially not when the office was filled with the smell of melted butter, cream, fruit, and roasted chestnuts.
You lingered by the box longer than you probably should have, your eyes zeroing in on the single untouched Mont Blanc nestled in the corner–a delicate swirl of chestnut cream dusted with powdered sugar. You didn’t hesitate. You plucked it up, dropped it onto one of the disposable paper plates prepared, and made a beeline for your desk before someone could talk to you. Or worse–make you share.
You were halfway through the decadent dessert, practically humming in satisfaction, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.
You pause mid chew and look up. Only to find Hoshina standing over your desk with his arms crossed and brow raised. He looked at you as though you had just committed treason.
You blinked, “Didn’t what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he said, nodding toward the plate. “Tell me you didn’t eat the last Mont Blanc.”
You glanced down at your fork, where the last bite was already halfway to your mouth, “…It was unclaimed.”
You paused, then shrugged unapologetically, “Guess you should’ve gotten there faster, Vice Captain.”
He squinted at you, “Ya planned this.”
He leaned in slightly, hands bracing against your desk as he narrowed his eyes, “That’s cold, Sensei.”
You smiled sweetly and lifted your fork containing the last bite, “You snooze you lose, Vice Captain~”
You popped the last bit of Mont Blanc into your mouth with a little more flair than necessary and chewed slowly, smugly. Maybe it was a petty victory–but you had earned it. After weeks of teasing, tension, and him effortlessly getting under your skin, it was your turn to get the upper hand, even if just for a moment.
Hoshina didn’t say anything. His eyes flickered downwards, just once, before a dangerous glint sparked in his expression.
You didn’t like that look.
“Still got some on yer face,” he murmured.
You reached for the napkin, but before you could touch it, he stepped in closer and reached out, gently swiping his thumb across the corner of your mouth–slow, deliberate, and utterly shameless.
You went completely still.
Then–taking his sweet time–he brought that same thumb to his lips and licked the leftover chestnut cream.
“Yer right, it’s real tasty.”
A high-pitched static filled your ears as your brain tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.
Your fork clattered against the plate. You opened your mouth to say something–anything–but no words came out. Hoshina gave you a wink, turned on his heel, and sauntered off like nothing had happened.
It wasn’t until he was halfway across the room that your brain rebooted.
But it was too late. He was already gone, and you were left sitting at your desk, plate empty, pride wounded, and face ablaze.
You buried your face in your hands and groaned.
This man was going to be the death of you.
You had completed everyone’s’ checkups for the day. The medical ward was quiet for once–no bandages, no paperwork, no patients.
Just you. And a hard-earned break.
You leaned back in your chair, slowly working your way through a small stash of hard candies you kept in your drawer–the same kind you sometimes gave younger officers after their vaccines. It was mostly a joke now, a quiet tradition, “If you stay still, I’ll give you candy after we’re done!” you would to say.
You unwrapped a piece and popped it into your mouth–strawberry, your favorite. Sweet. Familiar. It took the edge off.
A knock–soft, rhythmic–followed by the door creaking open.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His footsteps were unmistakeable. Casual. Confident. A little too quiet.
“Didn’t know Docs needed bribe candies still,” Hoshina drawled, eyes flickering to the candy between your lips, “or is that your reward for survivin’ another day of puttin’ up with me?”
You shot him a dry look, candy tucked in your cheek, “Depends on how long you plan on hovering here.”
He chuckled and moved closer, eyes now flickering to the small bag of candy on your desk, “Got any of those left?”
You offered a hum instead of an answer, swirling the candy against your tongue as you picked up the bag and gestured it towards him.
He plucked a lemon flavored candy from the pile, inspecting it, before asking, “What flavor are ya havin’?”
He held the lemon candy between two fingers, but made no move to unwrap it. Instead, he looked at you, face filled with mischief.
“…I want the one yer havin’.”
You raised a brow, “This is my last one.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to share,” he said, tone light–but there was something in the way he leaned in just a little closer, something cocky and dangerous in the glint of his eyes, almost daring you to challenge him back. “C’mon, Sensei. Don’t be stingy.”
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing–not annoyed, but calculating. Because suddenly, it all clicked.
For the Mont Blanc cream on the mouth trick. For the compression shirt. For the relentless teasing and all the times he flustered you so effortlessly.
So maybe it was time to return the favor.
Slowly, deliberately, you stood from your chair and closed the distance between you. Hoshina straightened slightly, brows raising, clearly intrigued at what you were about to do next.
You stopped right in front of him, the candy still on your tongue. Sweetness sharp against your tongue.
Then, without breaking eye contact–and before he could say one more smug word–you leaned in, wrapped a hand behind his neck, and kissed him.
Just slow enough to catch him off guard.
Your lips met his in one smooth, unhurried motion. His breath hitched–just once–but it was enough. He stilled like prey caught mid-step, eyes fluttering shut as your mouth moved together.
When you pulled back, his lips chased after yours for a second too long.
The room was silent except for the faintest click of the candy between his teeth.
He stood there, eyes wide, lips parted, like his brain had stopped processing at the taste of strawberry now against his tongue.
You raised a brow, feigning innocence, “Still want the lemon one?”
He blinked. Once. Twice. And then: a visible blush bloomed beneath the edge of his cheekbones, betrayed by the faintest twitch of his jaw as he struggled–genuinely struggled–to pull himself together.
“…The hell was that?” He grumbled, voice a bit too hoarse.
You leaned back against the desk, crossing your arms, “I shared.”
His gaze dragged over you, not calculating like usual, not smug. Something in him was reeling. Like you had just knocked the wind out of him and he didn’t know whether to take it as a challenge or a warning.
“You–“ he shook his head slightly, scoffing under his breath, “Yer trouble, Sensei.”
He looked away, jaw clenched, the strawberry candy visibly pushing against his cheek now like a mockery of his usually composure. He ran a hand over the back of his neck–a dead giveaway. He was flustered.
“You okay, Vice Captain?” you asked sweetly, “You look a bit red~”
He shot you a half-hearted glare that couldn’t quite hide the upward twitch of his lips.
“…Don’t think this means I’m lettin’ ya win.”
“I don’t need to win,” you said, biting back a smile, “I just need you to remember it.”
He turned to leave, but hesitated at the door, hand on the frame, the candy still in his mouth.
“…Tastes better comin’ from you,” he murmured–so low you almost missed it.
Then he disappeared into the hallway, ears just a little too pink to hide.
You finally understood the appeal of this little game he played.
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