#I just wanted to put down my thoughts on what could happen so when it comes out I can look back on it and see what I got right

[eightmakesonebraincell-replies]

bro it's actually a mood idk what kind of slump it is but i've also had no motivation to touch or look at anything with more than like 20 words LOL i appreciate you still giving me a long-ass reblog though man 👊

lowkey already feels like eons ago since i wrote doctors but MAN did it take me aggeesss to finish. and you're right why am i only getting the workload and not the eight boyfies??? i don't want you i want hot guys HAHAHAHA yes man i remember randomly asking you medical questions bc you're a doctor's kid so like surely you would know?? why don't you know?? go ask your mum ???

was defs a strange experience to start the fic off with established relos and everything is already happy no angst (yet) OATH we both need an 8XL bed just for me myself and i we ain't sharing it with anybody ✋ i would literally never get out of bed

AHAHAHA yeah i think like 95% of readers predicted that seolhee would not make it esp since i put warning tags but also i like to think that even though they knew it would happen, the scene was still A N G S T Y enough hohoho istg any writer who makes a kid character really loveable and cute has *other* plans for that character

yess writing about a female doctor gave the liberty of exploring the misogynistic side of the medical field bc it's not a loren fic if i'm not trying to simultaneously touch on a million different themes 😌☝️

LMAO not the parallels with dr nam and the extra intern with my own workplace 💀 the more you say the more i realise i projected my entire life into this fic :D AND O F C jongho and yunho are canon dad joke and pun lovers

it makes such a world of a difference having someone you enjoy seeing at work (even if just like platonically) (i wish i could see the wizard at work but alas 🤧)

having a lil kid honestly makes these conversations so much easier bc why does it hit so much harder when they ask all the simple questions that you would never think about, and why do they always make everything sound so simple too? we love a character who makes the plot flow LOL

oof yes all the angst starting to go down where they make jokes about being absent romantically but also it means that it's something they've noticed and have at least somewhat thought about 👀

time vs emotional capacity >>>> this is literally me with everything LOL like time vs social capacity LIKE YEAH I HAVE TIME BUT IT'S NOT FOR SOCIALISING OR ANYTHING i don't have the capacity to do anything but be alone tyvm 🤺🤺🤺

omg you bringing up dr nam again and how the misogyny was tackled suddenly reminded me of a detail i was gonna include at the end of the fic but didn't end up including. (or maybe i did and i've just completely forgotten) but mc starts to document and keep a written record of everything so she has evidence and damn don't we just love ✨character growth✨ in every aspect of life

NOT YOU FINDING IT SATISFYING THAT MC SNAPS AT YUNHO HAHAHA but honestly mc's across all written fics need to have more moments where they snap when they should. boo to perfect mc's we need flawed and imperfect mc's

OOP YKNOW WHAT I DIDN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT poor seonghwa who has literally done no wrong being the one to take the brunt of mc's explosion 🫢 tbh though i think it means a lot for the future plot bc even though she blew up at him, he was the one who took the brunt of her grief after seolhee passes <3 no but this monologue about the last time you did xx you deserve credit too bc you helped cook this part up, especially the iconic part when the last time mc used conditioner was :'))

STRAIGHT UP THIS MINGI SCENE WILL FOREVER BE THE MINGI SCENE this is my peak periodt i don't think i can ever write a more heartfelt and comforting scene than this.

AND THE MEMES STILL TAKE ME OUT LOOKING AT THEM NOW HAHAHAH IT TOOK ME OUT SO HARD THE FIRST TIME YOU SHOWED ME AND IT STILL DOES LIKE WHAT A MONTH LATER?

ooh yes i did end up editing this part (you're right it was meant to lead to a huge argument) but highkey it just didn't feel right? it felt more fitting to their character growth and the overall plot for them to understand where mc was coming from, and they all took the break to reflect on themselves. also like ngl atp i was so sick of writing doctors i didn't want to give myself more arguments to solve HAHAHAHAH ALSO considering surfers and hockey had huge arguments it's nice to do something a little different for doctors

you put it so nicely bro yeah there's the contrast between the chaos the boys experience without you around, but there's also the chaos you experience without the boys around. gotta make sure ALL characters get that character growth going on 🤪

YES. IT'S SEOLHEE 🙈 was probably one of the most mentally exhausting scenes to write bc i remember iMMERsING myself as mc so that i could write the emotions/actions/conversation realistically but heyyyyyyyyyy at least seolhee is happy up there in the sky now 🥹🫶

i think all the readers (and myself) (and mc and the boys) definitely deserve a time skip to the next christmas just to heal everybody's hearts that all worked out and all is okay. relationships are never smooth sailing and sometimes it's a near-breakup that is actually what solidifies the relationship and makes it unbreakable :')) defs was aiming for the hallmark-esque christmas for the full FLUFFY effects and i'm glad it came across as such :')) straight up don't think i can ever top this fic's title and motif and repeated lines of the snow/stars

big boots for both myself aND YOU to fill bc god knows i'll be needing your help when i actually get into the flow of writing spring XD

and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky

genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 39.7k

c/w: slow burn in reverse, work/life burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer) and mentions of medical procedures (medication, needles, chemotherapy, surgery), grief and crying, brief mentions of self-harm (hitting, pinching), mental breakdowns, workplace misogyny and nepotism, profanity, kissing, non-sexual nudity, m x m interactions

synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.

a/n: please read the tags carefully as this is probably my heaviest fic in terms of the themes and struggles being explored. mandatory shoutout @sorryimananti-romantic for putting up with my snail-pace writing speed the last five months :)

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

where white embodies the nature of christmas itself–joy, celebration, festivity, snow–it changes the moment you step through the sliding glass doors of the hospital’s entrance. white is the sterile and detached appearance of the tiled floors and coated walls. it is the bedsheets and linen of the ward beds which fall short of mimicking home. it is the authoritative coats of the doctors who are the arbiters between life and death; the very same coat that jongho currently wears over his scrubs.

you are reminded of this dystopian juxtaposition as you and five others gather around your phone from the brightness of the cosy living room in your shared apartment, talking to jongho over facetime while he hides in a storage room for five minutes of respite.

in the background of your video, the fairy lights blink rhythmically on the christmas tree and reflect off the glossy wrappers of the presents placed underneath its bottom branches. behind jongho, there are shelves of medication that you can recognise as the anaesthetics and anticoagulants solely from the colours of their labels, even in the hazy darkness of the storage room.

“you won’t fucking believe the number of grannies i’ve had to explain to today that no, they cannot go home for christmas because they literally just came out of open-heart surgery ten hours ago,” jongho rubs his temples.

yeosang laughs quietly from beside you, amusement poorly concealed behind his hands. you fondly admonish him with a light slap to his thigh but cannot deny the smile that tugs at your lips too.

rushing in for damage control, seonghwa asks, “how’s mingi?”

“tired as fuuuck,” jongho snickers whilst dragging out his words smugly, as if his own eye bags do not reach the middle of his cheeks. the way he lacks the self-control to police his language is also evidence of his utter exhaustion. “last i heard, he was dealing with a couple who had gotten a bauble ornament stuck up the dude’s ass because they wanted to try something ‘festive’ or some shit like that.”

the stories you hear from the emergency department never fail to amaze you with what the human mind can think of doing. it is natural selection at its finest–exhibit a, b, all the way to fucking z. wooyoung gets an absolute kick out of it every single time though, so there is that.

“plain stupidity,” hongjoong rolls his eyes in exasperation. “people need to stop adding to our caseload.”

you chuckle with agreement. “what about yunho? did you get to see him?”

“he’s in surgery,” jongho shakes his head. “not sure what for, but i haven’t heard from him all day so it must be a pretty complicated one.”

the conversation is cut short when his pager goes off. jongho curses, downing the last of his coffee in one large gulp and grimacing from the stale and grainy taste. he crumples the empty paper cup before he apologises, “i have to go. sorry we couldn’t spend christmas together.”

from over the phone, you and your boys refute him with comforting utterances of “don’t be”s, followed by warm exchanges of “merry christmas”s.

“i love you all,” jongho murmurs shyly, the end of a call the only time other than whispered confessions in the safety of a bed where he is comfortable enough to express himself so intimately.

you respond giddily, “love you too,” at the same time your other boyfriends also return the same spoken sentiments. then the youngest ends the call, rushing to attend to an abnormal ECG reading for a patient.

san lets out a sad little sigh as the screen of your phone turns off. his fingers continue to absentmindedly tousle the back of yours and yeosang’s heads whilst wondering, “when will we get to celebrate christmas together? i don’t think all nine of us have ever been free on the same day since we started dating.”

“most of you finish your residency in just over a year, and jongho in two,” seonghwa fondly pinches san’s cheeks, a bittersweet smile adorning his own face, “so maybe the year after that?”

piping up from your other side, wooyoung suggests to the oldest, “or, hear me out–you and hongjoong work while the rest of us stay at home.”

“and do what,” hongjoong narrows his eyes.

“look pretty,” you say in unison with wooyoung, twin grins of mischief flashing at the only registered doctor and clinical nurse specialist in your relationship.

seonghwa laughs endearingly as hongjoong pretends he is not. the rounds of your cheeks settle with warmth when seonghwa leans down to place a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth in between a teasing, “i wouldn’t mind that.”

it draws out a girlish giggle from you, forever unable to curb the feeling of butterflies in your stomach whenever you are with your boys, even more so with the intoxication of christmas itself–the season of love. wooyoung tilts his cheek out expectantly for his own kiss at the same time hongjoong scruffs the oldest by the neck with a playful chide, “they’re going to actually drop out from the residency program at this rate, hwa.”

but hongjoong is smitten, as you all are for one another, and contrary to his words there is adoration dripping from his gaze…only for it to immediately disappear when wooyoung punches his forearm.

“kiss me, peasant!” wooyoung demands.

“that’s it,” hongjoong snaps and the younger screeches as his neck becomes wrapped in a headlock. in retaliation, wooyoung bites the skin that is within reach, setting off a high-pitched yelp.

yeosang stands up so you take it as your cue to do the same, both of you tucking your chairs under the dining table as san and seonghwa step back from the commotion. you grab your phone then walk away with the three of them to the continued sound of petty slaps and childish bickering.

just another normal day.

“should we sleep in the main bedroom tonight?”

at your suggestion, san wraps his arms around you from behind. his voice rumbles with enthusiasm that you can feel against your back and you sink into his embrace as he agrees, “good idea, love.”

the main bedroom is quite literally a bed room. it consists of numerous platform beds pushed together to make–for lack of better description–an XXXXXXXXL bed. there is nothing else in the room, any and all visible space taken up by the beds as it is the only way to create a surface size comfortable for all nine of you to sleep together.

there are only double or twin beds in the remaining normal bedrooms because frankly, you all need quality sleep for your jobs. between all of your on-call shifts, leaving the house and arriving home at random hours of the day, it is just easier to sleep separately on most nights. plus, despite the fact that you are all earning more than the average salary already, there is still a fuckload of student debt to pay off and mattresses are fucking expensive. hence, you make do with the one room where you splurged your money.

“i’ll let the others know,” yeosang states. he pulls out his phone to send a text to the group chat. mingi and jongho were unlucky enough to have drawn the short end of the stick with a 24-hour shift, and yunho had apparently been placed on surgery. so although it is not the ideal nine of you, you have long learnt to accept that there will almost always be at least two absent at any one time.

seonghwa has already made himself comfortable in the centre of the mattresses when you walk into the bedroom. he lifts the edge of the blanket, arms beckoning for you to cuddle him. you toe off your slippers and crawl into his arms, slotting yourself perfectly against his chest as he tucks you under his chin and covers you with the blanket that is warm from his body heat.

the bed dips again from the weight of somebody else slipping in behind you. he curls around you, a sturdy arm gently cradling your waist with a comforting weight. you can immediately tell that it is san simply from the way his body feels against yours–you would be able to tell any of them apart simply from the way they held you, even if you were to lose your sense of sight.

slowly tracing a finger along the prominent veins on san’s forearm, the bed suddenly rocks with a gleeful shout before the three of you are crushed under an energetic mass. “wooyoung!” you gasp between exasperated fondness and he giggles whilst squirming to make himself space within the cuddle pile.

san moves over so the younger can slot in beside you whilst extending an arm out to his side. it wraps around yeosang to tuck him into the group, and hongjoong settles in last behind seonghwa on the outside edge. there is a bit of further wriggling as you all adjust yourselves comfortably, but eventually your arms and legs twist together snugly. with seonghwa’s fingers languidly combing through your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with each repetitive motion, you drift off to the boys’ low whispers and enter a dreamy haze of cackling fire and fluttering snow.

it is well into the early hours of the next morning when one of the trio comes home. the soft click of the front door wakes you up, your body used to sleeping lightly from years of on-call shifts. your ears slowly drag you back into the realms of consciousness as you listen.

there is a dull thud and a muffled “ow” that tells you it is yunho, the only one who has somehow made it a habit of his to bump his head on the cabinet every time he bends down to put his sneakers away. as his soft footsteps pad down the hallway, you track his path mentally in your head; to the open dining room to place his messenger bag down on one of the chairs, to the bathroom to wash his face and his hands, then finally to the main bedroom.

to see his lovers.

yunho nudges the door open with bated breath in hopes that he does not wake anybody up. a smile immediately spreads across his face, unable to contain his fondness at the sight that greets him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. within the hands of slumber, you and the boys have slowly spread yourselves out across the mattresses. still, you somehow manage to find each other through the tangle of blankets–seonghwa’s fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist; the tip of wooyoung’s nose nudging your forearm–unwilling to completely separate even in your unconsciousness.

your body dips with the mattress under yunho’s weight when he carefully inches towards you. his sturdy arms hold his frame over your smaller one and you pretend to be asleep just to feel the protective tenderness with which he dips his head slowly to press the softest of kisses against your temple. his warm lips worship your skin with the reverence a butterfly would land upon the prettiest of flowers.

in the magical remnants of an enchanted pre-dawn, yunho whispers bittersweetly, “sorry i’m late, y/n. merry christmas.” then he tucks the blanket more snugly around you, cocooning you in both warmth and love before he pushes himself back off the bed to leave.

as much as he wants to hold you and his boys, yunho has not yet showered. he is exhausted to his very core, unable to bring himself to the arduous task of showering when he can barely keep his eyes open. so he retires himself to one of the other bedrooms instead even though it is the last thing any of you want.

but all of you are used to it. none of you are strangers to coming home in the ghostly hours of night, fighting off debilitating weariness long enough only to check on the others briefly before falling against a mattress away from the clean warmth of somebody's arms.

it is the career and life that you have all chosen. it is just another normal day.

and it is this exact self-sacrificial nature within the medical field that is easily forgotten and overlooked. you and your boys sacrifice your holidays with loved ones to ensure other people get to go back to their loved ones for the holidays. it comes with the price of time, freedom and memories.

but what can also happen is that sometimes…you end up sacrificing the relationships themselves.

for every rapid shuffle you make throughout the house, gathering your things to haphazardly shove into your backpack, mingi trails behind you easily with languid strides of his own.

“i can drive,” you reason half-heartedly as you focus on the stubborn front zipper. “you can be my passenger princess.”

his scandalised look that you would even suggest a thing goes unnoticed even as he protests, “or you be my passenger princess.”

“okay, and how will i get home? your shift doesn’t even end at the same time as mine.” you throw the door of the fridge open to grab your packed lunch, cramming it into the large compartment of your bag.

“yun’s shift does, so he can give you a ride home unless he gets called in for surgery again.”

“and if he does?”

mingi looks at the whiteboard calendar that is mounted on the wall beside him, squinting at the mass of colour-coded letters that are scribbled into the box marking today’s date. “then wait for hwa. his shift ends at five.”

“no,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly, “you know how often he picks up extra hours because he can’t bear to leave his PICU babies. i’ll just take the bus home.”

“no,” mingi mimics you as he holds out your coat for you to shrug on, “the correct answer is to then wait for hongjoong or call one of us. between the eight of your boyfriends, there’ll always be someone who is just ending their shift or is free to pick you up.”

you look up from your shoes to level him with a blank stare, “you know that isn’t feasible every single day, right?” despite your words, you do nothing to stop him from stealing your car keys out of your pocket.

mingi’s doggedness–all of their doggedness–in ensuring one of them will always be accompanying you to and from work is endearing, but the truth is that it is not feasible. there is a reason why you had been commuting by yourself the last three years of your residency, and along with the fact that the nine of you have different shifts that change each week, the logistics of it all will drive you insane, if not them.

“that’s besides the point. it’s your first day of work today so i’m doing my baby a favour,” mingi coos teasingly, pinching your cheeks because he knows it gets a rise out of you.

you swat his hands away with a grunt, jabbing his side for good measure in retaliation to his smug grin. “you talk as if we aren’t both fourth-year residents. and it’s not a favour if you have to go there anyway since, you know, we work at the same hospital.”

“it’s your first day at this hospital, so technically you’re still fresh meat,” mingi argues as he pulls the front door open. while you lock it behind you–everybody else already at the hospital–he continues, “plus, my shift doesn’t start until tonight so i’m sacrificing my sleep for you.”

you give him a little curtsy with exaggerated gratitude then hurry after him when he swivels on his heel, head held high like a noble king with you as his court lady. except, the roles reverse the moment you reach the car and he opens the passenger door for you with a bow.

“m’lady,” he beckons inside.

you snort but settle yourself into the seat, patiently waiting for mingi to get in from the other side of the car. as he starts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, you suddenly look at him with suspicious clarity, head now clearing enough to wonder why the most rational of your boyfriends is being irrational. 

“you’re trying to get on my good side for something, aren’t you? did you spill coffee on seonghwa’s scrubs again?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“what?” mingi’s head whips towards you before he looks back at the road, chuckling nervously. “no? of course not. why would you think that?”

at your lack of response, he crumbles with a confession. “it was hongjoong’s idea! he said i should drop you off so i can size up whoever might try and chat you up on your first day.”

“god, you’re all hopeless,” you burst out into laughter.

prior to today, you and the boys had discussed how public you were all going to be at the hospital about your relationship. it had been decided that you would not deny it if questions arose, but at the same time, you were not going to go out of your way to make your relationship with one another general knowledge.

not everybody is going to be accepting of your polyamorous dynamic and neither do you need people questioning whether you successfully transferred into the residency program at this hospital through…favours. because despite the fact that it is the twenty-first century, it remains the harsh reality that the doctoral field is still predominantly male-oriented, with females automatically assumed to be the nurses–lesser in hierarchy, knowledge and skill.

a rumour as such might not affect the boys but it would be enough to tarnish your career.

as mingi pulls into the underground parking lot for employees, you rest a hand on his forearm to stop him from turning off the ignition. “mingi, i’ll be fine,” you reassure. “go home and get some sleep.”

“but hongjoong–”

“–will just have to stop being a big baby. we’re in our mid-twenties,” you chuckle, “not fresh eighteen-year-olds discovering the opposite gender for the first time. everyone’s going to be too busy on their first day to care about flirting.”

you lean over the console of the car and mingi relaxes easily under your hand that caresses his jawline. he melts once you press a soft kiss against his cheek, conceding, “alright.”

“i’ll see you at home before your shift.”

he nods and watches as you get out of the car. from out of the open window, he gives you a cute little wave, waiting for you to walk through the sliding doors before he leaves. you walk to the elevator doors to press the up arrow, fidgeting with your scrubs and hair with nervous restlessness until the sounding of a soft ding followed by the low groan of parting doors. you take a deep breath, then you walk in.

into kq hospital.

boasting over one hundred different core and specialised departments and home to some of the few fields in advanced medicine, kq hospital is the largest and most renowned hospital in seoul. your years of clinical experience in other hospitals and past visits to your boys during their shifts provide you with a sense of familiarity with the place, but it is still easy to feel overwhelmed by its formidable size and bustling urgency.

seeing the fresh interns and second-year residents gathered in the auditorium as you join them for the morning orientation reminds you of your own four years ago. never did you think you would have to undergo orientation again during your residency, yet here you are, having transferred to kq hospital in your final year for the clinical exposure and opportunities in career advancement that it has to offer.

you sit towards the back of the auditorium, a few seats away from a girl who has the nerves of an intern. you give her a polite smile then face the front, not exactly ready to make small talk unless you have to. yunho always jokes that as an introvert you really picked the wrong job–you have no defence as you pull out your phone and pretend to be occupied.

somebody slides into the seat next to yours a few minutes later. however, your saving grace comes in the form of several people walking across the front of the stage, so you do not have to do much more than dip your head in courteous greeting before everybody settles into silence.

a woman in thin-rimmed glasses steps up to the podium. “welcome, interns and residents. my name is doctor heo and i’m the program director of the paediatric residency program here at kq hospital.”

the hours of the morning quickly blur together into a multitude of faces, names and information. you and a few of the other senior residents had only been required to attend half of the general welcome talk, your orientation much faster and tailored to your pre-existing experience. by the time you have gone through the policies, patient populations and workflows of the paediatric department, your head is reeling to digest it all.

only at twelve do you converge with the interns again, this time at the cafeteria. there is a generous spread of catering of finger food and drinks before the joint lunch you will have with the other faculty members from your department.

“this will be a good opportunity for all of you to meet the residents, doctors, nurses and department heads. get to know your colleagues because they will be the ones you are learning from,” dr. heo advises.

your ears perk up, wondering whether you will be able to see some of your boyfriends. san is already a fourth-year resident in the paediatric department, wooyoung one of the nurses, and even though seonghwa works mainly in the paediatric ICU, his position as a clinical nurse specialist likely makes him important enough to at least show his face.

everybody starts to make their way over to the tables to fill their plates as they mingle and chat amongst one another. you have always had a sensitive stomach that often disagrees with food–the very reason why wooyoung makes your lunch most days, which currently still sits inside your bag–but you do not want to appear ungrateful or picky. so you head to the drinks to at least keep your hands filled.

just as you grab a small glass of orange juice, a voice startles you. “it’s you! hi.”

you turn to find a man maybe a few years younger than you with a bright smile on his face. “hi?” you hesitantly answer, unsure why he is acting so familiar with you.

he frowns slightly, “you don’t remember me?”

you could honestly give less than a flying fuck who he is, but you suppose the whole point of this break is to give those fucks, so you apologise instead, “sorry, i’m not great with faces.”

“i sat next to you during orientation this morning,” he laughs like you have just cracked the funniest joke. he extends his hand out for a handshake, “i’m doctor baek, but you can call me cheolmin.”

“nice to meet you, doctor baek,” you return the handshake, setting your boundaries with your response. “doctor l/n.”

he quirks a brow amusedly. unprompted, he reveals, “my sister’s boyfriend’s aunt’s friend knows the director of this hospital,” as if he thinks you would be impressed. you are willing to bet the seventy-two dollars in your savings account that the director of the hospital does not have a clue who this dr. baek is.

as you struggle to come up with a professional response that is not a sarcastic ‘cool’, you suddenly make eye contact with somebody from over his shoulder. they are looking at you with nonchalant amusement, lips tugged up smugly and their hands in the pockets of their coat.

you hurry to wrap up the conversation and make a move to step around dr. baek. “that’s great, nice to meet you. i’m going to go and introduce myself to–”

“are you doing anything after work today?” he cuts you off, stepping slightly in front of you. “it would be nice for us to get to know each other better, considering we’ll be colleagues from now on.”

“uh…” you trail off, distracted when you make eye contact again with the person and they cock their eyebrow, asking for your permission to play knight. you give the subtlest of nods before dr. baek adjusts himself into your line of vision.

“doctor l/n, don’t play hard to g–”

“y/n,” the dependable voice of hongjoong interrupts dr. baek. your expression relaxes into a smile as your boyfriend sidles up to you, presence steadfast and unwavering. “i didn’t catch you this morning–how are you getting home?”

dr. baek’s eyes narrow even further at the implication of hongjoong’s question than when he realises you two are on first-name basis.

“mingi dropped me off so i can’t drive,” you shrug.

“i finish at five-thirty. i’ll take you home,” hongjoong says, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. “make sure to put on your jacket while you wait for me. it’s meant to snow later so it’ll be cold.”

you laugh softly at his attentiveness, “okay, hongjoong.”

unable to watch any longer, dr. baek pivots on his heel and stalks away. your boyfriend cannot resist pulling you closer by the sleeve of your scrubs as he haughtily huffs, “i knew people would hit on you.”

“is that why you told mingi to take me to work today?” you tease. hongjoong is also from the neurology department–definitely not meant to be here right now–but you will save that ammunition for another time.

“oh, look,” hongjoong pretends not to hear you as he ushers you away from the tables. “san and wooyoung are over there. let’s go and talk to people who actually matter.”

the laugh you let out this time is unrestrained, letting yourself be led through the interspersed groups of people towards your other boyfriends–the only people who actually matter. san and wooyoung’s faces break out into the most tender of smiles the moment they lay their eyes upon you and hongjoong, and the remaining nerves and tension in your body completely melt away when you feel their subtle embraces around you.

it may be winter and the road ahead to acclimatise with your new job may be demanding, but you know that you will be shielded from the cold of the world by the warmth that your boys will always bring to you.

“patient history and current status?”

selecting the seventh floor, you press the close button to the elevator doors once your team of four have settled inside. you turn back slightly to look at your interns in wait for a response to your question.

dr. son glances at dr. yang before answering, “the patient is kim seolhee, currently six years and three months old. she was initially diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at two years, eight months. she was admitted into hospital one month ago due to a relapse and is currently undergoing re-induction therapy. she received a chemotherapy dose this morning, so we are monitoring for any potential side effects from the treatment.”

“and how is she responding to the treatment?” you probe.

“slow response–the leukaemia cells are not clearing as expected so second-line chemotherapy is likely to be recommended.”

you nod at the information as the elevator doors open to the paediatric oncology ward. walking out, you ask, “why is the patient not responding to first-line treatment?”

the following silence permeates with flusteredness that shows neither intern has considered this question. “doctor lee?” you cue instead.

the junior resident takes over with ease. “seolhee’s initial treatment when she was first diagnosed required aggressive chemotherapy due to resistant leukaemia. treatment lasted for two and a half years and she achieved remission at five years, four months. however, she relapsed one month ago due to minimal residual disease in the bone marrow.

“from her history, we know that her leukaemia was resistant to initial treatment and there is the persistence of residual cancer cells at the time of relapse. plus, her diagnosis is T-cell, not B-cell, which tends to present with greater quantities of leukaemia cells and thus requires more intensive therapy. all of these risk factors combined makes it difficult for remission to be achieved through first-line re-induction therapy.”

“well done, doctor lee,” you acknowledge as he beams, “all of that and the fact that her relapse is early–merely nine months after remission–correlates to a higher likelihood of treatment resistance.” you address your interns, “it is easy to focus on the patient’s immediate presentation, but it is just as important–if not more–to look at it in the context of their prior admissions and treatment responses. that was a good attempt though, doctor yang.” reaching the door to the room you are about to enter, you quickly wrap up the conversation and head in.

seolhee looks at you curiously, a new face being one of the only interesting things that change up her repetitive days in the hospital. her sickly pallor and sunken cheeks are a morbid juxtaposition against her rounded eyes and braided pigtails. as you walk closer, you can see that her hair has been plaited loosely with care so as not to strain her already-thinning hair.

you lower yourself to the side of her bed with a bright smile as you compliment, “i love your hair! who did it for you?”

immediately, she beams, any prior apprehension clearing as she tells you, “my favourite nurse! he's been braiding my hair for years!”

“has he now?” you gaze at her fondly as she happily shows you the ribbons tied to the ends too.

“are you talking about me?”

seolhee’s eyes instantly light up in response to the voice that enters the room. she exclaims, “nurse hwa!”

“hello, my snowflake.”

you turn just in time to see seonghwa walking in with endearment enveloping his entire face. you let out a small chuckle, your own eyes melting with honey at the sight of him. of course he would be the favourite nurse.

when seolhee questions why he is making his rounds earlier than usual, he leans in conspiratorially, yet in a whisper loud enough for you to hear, “a little birdie told me that your new doctor is very pretty, so i had to come see for myself.”

he winks at you and you shake your head with an exasperated smile. so much for keeping lowkey and professional. clearing your throat, you play along, “ah, are you the favourite nurse who braided her hair, nurse hwa?” you find it absolutely hilarious that six-year-olds are using the same pet name that you use for your boyfriend.

seonghwa nods, “my girlfriend taught me.”

“she must be quite the amazing girlfriend, then,” you joke.

“she is,” he smiles, gazing softly at you.

for a six-year-old, seolhee is frighteningly perceptive as she looks back and forth between the two of you before blurting out, “is she the pretty girlfriend you always talk about?”

you fluster with a bright blush that you try to conceal behind a cough, only to make eye contact with dr. son and dr. lee giving you the most delightful shit-eating grins on their faces from beside you. seonghwa simply laughs, brightly and joyfully like the festive chime of bells. his affirmative nod in response is just as childishly proud as the one adorning seolhee’s face at having guessed correctly. she decides right there and then that you are her favourite doctor, because you are pretty.

“let me give you something,” she beckons with a small wave, little fingers calling for you to look closely.

seolhee pulls a little booklet out of the bedside table’s top drawer. the cover and edges are well-loved and from the way the top of the little booklet is nearly falling apart, you can tell that she has used it often. she flicks through the empty pages one by one until she finds what she is looking for. fiddling for a few more seconds, she holds out her hand to present you with–

“a sticker?” you ask.

“for doing a good job,” she giggles.

you take the circular sticker from her extended fingers. when you look down, you realise it is a little snowflake with a smiley face on it. the corners of your own mouth tug upwards involuntarily and your cheeks round out until they start to feel sore. never did you think a mere sticker would bring you such glee as an adult, but you are going to wear it proudly.

you tug the breast pocket of your scrubs outwards so that you can stick it onto your name badge, right next to the small twinkling star that is the signature additional design on all of the paediatric departments’ name badges. at your response, seolhee beams with pride.

“where’s mine?” seonghwa childishly quips.

“you haven’t done anything yet,” seolhee wags her little finger at him as he swallows the urge to retort that neither have you. “have you drawn my blood yet? inserted an eye-vee line or a…pick line?”

“no,” he chortles in defeat, “no IV or PICC lines today. maybe a blood test later.”

“so no sticker for you,” she reprimands him rightfully.

the conversation draws a laugh out of you, yet leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. a child like seolhee should be talking about the colour of her doll’s dress and the name of her plush teddy, not medical procedures that draw her line between life and death.

seonghwa eyes your sticker mischievously. “i might have to steal her sticker then.”

seolhee glares at him like a ferocious kitten, easily deciding that you are now her favourite out of all the doctors and nurses. “don’t you dare,” she pouts before turning to you with full solemnity and seriousness to pledge, “if he steals it, come back and i’ll give you another one.”

you send him a smug wink and seonghwa finally concedes, arms raised in mock surrender. “i’ll go back to my morning rounds then. see you later, snowflake,” he gives her a wave before bidding you goodbye with playful professionalism, “see you later, doctor l/n.”

on his way out, seonghwa exchanges brief but warm pleasantries with a middle-aged woman who is simultaneously entering the room. it is easy to presume that she is seolhee’s visitor, considering she is not wearing scrubs. just as you are about to introduce yourself, the woman's eyes skim right past yours to land on the taller of the interns behind you.

"hi, you must be seolhee's new doctor," she greets. "i'm her mother."

dr. yang shifts uncomfortably on his feet and glances at you, unsure how to correct the older woman that whilst he is a doctor, he is not the most senior one. with grace, you extend a warm hand out with an even warmer smile.

"lovely to meet you, mrs kim. i'm doctor l/n, and this is my intern, doctor yang," you introduce, before gesturing behind to your left. "this is my other intern, doctor son, and this is doctor lee, my second-year resident."

seolhee's mother rushes to shake your hand as she trails off, "sorry, i assumed he was the doctor because..."

"i know, i get that often. don't worry about it," you pat her hand placatingly.

she responds, "well, it's going to be nice having a female face around."

from the flush on her face and the overcompensatory laugh that leaves her lips, you know she does not mean it as much as she is trying to cover up her embarrassment. the woman before you is not the first person to have dismissed you as a nurse or an intern solely based on your gender, and she will definitely not be the last. so you pretend not to notice, redirecting with a laugh of your own and the question, “how has seolhee been feeling since her dose this morning?”

mrs kim easily jumps on the change in conversation and the attention shifts to the little girl in bed. you listen intently to any side effects of concern, long having learnt to ignore the layered feelings of fatigue, frustration and disappointment in your chest whenever somebody undermines your capabilities, even if it is never ill-intentioned.

because as with any job, there are sacrifices to be made, and putting other people’s comfort before your own is just one of the many.

you do not want to jinx it, but you think that you may not mind night shifts after all.

“what are you thinking about?”

yeosang fills your entire vision, his brown orbs blinking at you curiously with a mellow dusting of blossom pink speckled across his cheeks from your close proximity. you have often been pulled away into a hidden corner or spare room somewhere within the labyrinth of the hospital by one of your boyfriends for a few minutes of company, but this is the first time yeosang has initiated it. his shy nature is endearing though, and it is a much-needed break during your second consecutive night shift.

you tease, "it's a secret," before pressing an innocent kiss against the corner of his lips right where it quirks up bashfully whenever he is around you. yeosang carefully rests his hands on the dips of your hips and brings you in a little closer towards him as you ask, "what about you? what's on your mind?"

“wondering how long we can stay in this storage room for before one of us gets paged.”

his answer stuns you for a second but then you both break out into giggles at the absurdity of his answer. “jongho has rubbed off on you too much," you adoringly flick the bottom of his chin with the tip of your finger. not many people know, but yeosang is just as bad of an influence as all your other boyfriends when he wants to be.

"we could try," he suggests with a grin. "none of my team was rostered on for a night shift with me."

your laugh easily fills the small space, "neither was my team."

“so nobody would come looking for us, unless–”

a discrete tap sounds against the door from right next to where you and yeosang are pressed up against one another. you both fall silent and motionless, pupils wide and breaths held, hoping you have either misheard or whoever is outside will leave soon. but then you hear another tap and it does not stop. the tapping is incessant, obviously trying to gain the attention of you two. yeosang ducks down as you raise the blinds of the small window on the door and you peer out to find–

–fucking wooyoung squashed right up against the glass pane with a cheshire grin. you finish yeosang’s sentence for him, “unless one of our boyfriends do.”

wooyoung perks up immediately at the word 'boyfriends' as if that is his cue. "hi," he announces, "are you guys making out? i heard yeosang."

you sputter while yeosang pops up beside you with a horrified expression at the younger’s uncouth question. said person beams cheekily, “can i join?”

wooyoung’s breath fogs up the glass with every word he says but he is unfazed. your boyfriend simply rubs the glass with the sleeve of his coat, presses his face up against the window again and continues to look at you both with a dazzling, expectant smile. when neither of you respond, he winks for good measure.

wooyoung flinches and shrieks when you tap the glass right between his eyes. he jerks back enough for you to push the door open and step out through the gap with mirth bubbling in your chest. you playfully drag your fingers across his chest, then tease with faux coyness, “break time is over, sorry.”

the indignant whine you receive in response is more than enough for the amusement to spill out of your chest as you walk away. you will make it up to him with triple the amount of kisses once both of you are home. for now, you walk back to your department, pleased that yeosang’s oncology ward is not far from yours.

even during the late hours of a night shift, the hospital is never completely quiet. the rhythmic sounds of beeping machines interspersed by footsteps and closing doors follow you down the corridors of the paediatric ward. what truly sobers you out of the lighthearted moment you just had, though, are the occasional whimpers; of discomfort, of pain, of nightmares.

you enter seolhee’s room alone–your interns and junior resident scheduled only for the day shift–to find the little girl also by herself. her parents must have decided to go home, having already spent countless consecutive nights by her side since she commenced second-line chemotherapy last week.

seolhee received a dose of nelarabine just this morning so you need to keep a close eye on her. a quick flick through the chart on her rolling cart shows that the nurse on night shift had taken her vitals just two hours ago with no abnormalities.

“doctor snowflake?”

you startle at the quiet murmur. turning to look at the bed, seolhee is looking at you with slow, blinking eyes and a tiny smile. your own eyes soften as you lower yourself down towards her, “why are you still awake?”

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

you scan her face with concern, “are you feeling pain anywhere? feeling sick?”

seolhee shakes her head in reassurance. then in a small voice, she answers, “just lonely.”

the tension in your shoulders releases only slightly. the little girl before you may be feeling all right physically…but at what cost? your chest tightens with humbling clarity–you may sacrifice a lot as a doctor, but your patients sacrifice so much more. neither is it a choice for them.

it is a relatively quiet night; you can spend time with her. and even if you did not have time, you can make time for her.

you pull a chair closer to sit down, gesturing for her consent to lift up her blankets to check her skin for signs of bruising or infection. she nods and you ask, “why doctor snowflake?” to keep her mind occupied.

seolhee glances at your name badge. “because you still have the snowflake sticker and snowflakes are pretty, just like you.”

the line insertion site on her chest is free of discharge and irritation and you fix the front of her hospital gown. “that must also be why nurse hwa calls you a snowflake,” you fondly tap the tip of her nose as she giggles.

“my name means snow,” she tells you proudly. “my parents named me seolhee because i was born on the first day of snow.”

“they named you well, seolhee. you really are a special gift, a precious snowflake.” in the muffled quiet of the hospital ward, you let go of your professionalism for a brief moment to make a hushed promise, “one day, you will be able to join all the other snowflakes outside–free to flutter and land wherever you want.”

not confined to the hospital nor your sickness.

seolhee returns a promise of her own, “and when i’m all better, i’ll come back to visit you.” she beckons for you to lean in before she whispers into your ear, “because you’re my favourite.”

you are technically not meant to play favourites, but it is hard when she is far ahead of the others in the unofficial competition. so you whisper back scandalously, like two teenage girl friends gossiping together, not a doctor with her patient in hospital, “you’re my favourite, too.”

the pager in your pocket goes off and seolhee’s face falls with disappointment. one of her hands involuntarily reaches out in your direction, seeking comfort and companionship in a place where people succumb to grief and isolation every day.

seolhee is only a child. she should be sleeping in her own bed at home, the faint glow from her phosphorescent star stickers across her bedroom ceiling guiding her into whimsical dreams. instead, it is the washed out moonlight filtering through the drawn curtains in her hospital room, shadows of snowfall outside drifting gently across her face, that surrounds seolhee’s fragile body in a romanticised nightmare.

“how about this,” you suggest, “if you go to sleep now, i’ll come again tomorrow night and i’ll tell you the story of how nurse hwa and i met.”

her eyes light up. “you promise?”

christmas has passed, but it does not mean that the season of miracles has to come to an end with it. you nod, “i promise.”

this time, when you make a move to stand up, seolhee does not reach out for you. she does not need you to stay; she has your gift of a promise to hold onto instead.

“goodnight, my little snowflake,” you tuck her blanket around her shoulders. affectionately, you brush her thinning hair off her forehead, “love you.”

you almost miss her sleepy response, a mumbled sentence just as you reach the threshold of the door to her room–words from a little girl whose heart is too big for the world to ever truly contain.

“i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

like the heavy snowfall that comes with the arrival of mid-winter, work quickly starts to pile upon itself into layers that do not melt away easily.

you are not the only one nearly thigh-deep in the snow. besides yourself, yunho, yeosang and san are also residents in your final year juggling demanding caseloads and increasing responsibilities as the seniors. hongjoong has been slaving away in preparation for the annual meeting of the korean neurological association, and seonghwa has recently been tasked with revising the departmental policies and procedures for sepsis protocols.

all of that on top of the nine of you studying for specialty board exams, pouring over journal articles to stay up to date and partaking in research projects, it almost becomes a game of never-ending tag in the house with the small increments of time that are lucky enough to overlap with somebody else.

unable to see one another as often, much less spend time together, you and the boys have to make do whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. it comes in varying forms; a shared smile in brief passing through the wards, an extra chocolate in your packed lunch, a quick reminder to wrap your scarf snugly.

this morning, it comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking disposable cup waiting for you in your assigned cubby. you almost miss it and knock it over with the bag you hastily push into the space, but the stark contrast of a black scribble against the whiteness of the cup’s surface catches your eye right before you give your bag a final shove.

it is a cup of takeaway coffee from the cafe downstairs–the one you never buy coffee from because the wait for your order can take up to ten minutes, and that is ten minutes of time every single day that you cannot afford to give up. but for you, there is someone willing to sacrifice those ten minutes of their day.

your eyes soften and eyebrows upturn as you immediately deduce who the coffee is from. if the coffee itself is not a dead giveaway, then the cute, artistic doodle of rudolph surrounded by little hearts around his antlers and the accompanying phrase, ‘you’re my rein-dear’, is.

jongho.

for a brief moment of respite from the unceasing rapidity of the hospital, you are warmed from your very core all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes by your boyfriend’s gesture. one hand starts to reach for your phone to send a text of appreciation when the call of your name jerks you out of the comfort you had been encased in. the cup is set down without finding its sweet home against a pair of lips.

“doctor nam is looking for you.”

you wince. dr. nam, the head of the paediatric department, has never really seemed to take a fancy to you for some reason. you are quite certain you have not done anything to provoke his unwarranted scrutiny, but apparently you can never be too sure.

as you hurry to dr. nam’s office, your legs work on autopilot through the corridors and doorways. your mind bombards itself with a barrage of thoughts, guessing what the meeting may be for, estimating how long it might take, and calculating how far behind you will fall with the onslaught of other tasks you are meant to complete before you are joined by your juniors for your morning rounds.

you do not have time for this, and you most certainly do not have time to–

“–take on an extra intern?”

your eyes blink themselves into a carefully schooled expression of neutrality despite the voiced incredulity in the question you have just asked. dr. nam has summoned you to his office to notify you of an additional intern commencing in the paediatric department and you are to be their assigned senior. what a fucking splendid way to start the day.

it is completely normal for a senior resident to have four juniors to teach, but interns have less experience and confidence, requiring significantly more time and effort–time and effort that you do not know if you have. the thought of another intern in addition to your existing two and second-year resident is enough to make you want to enter hibernation for the rest of your life.

what you also know though is that dr. yoon, another fourth-year resident, only has two juniors under him–both second-years at that. respectfully yet firmly, you bring up such and suggest, “it may be in the best interest of all parties for doctor yoon or somebody else, even doctor ha, to take on the new intern. this can ensure all of our junior doctors are receiving as much one-on-one support and guidance as possible.”

the department head raises an eyebrow, eyes dull and mouth pressed together thinly as he stares back at you dryly. “both doctor yoon and doctor ha are promising candidates to become chief residents. they do not have time to spare to teach interns.”

‘promising candidates’. you are not saying that that is bullshit…but that is bullshit. this is the first time anybody has praised them as such and the only thing that would make them both supposedly more qualified than all the other senior residents is their direct acquaintance with dr. nam himself.

fuck nepotism.

gritting your teeth and taking a deep but restrained breath in what you know is just a losing fight, you yield, “when does the intern start?”

the right corner of dr. nam’s lips raises smugly as he answers, “today. doctor lim will be waiting for you in the resident lounge near my office. orientate him to the department.”

and down the drain goes all thoughts of ending on time tonight. when you stalk over stiffly to the lounge, dr. lim is leaning against the edge of a desk, legs extended and crossed at the ankles in front of him not dissimilar to how his arms are over his chest. one foot taps disinterestedly as he waits. you have a bad feeling you already know what kind of intern he is going to be.

“doctor lim,” you call out.

“you’re doctor l/n?” the intern looks at you snobbishly, very obviously sizing you up and down.

“yes.”

dr. lim takes a lazy glance at the clock on the wall. “you’re kinda late.”

and you’re kinda a fucking asshole, you want to retort. but you have not survived this long without learning how to reel in the burst of flames that erupts inside your chest, so instead you look at him placatingly. “you were not originally part of my planned day. doctor nam asked for a very last minute favour.”

not so much a favour as an outright demand, but he does not need to know.

“i’ll show you around the hospital before our morning rounds,” you state. at his audible sigh whilst pushing himself heavily off the table, you cannot help but get at least one jab in, “an inconvenience for the both of us, but do bear with me.”

after a sarcastic smile, you turn around without waiting to see if he follows. the first place you take him to is where all the personal lockers and cubbies are just to retrieve your forgotten coffee and take a long sip. it spites him as desired, a nose wrinkled in your direction. nevermind the fact that it has long cooled to room temperature–your coffee has never tasted sweeter.

the rest of your day, unfortunately, runs in bitter discord. straight after dr. lim’s orientation, you run yourself dry with morning rounds, acute care and consultations with other paediatric departments, all the while trying to catch dr. lim up to the expected competency for interns. the end of the day does not appear to get any closer within reach and yet, you have no idea where all your time is going.

you end up throwing in the towel exactly seven hours and twenty-three minutes into your shift, when you are trying to teach the very basics of the hospital’s electronic medical record system for the umpteenth time. there are only so many ways you can explain the five steps required to start drafting a progress note for a patient–the very five steps that do not change. if you have to repeat yourself one more fucking time you are going to shoot somebody, doctor’s oath or not, and that somebody has a last name that starts with ‘l’ and rhymes with ‘dim’.

dr. son and dr. yang are sent as the scapegoats to teach the new intern how to navigate the system. with all three of your interns now occupied, you also send dr. lee off to adjust the medication for a few of the patients whose daily lab results had come back this morning with minor fluctuations in numbers.

your body almost crashes the moment your juniors disperse and only then do you tune in to your senses. contrary to the grumbling cavern in your stomach, there is a heavy pressure in your bladder and parchedness in your throat. jongho’s coffee was the last of anything you had consumed today–the lunch wooyoung had packed for you remains untouched in your bag–and you have been unable to step away even briefly to use the bathroom. trudging heavily through the paediatric oncology ward, the one thing that keeps you upright on your feet is that you are not scheduled for an on-call shift tonight. 

“y/n.”

the sweet and low timbre of the voice that sounds from ahead of you immediately turns the one into two things. it takes the remainder of your willpower not to bury yourself straight into san’s arms as he gives you a cute dimpled smile.

your eyes reflect the sparkle of happiness in his once you are close enough, neither of you having planned to run into one another. san is currently in his paediatric haematology rotation and whilst your departments are closely related, it is not very often that your caseloads align for patient consultation directly between the two of you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the pleasant surprise in your words.

san steps in a little, naturally inclined to be physically close to you and answers, “going to check up on seolhee. have you gotten around to seeing her today?”

seolhee was one of the patients you were planning on fitting into your day. one of the nurses had documented nausea and reduced appetite at lunch time, so you were going to review her current antiemetic regimen and decide if it needed adjusting. but then she had ultimately been pushed back as a medium priority on your list with everything else you had to complete first.

when you shake your head, san proposes, “want to join me then?”

your lips quirk upwards at his suggestion. it is sort of piteous that your time walking together through the ward to see a shared patient is the closest to a date you have had with san in the last few weeks. but as he gives you a playful nudge to your side and you back to him like you are strolling along the snowy streets instead of sterile corridors, you are grateful for at least these short moments of interaction.

seolhee’s voice is spirited when she greets you despite the increasingly dark shadows silhouetting her face. you smile, “hi, snowflake. i brought a friend with me this time.”

when san’s gaze is not focused on you, he looks at the little girl with the same softness and deep affection; you like his moon, his patients like his stars. you are unable to imagine san ever working in a career that does not involve children.

“i’m doctor choi,” he introduces himself gently. “i heard you’ve been feeling a bit tired and didn’t really eat lunch today, so i’m here to see what i can do to help you feel better.”

as you bend down slightly to adjust the corner of seolhee’s blanket, san steps behind you to reach for her chart. he unconsciously places his left hand on the nape of your neck and tenderly squeezes out of loving habit. immediately, san feels the tight knots under his fingertips that only surface whenever you are stressed or overworked.

his eyebrows furrow and he dips his head down slightly to softly murmur, “hey, rough day today?”

“just a little,” you admit, looking upwards whilst placing your own hand atop his in reassurance. “don’t worry.”

there is a giggle to the side. seolhee’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you before she cryptically asks, “doctor choi, do you know who nurse hwa is?”

“i do…” san answers, puzzled by the random question.

seolhee looks at you and giggles again with a very directed comment, “i see.”

you have said this before and you will say this again: seolhee is frighteningly perceptive. if she were two decades older, you just know she would be that friend of yours who you are unable to hide any secrets from. leaning in, you whisper, “there are six more of us.”

her eyes widen with curiosity. “do i know any of them?”

of the remaining boys, wooyoung is the only other one who is specialising in paediatrics and likely to have come across seolhee before. “nurse wooyoung,” you divulge.

she sinks back into her pillow at the revelation and nods approvingly as if she is your mother. “good choices,” she supports, san letting out a bright laugh from beside you now having caught on to what the conversation is about.

the rest of the bedside evaluation continues as such. seolhee badgers you both with questions about the rest of your boyfriends–which department they are in, what their names are and most importantly, what they look like so she can keep an eye out for them.

you indulge her with answers, far longer than you should, but it is an easy decision when it comes to anything involving your favourite patient and your boyfriends. you have long learnt that any amount of time that you give to somebody else even at your own expense will always be worth lifetimes more to them than the luxury of a punctual meal or longer shower that you would gain from the time instead.

so when your shift for the day ends and you still have not completed all of your work, you end up staying overtime and it is only then, during the evening, that you are finally able to sit. your stomach no longer growls, body running solely on cortisol, the caffeine from jongho’s coffee having long depleted. you turn on your hospital-issued tablet and pull out a stack of jotted notes. with mid-rotation feedback for your juniors in two days, you have their paperwork to complete before you can even start to scrape away at your actual paperwork.

you do not realise how stiff your neck and shoulders have become from hunching over for a prolonged period until there is a knock at the door of the resident lounge and a timid, “um, doctor l/n?”

“yes?” a soft wince escapes your lips when the movement from looking up sends a brief stab of pain down your back.

the intern standing at the doorway comes scurrying in. “i’m here to give you the report on the pathology results.”

“pathology results?” you repeat, mind blank of patients who had needed a biopsy or tumour excision.

“from doctor jeong? from general surgery?” the intern’s voice trails off, face blanching at the creeping possibility that he has found the wrong resident.

“doctor j–oh,” you suppress the sudden tug at the corners of your lips to reassure, “yes, my apologies, i forgot. thank you.”

you have certainly not forgotten about an entire pathology report you have requested–this is simply yunho being your boyfriend. waiting until the intern has scurried off, you flick the clipboard open to find exactly what you had been expecting: anything but a report.

there is a sole sticky note, neon green, that grins right up at you with another of yunho's scrawled jokes. 'are you a snowman? cause i wanna stick my carrot into your mou–'

the clipboard slams shut with a resounding clap in the emptiness of the lounge. back ramrod straight, your eyes dart around scandalously even though you are the only person in the room to witness the contents of the flirtatious message.

"oh my fucking god," you guffaw. "jeong yunho!"

(from somewhere within the general surgery department three floors down, somebody lets out a delighted giggle of glee at the thought of a certain message having been received.)

your laugh eventually fades out with a poignant sigh as you peel the sticky note off the clipboard and stare at it in your hands. the start of this year has already been the toughest year in your residency thus far and it is no easy feat for nine people in the same or similar situation to balance a romantic relationship simultaneously.

you must give, and give, and give, but like you have experienced today, you also receive. it is never anything huge; a coffee, some food, a note, a conversation. yet for now, that is enough to keep moving forward even if your feet are buried deep under the snow.

however, you will soon come to realise that the issue does not lie in whether you are receiving enough or not, but in the fact that you can unknowingly give away too much of yourself without even realising.

you give the little boy and his family who are in front of you a smile that conveys both appreciation and apologeticness. if you were in their position, surrounded by inexperienced interns learning to properly insert a central line, you would be on edge too.

dr. yang and dr. son stand off to the side, hands clasped together in front of themselves with concealed nervousness for dr. lim. said man is anything but nervous, when really, he is the only intern who should be nervous out of the three of them. ever since he started, dr. lim has consistently performed with a shocking lack of care and willingness to learn. but you had learnt the hard way the first time you tried to bring up this issue that dr. lim is not somebody you can touch because of his connections, so you have no choice but to tolerate his incompetence.

you beckon for dr. lim to come closer so that you can show him the proper angle of needle entry. he does, at least smart enough to know he needs to maintain some level of professionalism in front of actual patients lest the hospital be sued.

“for an internal jugular vein catheterisation while the head is in the neutral position, what is the angle of needle entry?” you question.

dr. lim guesses, “twenty?”

“thirty to forty-five, and the angle adjusts based on the ultrasound image,” you correct, not having expected him to remember despite the numerous times you have already taught him on physical phantoms. your gloved fingers trace over the patient’s clavicle towards the sternum as you continue explaining, “locate both the sternal and clavicular heads of the sternocleidomastoid muscle. this forms the triangle where your IVJ lies beneath. the needle should aim towards the ipsilateral nipple.”

positioning the tip of the needle at the apex of the triangle for a few seconds, you then pass it to dr. lim with the instruction, “show me the positioning and angle of the needle only.”

the intern takes the needle from your hand, his other hand roughly probing the sternocleidomastoid muscle before angling the needle perpendicular to the young boy’s neck like he is a fucking hostage. your voice is curt as you rush to correct dr. lim, adjusting his hands with verbal prompts, before you slip the needle out of his hands to fully take over the procedure now.

“you’re not ready yet,” you assert when he glares at you, further reiterating, “when you can independently position and angle the needle, and you can demonstrate to me that you can use the correct pressure when inserting the needle in a mannequin, then you are ready.” you do not care if he has connections with dr. nam. you make it clear to your intern that he cannot fuck around with his theoretical knowledge and phantom training and still expect you to let him practice on real people.

outside the room, wooyoung winces in sympathy for you as he passes by and catches the end of your firm reprimand. you have come home far too many times with pent-up frustration for him–and all your boyfriends–not to know about your notorious intern. wooyoung hands over the central line kit he is returning to the ward’s nursing station then dawdles by the desk.

he waits in hopes of catching your eye and giving you a smile to equip you with the patience he knows must be needed to deal with dr. lim. your boyfriend’s face softens unconsciously as he watches your expression, now concentrated with furrowed brows as you steadily insert the needle whilst monitoring the ultrasound, because wooyoung thinks you look the most charismatic when you are working. when a nurse calls out for wooyoung, he takes one last glance at you before walking away.

you straighten up and step away for dr. lee to take over the rest of the procedure, just in time to see the back of your boyfriend’s figure darting away with purpose. his long unruly hair flies around with mirrored chaos that you could recognise anywhere. and as you explain to the patient’s parents the remainder of the catheterisation procedure, the smile on your face is much more genuine than it would have been mere seconds ago.

it continues to linger subconsciously long after the brief glimpse you get of your boyfriend. for wooyoung, too, it is the same. working together at the hospital means that you can still be a source of light for one another even if only from a far distance and that is always what gets you through to the end of your shift.

when five o’clock finally rolls around, you head to your locker whilst checking your phone. there are no notifications from hongjoong, so you type a quick message to let him know you are clocking off and going to his department first. it is one of those rare days where you two have managed to organise a date–just a quick and simple dinner before heading home since your shifts end at the same time, but a date nonetheless.

“good thing i caught you before you left. doctor nam wants to talk to you.”

you look up to see dr. lee already changed into a puffer jacket and his backpack on, a cheeky grin on his face as he delivers the message and adds, “bet you’re in trouble.”

scoffing playfully, you quip back, “probably for something you did wrong.”

he shrugs exaggeratedly and sing-songs, “who knows,” before darting away with a goodbye.

you sigh and delete your drafted text to hongjoong, alerting him that you will be going to the department head’s office and for him to meet you outside if he finishes. then with heavy steps, you go to find dr. nam. with your stroke of luck, dr. lee is probably right about you being in trouble for something.

and he is right.

“did you tell one of your interns that he wasn’t ready for a clinical task in front of your patients?”

dr. nam’s direct question the moment you step into his office is enough to stun your mind into blankness at how a situation could be wrongfully warped like so. blinking distractedly you start to explain, “doctor lim was tasked with simulating the correct needle placement against the skin–nothing more and nothing less. i had to reiterate those expectations when he–”

“so he was not allowed to insert the central line, correct?” dr. nam interrupts.

you frown involuntarily and parrot, “allowed? it was not a subjective decision to–”

“doctor l/n, you only need to answer the question that i ask. was doctor lim allowed to insert the central line or not?” he interjects yet again.

you barely manage to swallow the rising heat in your chest to answer, “no.”

“you said he was not ready in front of the patient, yes or no?”

“yes.”

dr. nam leans back in his chair. “have your other interns inserted the needle before?”

despite his position as your department head, you keep your mouth shut in defiance because dr. nam is simply fishing for the answer he wants to hear regardless of context. he does not need to hear that dr. lim is a shit intern–all he wants to hear is that you are treating your juniors differently.

as expected, without waiting for your response, dr. nam states, “there have been some…concerns raised that you are not giving your interns equal opportunities.”

“is that what doctor lim told you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“you do not need to know,” he dismisses thoughtlessly, “the point is, there seems to be a bias in the amount of support and guidance you are providing doctor lim. perhaps it is your lack of teaching and provision of learning opportunities that is hindering his full potential.”

struggling to keep your voice polite as frustration quickens your breaths, you defend, “i have taught him the theory numerous times, allowed him to observe, provided him with supervised mannequin practice and step-by-step grading on actual patients, and my experience as a senior resident and his direct supervisor tells me that he does not yet have the competency to insert a central line.”

dr. nam hums as if he is considering your words but the way he distractedly brushes the dust off the surface of his table tells you otherwise. “i see there are differing opinions. this all comes down to miscommunication and lack of clear expectations set from the both of you. i suggest you take some time to sit down and talk to doctor lim about what opportunities he will have moving forward.”

from behind your back, your hands clench together, muscles quivering from how hard your fingers dig into your palms. yet you do not say anything–you cannot say anything, not when dr. nam simply dismisses you with, “i expect there to be no further issues in the future.”

and just like that, the one-sided discussion is over.

your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.

you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.

if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.

some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smiles before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.

you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”

you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”

“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”

“oh.”

the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.

“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.

you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.

it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.

you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.

the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.

by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.

you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.

san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.

you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.

“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.

your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”

despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.

“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”

your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”

san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”

“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”

you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.

the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.

“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”

you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.

“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”

your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.

nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.

swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”

a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.

mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.

“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”

sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won’t forget this time.”

you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”

“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.

an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”

another white lie.

before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.

then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.

a third white lie.

but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.

winter passes and spring arrives, but contrary to the pulsating liveliness that awakens with the season, things start to dull with repetition and roboticism.

your rotation in the paediatric oncology ward comes to an end and you commence your next rotation in paediatric haematology. whilst your acquaintanceship with your new junior team is nowhere near as close as you had gotten to dr. lee, son and yang, there is also no more dr. lim to deal with. still, unlike the snow that has now long melted away, your workload does not cease nor diminish.

you wake up and you go to work; you manage your patients, teach your juniors and have on-call shifts; you go home, you eat, you shower; you squeeze time to see your boyfriends, you sleep for a few hours; you wake up and you go to work. the cycle repeats itself, neither you nor your boyfriends able to escape from its grip.

seolhee, too, suffers from the torment of her own cycle. second-line therapy had eventually been deemed ineffective against her leukemic cells, requiring her to undergo salvage chemotherapy and putting her at increased risk of myelosuppression. because of this, she is one of the few patients who have remained on your caseload despite the rotation change.

the most unsettling change that the toll of fatigue can have on a person is not the change in their demeanour but in their eyes. and as you complete a routine check-up on seolhee, her eyes watching you with a slight dullness to them that is not due to the late hours of midnight, you do not realise that your own pupils look the same.

you give seolhee a soft smile as you tell her, “i’ll get nurse hwa to check on you in the morning. how does that sound, snowflake?”

“he’s busy?” she asks quietly.

you shake your head. “he’s at home. both him and nurse woo are working day shifts this week.”

“what about doctor choi?”

“he finished his haematology rotation,” you sigh regretfully. “he’s in the NICU now.”

seolhee mulls over the information with her eyes downcast, then murmurs, “are you busy? can you teach me how to braid your hair?” she absent-mindedly touches the nape of her neck where her fingertips meet the smooth skin of her bare scalp. “that way i can braid my own hair when it grows back.”

you still have notes from today to write and tomorrow’s chemotherapy doses to confirm with the pharmacy and platelet orders to put through before you can chance an hour or two of sleep. but what difference does the amount of sleep make when you wake up from both with the same bone-deep exhaustion anyway?

seolhee’s eyes brighten the slightest when you pull a chair up beside her bed and it solidifies your decision to answer, “of course,” because as a doctor, time is not for yourself but for other people. you have to make time out of nothing.

you tug on the elastic around your ponytail and shake your hair out, sectioning off the right side to work with. from your experience teaching all of your boyfriends, it had quickly become clear that braiding was easiest learnt with less hair to work with. splitting the sectioned hair into three locks, you lace them through your fingers to keep them separate as you talk seolhee through the steps.

“take the right strand and bring it over into the middle like this,” you teach, moving your fingers deftly but slowly. “then take the left strand and bring it over into the middle. then we repeat it again–right into the middle, left into the middle.”

your fingers continue weaving the locks of hair over and under, the motions familiar and the memory of teaching somebody else even more so. when you have braided almost to the ends of your hair, you release the braid then tuck your chair closer to the bed so that seolhee can reach easily.

“here, you try.”

at your encouragement, the little girl does as she remembers and starts to section off three locks of hair. her fingers accidentally tug too hard when she encounters a knot and you both rush to apologise.

“sorry, my hair is kind of tangled,” you chuckle lowly as heat rushes to the tip of your ears. “i haven’t used conditioner in a long time.”

“that’s okay. me neither,” seolhee jokes, giggling at her own words before asking you, “why not?”

you distractedly run your fingers through the hair that is not in seolhee’s hands as you slowly answer, “it saves me five minutes each time. it doesn’t sound like a lot, but…”

“...in the hospital it’s a lot,” seolhee finishes solemnly.

you nod. “five minutes can be a long hug before someone leaves forever. it can be somebody’s last confession or last promise. five minutes can be the difference between life and death.”

hush settles over her room while she eases the knot apart, six-year-old fingers gentle with the understanding of an adult several times her age. after a few minutes, she changes the topic. “who was the fastest learner out of your boyfriends? was it nurse hwa?”

“it was actually doctor jeong,” you reveal.

“from general surgery?”

you laugh at seolhee’s memory, “yes, doctor jeong from general surgery. he has the steadiest and most skillful hands.”

“are his braids also the prettiest, then?”

“they are very pretty, but i think doctor choi–the younger choi–does the prettiest braids.”

seolhee’s fingers pause so she can admire the beginnings of her handiwork. “do they still braid your hair?” she asks.

“not anymore,” you give a miniscule shrug. “there isn’t as much time to do things like this and certain things just lose their novelty over time.”

she looks at you curiously. “what does novelty mean?”

“something new and unfamiliar…in a sense, special.”

“why do things lose their novelty then?” seolhee frowns.

you hum, unsure how to answer such a simple yet riveting question when you yourself have never thought about it. you deliberate over your words, “i guess when we see, do and say things that were originally different over and over again, they can simply become habits and part of our routines. we do things just for the sake of doing them and eventually they lose their meaning. when that happens, sometimes you just end up not doing them anymore.”

wistful nostalgia fills you as seolhee continues braiding your hair, the ticklish intimacy sending your mind adrift to a time when your boys would do the same–back to a time when your hair was smooth and knot-free because you still used conditioner. but change is inevitable and you have no time to dwell on what used to be. so after seolhee finishes her braid, you return to your cycle of work, home and sleep.

by the time you get home in the afternoon, most of your boyfriends have long left for their shifts save for san, who was also on-call, and yunho, who is still not back from an emergency trauma surgery. you are barely able to keep your eyes open when you stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower. this time, you completely forgo both conditioner and shampoo, simply wetting your hair as you roughly scrub your face and the rest of your body. you do not bother to dry your hair either, keeping it wrapped in a towel before you sink into bed.

you have no recollection of falling asleep when the soft click of the front door opening and closing wakes you up. eyes still closed, you drowsily listen to yunho’s soft thuds and murmurs as he treads his usual path through the house upon returning. your boyfriend pads softly to the dining room, to the bathroom…then he goes straight to his own bedroom.

no longer do you stay within the clutches of rest. yunho has always, no matter how exhausted, taken time to give you and the others a kiss before he heads to sleep. it is his habit, his routine. you lay awake for a long time, coming up with excuses as to why he has broken his cycle today, waiting to see if yunho will get up again and come into your room.

he does not and you eventually fall asleep again in restless fitfulness.

this will soon become the new norm; yunho will not take an extra five minutes to go into your bedrooms and give you tender kisses. in due time, your heart will no longer clench in disappointment nor will you lay awake in false hope whenever he returns from his shift.

you will simply drift back into the realms of unconsciousness seconds after hearing the click of the front door open, succumbing into peaceful sleep again before the door has even closed shut. after all, things lose their novelty over time.

you do not normally watch dramas or tv shows, or anything that requires a recurring time commitment, really. for one, that is hours upon hours of time that could be used elsewhere, and two, the scattered time you can find here and there is so sparse you often forget the events of the last episode by the time you watch the next.

but your fingers currently hover over the first episode of an airing drama, one too many clips of this particular show having appeared on your feed for you not to crack, so you decide to give it a go. you can watch maybe half an episode before you should head to sleep since your shift starts early tomorrow, but maybe, just maybe, tonight you will spoil yourself with the entire episode.

keeping the volume low on your phone since you are in the living room with a few of your boyfriends, you tuck your feet closer towards yourself on the couch and play the first episode. jongho’s ears perk up at the starting sounds of the introduction from where he is in the kitchen reheating some leftovers and he comments, “it’s been a while since you last watched something.”

you nod just as jongho’s words catch the attention of wooyoung walking past. “you’re starting a drama?” he asks, peering at your phone with a slight snicker. “damn, you’re going to spend even less time with us now.”

it is an off-handed joke with no ill intentions, yet it digs itself uncomfortably inside your chest, even more so when a few of the others also chuckle. your finger twitches to stop your episode. the couch sinks beside you under the weight of mingi, who has moved from his position on the floor to your right with quiet comfort and veiled protectiveness.

“we’ve all been spending less time with one another,” he vaguely points out.

hongjoong looks up from the systematic review he is reading on gene replacement therapy, still rushing to complete his presentation. “you’re right. that’s funny,” he remarks, “i can’t remember the last time we went out on dates, even when just any two of us.”

wooyoung shrugs, “we’ve all been tired.”

your mouth opens before you can stop yourself from snapping, “so why was i the only one who was the butt of the joke?”

“woah, sorry,” hongjoong winces slightly, “we didn’t know it would make you feel upset or anything.”

it is not sadness so much as guilt that pricks at your conscience, because there is slight truth to the situation–you haven’t been making as much effort, but neither has anyone. you are not the one drifting away from the others. you are all drifting apart in your own directions.

jongho steps in to smoothen the situation with a blanket statement, “we’ve all been tired and busy. nobody’s pointing fingers at anybody. drop it.” the microwave sounds and he turns to take his food out.

something is pressed into your hand and you glance down to see mingi wordlessly handing you a set of earphones. he gives you a small smile, nudging your hand with the earphones and a beckon of his brows. you return his smile and place one in your ear before offering him the other. mingi puts it in whilst reaching over to hold your phone in your stead, then taps his own shoulder with his free hand for you to rest your head against.

your boyfriend adjusts the volume higher as he murmurs, “it’s a bit hard to hear,” but you know better. mingi does not care for dramas and the volume is already plenty loud. sometimes, additional noise is just needed to drown out other noise.

the drama continues to play but you heed no attention to it. wooyoung has walked back into his room to finish the lecture he is watching, jongho now sits at the dining table to eat, and hongjoong is working on his presentation again.

the conversation with your boyfriends has ended with the conclusion that there have been no dates recently. yet, there is no extension of the conversation to make a date happen. it would be a lie to say that you have not noticed their absence, but after the first couple of times they had to be postponed or called off entirely, they just started slipping from your mind completely.

you wonder when you had all stopped making the intentional effort to go on dates, but most of all, you wonder when you had all stopped caring.

you only watch half an episode that night. you do not pick it back up again either.

she is alive.

there is a webbing of tubes and wires encasing her entire body–blood transfusions, vasopressors, monitoring lines of all sorts–but she is alive. kim seolhee is still alive.

only at the physical sight of her chest moving up and down does the reassurance unlock the tautness in your joints, the strained muscles in your body almost failing to hold your weight upright as you lean subtly against the threshold of the door.

you had headed straight for seolhee’s room before everything else the moment you had arrived for your shift. the usual fifteen-minute drive to the hospital had been shortened to half its time when mingi had arrived home from his shift just as you were getting ready to leave for yours with the news that seolhee had been readmitted into the ED with sepsis and was now in the paediatric intensive care unit. you had driven on autopilot the entire way swallowing the thick surge of panic that kept rising up your throat despite mingi’s repeated reassurances that she was stable; she just needed further monitoring.

“i thought i was going to die.”

those are the first words that faintly leave her lips when she sees you, her face mercifully free of a ventilator and oxygen mask, which is always a good sign. you weakly breathe out, tone as light as you can make it, “well, thank god you’re alive.”

“missed you too much, doctor snowflake,” seolhee’s hand twitches in your direction with attempted cheekiness as you walk closer. “i came back to follow you to your next rotation.”

despite the situation, you break out into a small bout of giggles at her morbid humour. you had sated seolhee’s curiosity by telling her your entire year of scheduled rotations and by some twist of fate, your PICU rotation had commenced two weeks ago. with a fond tap of her nose that conceals the clenching sadness inside your heart, you joke, “you just like riding in the ambulance, don’t you?”

“maybe,” she grins innocently. “the sirens are pretty cool.”

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, her answer is what truly makes your throat constrict and voice waver. your words are hardly audible–afraid to break down fully in front of your patient, in front of sweet seolhee–when you respond, “i knew it.”

but she is ever perceptive as she comforts, “don’t cry.”

“i’m not,” you shamelessly counter, even as heat starts to pool around your eyes, and the both of you laugh at your absurdity. but in certain situations if you do not laugh, the only other option will be to cry and you cannot have that because that would be unprofessional–neither would you be able to stop–so you will wait until you are only in the presence of your boyfriends to let yourself go.

sleep starts to take over seolhee again and she drowsily blinks at you, energy depleted from her infection, cancer and the numerous drugs pumping throughout her battered body. she sinks herself a little deeper into her crinkly mattress and fights off her closing eyelids just long enough to tell you once more, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

it is already nearing the end of summer now despite the unchanging pristine whiteness of winter within the hospital walls. yet, you cannot bear to point that out, not when you were so close to losing her phrase of affection forever.

her eyes close and you watch the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling. thank god she is alive.

your prayer comes from y/n, but the bitter resentment at the irony of those five words comes from doctor l/n. your entire life is dedicated to saving the lives of others, yet time and time again you are forced to wonder just how much power you truly have as a doctor in the face of fate and the gods above; where it makes you wonder whether your efforts and sacrifices will always be in vain if your patient is somebody whose time on earth has just simply run out.

and it appears that you are not the only person weighed down by the harsh insecurities of your career today. yeosang’s knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the floor against the wall of the storage room you two are hiding in, mere hours later after your turbulent morning with seolhee.

“he was our age,” yeosang finally murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “he was admitted for a suspected brain tumour only because a sudden headache caused him to lose consciousness.”

whereas seolhee had been a case of could have–she could have died–there are cases like yeosang’s patient. the would have lived; the what if and the if only.

yeosang’s chest shudders as he exhales, “he had had consistent migraines for months but he never did anything about them. he would’ve lived, otherwise. turns out it was a brain tumour all along and it ended up rupturing because it was left untreated…he didn’t survive the surgery.”

your boyfriend rarely cries and today is no exception either. yet the way he leans into your side for both physical and emotional support shows just how much his heart is hurting for this death. death is something you all learn to become accustomed to in the medical field, but desensitisation does not equate to immunity. there will always be ones that hit harder than others.

it is a harrowing death when the patient is close in age because it makes you think of yourself–of your friends, of your lovers–and it hurts that much more to think that it could have been any of those people. this morning has already left your emotions strung tight and heart vulnerable, and very quickly you can feel the same swell of tears threatening to demolish the walls you had hastily built to keep yourself collected.

you want to cry but then that would be taking away from yeosang’s hurt, so you will wait until you are home instead. for now, you tug yeosang into your arms, holding him steady against your chest as if that will support your own walls and keep them from crumbling.

by the time you get home after your shift, you are no more than a mere husk of yourself. you have drained every single reservoir of yours that holds your love, care and courage for your patients. all that is left are the fragile remnants waiting to break at the slightest touch. you trudge down the corridor to your room, muddled mind trying to recall whether san is home tonight to hold you in your sleep, when you walk past the partially-closed door to seonghwa’s bedroom.

instinctively, you glance inside. he lays listlessly on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and you immediately know.

where there are the could haves and the would haves, there are also the should haves; the unjust, the young deaths. those that should not even be an existing phenomenon in the world no matter how cruel the devil may be–those who should have lived.

seonghwa, who wears his entire heart on his sleeve, has lost a PICU baby at work today.

for a split second, there is a shameful thought that suddenly infiltrates your mind–to continue walking past as if you had not seen him until you reach the confines of your own room. but you could never do that to any of your boyfriends, much less seonghwa. seonghwa, who treats each and every baby like his own, who hides in the bathroom to cry after he sees the parents hurting, whose love and empathy is a never-ending fountain of supply.

you knock softly on the door so as not to startle him then gently call out his name. it takes the door opening a little wider for him to realise you are stepping into his room and he immediately sits up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of you despite the blotchiness of his skin.

“sorry, love. i didn’t notice you standing there,” he apologises.

you shake your head, heart clenching at the sight of him pretending to be okay. you walk closer to him until you can smooth down the back of his hair with kind hands. “do you want to talk?” you tenderly ask.

the tension releases in seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he sags, no longer keeping up his facade at the knowledge that you can see right through him. he looks up at you tiredly with his swollen eyes, “do you have time to talk?”

time you can always make. perhaps the question that should be asked is whether you have the capacity to talk…the emotional capacity. frankly, you do not. you yourself need to cry, whether for seolhee or out of mental exhaustion itself it does not matter anymore. but saying no would be putting your needs before his, and putting your needs after everybody else’s is all that you have known as a doctor, so you will wait until you are alone in the darkness under your bed covers to finally let yourself go.

for now, you rest seonghwa’s head in your lap and brush away his tears, soaking up the pain of his words into your own heart instead. only when his breathing evens out and he no longer stirs under your fingers do you finally ease yourself to lie down next to him, barely hanging on to the edges of your own consciousness. you fall asleep before your tears can even begin to gather underneath your closed eyelids.

that night, you dream of drowning–stifling lungs and gasping mouthfuls–until you eventually suffocate in silence and become swallowed by the black depths of the water. the pillow underneath your cheek is damp when you jolt awake, but whether it is from cold sweat or tears you do not know.

you are convinced dr nam’s job description includes making your life hell. no matter where your rotation takes place, the department head always manages to find fault in something you do…or do not do.

“do you know what our hospital prides itself in?” dr. nam asks rhetorically. “we are not simply a hospital–we are a family. we help each other out in times of need.”

there is a rising snort in your throat that threatens to reveal your cynicism, knowing that when the phrase ‘family’ comes from somebody of higher authority, it is just a cover-up of mock care for the employees. dr. nam continues to smile, not unkindly, but with obvious artificiality that makes it look dangerous as he asks, “so how come you are not helping out in the NICU? i know that the attending has asked you for help.”

overnight on-call shifts already have fewer staff rostered on than usual, but with one of the junior residents having called in sick, the NICU is currently understaffed. the attending physician had paged you earlier asking if you could help out with some of the routine admissions and write up the patient histories and physicals, but you had apologised and declined. for one, you are assigned to the PICU, two, you are the most senior resident on that shift and three, you have endless tasks with far higher priority to complete instead.

you struggle to keep the exasperation out of your voice, sick of being flagged for ridiculous reasons and much less when you are seventeen hours into your shift, “most of the NICU admissions were stable and did not require urgent attention. their H&Ps can be completed later when the juniors are back.”

“ah,” dr. nam nods his head condescendingly, “doctor l/n, you stick by the rules too much. where is your sense of comradeship for this family that we have at kq–if not the entire hospital, then at least within our own department? if i remember correctly, there was a similar incident with one of your past interns.”

it is absolutely ridiculous that even months later you are still being faulted for the central line incident with dr. lim. you stay silent, expression dark and jaw grinding no matter how hard you try not to let your frustration show. 

“go help out in the NICU for an hour or two. i’m sure your own unit is relatively quiet right now,” he instructs. “remember, we’re a family that helps one another.” dr. nam’s grin grows wider, words dripping with saccharine honey that makes it impossible to refute.

“yes, doctor nam,” you respond through gritted teeth. double-checking you have your pager on you so that your actual ward can still reach you for emergencies, you take the elevator down to the NICU.

the next few hours are spent stretching yourself thin over both units as you run back and forth managing patients, answering questions, and most irritatingly, completing tasks that should really be allocated to juniors. it is not until you dazedly mistype the same word four times into the EMR that it registers in your groggy mind that it is already early in the morning, past the quiet time that is your usual window for a brief hour of sleep.

you inhale slowly until your chest is full then let out the longest sigh, your head tilted upwards, eyes closed and shoulders slouching as the world’s worth of resignation weighs down on you. it is 5:30AM, only five more hours–or three if you are lucky–left until the end of your shift. keeping your eyes shut for another few seconds, you recollect yourself to make it through the morning.

a resident appears in front of you, seemingly chipper as he stretches his arms above his head and jokes to a passing nurse that he had an amazing nap in the call room. the brief composure you had gathered immediately dissipates when you hear him. not only have you sacrificed your own sleep to help a unit that is not your own, but there are NICU residents who have taken the liberty to nap instead.

that’s it. you have done multitudes more than your duty requires you to do so. greeting the well-rested resident with a passive-aggressive smile, even if you are aware he is not at fault, you bid your farewell with the instruction, “tell your attending that doctor l/n has gone back to her own unit now.”

you punch the elevator’s number to your floor a little harder than intended, grateful that there is nobody else inside to hear your loud exhale of weariness and defeat. the floor display slowly flickers with higher numbers. maybe being back in the PICU will give you peace of mind.

the elevator doors open to directly reveal a ruckus beside the nursing station. “fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, finally letting a curse slip through. “what now?”

“what do you mean you’re not a doctor?” a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the small huddle of people as you walk closer.

“i am a nurse, mrs ryeo, not a doctor,” somebody answers.

you could recognise his voice anywhere–it is wooyoung. your exasperation quickly turns into concern and you ease yourself through a few nurses so that you can reach your boyfriend.

mrs ryeo states, “but you’re a man.”

“that is an excellent observation, but unfortunately, that does not change my job qualifications.” despite wooyoung’s innate cheek, it does not usually appear when he is dealing with parents or the occasional adult patient, which tells you that this woman is either a repeating offender or has been kicking up a fuss for some time now.

“hello, mrs ryeo,” you intercept, stepping over to wooyoung’s side. “how can i help you?”

the middle-aged lady scans you up and down with disdain before scoffing, “i don’t want a nurse; i want a doctor.”

your patience has long been running on thin ice and if you did not care about your career, you would turn around, walk two steps away, then twirl around with a curtsey whilst introducing yourself as doctor l/n just to fuck with her. at least wooyoung would laugh.

unfortunately, you do care about your career so you can only explain with a placating smile on your face that you are a doctor–a fourth-year resident at that. mrs ryeo ignores you in favour of rudely pointing and beckoning behind you. “hey, you,” she demands, “see my child.”

a glance over your shoulder reveals that she has pointed to one of your male interns. he does not make a move to step forward, warily gesturing back towards you as he explains, “she’s the senior resident on call right now.”

“i don’t want a fucking resident. i want a real doctor,” she opposes.

“mrs ryeo,” you grit your teeth, “he is my intern. i am a doctor–the most senior doctor currently on shift–”

“bullshit you’re the most senior doctor. i refuse to let you treat my child. i want a male doctor.”

your fingers flutter out to grasp the side of wooyoung’s scrubs, partially to ground yourself, but also because you know that he will not stand there and let you be disrespected. however, there is absolutely no way any of you will be able to talk some sense into her, so it is better to just save your breaths. “dr. ahn will not be in until this afternoon,” you simply state.

“then i’ll wait,” she snaps stubbornly.

you nod, “as you wish. i’ll let him know.” you walk away and the nurses take that as their cue to disperse and continue with their duties now that the situation has been somewhat diffused. 

wooyoung follows you aside to where there are less people. “you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes.

with a dismissive shrug you answer, “you get used to it,” then change the topic to gently remind, “document it on the EMR that she refused to be seen and then fill out an incident report.”

wooyoung nods but continues to look at you unconvinced. “do you finish at seven today? i’ll wait for you,” he offers.

“no,” you grimace, “i probably have to wait until the morning rounds are over. you go home first.” a soft laugh escapes from you when your boyfriend’s eyebrows knit together and you reassure, “i’m fine, really. i should get back to work. i’ll see you at home, woo.”

you turn around before his expression or any further questions can weaken your resolve. from somewhere near the nursing station, you know that mrs ryeo is still staring at you scathingly. breaking down now in any shape or form would only serve to fuel her misogynistic prejudices. so you hold your head up high, pretend that this is just any other day, then continue with the remainder of your shift telling yourself that nothing can make you break.

it is nearing eleven in the morning by the time you get home. your feet mechanically take you to your doorstep and your hands slide the cover of the keypad lock upwards to tap in the number code, mind dissociated from your heart and the rest of your body. like water and hot oil, you keep them separated, otherwise dwelling on how they feel together will inevitably lead to a sudden outburst of emotion.

you feel yourself being dragged back to your senses, automatically tuning in to the rowdiness that increases in volume when you open the door. it is one of those rare sundays where more than half of you are home together. there are shouts of teasing banter, cabinets closing shut and the clink of glassware being washed. vaguely, you can also hear a passionate squabble between two of your boyfriends over something trivial.

whereas before, coming home to your boys would have cooled down your bubbling oil, today they feel like the water you are trying to keep away.

“i swear it wasn’t me,” you hear.

san’s voice is slightly muffled as he teases back, “yeah, whatever you say, yunho.”

you slowly walk into the open living room from where you can also see the kitchen. the countertop surface is covered with plastic bags, groceries for nine spilling out from them as jongho systematically pulls the cold items out to hand them over to san. said boyfriend has his body halfway inside the fridge whilst yunho holds the door open by leaning on it with his weight.

“it’s true! i didn’t drink any this week,” yunho defends himself. “y/n didn’t buy them!”

you falter at the mention of your name. without the context of the conversation, you are suddenly left wondering whether you had messed something up.

“speak of the devil,” yeosang announces, spotting you as he returns from the bathroom. he comes up and gives you quick squeeze in greeting.

yunho perks up at the sight of you. “perfect! let me prove it to you,” he tells san. determined to attest his supposed innocence over something that you still do not know what, your tallest boyfriend turns to face you and asks, “did you restock our protein shakes last week?”

you frown with an unintelligent stutter as you try to recall the sudden information. last week, you had gone out to get some fresh groceries but had suddenly been called in for a shift, so you had had to give up on everything you did not deem as essential. san and yunho’s shakes, unfortunately, did not make the cut.

“no, i–”

“see!” yunho exclaims, whipping around to face san again before you can finish the rest of your sentence. his tone is triumphant as he reiterates, “i told you it was y/n who was the culprit, not me!”

san chuckles with fondness at the other, “okay, you’re forgiven.”

a bitter taste immediately spreads throughout your mouth along with the flaming heat that now covers your cheeks. you cannot tell whether it is anger or embarrassment–perhaps both–but it feels as though the water you have been holding off has suddenly been poured over you.

“why didn’t you go buy them yourself, then, if you knew i didn’t,” you question yunho curtly.

he looks at you with a grin, “because you were meant to buy them and then i didn’t have time to go.” his words are stated as a matter-of-factly with absolutely no intentions to insinuate anything apart from his reasons as to why he did not buy the protein shakes himself.

but you do not hear yunho and his playfulness that you normally indulge in–you hear dr. nam instead belittling your time and you also hear mrs ryeo with her condescending contempt, and now that you are no longer at work, you fail to reign yourself in. you snap before you even realise how heated your words are, “yeah, and i have all the time in the world.” you throw out sarcastically, “next time, why don’t i also mix your shakes, wait on my knees and hold the straw up to your lips while you drink them during your workouts.”

your boyfriends stare at you with wide eyes, silence deafening after the near-shout your voice had risen to by the end of your sentence. you let out a shaky exhale, suddenly sober. you no longer bubble and boil inside, emotions down to a simmer now, but still they remain unsteady and suddenly leave you with overwhelming exhaustion.

“sorry,” you mutter under your breath, “forget i said anything.”

pivoting on the balls of your feet, you escape to your own bedroom, ignoring the concern on wooyoung’s face from where he has woken up and stuck his head out of his own room at the commotion. you shut your door and then sit heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on your knees and head buried in your hands.

“fuck,” you hiss, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. you are so frustrated–at everything that has happened today, at how you reacted, at the fact that you cannot seem to understand what you are feeling or what you want anymore.

you are going to have to talk to your boyfriends and apologise later, but for now, you just need to be alone.

only a few minutes pass before there is a soft knock on your bedroom door. you make no move to acknowledge the sound. neither do you make a noise of rejection though, so the boyfriend outside your door takes it as his cue to walk in.

“y/n?” he calls out hesitantly.

at the sound of his voice, you immediately look up. it is yunho looking like a kicked puppy, unable to bear any sort of conflict between any of you no matter how big or small the matter. you stand up but stay close to your bed. your heart wants to tug you closer towards your boyfriend yet your feet stay glued to their spot.

“y/n…” he starts again, “i–sorry, i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was blaming you.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine, i know you didn’t.”

“that still doesn’t change the fact that i hurt you,” yunho expresses, taking a step closer towards you.

“no, i should be the one apologising–sorry. what i said to you was completely uncalled for,” you admit.

“hey, no. i didn’t come for an apology,” he looks at you with rounded eyes, now close enough to grasp you gently by your arms. yunho’s voice is soft as he says, “i’m worried about you. you don’t normally lash out like that…what’s wrong?”

everything.

“nothing,” you answer, avoiding his gaze.

he continues to probe, “are you sure? is it something to do with work?” when you remain quiet, he starts to guess, “...or is it us–”

“it’s work,” you cut him off before he can turn his words into a real question. “work has been tiring. i just–give me a bit of time.” you pat yunho’s hand placatingly, subtly easing your arms out of his grasp at the same time. you do not deserve his affection right now.

he fumbles awkwardly, unease stringing his body tight as his eyes scan yours. “we’ll talk later then?” he eventually concludes, verbally reaching out one more time to see if you want to take it.

“later,” you confirm softly, a small smile gracing your lips that does not reach the rest of your face. “i’m going to catch up on some sleep now.”

“ah, right. you were on call. sleep well then,” yunho concedes. he walks out of your room, gingerly closing the door behind him.

you have barely grabbed a fresh set of pajamas and underwear to quickly rinse yourself in the shower when there is another knock on your door. it takes a lot of energy not to sigh but to open the door instead where you discover san and jongho standing in the corridor with twin expressions of concern.

“did yunho talk things out with you?” san asks as jongho simultaneously says, “how are you feeling?”

you know that they have good intentions checking up on you, but you really just want to be left alone. your own thoughts and emotions are already equivalent to a crowd themselves. “yeah, yunho and i are fine. i’m fine, just tired. thanks for asking and sorry for shouting earlier,” you apologise, because you owe them that much at the very least. then you try and dismiss them before they can ask anything else, “a shower and some sleep will do me good.”

they glance down when you lift up your hand and they see the clothes you hold. jongho knows better than to push, so he places his own hand on san’s back in silent meaning whilst answering on their behalf, “you’re right. we’ll let you sleep. do you want us to wake you up for dinner?”

you smile a little more genuinely but still shake your head. “i’ll eat something before i leave for work tomorrow.”

although san has a lot to say to that, he holds his tongue and lets himself be guided back to the kitchen with jongho’s hand still on him. “let her have some time alone first. she’ll eat if she’s hungry,” the younger reassures him and san can only nod and hope that rest is all that you need. he cannot shake off the feeling that there is much more to it than you are letting on.

you hop into the shower, rinse and dry off and brush your teeth within ten minutes. sleep is your only reprieve now–the only time you do not need to think or feel–and you rush through your routine before you can start coming to conclusions about the whats and whys to the problems in your life. finishing up in the bathroom you go back to your own room, startling when you open the door and are greeted by the sight of wooyoung waiting on your bed.

“you okay?” he asks as soon as he sees you.

annoyance starts to grind your gears no matter how hard you try to remind yourself that your boyfriends are purely looking out for you. but concern has its limits before it starts to become overbearing and when they keep asking one after the other, you are unable to appreciate their efforts.

“i’m fine,” you respond tersely, words no longer genuine after how many times you have repeated them to questions you have heard on loop.

“are you sure? i know you had a rough day at work with mrs ryeo and–”

“wooyoung,” you finally interrupt, “just drop it. please.”

his expression falls and you immediately regret your words. but what’s done is done and the list of people you are hurting today only seems capable of growing–what is one more person on the list? wooyoung stands up and leaves your room with a quiet, sorry, and you do nothing to stop him.

hearing the door shut behind you, you walk over to where the curtains are pulled aside to let the afternoon sunlight of autumn filter in. all the curtains in the bedrooms are blackout curtains, the first additions to the apartment from day one of your careers. you draw them closed, shutting out the sunlight and plunging your room into darkness.

at last, you slide into bed. the screen of your phone lights up as you plug it into your charger and you find a text from yeosang and one from seonghwa just a few minutes ago, but you do not open them. you clear your notifications before you can even read the previews and put your phone on ‘do not disturb’. making sure your alarm is set for tomorrow’s shift, you switch the screen off and shove it under your pillow.

you close your eyes. you have a long list of people to work things out with before you can truly say that you are fine. but there is one thing you fail to realise as you finally fall asleep. the name at the very top of the list is not one of your boyfriends’–

it is your own.

the incident ends up being swept under the rug. you wake up that next morning an hour before your first alarm goes off, lying in the muted hours of dawn before the world starts to stir with the shadows on the ceiling of your bedroom twisting and warping like creatures.

your entire body is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the thought of the day ahead. it is not solely due to what happened yesterday between you and your boyfriends. there are a multitude of contributing factors but frankly, you fear dwelling on them and finding out just what percentage of your anxiety stems from the boys. unable to fall asleep and not entirely ready to face anybody yet, you decide to leave for your shift early.

the drive to the hospital feels particularly dystopian today. no matter what season the streets transition into over the year–regardless of the brilliant vibrance of autumn that has blanketed the ground for the last two months–it unfailingly turns back into the perpetual state of sterile winter once you are inside the hospital. it has never been something that you have dwelled on, but now it seems to be the truest reflection of your current self–a mere utopian facade hiding what is inside your walls.

you return nurse aeri’s enthusiastic greeting upon walking into the PICU with chirpiness that your weekend was great. you gasp with animated reactions at the story little siwoo tells you when you reach his room during your morning rounds. you comfort mr and mrs chae with graceful compassion and warm smiles when you tell them their daughter can finally be discharged. not a single person would look at you and think that something is wrong, and yet, you feel like you are simply a ghost of your emotions, detached and distant from your own words and actions. not even the news of seolhee stabilising enough to be transferred out of the PICU back to the paediatric oncology ward gives you the same genuine spike in emotions you would have felt a week ago.

the brief encounters with seonghwa around the unit and the brief glimpses of san and wooyoung around the department do nothing to alleviate your blanket of anxiety because they are a visual and physical reminder of the cavernous pit in your stomach. you end up going home after your shift with a tightness in your chest that has gradually become suffocating at the thought of being confined in the same space as your boyfriends, wondering if they are expecting you to talk to them; the conversation you had brushed off yesterday.

you are not ready yet and you do not want to talk, so instead you do what you do best–walk through the threshold of your front door with a plastered expression of neutrality as though nothing has happened the day before. but to your surprise–whether pleasant or bitter, however contradictory that may be, you cannot tell–they too appear to skirt around the issue.

there is a restless buzz in the air as yunho portions dinner out into separate bowls for those who are at home. hongjoong is hunched over his laptop with concentration at the dining table as usual, zeroed in on his presentation even amongst the bustle of yeosang and jongho setting the cutlery around him, but the jitters in his legs tell you differently. when he spots you walking closer, he shuts his laptop and places it to the side to greet you.

“seonghwa made ramen bulgogi for us before he left,” he tells you while you wash your hands at the sink and peer into the pot yunho is holding.

you gingerly slide into the seat across from hongjoong, watching yeosang dawdling in the kitchen as if he is trying to find something to keep himself busy with. “i thought he wasn’t rostered on for night shift today,” you absentmindedly comment.

jongho places your bowl of ramen in front of you and sits to your right as he answers, “he had to cover for one of the other nurses.”

you nod, waiting for the two in the kitchen. yunho comes to sit on your other side at the head of the table and yeosang beside hongjoong, their bowls placed down with a clunk that leads to silence in conversation.

“how’s your presentation going?” yunho vaguely asks hongjoong after a few minutes.

the older picks at his meat in his bowl, “it’s going alright. i only have the limitations and future directions for neurological gene therapies left to research.”

there is another lull in conversation before jongho asks, “did your surgeries go smoothly today?”

yunho nods, “i led a couple of trauma surgeries today. only one of them ended up going overtime.”

“you’re going to surpass the other doctors soon, doctor jeong from general surgery,” you tease slightly.

the boys share a few chuckles before the table falls silent once more and you can only hear the occasional slurp of noodles or clatter of chopsticks against the bowl. you glance at hongjoong, who is scratching the back of his neck, then at yeosang, whose gaze you can see darting around his bowl like he is avoiding eye contact. shifting your weight slightly in your chair, you suddenly start to realise why they are all acting so awkwardly.

it is not that your boyfriends are trying to skirt around yesterday’s fallout–if you can call it that–like you are. instead, they are waiting for you to be the one initiating the conversation so that they know for sure you are ready to have the conversation. the sentiment is appreciated but it does nothing to stop your muscles from clamming up even further.

the thought of talking and even just thinking about why you are feeling the way you are is enough to overwhelm you entirely again. it is much easier to simply pretend you are okay than to face the problems head on, because then you have to actually acknowledge that something is wrong. but you know that it is not just one issue but several things exacerbating one another, and just that awareness in itself already makes your insides lurch and clench dangerously. 

there is one sole advantage to your boyfriends’ approach to handling this situation. the timeline of when to talk is left up to you, so you choose the one option they had failed to preempt–not to talk at all. you finish your ramen in silence pretending you do not see the shared glances between the boys, get up to place your dishes into the sink ignoring the gazes that linger on your back, then retreat to your bedroom whilst shoving your emotions into the deepest corners in the back of your mind.

they gave you a choice. you simply made one.

the weeks pass by. you change through another rotation and the beginning of winter arrives once more. the only thing that stays the same is the elephant in the room that remains unaddressed and your lonely fight to keep it that way.

restlessness seeps into every interaction that the boys share with you. it follows you to work, jongho and yunho making excuses to go to your ward just to see what you are doing even though their own wards are on the other side of the hospital. it is in the way san tries to swap himself onto night shifts the days he knows you are working one as well, and in how seonghwa liaises with your colleagues under the guise of his role as the CNS, simply to probe whether you are overexerting yourself or not.

it follows you home too, a constant breathing down your neck in the form of mingi carefully scanning your expression the moment you walk through the door after your shift, and in yeosang hovering within five feet regardless of where you are. wooyoung checks the fridge first thing after coming home, counting the boxes of meal prep to make sure you had taken one to work that day, and hongjoong asks how your day was with the intention of probing further to ask how you are coping. he is not the only one who tries to check and your answer never changes–work was good, you are fine.

gradually, you find yourself trying to avoid their line of sight, ducking behind colleagues on the wards or back into your own bedroom at home. it is easier to pretend that you are okay than to admit that you are not, and when that does not work, to just stay away from your boyfriends completely. you are well aware that avoiding them is not healthy, but smokers too know very clearly the health risks of tobacco yet continue to smoke. just how many things are there in the world that we know are unhealthy for ourselves–physically, mentally, socially–and we still choose to make that decision?

but as with any unhealthy choices, they eventually lead to detrimental consequences. unbeknownst to you, each denial of help causes the string inside of you to wind up tighter and tighter until it becomes taut enough to snap at any moment.

and that is what ends up happening on a wednesday night.

seonghwa and wooyoung are both still at the hospital. by the time they get home after their shifts, it will already nearly be time for dinner, so with everybody’s first preferences for cooks still working, you are the next in line. hongjoong had originally offered to order takeout instead since you had been on call last night, but you had been unable to fall asleep despite how exhausted you felt and you hated being stuck in the limbo state of idleness between rest and non-rest.

“are you sure you don’t want us to just order takeout today?”

“it’s fine, hongjoong,” you respond shortly, “i’ve already started cooking.”

yeosang sits at the countertop separating the kitchen from the open living room and dining area, watching as you make a simple soup and stir-fried dish. you try to ignore his intent staring but it is difficult when his gaze quite literally follows you from cupboard to sink to stove. it is only when he hesitantly asks, “are you okay?” that you realise you have left your expression unschooled, dark frown covering your face.

you force your features to relax and nod, trying not to throw a question back at him asking what he is doing just staring at you. his question catches the attention of san sitting on the couch, who calls out to check up on you, “is something wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, turning around as if that will help to block them out, aware that your patience for them–for anybody–has started running thin. you idly hum at san’s reminder to ask them for help if you need it despite knowing fully well that having an extra person in the kitchen space would only serve to have the opposite effect to its intended purpose.

jongho passes by behind you to fill up a cup of water at the sink. as he waits, he glances at you stirring the pot before double taking at your expression. he tentatively questions, “you alright? do you want me to help?”

“why do you keep asking me that?” you reply, only half-jokingly. you drive him out with an irritated wave of your hand, “just sit and wait.”

your boyfriends are at least tactful enough to understand they are not to step foot into the kitchen until dinner is cooked, but it does nothing to alleviate the sensation of holes being drilled into the back of your head. you are so focused on ignoring them that you do not realise when seonghwa and wooyoung come home from their shifts.

“hey, love,” seonghwa sidles up to you in the kitchen as you slice some extra spring onions. “how’s your day been?”

as he asks you, he comes up from behind and slides a hand around your hip to rest on it. his touch is habitual–something he always does to you and the boys–but you are tense and on edge. you jerk in surprise, accidentally slicing your finger with the knife. it is only a small cut and absolutely unintentional on your boyfriend’s part, but your fuse finally runs out and you drop the knife with a clatter, whirling around angrily to face him.

“can you fucking stop doing that?” you snap, tone clipped and unkind.

seonghwa flusters, trying to apologise and look at your injury whilst simultaneously jerking backwards in confusion at your hostility. he stutters, “i–y/n, are you okay? i didn’t mean to surprise you–”

“no, that’s not it,” you interrupt, blind to the stinging in your finger. “i mean your fucking questions, and not just from you. all of you.” you lash out at the other boys too who have now stood up and are varying distances from the kitchen. “every single fucking day you ask me if i’m okay. can you please stop that?”

san slowly walks closer until he reaches the countertop that separates the both of you. “y/n,” he calls out to you sadly, your sudden anger uncharacteristic, “we’re just worried about you. we want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“i know you do,” you cry out with exasperation, heat starting to gather behind your eyes, “and i’m trying to be okay, alright? i’m trying for everybody’s sake. but you make it so fucking hard when each and every single one of you keep asking me how i’m feeling as if you want me to fucking break down.”

“that’s not what we’re trying to do,” hongjoong tries to reason with you, but you are unable to rationalise anything in the spur of the moment.

you desperately blink back tears. “i’ve tried to pretend that everything is okay–pushed everything to the back of my mind so that i don’t think about it and hope that it resolves itself…but it’s not working.” you take a shaky breath, lips quivering and voice quieting with every word, “i’m just one person at home and i’m just one person at work. i am so fucking tired all the time.”

“but you aren’t just one person. you can tell us and we can help you.”

you do not even register who says that, because your eyes blur with wetness and your voice increases with frustration, “no, i can’t. when you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, you don’t have the time or the energy to ask for help, much less to fight for yourself. you think i haven’t thought about complaining to you guys and letting myself cry in your arms? or escalating whatever happens at work to the higher-ups? i know what i should do, but it’s all useless.

“when you are about to be caught in an avalanche and buried alive, do you remember to ignore your instincts and run horizontally instead of attempting to outrun it? do you remember to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from choking on snow? or to use your arms and legs to create air pockets for yourself, or to spit and use its trajectory to work out which way is up and down after you’re disorientated? no, you fucking don’t, because in the moment you can only focus on surviving. there is no time to do anything but that.”

your boyfriends are stunned into silence, not only by the bitter resentment that coats your loud voice and mars your face with furrowed eyebrows, but by the raw confession that tumbles out of your lips. they had known you were tired recently, just not the extent of it.

the tone of your words soften with exhaustion and heartache as you look them in the eyes one by one, “just think about ourselves…things aren’t the same between us anymore, don’t try to deny it. we don’t love each other like we used to. things have changed between us this year–it’s just that nobody has brought it up.” the tears that have pooled around your eyes finally slip down your cheeks. “and you know why? it’s because we’re all just trying to survive now. we don’t have the time or the luxury to do anything but survive.”

there is no thought that can be formulated in response to your words. seonghwa opens his mouth but then shuts it again because he knows you are right. it is ugly, but it is the truth.

having been in a relationship together for over four years now, not even including the turbulent years prior to becoming official when you were all navigating the hardships of medical school, your bonds are built upon the foundation of comfort and understanding. but what happens when that comfort turns into complacency, and understanding turns into indifference? what happens when time runs its course and wears down a relationship?

you avert your eyes downwards, the lines of the kitchen tiles blurry underneath your feet as your vision mists over, afraid to look at the sad gazes of your boyfriends any longer. there is a sudden thump of body colliding against the wall and a muffled curse that draws everybody’s attention, including yours, towards the corridor. mingi’s head snaps upwards with guilty eyes from where he had been trying to slink his way in from the front door unnoticed before accidentally stubbing his toe.

your body makes a split-second decision with the diversion. you push past seonghwa in the kitchen, past san and yeosang at the countertop and mingi by the wall, and past the rest of your boyfriends just standing there, back into the safety of your bedroom. it is from years of muscle memory navigating the apartment that you do not walk head-first into anything despite your vulnerable state, although your boyfriends also step out of your way in stunned stupor.

fumbling for the edge of the door behind you with your hand the moment you walk past the threshold to your bedroom, you step backwards until you are able to push it closed. it shuts with a loud click and then finally, you are alone.

you slowly sink forward to the ground, legs useless as your hands reach out towards the floor to hold yourself up. the world around you continues to blur with wetness, a stinging heat behind your eyes and nose, yet the tears do not fall and you do not cry. your gaze remains unfocused on the spot right beside the leg of your bed, frozen in your own stupor of tangled thoughts and emotions.

time, fucking time. you despise that word with your entire soul. in this world, the ones who are truly rich are not those with endless wealth to spare–the ones who are truly rich are those with endless time to spare.

when was the last time you drank freshly-brewed coffee at a cafe instead of guzzling down the grainy staleness of a rushed instant coffee that has not even been mixed properly? when was the last time you sat down for a knife-and-fork meal with warm food instead of popping a mint into your mouth to stave off your hunger pains for a little longer? when was the last time you went shopping for a pretty dress and a cute pair of matching heels instead of sniffing your scrubs at the end of a shift wondering whether you can postpone the laundry for one more day? when was the last time you used shampoo and conditioner when washing your hair instead of simply rinsing it under the water before your eyes closed on themselves?

they are such simple tasks of everyday life, yet they have now become unattainable luxuries in the face of insufficient time. you deliberately sacrifice the quality of your life to save a few extra minutes here, a few extra minutes there. but no matter how much time you are able to scrape out of thin air, it slips through the cracks of your fingers like fine sand and disappears amongst the people around you. even one spare minute, if you have any leftover after prioritising your patients, must be somehow split between the eight of your boyfriends.

you can save however much time you can, but it will never be enough. you are not enough.

the knotted twist of anxiety that has been distorting your insides for the past few weeks suddenly unravels with shattering clarity as your fears suddenly weigh you down with crushing exhaustion. you cannot even take care of yourself anymore–how can you take care of your boyfriends, much less eight of them? you want everything to just stop, but what exactly ‘everything’ entails, you have no idea.

there is a soft hand on your shoulder squeezing tenderly. it is warm, you idly think to yourself. they murmur, “y/n,” and only when they squeeze you again do you dazedly look up, blinking to clear your vision. mingi’s round eyes gaze at you and you find him kneeling beside your crumpled form on the floor of your bedroom. you have no energy to acknowledge him further than another blink and prolonged eye contact.

he stares at you for a few seconds, eyes full of words that he holds back, before simply asking, “have you showered yet?”

you do not answer, but he had not questioned you with the intention of receiving an answer. he responds for you, “probably, but i doubt you washed your hair. come,” his hand slowly travels down from your shoulder to your smaller hand, “take a shower with me.”

mingi’s gaze does not waver despite the slight narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are tired and unamused. “i stink and i want your company,” he states. then he makes the decision for you and tugs you upwards with him. despite his strength, mingi’s hands are gentle as he holds you, leading you out of your bedroom and into the bathroom instead.

you stand there and let him guide your arms through your jumper so that he can take it off your head. he does the same with your shirt, your pants and with your undergarments, his touch intimate and loving not with sexual desires but with devoted care as if he is afraid you will crack under the slightest of pressures. his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps where they brush against your skin and your eyes close with the softest of sighs, letting yourself relax under your boyfriend’s careful movements.

the bathroom begins to steam up from the spray of hot water and mingi steps you into the shower with him. quietly, he wets your hair and lathers his shampoo into it, sturdy hands massaging the tension out of your scalp and the nape of your neck. you watch the concentration in his creased brows and the water that drips down from his chin falls between your chests. not once does he look at you–only focuses on properly shampooing your hair.

it is only when mingi is rinsing your hair and you are no longer facing him do you pluck up the courage to speak delicately, “why aren’t you asking me if i’m okay?”

he is silent for a few seconds and you feel the slight pause in his hands against your scalp before he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “do you want me to ask?”

once again, you do not answer, but that is an answer in itself.

“plus,” mingi softly murmurs, hands leaving your hair, the click of a bottle cap opening resounding in the echo of the bathroom louder than his voice, “you’ll just say that you’re okay…even though you’re not.”

then the touch of his fingers returns as he teases something cold into your hair from its roots to its ends. almost immediately, you choke up and your expression crumples, lips trembling downwards as your eyebrows furrow, because mingi is putting conditioner in your hair. it is embarrassing that this of all things is what finally marks your breakdown, but mingi does not comment when your shoulders shudder with shaky exhales nor when you fail to hold in a stuttering sob. he lets you cry out your sorrows, pain and fatigue and he simply continues to massage the conditioner into your hair.

mingi simply continues to love you in the way that you did not love yourself.

when your hair is rinsed, only then does he turn you around to face him. under the showerhead with only the comforting tranquility of water pattering against the tiles around the both of you, he softly tilts your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss. it is a slow but simple kiss, lips pressed against yours with a thousand utterances of comfort and reassurances dancing across them.

he gives you one kiss, then another, and another, each one sweeter than the previous despite the salty tracks that run down your cheeks. your hands find their way onto his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrums underneath your palm. mingi rests your foreheads together, your tears falling in solitude with the water and with the tears that fall from inside his heart.

finally, he asks, “is it work?”

you shake your head slightly. “i don’t know.”

“is it us?”

the tears that had slowed down reappear with a strangled sob as you answer truthfully, your fears emerging at least, “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” he whispers, “and you don’t have to be okay.” he pulls away a little so that he can cradle your jaw with his hands and look into your eyes. “take the day off tomorrow, y/n.”

you do nothing to stop the tears that continue spilling over the bottom of your eyes as you shakily answer, “i don’t have time. my patients need me.”

“you do have time,” mingi counters, thumbing your tears away. “you just haven’t been spending that time on yourself. even doctors get sick, you know.”

“i’m not sick,” you deny.

your boyfriend pulls you into his chest and encases you in a protective embrace. “physically, maybe not. but your mental health is just as important, and sometimes the things that you can’t see inflict more suffering than the things that you can see.”

it is something that you all know and understand, but when you are trapped in a workplace where the mentality revolves entirely around a medical model of physical health, the disparity in value you place between your physical and mental health becomes so deeply ingrained it is almost impossible to change.

“mingi, what if…” you trail off. your boyfriend nuzzles the top of your head with his chin before brushing his lips over the crown of your forehead in encouragement. you swallow thickly to continue, “what if i need time alone?”

mingi pulls away from you once more, slowly so as not to further upset your already-scattered emotions. he looks at you earnestly, considering your words and their meaning–whether he is understanding your undertone correctly and whether this is a genuine request for respite or a spur-of-the-moment cry for reassurance. he watches your eyes flicker back and forth between his own.

“if that’s what you need,” he finally whispers, wrapping you closer in his arms again, “then i’ll support you no matter what.”

he feels your small puff of surprise against his chest and it pierces through his heart like a sword. how he wishes that you would realise that he and any of your other boys would pluck all the stars in the universe’s galaxies if you were to ask for them. but instead, you are asking him in a small and timid voice, “you’re not upset? the others won’t be upset?”

mingi chooses his next words carefully, aware that they could easily be misunderstood but also unwilling to treat you like a child where the world is only full of happy endings. not that you believe that anymore, anyway. “we will be upset,” he gently breaks to you, “but only at the situation that we're in because things have ended up like this before we could even really do anything for you. y/n, we will never be upset at you in this situation, much less upset at the decisions you choose to make. if time is what you need, then take however much time you need.”

you do not have the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes, shame starting to creep through your veins because what if this decision is simply a decision to run away yet again? but then mingi senses your doubts and draws you in for another kiss. he captures your lips between his, pressing against you a little harder when you both start to run out of breath. he draws it out for longer until the kiss becomes dizzyingly and intoxicatingly blissful and fills your mind with thoughts of him and him only.

when you can finally inhale, the air swirls with a mix of his scent and the shampoo he had used. here, under the warm spray of water within the safe confines of the shower and mingi's arms, it may only be momentary but you are okay.

“can you tell the boys for me?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “i don't think i can tell them myself.”

mingi nods and the corners of his lips rise bittersweetly. “of course.”

so for the first time in four years since moving in with your boys, on a night that snows lightly but unceasingly, you pack a small bag of clothes and essential belongings…

and move out.

“good evening, doctor jeong from general surgery.”

the running joke between himself and the little girl in front never fails to draw a laugh of amusement out of yunho, who pretends to bow in formal greeting as he returns the acknowledgement, “good evening, kim seolhee from the paediatric ward.” when she giggles, he comments, “you look like you’re having a good day.”

seolhee grins and nods with excitement. not only does her expression look livelier, there is a slight healthy glow to her skin as well. “i was just telling doctor snowflake that they’re letting me go home for christmas next week before my next round of treatments start.”

at her words, there is no way to avoid eye contact with your boyfriend as his gaze automatically flicks over to where you are sitting beside her bed. ever since you moved out a few days ago into a friend’s rented apartment with a spare couch, your encounters with your boyfriends around the hospital have been…different.

a shift in dynamics was always going to be inevitable because it was–is–an action of request for space to think and just breathe, even though neither parties are truly mad or upset at one another. just as mingi had reassured you in the shower, it is simply the circumstances that have piled up and led to a consequence like so, and if you need time away from a contributing factor to sort your emotions out, there are absolutely no hard feelings. despite all this, your boyfriends cannot help but yearn to reach out and bring you back into their arms–to bring you back home.

yunho’s eyes soften the moment they lay upon you and he savours the sight of you today, unsure of when he will next see you around the hospital. “that’s so good to hear,” he says earnestly, “and i’m sure that news has made doctor snowflake’s entire week.”

he smiles at you warmly and this time you find yourself mirroring his expression, awkwardness taking a backseat because you know he is genuinely happy for both seolhee and you. the level of fondness and love you have for seolhee has long blurred past the usual level of care you would show to a patient on your caseload. she has spent more christmas’ in hospital than out, so to be able to spend these holidays at home is the greatest gift seolhee could receive and the greatest gift you could witness.

your boyfriend lingers around for a little longer, pushing his visit as long as he can without it being obvious that he does not actually have a reason to stay. eventually he says, “i better get back to work. enjoy your christmas at home, seolhee.”

she nods happily and then he looks at you. “i’ll see you–” yunho cuts himself off, holding back from finishing the sentence with ‘at home’. he corrects, “i’ll see you around.”

“see you,” you respond amiably, fingers fiddling with the hem of your scrubs as he walks out.

yunho only makes it a couple of steps away before he bumps into wooyoung making his evening rounds. they exchange brief conversation and you quickly avert your gaze when you see the taller of the two gesturing back into seolhee’s room. seolhee’s eyes dart between yours and the view outside her room before she points out, “it’s nurse woo!”

“really?” you lie, pretending you had not noticed. yunho has already walked off by the time you look back, so only wooyoung is looking at you. he makes no move to come into seolhee’s room. instead, he gives you a little wave with a hopeful smile. a small exhale of fondness leaves you as you return his gesture through the room’s window with a similar amount of restraint. however, it is enough to make your boyfriend break out into a beam, and then he goes running off.

seolhee is already staring at you when you turn to face her again. she raises an eyebrow. “are you and your boyfriends fighting?” she immediately asks.

her question makes you flinch with a sheepish smile, knowing that she would catch a whiff of it sooner or later–just not this fast. are you and your boys fighting? it is technically not a proper argument nor a proper break from the relationship, but there is the need to take a step back and rethink what certain things mean to you–to the boys–and what you want your life to look like.

you are not about to unload all of this onto the now seven-year-old girl with an ‘it’s complicated’ as your answer, so you opt for a simple, “yeah, kind of.”

seolhee shrugs and comments casually, “my parents used to fight all the time.”

you are reminded of her mother, mrs kim, who you have seen several times during visiting hours after that first meeting with her. you are also reminded of mr kim, her father who drops by whenever he can when he is not at work. they have been nothing but strong and supportive parents during seolhee’s battle with her cancer and you cannot reconcile that image of them with the image of constant arguing.

“what changed?” you probe curiously.

despite the smile on her face, the glimmer in seolhee’s eyes fade slightly. “i got diagnosed and then they realised that in the grand scheme of the universe, life is just too short not to spend every moment loving each other.” she turns to look outside the window on the other side of her bed. “we learnt a lot–love isn’t just about expensive outings and fancy gestures and impressive words because there are a lot of things that i can’t do that other normal kids and families can…we learnt that love is all about the small things too and those small moments in life are the things we truly end up cherishing, especially during the tough times.

“mum helps me pick out the colour of my bandanna when i want to wear one, and dad helps me hold the bucket up when i’m feeling sick. i pretend to hide my parents behind the curtains to see if the nurses will let us have an extra five minutes past visiting hours, and they will always smile and give us ten. we don’t always love each other the same way as other families do, but those are the things that we’ll remember the most.”

you look out the window with seolhee as you listen to her words. the snow has fallen lightly the entire day and now under the streetlights, the growing layer of snow glows brightly amongst the dimness of the winter night. you think back to your boys–the lack of dates and diminishing displays of love; how that had been one of the first indicators that something had changed in the relationship dynamics. then you also think back to those small gestures they had done for you; the silly notes, the coffees, the brief conversations, the meals, the break room hugs.

“it’s kind of like snow,” you murmur to neither yourself nor seolhee in particular. “you don’t notice it at first, and only when it starts to form a layer on the ground over time do you start to realise how much it has actually snowed.”

the moment those words leave your lips, you are suddenly reminded of how even those small gestures had gradually disappeared–how that too played a part in the shift in your romantic relationships. your tone is wistful, “then the snow melts and it's gone, just like that.”

seolhee looks back at you, considering your words thoughtfully. she hums for a moment before putting forward, “it melts, but does that change the fact that it snowed in the first place?”

the snowflakes continue to drift softly outside like butterfly wings. as beautiful as they are, there will come a time when they melt away, but the reality before your eyes right now is that they exist–they are there. it is snowing.

“no,” you reply, “it doesn’t.”

“then maybe it's up to us to remember that it snowed until it does snow again,” she smiles triumphantly, the innocence of her radiating beam so strikingly different to the clarifying wisdom she has suddenly dropped even if she does not know the true extent of the meaning her words hold to you. seolhee points at your name badge to drive her point home, “it's just like your badge. my sticker is gone now but that doesn't change the fact that it used to be there.”

your head flicks down immediately and you tilt your badge upwards so that you can get a good look it at. disappointment washes over you when you find that her words are true and her sticker is gone, so worn and loved that it has fallen off somewhere within the hospital. you have no idea when that occurred but it must have been today, because it was still there this morning when you touched it for comfort on your drive here. now, only the faint outline of its shape remains.

it should not hold as much sentimental value as it does, but the realisation that seolhee’s sticker is no longer with you makes you ask, like you the child and seolhee the adult, “can i have another one?”

her voice takes a rare tone of complaint as she grumbles, “i lost the sticker book when i moved back to this ward.”

“that’s a shame” you remark, as genuinely upset as the little girl beside you.

she lets out an endearing little sigh, then pats the back of her hand with her own. “that’s okay, you can look outside whenever you miss me. remember,” seolhee blinks at you earnestly, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

you place your other hand over hers with a hint of a challenging smile. “and if it stops snowing?” you ask, testing the seemingly boundless wisdom that is hidden inside of her.

seolhee beams, answer so clear and obvious. “then count the stars in the sky.”

for the first time in his life, jongho is late.

his, san’s and yeosang’s mornings had all started off a little rough after the latter had rushed past the open door to the bedroom the other two were sleeping in together, dressed in his scrubs and puffer jacket ready to leave, only to double take at the sight of them still in bed. they had been woken up by yeosang’s frantic question, “jongho? don’t you have work today?”

san had groggily lifted his upper body off the bed as jongho jolted into a sitting position, trying to pull himself together. “what?” jongho’s brain had remained foggy no matter how alert he appeared in panic. “what time is it? what day is it today?”

“it’s six thirty,” yeosang had responded, san’s grunts of confirmation affirming the same. alarm had suddenly run through yeosang as doubt creeped into his own mind. “and it’s monday…isn’t it?”

“yeah,” san had confirmed again, voice thick with sleep.

jongho had been certain he did not have work. “i checked the whiteboard last night. my name’s not down for a shift,” he had stated, only to break out into cold sweat immediately afterwards with realisation. you are the only one who goes to all the effort to note down everybody’s shifts for the fortnight on the whiteboard–the very same one that has not been changed since you moved out.

“oh, shit,” jongho had cursed. “i do have work.”

and so for the first time in his life, jongho is late. he knows he only has himself to blame for relying on somebody else for something as important as when he has to show up for work, but for years that is how it has been. not once have you ever made a mistake with the erasable calendar, always taking meticulous care to check that all the shifts for each day are correct because it is the easiest way to help you all keep track of where everybody is for the day.

nobody asks you to update the whiteboard. you just do.

hongjoong realises the same thing in the wake of jongho’s rush to leave the house. he stands in front of the bathroom sink, his eyes half-closed as he brings his toothbrush up to his mouth, only to get a gross mouthful of plain bristles. it is still too early in the morning to swear so he sighs in resignation instead, “not again.”

he pulls the head of the toothbrush back out of his mouth to squeeze a glob of toothpaste on top. it is the third morning in a row that he has done this, still unaccustomed to your absence in the house. on the mornings you leave for work earlier than him–which is most days–you have always pre-squeezed his toothpaste for him, simply because you know it takes a little longer for the cogs in his head to start turning in comparison to your other boys.

hongjoong does not ask you to squeeze his toothpaste for him. you just do.

it is second nature to you, just as it is to hang wooyoung’s keys on the jacket hook by the front door so that he does not upturn the entire house looking for them like he has been for the past fifteen minutes. seonghwa follows hot on the younger’s heels flipping cushions back onto their spots on the couch, shifting trinkets on the kitchen counter back where they belong and closing all the cabinet doors that are swung open haphazardly.

“i never understand why you don’t just put your keys back onto the same hook whenever you get home,” seonghwa exhales.

wooyoung pointedly chooses not to respond to that, instead firmly stating, “i’m telling you, they were on the couch just last night."

“and why would you put them on the couch in the first place?”

“that’s besides the point,” the younger waves his words away carelessly, going back to the couch once more and sliding his hands along the cracks in case they slipped inside.

“how does y/n always manage to find your keys,” seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair.

“i don’t know,” wooyoung suddenly dampens, hands coming to a stop in the middle of the couch as he thinks of you knowing exactly where his keys are in the chaos of the house. “she just…does.”

and there are a lot of other things that you just do. when mingi saunters into the kitchen after dinner, feeling peckish but not for something unhealthy considering it is already close to bedtime, he pokes his nose into the fridge as san washes the dishes. the latter glances over his shoulder.

“you want me to cut you an apple later?” san offers.

mingi nods happily and requests, “without the skin?”

the older laughs, repeating his words, “without the skin.”

when mingi is handed a plate of neat apple slices ten minutes later, he finds himself subconsciously comparing them to the ones you will silently place into his hands after dinner before he even asks for them. san’s slices are the same in appearance–skinned and uniform–except he cuts them into thicker wedges than you do.

mingi takes a bite into one. the apple tastes sweet and tart across his tongue and yet he cannot help but think that the apples taste better when you cut them. whereas san cuts them into six slices, you cut them into nine; just something that you do.

later that night, yunho is again the last one to arrive home after his surgeries run overtime, save for seonghwa and yeosang on night shift. it is pitch black when he enters, bumping not only into the shoe cabinet but also an untucked dining chair as he fumbles his way in with his hands outstretched.

the night light that is usually plugged into the wall of the living room is not on to greet him in the dark hours past midnight today. the light was something you had insisted he buy, absolutely not because the design of the glowing mushroom cap was cute, but because you did not want anybody–read yunho–tripping flat onto their face coming home from a late shift. you are always the one to turn it on if you know one of them will be late, but this time there is no light…because there is no you.

yunho does not ask you to turn the light on for him. you just do. nobody asks you to do any of those small things for them, yet you just do, because that is your way of showing you see, your way of showing you care, and your way of showing you love.

a wave of longing washes over yunho, the sands of his heart already long damp from the moment you moved out. how he wishes he could just walk into your room right now and shelter your peacefully-sleeping form from the shadows of the night with a tender kiss, just like he used to.

but he cannot, not anymore, and he regrets more than anything not doing it while he could.

nurse yejin, the head of the paediatric emergency department, is just about to greet you as you walk up to the nursing station when she takes all but one look at you and points out, “you’re looking like shit this morning.”

from anybody else, that statement would have been insulting despite it being the truth. but nurse yejin has always been frank and blunt, not one to beat around the bush with the intent of getting to the root of problems as efficiently and effectively as possible. ‘head nurse things’, she had told you early on in your rotation.

you let out a laugh in response, although it probably looks like a grimace more than anything. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you joke.

it is only true to a certain extent since you have not been sleeping on a bed but on a couch for the past six days, now counting seven. but ever since you moved out, you have woken up every morning feeling out of routine, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar living room disorientated and wondering whether you usually brush your teeth before changing into your scrubs or after, and whether you usually grab your socks before you pack your bag or right before you leave for work. you do not realise how mentally ingrained into your system your morning routine is, down to the number of steps your feet can take on autopilot and the exact placement of the items your hands can grab without looking, until your environment changes entirely.

the drive to the hospital is also different. it is only ten minutes longer than your usual commute and the streets all look similar under the covering of snow, yet it still throws you off, setting the tone as such for the remainder of the day.

this morning had been no exception–arguably worse–when you realised with frustration that you had no more clean scrubs to change into. you had forgotten to run a load of laundry the day before, leaving you with no choice but to borrow your friend’s clothes that were presentable enough for you to wear to work until you could change into a set of the hospital’s spare scrubs.

forgetting to do your laundry is no rare occurrence but it has never been an issue. how many times had you opened your wardrobe, uncertain whether you would find a set of wearable scrubs, only to be surprised by an ironed and neatly-hung set waiting for you? it has never been an issue until now, as realisation dawns upon you that one of your boyfriends has always looked out for you by ensuring you always had clean scrubs for work.

“you better snap out of it quick then, doctor l/n,” nurse yejin advises, words pulling you back to the present. “we have a thirteen-year-old male arriving in a few minutes with a first-time generalised tonic-clonic seizure. episode lasted for six minutes, now postictal but stable.”

your mind immediately shifts, focus zeroing in on the length of the seizure as the head nurse continues to provide you a handover of the paramedic’s call. you instruct, “notify the fellow or resident currently on call in paediatric neurology. tell them to be ready for immediate assessment.”

nurse yejin nods and reaches for the phone as you walk off briskly to prepare for the patient’s arrival. from behind, she watches you with a slight smirk of pride because there you are; fire lit up in your eyes once again. only, it is nowhere near as intense as it used to be.

for fire, too, has a life of its own. it is able to burn and burn and burn, engulfing whatever it can within its vicinity in order to keep itself alive and bright. but even the strongest of fires will eventually burn out into nothing but a wither of smoke if it does receive enough fuel to keep it sustained, whether sourced by itself or provided by those around it.

“you’re not eating?” your intern asks you, hours later.

you turn your head slightly towards her to show she has your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you rapidly type up the notes for the seizure patient from this morning. “you go have lunch first,” you respond distractedly, not having realised it was already past one thirty. “i’ll eat in a bit.”

only, when it comes to three o’clock, a wrench having been thrown into the works by a sudden code blue, you realise you do not have a lunch to eat. “fuck,” you curse at yourself, hands digging into your bag once more in hopes of finding a stray protein bar. you knew you should have thrown in a couple of them last night while it was on your mind.

just like your scrubs, your lunch has never been an issue for you until now. once more, realisation is forced upon you as you wonder why not; san has always had an uncanny sixth sense that somehow alerts him each time you forget to stuff your lunchbox into your bag so that he can do it in your stead. on the days you forget and he leaves earlier than you, hongjoong is there to take it to work, personally finding you on the wards to deliver it to you.

sometimes, your lunch will be packed in a different container. when wooyoung makes a heavily-spiced or greasier dish, he portions some to cook with less chilli or seasoning specifically for you to take to work the next day because he knows your stomach is sensitive, especially when you are stressed or fatigued. today though, you have no choice but to grab something from the cafeteria.

even the instant coffee you quickly brew for yourself tastes particularly unpalatable and sand-like, a tricky feat considering how rock-bottom the standard already is. jongho has always somehow managed to make it taste bearable if he does not have time to order freshly-brewed coffee from the cafe. you think that maybe it is because he takes the extra minute that you do not to properly pre-dissolve the powder in some boiling water before diluting the coffee with the rest of the water. and jongho does do that, except the reality is that it tastes better simply because he is making it for you.

you find your mind incessantly churning as your day continues in a similar manner–sudden awareness of all the different ways your boyfriends have been looking out for you. it shadows you from the hospital back to your friend’s apartment, which is pitch black when you get back after your shift. your friend had texted you earlier that she would be out drinking with friends and unlikely to return before the morning, so when you unlock the door, you are greeted by nothing but deafening silence and apocalyptic stillness.

using the display of your lockscreen to illuminate a path, you toe off your shoes and sluggishly trudge into the living room. you have never come home to complete blackness before–one of your boyfriends, usually yunho, has always made sure to keep a night light on for you. but this time, the lonely gloom of your friend’s apartment beckons to you in a way that is hauntingly comforting. so instead of turning its lights on, you sit down heavily on the couch in the darkness.

the night seems colder than usual.

you lean back onto the cushions of the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling above. the display on your phone dims before turning off from idleness. as if your body takes it as a cue to do the same, you close your eyes and slowly exhale, muscles deflating into the couch as the silence spreads over your body like the gradual creep of water freezing.

just what exactly are you doing? what is it that you need?

did you simply need an opportunity to just be yourself, away from those who you felt the need to always be a perfectly happy and positive y/n around? or did you need space to reconsider the state of your relationship with the boys? maybe it was never even about the relationships in the first place, but that you had no way of isolating yourself from work so you chose the next best option to cut yourself off from.

perhaps, you really just wanted to continue running away and hiding from a greater problem that you do not want to acknowledge.

a wetness builds up behind your eyelids, confused and overwhelmed by the fact itself that you still cannot make sense of your emotions. maybe it is because there is no one answer but that all of them are answers, because no matter what you try to do or where you try to run, you cannot seem to rid the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to crush and constrict your soul.

however, there is one thing you are certain of after today. having spent so many days away from the boys and your normal routine, only now do you realise just how many subtle routines there are that intertwine you all together. some you only notice because of the change it has brought upon this week; others long known because they ceased to occur.

but seolhee’s words resonate within you. yes, some of those routines had disappeared, but like the snow, it does not change the fact that they existed in the first place. the commonality that all of the routines share–whether it be those you had previously been so hung up about dwindling or those you are only just becoming conscious of–is that they are all routines of love.

and like the golden warmth of the sun during the frigid bitterness of winter, you do not learn to truly appreciate something until it becomes absent from your life.

sometimes, you wonder what the end of the world will be like.

you wonder how it happens; whether it would be instantaneous, one second everybody going about their everyday life then the next second everything gone, people’s last moments still in blissful ignorance as to what has become of them and the world; or whether it would be gradual, an agonisingly slow and painful wait as inevitable doom creeps closer, no better than mercifully taking your own life.

you wonder what you would feel; fear for what will be or resignation for what is to be? regret for what had been or grief for what will not be? you wonder how you would realise, where you would be the moment it happens, who would come to mind first, why the world would be ending.

you have wondered so much and yet, you would have never expected to experience a part of your world ending through a phone call, your ringtone jarring and eerie in the late hours past midnight, jolting you awake on an unfamiliar couch to the sight of an equally unfamiliar ceiling. it takes you a few seconds to process the sound, disoriented from having accidentally fallen asleep still in your scrubs with no recollection of the last few hours.

by the time your fingers fumble across your phone, it has already stopped ringing. squinting, you turn the screen on. there are fresh notifications at the top of your screen showing two missed calls, but before you can process who they are from, the silent living room is disturbed by the piercing sound of your ringtone once again.

it is only seonghwa who is calling but an unsettling shift in the air abruptly makes the hair along your skin rise. something is wrong. you pick up.

“...hwa?”

“hey, love,” your boyfriend responds carefully. “where–are you at your friend’s place right now?”

you sit up on the couch and adjust the phone closer towards your ear with both hands. “yeah…i am.”

you can hear seonghwa take a shaky exhale before answering, “i think you might want to come to the hospital.”

blood rushes to your ears and your breath hitches. “why?” you whisper out, voice barely audible as your clutch on your phone tightens.

he does not answer you immediately. it is not until you choke out your question once more, voice urgent and desperate, that he breaks. seonghwa's tone is solemn, hesitance to speak louder than a waterfall, and never would you have thought that it would only take something as simple as his next two words for you to experience what feels like the end of the world.

“it’s seolhee.”

the room spins around from under your feet. you suddenly find yourself blindly groping the surface of the kitchen countertop, having stumbled your way across the dark living room. the phone call has ended–you cannot recall whether you hung up on seonghwa or whether he hung up on you, or whether it is actually still ongoing, his concerned shouts of your name simply falling upon deaf ears.

your breathing becomes increasingly shallow but you do not start crying. your expression remains stonily frozen as you frantically feel and search the countertop with your hands, uncaring of the ruckus and mess you are making. you are looking for something. what are you looking for? you need something. you need to bring something, but what? keys. you need to bring your keys. you need keys. you need your car keys. car keys, so you can drive to the hospital. you need to drive to the hospital because seolhee is there. you need to get to the hospital and you need to drive and you need your keys, where are your keys? you need your keys.

something cold brushes against the side of your pinky and immediately you snatch it up. you rush to the front door, toeing on the first thing that feels like a pair of shoes, then yank the door open before they are properly on your feet. you have no time. your leg jitters and your finger repeatedly jabs the elevator button as you watch the display numbers of the floor slowly move upwards towards yours. please, you beg to whichever higher entity is willing to listen to you, please, i have no time.

the moment the doors start to crack open, you force your way into the elevator. the doors cannot close fast enough and you pace in restless circles in the enclosed space while it takes you down to the underground carpark. your feet have already exited the threshold of the elevator before the doors even fully open again and your frantic steps reverberate loudly in the echo of the parking lot as you sprint for your car.

“y/n!”

you almost miss the yell of your name in your distraught, but your steps falter at the last moment, slowing down only slightly to turn in the direction of the sound. there is no time to question what you see. mingi is there, rapidly closing the distance between the two of you.

he stands in front of you within seconds and his chest heaves with effort and adrenaline. you feel your face crumpling as you instinctively and automatically reach out for him. mingi catches your hands, letting you squeeze his own in panic even if your nails dig into his skin.

“mingi, seonghwa–seolhee, she–the hospital–”

“i know,” mingi nods quickly, gently shushing your unintelligible blabber, “i know. let’s get you to the hospital.”

he envelops your hand in his and tugs you along behind him towards his car. you want to urge him to run, but he maintains a steady pace until he can pull the car door open and guide you into the seat. mingi can feel your anxiety rolling off in waves as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat and he knows how desperate you are for him to hurry up and floor the pedal, but he also knows that feeding into your panic with his own will only make things worse.

mingi drives as fast as he can without speeding too dangerously, although he cuts it close with a few red lights. the two of you sit in loud silence the entire ride. your boyfriend glances over at you every now and then, brows furrowed with concern, but you remain motionless with your eyes fixed to the road in front despite the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“y/n–” your boyfriend cuts himself off upon arriving at the hospital, where you tumble out of the car the moment it jerks to a stop. he is not quick enough to grab you as he puts the car into park and he fumbles to undo his own seatbelt whilst you are already weaving your way towards the sliding doors to the elevator.

you run. never before in your life have you ever run with such sheer desperation. one after the other, the soles of your shoes strike against the ceramic tiles of the lobby before they become thuds against the vinyl flooring of the wards.

the past month, you have walked this exact path almost every single day; you have seen stretchers being rushed in, and parents and family members forcibly pulled away from the side of their loved ones to make way for immediate medical assistance from doctors like you. but today, you are on the other side–you are the one rushing into the paediatric ED dishevelled and crazed, uncaring of how you look to the rest of the world.

“seolhee,” you mutter to yourself, pace slowing to an unsteady stumble as you twist and turn to find her familiar smile. “seolhee, where are you?”

nurse yejin spots you and rushes up to grasp you by the elbow. “doctor l/n,” she urges with wide eyes, “she came in as a code blue. she's in the resus bay but she–”

your blood runs cold and the rest of nurse yejin's words become a muffled fuzz in your ear along with the surrounding clamour of the ED, replaced instead by a high-pitched ringing that reverberates throughout your entire skull. gaze unfocused, you sway as your feet slowly pivot in the direction of the resus bay. nurse yejin’s outstretched hand falls to her side and she watches you helplessly, your shoes shuffling with contradictory urgency and hesitancy towards the sliding glass doors.

around you, the commotion of the ward blurs away, your vision narrowing into a pinprick tunnel the closer you get. seonghwa tries to reach for you when you pass by him and some of your colleagues near the doors, but you continue shambling forward as if you are possessed, mind and body completely blind to his presence and touch. you do not stop until you reach the doors. slowly, you bring your hands up to rest on the cool surface as you press yourself closer and look inside.

it’s a code blue, you think to yourself in a state of trance and stupored confusion at the scene that unfolds before your eyes, but why is nobody resuscitating seolhee? why is nobody helping her? why isn’t anybody doing anything?

“seolhee,” you whisper vaguely, right hand weakly hitting the glass. then again, you call out her name, this time with more urgency. “seolhee.”

you hit the glass once more, then a third time but harder yet. “seolhee!” you shout, both hands now fisted and pounding against the glass in distress. “seolhee! somebody save her!”

hands start to pull you back but you do not register any of them nor are they strong enough to draw you away from the doors. the anguished cries of your name are left unheard, but despite the wildness of your crazed desperation, your mind vaguely registers the few words that somehow manage to break through. the sounds are warped and distorted as if you are continuously being thrust underwater then hauled upwards over and over again, but it is enough for you to piece them together.

“cardiac arrest…multi-organ failure–” “–terminal lucidity–” “–time of death–”

your body nearly topples over as you freeze under the resistance of those around you, jostling around limply in the crowd of limbs. all of a sudden, you are wrenched out of the water and your chest convulses trying to gasp for air. the noise of the ED and the shouts around you flood back into your ears like a tsunami, except it comes from every direction imaginable with force that has multiplied infinitely and pulverises your entire soul.

you cannot stay here any longer. you run.

you run wherever your feet take you and you do not stop, even when your lungs and your legs begin to sear at the same intensity as the inferno that currently incinerates your heart. lurching up stairs after stairs after stairs, you run and run and run until you burst through the doors to the rooftop of the hospital where your chest takes in a heaving inhale. the piercing temperature of the air leaves your system shocked and breathless and you stumble over to the ground.

there is nothing to break your fall in every sense, so there, on your hands and knees at your absolute lowest in the stinging cold of the hospital rooftop, you finally shatter into smithereens. it starts off as a tremble of your lips and a quiver of your chin, a choked stutter of breath as your eyebrows crumple and your eyes blink back the growing heat behind them. but then a small cry of pain leaves you and you lean back heavily onto your feet before your hands fist the material of your scrubs. your skin turns white as you clench and rock yourself back and forth, breathing erratic and sobs increasing in volume until they are long, soulful wails.

your entire body convulses uncontrollably with each gut-wrenching cry that leaves you. the world around you blurs away from the tears that fall down your face and your head pounds with lightheadedness. you hit your chest with an agonised fist, again and again, harder and harder, because you would rather feel any physical pain than the shattering crevice in your heart.

you are suddenly jostled by a strong pair of arms wrapping around your upper body. they tuck you firmly into their chest, a hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself any further and the other pressing your head against the warmth of their neck.

they shush you repetitively with soothing rocks back and forth. as they comfort you, their own voice cracks from their constricted throat, “i’ve got you, y/n. just cry.” only then do you hazily register it as seonghwa’s voice. seonghwa, who was just as close to seolhee as you, understands the pain that is breaking you apart and is here to hold you through it.

you cannot rid the image of seolhee’s last smile out of your head–her excitement to go home for christmas, her cheery confession of how much she loves you. you fist the front of seonghwa’s scrubs and weep, “it hurts, seonghwa. why does it hurt so much?”

he rests his cheek against the top of your head, his own tears falling freely and dripping down to join yours on the snowy floor in bittersweet harmony. as doctors and nurses, grieving for patients is a luxury that cannot be afforded for every single life that is lost. grief is a weakness in the medical field because you cannot look back–you can only look forward and do your best to make sure there are no more lives that are lost.

but you forget that grief is not a weakness as a person, and you are human first and foremost before you are doctors and nurses. sometimes, it becomes a necessity to grieve before you can keep moving forward.

“i know, love,” seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. “grief is the price you pay for loving somebody.”

because unfortunately, life comes with transactions and between two people, there will always be one person who must pay the price of love.

you close your eyes, gritting your teeth when your face crumples again and a fresh bout of sobs escapes through your lips. seonghwa presses his lips to the crown of your forehead, resting them there while you shake in his arms. eventually, he murmurs into your hair, “you want to know what seolhee’s mother told me once?”

your answer is in the form of more anguished cries but you hang onto every word that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth like they are your lifeline. the corners of seonghwa’s lips tug upwards with mournful nostalgia as he tells you, “she’s always wanted to thank you for loving her daughter as if she is your own…so it’s okay–it’s normal for you to hurt so badly, because you love seolhee and the more you love somebody, the greater the price you pay.”

seonghwa’s unconscious choice of phrasing–that you love her, not that you loved her–simultaneously cradles and crushes your heart. it is an exact reflection of the last conversation you had with seolhee. snow may melt, but it does not change the fact that snowflakes flutter down from the sky. seolhee may be gone, but it does not change the fact that you love and remember her.

“seolhee’s last wish was fulfilled,” seonghwa softly murmurs, pulling out his phone from his pocket to turn the screen on. the light hurts your sensitive eyes when you try to make out the display through your fuzzy vision and you can just barely make out what looks to be the time on his lockscreen. he explains, “it’s four thirty am…that makes it christmas already. not only was she able to spend some time at home with her family again, but now she gets to spend the rest of her christmas back where she came from–”

your boyfriend pulls away slightly and tilts your head up tenderly with his fingers. you see him properly for the first time tonight. his eyes are just as red and swollen as yours are, cheeks wet and glistening despite the small smile he gives you when you finally look at him. he finishes, “–the sky, with all the other beautiful angels just like her.”

you slowly follow his gaze upwards. once more, a wounded cry breaks free at the sight that greets you. it no longer snows, the thin blanket of snowflakes covering the ground and the rooftop the only traces left and already steadily melting away. but that is not what makes you sob even harder.

the skies above you are filled with an endless expanse of stars, shining and gleaming no matter where your eyes look. there are thousands upon millions of stars, too many to begin counting even if you were to stand on the rooftop for numerous lifetimes.

the heavens cried in the form of the first snow when seolhee was born, for they lost her to the world. but tonight they rejoice, for their precious angel has returned soaring through the starry skies. and even amidst her joy of freedom–from the shackles of pain and suffering–seolhee remembers to tell you that she loves you more than you can fathom.

more than you can count the stars in the sky.

you jolt awake confused and disorientated for the second day in a row. only, this time it is not a jerk-induced reaction to your ringtone but a sudden thrust into consciousness by the feeling that you have overslept.

shit, what time is it? i have work.

the rising flood of panic in your chest is immediately quelled when you spot a scrap of paper on your bedside table, handwriting printed neatly in the centre.

hongjoong took sick leave for you today. don’t worry about work and go back to sleep after you take the painkillers.

that is when you register the fucking terrible headache you are sporting and you let out an involuntary groan as you press a hand to your temple. your other hand grabs the two tablets and you down them with the glass of water beside the paper.

groggily, you pat the mattress around you in search of your phone to look at the time. apart from the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the curtains to your left are drawn shut in your room, making it impossible to discern whether it is the morning, afternoon or night. the numbers blink back at you when you turn the screen on and you find that you have slept past lunchtime. confusion swirls inside of you with an unusual mix of something else. taking the day off work is not the only thing that is off.

wait.

your head jerks to the left, then to the right, then down at your bedding–the blue-grey colour familiar and soft to the touch. you are in your room–your room room, back at your place with the boys. you turn your phone on again and check the date. it is christmas.

and then it hits you.

it is still christmas. it is still the same day as what now feels like a vivid fever dream. you can only recall bits and pieces, so hazy and yet so evocative at the same time. it is like trying to make sense of an optical illusion; it disappears when you think about it too directly, but the moment you take your mind off it even slightly, it is right there in your peripheral vision, begging for your attention.

you remember being woken up by seonghwa’s phone call and your desperation to get to the hospital. you remember mingi driving you there and then sprinting towards the ED. you remember breaking down on the hospital’s rooftop after finding out that seolhee had…

your fingers pinch the inside of your left wrist to stop yourself from finishing the memory. with an unsteady exhale, all tension is lost from your body and you fall back to slump against the headboard. grief starts to take over you once more, vice tightening its grasp around your heart but simultaneously leaving a cavernous hollowness and numbness in your chest.

that is how wooyoung finds you an hour later, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from you and swimming in muddy water. he had only tentatively knocked twice on your door before entering, half-expecting you to still be asleep and making a soft noise of surprise when he finds that you are not. in the back of your mind, you vaguely feel a twinge of guilt at not having the energy to do something as simple as greet him as he sits carefully on the edge of your bed.

but wooyoung is a persistent soul and an even more persistent lover. he has learnt from experience that sometimes, asking anything but what he truly wants to ask is what you actually need. wooyoung catches himself from gazing sadly at you, putting on a small smile instead as he lays a hand over your thigh. his touch is warm through the blanket.

“should i bring in some food for you? there’s dumpling soup,” he tells you. “or do you want to go to the living room? we can put on a movie.”

it is hard to find the words to answer him–hard to even hum or nod or shake your head in response. your fingers twitch slightly in the direction of wooyoung’s hand still on your thigh and he immediately moves it to place over yours. the rhythmic touch of his thumb brushing back and forth over your skin is soothing.

“we don’t have to talk. we can just sit for a bit,” he offers.

the room settles into silence for a while as he gives you time to decide. finally, you ask, voice quiet, “who’s home?”

wooyoung wriggles a little closer with restrained excitement at your response. “all of us are.” when you blink at him in reaction, he understands your question immediately because none of you can remember the last time the nine of you had a day off together, much less on a christmas. he explains, “we all took whatever personal leave we could.”

“the hospital let?” you frown slightly, the tone of disbelief the most amount of emotion you have shown so far.

wooyoung mirrors the minute increase in animation with cheek in his vague shrug, “they can’t afford to fire any of us. plus…i think we’ve all realised that some things are more important than work.”

you are more important than work; ‘us’ is more important than work.

something tugs at your heartstrings and you sit up a little straighter. looking at wooyoung, a slight spark of resolve lighting up in your eyes, you slowly suggest, “can we…have a talk?”

he is taken aback with pleasant surprise as he answers, “of course we can. we don’t have to do it today though.”

“no,” you shake your head, “let’s talk now.”

while we still can. before it becomes too late. plus, who knows when the next time all of you are together like this will be.

so you follow wooyoung out of your bed and then out of your room, his fingers intertwined between yours as he walks the both of you into the living room. it is a lie to say that it is not awkward seeing everybody’s heads turn towards you in simultaneity and your knee-jerk response is to dismiss their poorly-concealed concern with a wave of your hand and an, ‘i’m fine’. but you think you have had enough of that–enough of pretending and enough of pushing them away.

yunho opens his arms from his seat on the couch, eyes hopeful. you push away any second thoughts and bury yourself against him. your boyfriend pulls you right into his chest whilst tucking your legs off the ground over his thighs and he murmurs against your temple, “you sleep okay?”

you nod into his neck as jongho asks, “did you take the painkillers?” and seonghwa questions, “do you want dumplings?”

a small puff of amusement comes out of your chest because just mere weeks ago, perhaps even one, questions like these would have fanned an inexplicable inferno inside of you. now, it all seems so long ago, but it does not change the fact that you are apologetic about it–apologetic about a lot of things.

“i took them, thanks jongho. and maybe later, hwa,” you respond softly. “come sit?”

the boys heed to your words immediately and the oldest of your boyfriends crosses the living room in three large strides to take your other side on the couch, the rest of them settling on the adjacent couch or on the floor. the shared warmth from being sandwiched between seonghwa and yunho immediately envelops you in comfort and safety and your body relaxes into the shape of theirs.

you do not know where to start, much less what you even want to say to the boys now that you are here with them. there are masses of things to unpack and each one seems like such a colossal mountain to climb. some you do not know the route up, others you know the route up but not the way back down, and the rest you cannot even see the mountaintop. so you choose to start easy: at the very bottom of the trail where it is safe.

“i miss having clean scrubs,” you blurt out, “and i miss the lunches that wooyoung cooks and the coffees that jongho makes.”

from beside you, yunho’s body rumbles with low laughter at your unexpected conversation starter and he glances down at you fondly. his voice is soothing in your ear as he says, “we miss seeing your night light greet us whenever we come home.”

“and the changes you make on our whiteboard calendar,” yeosang adds.

“we struggled to remember our shifts without you keeping track of them,” jongho divulges sheepishly.

yeosang tattles with a giggle, “he was late for work for the first time.”

“yeah,” you smile, “i heard.”

jongho huffs out before quipping, “at least i still knew how to squeeze my own toothpaste and find my own car keys.”

both hongjoong and wooyoung curse indignantly at the uncalled-for betrayal of the youngest as he pointedly ignores them and continues, “some of us have realised we have non-existent survival skills without you.”

“oh, speak for yourself,” san nudges him endearingly.

but you are more than grateful for the lightening of the mood because you do not think you would have the courage to otherwise abruptly apologise, “i’m sorry that i took so many things for granted.”

“what? no,” san counters, the first of many others to parrot the same thing. “we’re sorry about that too. when you moved out, we also realised just how many things you do for us without our appreciation. you raised a valid concern because our relationship with one another is something we have all become too complacent about.”

yunho squeezes you a little tighter with the arm he has around your shoulders. he muses, “it’s easy for a long-term relationship to become less ‘exciting’, but we forget that part of the reason is because we simply become so attuned to one another’s likes and dislikes, preferences and habits that it becomes our own second nature to do those things naturally. it isn’t that we love each other less, it’s just that we become so used to the way we love and are loved that we stop noticing it.”

your mind drifts slightly to a sweet, little girl with a bright smile, telling you that relationships are not always about the grand gestures, but rather the small things. she always did know better than you.

“in saying that though,” hongjoong brings up, “as important as it is for us to start appreciating all of those things again, i think it’s just as important for us to put in the conscious effort to go out of our way to have quality time and conversations with one another, like going on dates.”

wooyoung cackles, “that’s a bit rich coming from you, mister sorry-i-forgot-about-our-date,” and a snort comes out of you despite yourself.

the older flips him off. on both hands.

now occupied with his handsy insults, seonghwa takes over the conversation instead, “no relationship is perfect. they all need mutual effort to maintain and it definitely won’t be easy, especially since so many of you are nearing the end of your residency. it’ll be a busy few months preparing for the board exam and there’ll be plenty of hurdles to jump over in the future too, but things will work out because we’ve got each other’s backs now.”

the boys all smile affectionately at one another and at you. seonghwa presses a loving kiss against your temple and you bathe in the brief feeling of everything being okay before you remind yourself that it still is not. “on that note,” you start cautiously, “i owe you all another apology.”

you catch the gaze of mingi’s soft expression from opposite you, who gives you a small nod and a minute smile of encouragement. with an exhale, you admit, “the way i handled everything–not just moving out but everything leading up to that–i know you were all trying to look out for me and i shouldn’t have pushed you all away the way that i did. i just–everything was so overwhelming and confusing and tiring, and i wanted to work things out by myself because all of you had enough things to deal with, and i…”

once more, you are unsure of what you want to communicate. you are sick of not knowing and not understanding and your eyes start to water with frustration.

at your sentence trailing off, mingi finally speaks up, “life isn’t meant to be smooth sailing, y/n. yes, they’re your feelings, but that doesn’t mean that they have to make sense to you.”

and it is as if that is the validation you have needed all along, because the vice around your chest finally loosens its grip. you can breathe again and the rush of oxygen into your lungs without a heavy weight crushing you inwards is liberating.

“as healthcare workers, we become accustomed to seeing other people in the most painful moments of their lives.” mingi gently shrugs his shoulders, “we become accustomed to invalidating our own feelings. it doesn’t matter if we’re having a bad day; there will always be somebody else having the worst day of their lives. but we forget that pain is not relative–just because somebody else is hurting ‘more’, it doesn’t make our own hurt hurt less.

“and yeah, work is always going to be shitty and we’re always going to run ourselves ragged chasing after time, and then coming home from work to eight of us is going to be tiring too,” he chuckles softly. “but y/n…i think part of the reason why it’s been so hard for you is because you never let yourself have time for yourself. you never let yourself be tired or be hurt.”

you swallow your objections–the voice inside of you that says you shouldn’t and the voice that says you can’t–because you know mingi is right. you just needed to hear that you should and that you can.

he continues, “we all need quiet time away from other people and that’s okay. we spend all day showing our patients, their families and our colleagues the best side of ourselves, which means that a lot of the times we only have the…” mingi scratches the side of his head as he finds a way to express his thoughts without saying ‘the ugly side’, because that is far from what it is. “we only have the side of ourselves that we do not like as much because it isn’t what we view as ‘perfect’. but it simply holds our realest emotions–fatigue, stress, worry, frustration, impatience. it is not just you who has that side–we all do and we understand better than anybody how guilty it can feel when that is the only side that is left by the time we get home.”

there is a brief pause in the conversation as he lets the words sink in. around you, heads and gazes lower alike to the floor because that guilt is something that resounds with everybody in the room. you continue to look at mingi, though, unable to avert your eyes as his solace finally stirs the cathartic release of tears flowing freely from your heart to your eyes.

“like i said, it’s okay to take time away from us; in your room or out with your friends or somewhere else. but at the same time, i want you to know that it doesn’t make us love you any less if you don’t come home happy. you don’t love us any less when we’re unable to leave our baggage at work, because you have the same struggles. in fact, you are often the first to offer to share the load.

“as doctors and nurses, we have signed up for a lifetime of baggage and sacrifice. and that is exactly why it is that much more important for you to know that home is your safe space.” mingi gazes at you with all the earnesty in his heart. “we are your safe space where you can share your baggage. we might not be able to take it off you, but we sure as hell can curse or laugh or cry together over it, and sometimes, just that is already enough to help you keep carrying its weight over whatever mountain you are facing.”

from beside mingi, san watches you with a clenching heart. in an ideal world, san would rather you have no baggage at all and he be your only mountain–the one who shields you from the harsh elements of the world and is your unwavering presence from sunrise till sunset and yet again till the following sunrise. he sees the way you finally lower your head and let months of repressed tears fall in front of them, soft sobs in yunho and seonghwa’s comforting arms and the rest of your boyfriends within reach.

but san knows your tears are no longer ones of pain or fatigue, so for now, that is enough. he scooches closer across the floor until he is at your feet, peering up at you from between the strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face. tenderly, he asks, “y/n, will you move back in with us?”

a warm hand brushes over your cheeks. it could be san, it could be seonghwa, it could be yunho or it could be any of them. but it does not really matter. what matters is this: in order to love others, you must first love yourself–

“yeah,” you slowly nod, “i will.”

–and part of loving yourself is letting others love you. there is no place like home, much less a place like where your boys are. snow melts, but it will always fall again. without fail.

as your boyfriends all shuffle closer and envelop you in the middle of an embrace that is long overdue, loving warmth dizzying to the touch, outside the windows the first snowflake of many others flutters its graceful path down from the sky. soon, snow will cover the streets as far as the eye can see.

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

but that is exactly why it is ironic. the hospital is a symbol of misery, the white colour of its interior the embodiment of sterility and detachment all year round–all except for a few days. on christmas eve, christmas itself and perhaps even the rest of the week leading up to the new year, the corridors are adorned with never-ending lengths of glittering tinsel, the wards are filled with the low hum of christmas carols on a looping playlist, and the staff all wear silly scrubs with rudolph faces and dancing santas on them.

there is an underlying hum of excitement and festive cheer that overrides the usual despondency of the hospital as everybody pretends it does not exist, even if just for a few days. the electric buzz thrums not just in the air at work but outside of work too, filling households with a hustle and bustle of liveliness–yours included.

“hongjoong!” you yell as you knock on the bathroom door, “we’re leaving in a few minutes!”

you press yourself flat against the door as yunho races past you with several pairs of socks in both hands despite the ones he already has on his own feet. he skids to a wobbly stop and shuffles backwards two steps to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“gross,” you laugh, pretending to wipe it off your face, but yunho is already skedaddling off again back towards his destination of the living room, on a mission to deliver the socks to your other boyfriends.

ever since you, yunho, yeosang and san all passed the board exam and became fully licensed doctors like hongjoong, your shifts have been significantly more consistent. it is much easier for you and your boyfriends to drive to work together in fewer cars, making the mornings before work significantly more chaotic. your wake-up times and subsequent bathroom usage is no longer as staggered as it was with different start times and several more night shifts, but it is a good chaotic–a bright and lively chaotic.

hongjoong yells back at you, “my hair gel isn’t hair gel-ing!” and you nearly topple onto him when he suddenly pulls the bathroom door open.

his hair is swept up neatly away from his forehead and there is not a single strand that is out of place. you chuckle and tell him as such, “your hair looks perfect, joong,” but you know his nerves are due to something completely different. you cup his jaw and gently pull him towards you for a kiss before you encourage, “you’ll do great today. you already presented at the korean neurological association earlier this year–what’s a seminar to the hospital staff in comparison?”

your boyfriend groans, “i know these people though. they’re all my colleagues.”

“and all of these colleagues will be wearing their ugly christmas sweaters or have stupid antler headbands with glowing lights on top of their heads. trust me, you’ll do amazing,” you reassure, pressing another chaste kiss against his lips to quieten his worries.

“y/n! hongjoong!” yeosang hollers.

“coming!”

you pull hongjoong out of the bathroom with you hand in hand, only letting go when you both fumble to catch the socks that yunho chucks through the air in your directions. within the next few minutes, there are playful elbows, harmless shoves and childish curses as you all cram yourselves in the corridor to put on your shoes and walk out the door to the car.

as you squish into the backseat with hongjoong and yeosang, yunho in the driver’s seat and san beside him, the latter wonders what you should all do after work. by some christmas miracle, neither you nor any of your boys have been scheduled for a night shift today, which means that if there are no hiccups at work, the nine of you will be able to spend christmas together once more.

you like to think that your guardian angel is still looking out for you, even an entire year later.

“should we try to make a reservation for a nice restaurant?” san suggests. “or should we stay up and watch a movie together?”

hongjoong proposes, “i have a friend who works at a pretty decent french restaurant if we want to go there.”

voicing your opinion without prefacing it with an apology is still something you are working on, but you have gotten much better at communicating over the year. you pipe up, “i’d prefer to stay at home tonight, but the movie sounds like a good idea. maybe we can go to your friend’s restaurant for new year’s?”

“yeah, i don’t really fancy going out tonight either,” yeosang agrees. “but new year’s, definitely.”

san nods enthusiastically. “i’ll let the rest of the boys know,” he says, then sends a question for movie recommendations for tonight into the group chat.

it is not long after that yunho pulls into the hospital’s car park where you all pile out and wait obediently by a nearby pillar as he backs the car into a particularly tight space. when he has turned the ignition off and carefully squeezed himself out without slamming the door into the car beside him, it is his turn to wait obediently as you all thank him with a quick hug or peck on the cheek.

you grasp the collar of his coat and pull him down to give him a teasing kiss on the forehead but he tiptoes instead to make it harder for you. in retaliation, you quickly jab his side and he immediately keels over enough for you to plant a triumphant kiss on his face. the boys chuckle around you, yunho pretending to nurse his wounds as he stumbles after all of you into the elevator.

the doors close and he straightens to offhandedly comment, “you guys thank me for driving every single time.”

yeosang shoots back with the same nonchalance, “because we’re thankful every single time.”

yunho claps his hand over his mouth and looks at the younger out of the corner of his eyes, but it is clear that he is hiding a bashful grin behind his fingers. the expression is not lost to any of you, your displays of gratefulness always done with the intention of making one another feel appreciated for even the smallest of things, because you have all learnt that a simple thank you goes a long way.

“see you all after work,” hongjoong says, stepping out into the lobby with the rest of you following him to let those waiting for the elevator get in.

just as you all turn to walk off your separate ways to your respective departments, he calls out as an afterthought, uncaring of the people around, “merry christmas, babes!”

you reciprocate his words with a laugh, a tinkling, cheery sound that makes san reach out for your hand and intertwine your fingers together to pull you in for a quick kiss of endearment. “choi san!” you giggle, slapping him lightly and looking around to see if anybody noticed.

if there is one thing that has changed the most over the year, it is how daring your boyfriends have become with public displays of affection. but, just as wooyoung has made it a point to remind you all of his newfound motto, what is the hospital going to do? fire all nine of you?

highly unlikely.

“alright, babes,” san tugs you along teasingly, “let’s get to work.” pinkies intertwined and swinging gently between your bodies, the two of you walk towards the same department, letting go only at the last moment to lead your morning rounds.

there is a running joke that it does not matter if you end up having enough children to make an entire soccer team because almost half of you are now fully licensed to work with children; you and san as doctors, seonghwa and wooyoung as nurses. there is no need to worry about ageing either, not when the other five are each in charge of their own specialties too.

you and your boys do not work at a hospital–you and your boys are the hospital. and it certainly feels that way when there is almost always at least one of them watching over you, regardless of wherever you are in the paediatric department.

it is later that day as you are attending to a three-week-old baby in the NICU when a second-year resident walks up to you, addressing you carelessly. immediately, you feel wooyoung’s ears perk up and watchful eyes zero in on the offending resident as the both of you recognise the younger.

“good to see you’ve stuck with paediatrics, doctor lim,” you greet neutrally. it is anything but good to see him still in the medical program at all, but you digress.

your past intern ignores your comment, confidence through the roof not only because he has somebody backing him up but because he is now a second-year resident. he shortly says, “doctor nam wants you taking over the shift for the NICU attending tonight.”

the department head has more or so left you alone for the last few months, but you guess he suddenly felt a christmas urge to scratch an itch that never existed in the first place. your expression remains impartial as you ask, “for what reason?”

dr. lim is unable to hide the brief flash of surprise across his face, not having expected you to put up a fight. he quickly scowls, “do as you’re told.”

you will not, in fact, ‘do as you’re told’, not when dr. nam is blatantly abusing his power to assign you a shift without a proper justification or notice–and through dr. lim at that too. you sure hope wooyoung can hear you as you respond sarcastically, “tell doctor nam to notify me of this change in schedule through an email from the chief resident. i’m sure he’s familiar with the proper procedure that i’m referring to.”

“i’ll make sure to tell him,” dr. lim scorns and you snort as he retreats.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to you,” you mutter at his back. you hope he slips on ice on his way home tonight.

you jump in surprise when you turn around and find wooyoung right there, an absolutely shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. he cackles as he quotes, “‘merry fuckin’ christmas to you.’ the boys are going to love it when i tell them what just happened.”

the shove you give him only serves to make him laugh even harder but you cannot deny that a sense of pride rushes through your body. force doctor nam to leave written evidence that can be used against him, jongho had advised you to do one day, and you feel a surge in confidence that this might actually work.

wooyoung certainly thinks that it will, gathering himself enough to give you an attractive smirk as he leans closer to whisper into your ear, “that’s our girl.” pleasant shivers run down your spine at his deep voice and it leaves you on cloud nine long after he stalks off absolutely preening at the response he has elicited from you.

you do not hear from dr. lim or dr. nam again nor do you receive an email regarding the extra shift tonight, so you begin to safely assume that the request is no more–that is, until the end of your shift when you are in the team workroom finishing off a referral letter.

“doctor y/n,” dr. bang grabs your attention from the table opposite you with a cryptic tone of amusement. “i think you’re wanted.”

you blink at the slight smugness on her face with confusion until she beckons her head behind you in the direction of the office door. you glance back, suddenly expecting dr. nam to be standing there fuming and ready to give you a harsh reprimand for your snarky response. except it is not him.

of all people, you did not expect it to be mingi, pressed up against the little window that looks through the door into the room. but then you realise he is not the only one peeping in–there is another pair of mischievous eyes in the corner of the window that you recognise as yunho’s, and another face pressed up against the large window along the wall, and oh–

they are all gathered around the workroom peering in with varying expressions of cheekiness as they enthusiastically wave at you. it is hard to tell whether you are the monkey in the zoo or if they are the monkeys staring out through their enclosure. you guffaw, half in embarrassment and half in exasperated fondness, then scramble to save your work and log off for the night before your boyfriends garner even more attention than they already have.

with unrestrained eagerness, your boys drag you off after exchanging rushed but warm wishes of  “merry christmas”s with your and san’s colleagues. seonghwa pivots around from where he has been walking at the front of the group, “should we walk home today?”

“in the snow?”

he nods excitedly, so obviously the youngest in his family despite being the oldest in your relationship. “we can finally experience a hallmark christmas.”

“what about our cars?” yunho asks, although he is not at all opposed to the idea.

seonghwa suggests, “how about you and i drive the cars home and then we’ll start walking back here. we can meet up along the way and walk the rest home together.”

the two of them share a look for a few seconds before they immediately take off in unison in the direction of the lifts to the car park, yunho hollering over his shoulder, “walk slowly!” within seconds, they disappear from sight around a corner and the rest of you blink at the fast exchange that has just occurred.

“fuck it, we ball,” wooyoung grins, earning himself a scandalised look from hongjoong as a reminder he is still in the hospital. “come on, gramps,” he snickers, then loops an arm around the older’s shoulders and starts to drag him towards the main entrance, the rest of you falling into step beside them as he devises, “let’s think about how we can attack the two with snowballs once they get back.”

only, he really should have known who he was going to be up against.

you and your boyfriends are about halfway home, cutting through a small field of what is now covered in a decent layer of fresh snow, when a snowball suddenly whizzes past your face and explodes against the side of wooyoung’s head in a detonation of white crumbs. he whirls around with a shriek absolutely ready to risk it all in the name of your dared treachery, only to see yeosang getting pummelled in a similar fashion and then jongho following victim immediately after.

“snowball fight!” comes seonghwa and yunho’s combined battlecries from thin air before a hail of pre-made snowballs is unleashed upon your group.

hongjoong’s screams fill the air until he is abruptly cut off by a mouthful of snow and wooyoung runs around like a headless chicken as three snowballs hit their mark in quick succession. you laugh loudly, running to hide behind jongho who has escaped several feet away from the danger zone. san, too, starts to retreat a distance, but only to shovel snowballs together without the risk of anybody stepping on them.

a shower of residual snow sprinkles over you as yunho switches targets and pitches his snowballs in your direction. however, you rapidly realise his eyes are only fixated on jongho. your shield now a danger hazard, you make a split decision and run as fast as you can through the snow towards your tallest boyfriend. call yourself fickle or whatever, you are simply a survivor.

“traitor!” mingi yells out and points a finger at you. “y/n has switched sides!”

the boys echo with a roar, “traitor!” and you squeal with adrenalised glee as you leap the final stride towards yunho, who stretches out a hand to pull you behind him. seonghwa immediately rushes to defend you both, throwing snowball after snowball with scary precision and strength. you can only hear the solid thump of snow hitting against thick clothing and the splutters of indignation as a result of the eldest’s lobs because your eyes are closed from how hard you are now laughing.

with equally-as-scary unity, hongjoong and your five youngest boyfriends charge in simultaneity towards you and yunho. neither of you have time to brace yourselves before you are tackled into the snow, limbs tangling together as seonghwa also jumps on top.

you cannot tell who is who, but you can tell exactly whose laugh is whose–each one so distinct and playing out as different melodies in your ears. your own laughter is radiant and effervescent and the sound makes every one of your boys break out into a joyous smile. yunho starts to push the others’ weights off of himself and you, and they begin to roll off the pile into the snow around you.

one by one they join you on their backs, your bodies leaving the memory of your merriness deep in the white softness of the ground. you are all a little breathless; from the physical exertion and adrenaline of the childlike fight, from the windedness of being tackled into a dog-pile, from the chill slowly seeping in through your clothes from the snow, from the soul-stirring view of the night sky above.

you all lay there in silence, hush broken only by the scattered puffs of visible air as you catch your breaths under the whispering snowfall.

it is amazing how much can change in one year. you still fatigue from juggling your time, down to the last second. you still burn out from the sacrifices you make as a doctor, no matter your years of experience. you still grieve over the loss of seolhee, particularly on this day. but you are finally at peace with yourself, with your life and with the love you deserve, and you realise that you are also breathless from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky, content and happy you are.

in a burst of gratification and fulfillment, you are unable to stay silent. you confess, heartfelt words that you keep close to your soul every day, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling right now.”

your boys turn to look at you, gazes softening impossibly at the tranquil smile that adorns your face. seonghwa feels a heat gathering behind his eyes, knowing better than any of them the weight behind your confession.

he prompts, softly, tenderly, “and if it stops snowing?”

you smile wider, because you have been taught the answer by a forever-seven-year-old-girl who received all the bad things in the world yet chose to only see the good; who taught you not to focus on what has melted away, but rather what you remember; who taught you that the purest reflection of love is something that is hard to see but will always be looking over you.

and so if it stops snowing?

“then count the stars in the sky.”

[lemonabouttodrop]

Say what now?

Part 2 of 'How could you?'

Azriel x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel came with apologies stitched into his silence, but when his gaze met yours, the words slipped away. What he offered instead wasn’t quite what you'd hoped, but for him, it was a tether, a reason to keep you a little closer, a little longer.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, insecurity, kinda crack?, mentions of Irish forms of art, scars? (sorry y'all, still haven't exactly figured how to write warnings yet)

Note: Probably has mistakes but I'm re-using my 'first fic' card again since this is still a part 2 of my first one. thxthx.

part 1 linked here.

Azriel didn't remember how to stand. Where do his hands go? Behind his back? Too child-like.

In his pockets? Too casual.

Should they dangle? Probably not.

So he just stood there frozen with his hands flailing around unsurely and his wings fighting against twitching as he processed what just happened.

You'd spoken. Albeit uninterestedly, like you wanted nothing to do with him. He'd never heard you sound so- well, dull. He hated that he was the cause of that. It had been a week since he heard you properly. And oh, how he wished he could turn back time.

But he couldn't, so he'd just take a tiny bit of joy from what just happened.

You'd spoken .To him. To him.

He'd been in the kitchen, the place where his suffering first started, boiling tea when you'd walked in and not immediately turned around, instead you'd spoken. To him. Hell, you were even looking at him so he clearly wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't even heard what you'd said, he'd just heard your voice again and his heart had done its best to lurch out of his chest.

"Huh?", he said and immediately cringed at how dumbfounded he sounded.

"I said I'm done with the mission report. It's on your desk." You repeated blandly. The report.. about the mission after which he'd ruined it all. His face fell, once again reminded of what he'd caused.

It seems you recollect it too, for you turned around to leave

"Wait!", he says, slightly too loudly to be anything but desperate.

Shit. The plea had left his throat before he could stop himself. Now what? He hadn't thought this through at all.

You were looking at him, now facing him again, with a brow raised and arms crossed.

He was looking at you, with his hands suspended mid-air and his eyes slightly wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm- Can we.. talk?", Mother above he needed to get it together. Stop this stuttering.

"About?"

Good question. That's a really good fucking question that he does not know how to answer.

His shadows twirled mid-air as if taunting him, and he knew that if they could speak his tongue, they'd most definitely be doing just that. Infact, they'd probably be cursing him out right about now.

Though they were attached to him, they'd always taken every available opportunity to be next to you, to side with you, to take care of you. Even now, most gravitated in your direction no matter how strongly he held them back.

You must have realized this silence meant he had no goddamn clue what to say to you. He saw it in your eyes and as he anticipated your departure, you stepped forwards and sat at the island, looking at him patiently.

His heart, which happened to still have been doing the Irish jig in his chest, seemed to just about stop and skip multiple beats. Because he had no clue, no clue how you let him be anywhere around you after what he'd said.

How you hadn't yet punched him or tried to in any shape or form. He deserved that at least. What he didn't deserve was this kindness.

But he'd be foolish to refute it, and so he sat down too and he knew what to do.

He'd get you back.

His shadows seemed to nod resolutely.

A mission. A gods damned mission?!

You'd expected anything but another fucking mission.

Then again, you assume your emotional instability due to the words of an overgrown bat cannot surmount to enough reason to put the court politics on halt.

You thought back to the whole encounter just hours ago as you packed your bags for tomorrow.

When he'd called out to you like that, you'd thought he'd apologize. You would have accepted it, you would have brushed off how hurt you truly had been, you'd definitely have found a way to convince yourself that an apology was enough. That whatever he said next was enough. Instead, he'd said nothing. He'd just stood there awkwardly, and yet you hadn't wanted to leave again. Gods, could you be any more desperate? Probably not.

One last chance. You thought to yourself.

Your mind told you to uphold your dignity and get the fuck out of there while you still had the chance, keep some semblance of self-respect. But a very tiny part of it still fought back and reminded you of all the quiet, beautiful moments you'd had with Azriel. How you'd surely never get any more if you left, but if you stayed? There was a possibility. The very tiny part made good points.

So you'd sat down and watched him patiently, hoping he wouldn't make a fool of you and leave you there. But he'd taken a seat as well, too clumsily, too fast. What was wrong with him? You wondered. You'd never seen him act so... disoriented.

He still didn't say a word. Just stared. It had been a while since you'd allowed yourself to look at him, to not turn around and flee at the sight of him.

He was beautiful, always had been. You couldn't help but give him a once-over. His sharp cheekbones seemed sharper, his hands were gloved. His hands were gloved? Why-

Oh.

Realization dawned on you like a brick on your face. It was winter, you'd massage his hands and relax the tense muscles of the scarred appendages everyday in this cold season. Or else his hands would cramp up. Badly.

How absorbed had you been in your self-pity to forget such a thing?

Cringing, you promised yourself to help him as soon as possible.

You looked up at him again to find him already staring, now catching your expression. You schooled it and looked him in the eyes.

Gods, his eyes.

They were more sunken than usual. Had sleep not been good to him lately? Who were you to talk? You knew you didn't look any better. And was it really bad that it felt good to assume you were the reason for his sleepless nights, like he was for yours? Yes, yes it was.

His shadows curled over his wings, as though peeking at you. Some slithered over the table in soft curves, inching over to you. They were always nice to you, you thought, smiling softly at them as a few wrapped around your wrists on the wood.

You'd wondered how long this whole game of silence would last.

And just as that thought passed your mind, he'd spoken.

And you'd just about had an aneurysm.

You looked at your stuff, mentally checking your list of essentials. It was a mission to the mountains. Nowhere near the camps, thank the Mother for that. He hadn't told you why it was a two person job and you hadn't asked. He also hadn't told you how long it would take and you hadn't asked. Turns out there's a bunch of stuff you should have asked.

Are your hands okay?

Did you go get Madja's soothing oils?

What kind of crack are you on to think that taking me, of all people, on this mission would ever end very well after what happened?

Who's hosting my funeral if I throw myself off a cliff in the duration of this business trip? Do I get insurance?

You laid down on the bed, content with your preparations. You'd done your best to not let your insecure thoughts plague you during the day but it was the night that was hard these days. Thoughts of inadequacy would rise every single breath you took. Mind would overflow with different interpretations of every interaction with him.

Heart would pace as thoughts of him took over your very being, until the world faded away and the pacing stopped. Until even the sounds of the wind dulled, until the magic in your veins fell into slumber and so did you.

Only to wake to a new day.

A new beginning? A better one?

Y'all, i got zero clue where i wanna take this. Still love that i have the ability to take this any which ways but would def def def love some suggestions. Thank you for all the likes pookies, thought no one would read my stuff but OMG are y'all sweet or what.

currently preparing for a big big big test that def decides the course of my life so i just do this when im stressed. Prolly not consistent but yuhpp. thank yewww.

and if you haven't noticed yet, i love commas,,,,,

@saradika-graphics for those gorgeous dividers. IN LOVE.

[kooqitas]

#pairing: best.friend!mingyu x reader ♡ #rough sex, humiliation, unprotected sex,

you always imagined that mingyu had feelings for you even though he was one of your best friends, and even if it was a little wrong maybe that was why you knocked on his door when your fertile period arrived.

it was actually easy, you always knew that mingyu was a 'pussy drunk' and that when it came to YOUR pussy he would be even more necessary. you arrived at his apartment with pizza and wine, you ate, drank, watched movies and before you knew it you were telling him how much the wine changed you! how 'easy' you became when the drink hit and made you feel unbearably horny.

maybe you were making fun of his feelings and no, you wouldn't be proud of it, but the horniness makes you so dumb that soon you started saying that your fingers weren't long and thick enough, that since you finished you relationship you hadn't been able to cum and that frustrated you, and you saw every gulp of saliva that mingyu made, every grip on your thigh that he gave in an attempt to control himself. and there you knew you would end the night exactly where you wanted: in his bed.

"you should try a vibrator," he suggested, a little uncomfortable, trying to pretend he wasn't imagining you fucking yourself with the toy.

"it's not funny... i want someone to fuck me hard."

you saw mingyu swallow again... "do it for me, gyu, fuck me!"

things happened in a complicated way, one second mingyu was on top of you and the next he was saying he couldn't, that you were too drunk. but he gave in, slid his hand into your panties, cursing how wet you were, and put one, two, three fingers inside you.

mingyu looked like a puppy, completely bewildered by the whole situation, he just needed to make you cum. his left hand went to your breasts, pinching the tip of your nipple while he continued fucking you with all three fingers.

"you are a bitch!" he said, still pushing his thick fingers against you, you couldn't tell if it was desire or anger, but whatever, it felt fucking good. "you're a fucking slut destroying our friendship over an orgasm"

"you say that but you keep fingering me… am i the bitch or are you a pathetic puppy?"

mingyu didn't answer, he just hit you, his heavy hand hitting your face without any hint of remorse, and then hitting your clit next, making you moan loudly.

"don't you dare make fun of me, not when you're a slut humiliating yourself to be fucked"

mingyu wanted to get up and tell you to leave, but all he could do was put your legs on his shoulder and start eating you out, his hot tongue going down all over your folds, making you squirm as he seemed to want to devour you. mingyu was agile, he made it clear how much experience he had and damn all you could think about was why you hadn't given yourself to him before

"i-im gonna-" you moaned, but mingyu stopped you before you could finish your sentence. "why did you stop?"

he laughed, machiavellian, the smile tugging at the corners, making you a little worried.

"what? you come to my house, act like a good girl, drink, act like a poor thing, beg me to eat this pussy and think that's enough?"

"but gyu, i-"

"shut the fuck up! you're a pathetic bitch"

you even wanted to argue, to say no, the only pathetic one there was him, but when you saw him, he had answered something very different.

"yes, i am!"

mingyu smiled, making you realize what you had said out loud, you thought about taking it back, but damn, he was so attractive and you wanted to cum so badly… maybe the best thing would be to just go with his flow.

"fuck me, gyu! make me your pathetic bitch… your cum dump…"

"you're sick…"

"please, gyu, i need you so much!"

he pushed you against the couch, not giving you a second to think as he thrust his thick cock inside you, making you whimper from the slight suffocation that the pillow beneath you offered you.

"is this what you want? to be fucked like a bitch in heat? a slut? do you want me to eat you and leave you here alone leaking my cum? i can do that, bitch!"

"g-gyu." You moaned. "s-slowly." you teased, making a sly little voice to irritate him.

"didn't you want this shit? didn't you want to end our fucking friendship just to feel a thick cock inside that disgusting pussy? do now take this shit."

mingyu pulled your head down, pushing your head even further against the pillow at the same time he gave your ass a loud slap, making you moan and lower your hips. and then he hit you again.

"don't be useless, keep that fucking hot ass up for me."

he continued to thrust hard, now pulling your hair hard with the intention of making you look at him and fuck, and god, looking at mingyu through the shoulders, sweaty, naked, with a pissed off look while he fucked you was simply the first wonder of the world

"stop screaming fuck, you begged so much for dick and you can't hold out a little without looking desperate?"

you didn't know THIS mingyu, and it was a surprise to discover that he was not only exactly how you wanted but much better. he kept thrusting hard, scratching your things, pulling your hair and your neck, and you came when his thumb ended up on your clit, you came embarrassingly, closing your legs as he kept fucking you until he finally filled you.

of course you wanted it, but you never thought you would be able to feel mingyu's cum dripping out of you, but more than an orgasm, it felt like a personal satisfaction…

he pulled away from you, still half dazed, his head dizzy from what they had just done, damn, it was a five-year friendship…

"gyu…"

"no. shut up, holy shit, what the hell did we do?"

and reality hit the door, damn, mingyu was one of your best friends… what the hell had happened.

"i… i'm in my fertile period, okay? i'm sorry!"

"fuck, and then you chose ME to deal with you like a dog in heat?"

"gyu…"

"no 'gyu'… fuck, you crossed the line… and you know the worst part? i liked that shit!"

"so we can do it again… hm? in your bed? your kitchen? balcony?"

"don't test my patience…"

"gyu…"

"fuck, i hate you!"

and yes… you came in his bed, and also in the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the balcony, you even tested the building's elevator afterwards…

[lieslab]

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Jeongin X gn reader

Summary: Your best friend opens up about his unhealthy relationship with his girlfriend.

Genre: Reverse comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.8k

Sexual violence resources

Trigger warning: Sexual assault and bullying.

A/N: The next time someone says something cruel about Jeongin, I'll be putting an alligator in their house. Anyway, I combined two different requests together because they both followed a similar outline with only a few differences. I made sure I touched on everything in each request, so both requestees should have what they asked for <3

_ _ _

“Jeongin?” You glanced over, checking on your best friend. “Hello? Earth to Jeongin, are you alive over there?” You leaned across the table and tapped his side of the table. 

A straw stuck in his mouth. Half-distracted, he chewed on it absent-mindedly. The movement of your hand and faint table taps brought him back. He looked up with a frown. “Huh?” 

You stared at his face, wondering if something else tugged his thoughts away from the conversation. He came over, so the two of you could catch up. You went on a walk, bought yourselves coffee at a cafe, and you came back to your place. He’d been quiet ever since. 

It wasn’t like him to avoid your gaze so much. He avoided your gaze and kept getting lost in his thoughts. It wasn’t the usual playful Jeongin you knew. He didn’t tease you yet, not like he usually did. In fact, he hadn’t said much of anything since he arrived. Most of the talking, it came from you and on your end. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Mhm.” 

You studied his eyes again, silently willing him to look at you, but he didn’t. He didn’t look at you. He glanced at the wooden surface of your round table. His fingers moved the straw in his cup and he took another sip of his americano. 

“You know you can talk to me if something is wrong, right?” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. You tried to ignore it and finish your story, but you struggled. The way his eyes avoided yours, it looked like a shame of some sort. Shame of what? You didn’t know. 

The two of you always got along pretty well. The occasional arguments, you could smooth them over with ease. Whatever it was, this was different. Something silent punctured his heart and you thought he’d bring it up, but he never did. 

After a few more minutes, you called his name again. This time, he’d been listening. He glanced up, briefly meant your eyes, and went back to the table’s worn surface. “Jeongin, what’s going on with you?” You put down your own drink and shifted closer. “You’re worrying me.” 

“I’m not trying to. I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, that’s all.” 

You believed him to some degree, but the way he spoke, he distanced himself from you. He shut down your conversation before it got started. He didn’t give you anything to work with and as much as you hated it, you couldn’t bring yourself to cross his boundaries, so you changed the subject instead. 

“How’s your girlfriend?” 

The corners of his mouth deepened. His shoulders slumped and he tightened his grip around the cup’s condensation. “She’s okay, I guess.” 

“You guess?” You echoed. 

He shook his head, causing strands of his brunette hair to shake. “I don’t know. We’re together, but…” 

“But something happened between the two of you?” 

“Well, no. I mean yes, but no. Not really. I just…” He trailed off, gripping the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on between us. It’s um…” 

You reached out, placing your hand over his. “You know I’d never judge you for whatever is going on.” You patted the back of his hand, hoping to cause a smile. “You can talk to me, I don’t bite.” 

“I really liked her at first. She’s pretty and she was sweet, but as the days keep rolling by, things have changed between us. She’s a lot more grabby with wandering hands and I understand wanting to be close.” 

Your eyebrow raised. 

He went on. “It’s only been a few weeks and she tries to talk me into moving further along in our relationship than I want to go. You know how I wanted to be a priest, right? I was raised Catholic and everything.” 

You nodded. 

“I just don’t feel like I’m ready for the next steps yet. I don’t know if I want to wait until marriage until we’re more intimate, but it’s barely been a month. It feels so fast and I don’t like that. I’ve tried to explain that, but she keeps grabbing my arms and slipping a hand beneath my shirt.” 

Your eyes widened, but he didn’t notice. Shame brushed along his stomach. His stomach knotted and twisted. Coffee crept up the back of his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it. 

“And maybe it’s my fault for not making my boundaries more known. I keep tugging away and pushing her hand away, hoping she’ll get the hint. It seems like she never does. She gets upset and then she makes these little comments and they make me feel awful.” 

“What kind of comments?” 

“Comments about the rest of my group and me. The rest of the guys, they’re always known for things. Chan is our leader. Minho is known for his dancing and threatening aura. Changbin is silly and playful. It just goes on and on.” 

“What does she say about you?” 

“She doesn’t think I’m special. I’m the youngest, but that doesn’t-” He paused to gesture. “That doesn’t bring much of anything to the table, does it? I’m just the youngest of the group. I’m not romantic like Hyunjin. I’m not poetic with my songwriting like Han. Felix is the sunshine, Seungmin is witty and always teases everyone, and me? I’m just-” 

He blinked rapidly, trying not to tear up. “I’m just me. I’m Jeongin. The youngest. I’m not much of anything according to her. She thinks I should focus on bettering myself, so I can be more admirable.” 

Your blood boiled with anger and then your heart burst. Not only did your best friend admit he was sexually assaulted, but then the added comments. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with his palms. 

“I’m sorry, it’s stupid, really. She’s right, I should be better. I should tell her how I feel and stop avoiding things. She says things and knows how to twist her words, making me feel awful.” 

“You’re allowed to feel awful after being sexually assaulted and insulted, Jeongin.” 

His head shook, “I wouldn’t call it that.” 

“But that’s what it is. If she’s going beneath your shirt without your consent, when you’re clearly uncomfortable. If she’s feeling you up and you’re trying to avoid her touch, that’s an example of sexual assault.” 

His bottom lip trembled. You pushed yourself up from your chair, letting your drink on your side of the table. Glassy eyes met yours and quickly looked away. He stood up as well, trying to spin around, so you wouldn’t see his free falling tears. 

“Come here and please let me hug you. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you really look like you could use a-” 

He jerked around and nearly caused you to hit the ground. You stumbled back from the force of his arms around you. Your waist came into contact with the table behind you, helping you stay upright. His arms wrapped around your torso tight and yours fell over his shoulders. 

You pulled him closer, letting his head fall beneath your chin. “I can’t believe she thinks you’re not special. You’re you. Yes, you might be the youngest, but you are special. I’ve considered you to be the most playful of the group.” 

“You taunt and tease sometimes. You bring youthful energy and that’s a high compliment. Sure, maybe the guys see you as a younger brother, but that doesn’t mean you’re not grown. As much as Chan keeps them in line, I think sometimes you speak up and keep the guys in line and responsible, too. Plus, in my opinion, you have the best voice.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, basking in the scent of you. The baby powder scent of his own shampoo tickled your nose. “Do you mean it? Because the way she talks, she makes it sound like I’m not worthy of the group.” 

“If Chan’s the heart, I think you’re the veins pumping all the energy. Giving energy to each organ, making sure the heart continues to beat regularly. I don’t think you give yourself the credit you deserve, Innie.” 

Warm tears soaked your shirt, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t everyday that Jeongin became this vulnerable with you. He wasn’t always so open. This vulnerability, you admired it. 

“I know you didn’t ask for my opinion, but I think you should break up with her. This isn’t healthy for you. You shouldn’t be in my arms being cheered up because her words are making you feel horrible. I don’t say it to be a horrible person, I say it because I love you.” 

“Love shouldn’t make you feel like this. Real love won’t shrink your heart, it’ll make it grow and swell so much, you think it’ll kill you from being so overjoyed. Love is a powerful thing and it has the power to make, or break you. It sounds like she’s lusting over you and not loving you.” 

He pulled away, trying to collect himself. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry for putting all of this on you.” He reached up, trying to wipe his eyes. 

“Don’t be sorry. I love you, you dork. I love your maturity and your radiant youthful glow. Have you seen a photo from when you were seventeen? Because it looks like you haven’t aged. It’s scary.” 

You reached out with two fingers, playfully trying to press them against his pulse. He yelped and whacked your hand away. “Hey! What are you-” 

“Oh, you won’t let me feel your pulse? Do you even have a heart?” You gasped and jerked back. “Oh my god, are you a vampire? Ah!” You squealed and rushed past the table and into the living room. “Don’t bite me!” 

“Why would I be a vampire?” 

“You won’t let me touch your pulse!” 

He started to follow your trail, chasing after you. “That doesn’t mean I-” 

A pillow weakly fell at his feet and you shrieked. “Stay back! Stay back! I’m warning you! May the power of Christ compel you!” Your fingers crossed over one another in a small cross. “Don’t make me get out a bible.” 

“Good grief,” he rolled his eyes. His eyes met yours. You stayed in defense, keeping up your cross. He stared at you for a moment before a grin spread across his face. “I vant to suck your vlood! Mwah-hahahahaha!” 

You screamed louder at the Romanian accent and rushed into your hallway. He called after you with a laugh and hurried after your silhouette. Your heart thudded against your chest. 

Maybe one day, you’d work up the courage to admit the crush you had on him, but right now, you had to outrun an immortal blood-sucking vampire and that was far more important than a silly little crush would ever be.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

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Ko-fi

[asapeveryday]

noctuary pt.4 - p.b x tlou au

noc·​tu·​ary ˈnäkchəˌwerē

: a collection of a single night's events, thoughts or dreams

--read pt.3 here

pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

AU: The Last of Us 2 x Wbb crossover

warnings: recreational drug use, mentions of smut in convo (but nothing happens at all lmao sorry)

synopsis: you meet her on the brink of giving up. she’s suspicious, too nice, too charismatic. you know you should be on guard, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and she’s eager to have nobody to be.

notes: this one's a little nika centric (sorry i luv her) but also because i wanted this chapter to really focus more on friendship, or really the beginning of it. having friends is important, but in this world i cant imagine it to be easy.

FRIENDSHIP ISN'T something foreign to you. You know the feeling of someone steady behind you, ready to defend. You can recall the comfortable brush of an arm slung around your shoulder. The lack of fear to speak your mind.

You wouldn't have survived back home without a friend. Everyone needed one, one person they could count on to clean their bruises after a beating, to argue in their favour regardless of the consequences. You haven't felt that solidarity in a long time time.

Paige is not your friend. This is something you tell yourself over and over, despite the way your walls come crumbling down when she's near you. You chalk your past weakness up to circumstance, it was only natural for you to willingly trust the girl who saved you and took care of you.

But you weren't hurt anymore, your wound, after a month or so in Jackson, had been reduced to a scar, a long stretching divet along the skin of your shin.

You decided there was no more reason to fold under her pressure.

--

"OH MY FUCKING GOD, it is hot." Nika groans, wiping her bare forehead with the back of her gloved hand.

"Want some water?" Kk, the girl with half-up twists asks her with amusement, holding out a grimy-looking steel bucket. The water inside is brown and murky.

"You're disgusting." Nika sneers, whipping her head away while Kk laughs, dumping the water all over the stable.

"This'll be you soon." Kk grins. "If you keep pissing Geno off, you'll be on horseshit duty."

“Geno loves me.” Nika snorts, shaking her head.

“Not if he swings by and sees how much work you’ve done.” Kk jeers in return. “Better hurry it up.”

Nika just grumbles, putting her body into it as she rakes fallen hay from the floor of the stable, a little bit away from Kk, who’s washing out each individual stall.

You’re outside of the stables, brushing off Sue. The horse’s brown coat is shedding thanks to the summer heat. You’ve luckily been placed on grooming duty.

“I wanna patrol.” Nika whines from her corner of the stable. “I’m tired of doing barn work.”

“Girl, don’t complain.” Kk rolls her eyes. “At least you’re not cleaning horse shit.”

“Yeah, well I can smell it.” Nika frowns.

“Join the club.” Kk kisses her teeth, splashing another bucket of water onto the stalls.

“Newbie’s got it easy.” Nika mutters under her breath, jutting her head in your direction. You hear the little comment, and it makes you tense. Kk mumbles something in return that you don’t catch, and suddenly you wish you weren’t assigned barn work at all.

It’s quiet for a bit till you hear the crunch of boots on gravel. Nika stands by you, watching has you brush off layers of hair from Sue’s coat.

“Must be nice.” She says. You just half-look at her, unsure what to say. She steps a little closer.

“You tired of barn work?” She asks. You don’t turn to meet her stare, still as sharp as the day you first met her.

“Not really.” You mumble.

“No?” She raises a perfectly shaped brow. “You’ve been here for like, a month. How many jobs have you worked?”

“One.” You say. Dawn had suggested working with the horses--hoove maintenance, grooming, braiding, bathing. You took the opportunity and stuck with it. The horses were spontaneous creatures, but they calmed beneath your touch. It gave you a little sense of purpose.

She nods, still staring at you intensely. “Planning on trying anything else?”

Her questions have an edge to them today. She and the other girl, Kk, tried their best to start conversations with you when you first came. They were energetic in a way that freaked you out a bit, so you hardly felt comfortable with their prying questions.

You didn't want personal relationships with any of them, you really didn't care to be friends at all. After a while the questions became occasional, and slightly dipped with malice. Playful malice, but malice nonetheless.

Like talking to you was predictable, like talking to a toddler.

“Maybe.” You shrug after some thought, swiping more hair off of the horse. The shaggy mops pool at your feet.

“Like?”

You meet her stare for a moment before looking back at your work. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe something in the greenhouse.”

“Think you could grow us some more pot?” She chuckles, and you let a sliver of a smile show.

“You know, the rest of us consider barn work punishment work.” She continues.

When you don’t respond, she keeps going. “But you like it a lot, huh? There’s so many other things you could do.”

You shed her another glance.

“The barn sucks.” Kk’s voice chimes in, now beside Nika, who’s in front of you now, watching. “It’s far from all the fun stuff. Smells like shit. Is filled with shit.”

“It’s okay.” You say.

“It sucks.” Kk frowns.

“About the pot.” Nika cuts back in. “You smoke?”

“Sometimes.” You mutter. It seems Paige hadn’t recounted everything about your three day trip with her.

“You do?” Kk exclaims, obviously surprised. Her and Nika share a look.

You finally turn to stare at both of them.

“Is it that surprising?”

“No…we just…” Kk trails off, glancing at Nika for help.

“You brought back all that shit and you haven’t even touched it.” Nika frowns. “It’s kinda shitty of us that we didn’t offer.”

“It’s fine.” You wave it off, returning to your grooming. “Not a big deal."

“So,” Kk hums. “You wake up, eat, come here to work. What else do you do?”

“Go back home.” You say. “Help out wherever Dawn or Geno ask me to.”

“And?” Nika probes.

“That’s it.” You say curtly, growing tired of the interrogation.

“You some lone wolf?” Kk asks, half laughing. It doesn’t seem belittling, moreso unsure.

Before you can think of a response, Nika cuts in. “You talk to Paige?”

You frown at this, unable to hold it back. She’d shown up to your house for check-ins a few times, but you made sure every conversation was shorter and shorter. Then you stopped answering the door, or you stayed at the barn longer. You hadn’t seen her in a few weeks.

“Not really.” You settle.

“Has she not checked up on you?” Nika frowns. “That’s not like her.”

“She did, the first few weeks.” You nod. “But I started working here more, doing little jobs around. Don’t see her much.”

“And how are the clothes?” Nika asks, eyeing your denim shorts and white tank, flannel unbuttoned and wrapped around your waist.

“They’re great.” You smile. “Thanks for that.”

“D’you like the posters I gave you?” Kk butts in.

“I don’t know who Lebron James is.” You hum. “But it adds something to the room.”

Nika laughs aloud at this, Kk just shakes her head with a smile.

“You know, I feel like I never see you around, Other than when we’re at the barn.” Nika says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She hums. “S’weird cus I feel like I see everyone.”

It's hard not to buckle under her stare. This game of twenty questions is unnerving. You'd been pretty isolated since you came here, intentionally, of course. You assumed nobody noticed.

“Hm.” Is all you say.

“You really always doing little jobs?” She continues.

You nod.

“She likes being busy. Let a girl live.” Kk snorts, turning to walk back into the barn.

“Just asking.” Nika frowns, but she looks at you further, like she’s figuring something out. She follows after Kk soon after.

You try not to look at her for the rest of the day.

-

SHE SHOWS UP at your door the next evening, a light jacket thrown over her crinkled t-shirt and muddy jeans.

“Nika.” You gape, eyes wide. You weren’t expecting her.

“Newbie.” She grins, white teeth glinting. “Get dressed.”

“For?”

“We’re going out, obviously.”

“I’m okay,” you begin, but she cuts you off sternly.

“Not a question. We’re going.”

“Where?” You frown. “With who?”

“Just some friends.” She shrugs. “Around.”

You frown at her. “I’m really okay.”

“I’m sure you’re okay.” She looks you up and down. “Didn't ask if you were, though. I told you to get changed.”

You open your mouth, then close it. She's pushy, big brown eyes prying you open, one hand on your front door. You consider shutting it in her face when she shoves it open further.

"Not sure what to wear?" She asks, stepping inside your house uninvited with a smile. "Don't worry, I can help."

"Nika, I'm not going anywhere." You say seriously, shutting the door and following close behind her as she glances around your house.

"You haven't decorated much yet." She quirks a brow.

"Yeah." You swallow tersely. You couldn't bring yourself to, you had no idea where to start. And the house still didn't feel like it belonged to you.

"Haven't gotten around to it." Is what you settle for.

She just shrugs, turning to walk down the stairs that lead to your bedroom. Despite your frustration, you follow.

She's already prying open your closet when you step into your bedroom, brows strewn in focus as she takes things off of their hangers and throws them onto your messy bed.

"You know, if you don't like any of these you can always trade them out for something else." She hums, holding a flannel and tank top together in thought.

"They're fine." You mutter, still annoyed at her presence.

"Clothes weren't much of a concern where you're from eh?" She asks you.

Clothes were assigned. There weren't many choices. You got what you got, that was it.

"Some of us had bigger things to worry about." You practically spit, foregoing your usual curt responses.

Her eyes narrow, though something satisfied glints in that pungent stare.

"Nobody is living easy out here, princess." She cocks her head. "Just because we have the liberty of being picky with our clothes doesn't mean we aren't roughing it out like everyone else."

"You realize how stupid that sounds, right?" You scoff.

"Okay, yeah." She snorts in return. "I get it, Jackson is probably a breeze compared to wherever it is you're from. But it's all born from blood. People worked their asses off, and people died to get us all the shit we have."

You hold her stare now, teeth clenched.

"People died so we could think about what to wear on a free night out, where our friends aren't on patrol risking their lives. So wear whatever the fuck you want, and if you dont like it, trade it out."

You understand where she's coming from. Point noted, not that you'll admit it. Instead you walk over to the closet and slightly shove past her to eye the contents inside.

"I don't need you to pick for me." You frown, finding an outfit that's thin enough for the warm weather without being too exposing.

Nika grins from behind you satisfied with your choice. In fact, she holds that triumphant grin even as you shoo her away so you can change, and eventually join her in your bare living room.

"What?" You snap, noticing her expression.

"Nothing." She shrugs, walking through the ground floor. "Just happy to see I was right."

"About?"

"You." She hums.

"What does that mean?" You glare.

"You're finally showing some spunk." Nika shrugs. "Some of the others were thinking you were...well, they thought you were donezo."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Donezo. Burnt out. Gave up. You know, some people can't handle shit. They break down, go all mushy." She continues. "They come here to live a new life, but they don't really live. Don't have a personality anymore."

"So why are you making me hang out with these people who think I'm donezo?" You cross your arms, offended. Going out was seeming like a worse and worse idea by the minute.

"Paige made it sound like you weren't." Nika hums. "And I believed her, even though you seemed like a total bot everyday at the barn. Braiding your horsies' hair and giving one-word responses."

There it is again, Paige being brought up, and the sizzle of vulnerability that comes with it.

"Just didn't wanna talk to you." You say seriously, but Nika laughs anyways.

"She's been asking about you, by the way." Nika grins. "Everyone has. We're all curious about you."

"Not much to be curious about." You frown.

"Bitch, you're kidding." She laughs. "Paige dipped for three days and came back with a chick our age, who has a sliced open leg and a backpack full of high-quality weed."

You try not to crack a smile.

"And then she's never out, only leaves the house to work or eat. Doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't smoke the shit she brought, never holds conversation. And Paige defends her mysterious ass every time someone says she's lost it." Nika adds.

"Okay, okay."

"And then today at the barn, you were getting snippy with me." Nika points a finger at you, still smiling like she's won a fight.

"Kk didn't notice, but I did. You were bugged. I finally thought, hey, maybe this chick is actually breathing. So I came over to see for myself if I was right."

"And?"

"And I was. I am." She smiles, hands on her hips now.

"So...there's no need for me to go out anymore?" You ask.

"Oh, that part is for real." She snorts. "Especially now that you wanna be sassy. We gotta show everyone you're not brain-dead."

"I'm not sassy." You grumble, following her as she begins to walk to your front door.

"You are," Nika hums, "just like Paige said you are."

You turn to shut the door before she can see the way your lips quirk upward.

--

THE THEATRE stands out so starkly compared to the rest of the town. The sky is dimming, string lights illuminated, streets growing more and more bare as you and Nika walk.

You pass by the bar, which seems to be filling up. You can hear talking and music, and the clinking of glasses as you pass. Up ahead are more flashing lights, the ones that belong to the theatre's flashy billboards.

"Are we watching a movie?" You ask.

"Not today." She grins. "The theatre has a different purpose after hours."

"Like what?"

Nika just shakes her head. You follow her as you step beneath the short ceiling of the entrance, past the deserted ticket box and into the building by a door that says employees only. It's darker inside the theatre, the floors are fuzzed over with dirty red velvet carpeting, the decor rusted gold.

"C'mon." Nika bumps your shoulder, motioning you to keep going. She pulls out a flashlight as you walk, pointing the white light at the big fancy numbers that differentiate every corridor.

"What the heck are we doing, Nika?" You ask, eyeing the darkness around you.

"Here, this one." She says, pointing her light at the corridor that reads 5 in big blocky letters above. She turns into the dark space, pushing open rusty doors as she walks. You follow close behind.

What follows past the doors is a sight to behold. The room is massive, covered in more velvet carpeting, a huge damaged screen like the kind people once watched tv on. Across from the screen lay hundreds of rows of seats, curving around the tv and sprawling through the perimeter of the room. There are little lanes between columns of the seats, steps for you and Nika to scale.

You can see a group of people sitting at the seats at the very top.

"Muhl! You're late." Someone jeers, laughing as Nika scales the steps before shimmying past a few seats and plopping down in one.

"Oh, and you brought newbie!" Kk smiles, nodding at you. Everyone looks at you expectantly. Paige sends you a little grin, motioning you to sit by her.

You decide to sit one row below her, beside Nika, so you both turn around to face the other girls.

"How you been?" Paige asks genuinely, blue eyes stuck on yours.

"Good." You shrug, and she waits for you to go on, shoulders sinking when you turn away slightly. The curt response makes the other girls share a glance. It's a quick one, but you feel it.

"So, what we celebrating?" Aubrey chimes in beside Paige.

"Geno's making P and I take a break from patrol." Ice hums. "Thank fucking god, because I am tired."

"Not our fault we're the best." Paige shrugs, smiling as she pulls out a plastic baggy from her short's pocket.

"Fuuuuuuck yes." Kk howls, causing the others to chuckle. The noises echo through the dim light of the theatre.

Paige opens the bag, gingerly taking out a pre-rolled joint and placing it between her lips. "All thanks to our newbie, who's got us stocked for a good few months." She says, jutting her head in your direction.

The others turn their stares to you in acknowledgment, Nika slaps your back.

"Nika." Paige mumbles, joint still between her lips. "Lighter?"

"Oh, shoot." She curses, tapping her pockets. "I forgot it."

Paige groans, taking the joint out of her mouth. "Jana?"

Jana takes one out, but it doesn't emit so much as a little flame. The group deflates.

"How does nobody have a lighter on them?" Kk groans.

"Nika, you always bring yours." Aubrey huffs.

"Okay, well don't rely on me so damn much." Nika rolls her eyes.

"I have one." You interject, pulling out a lighter from the pocket of your bottoms. You always had one on you.

The group is quiet, all eyes on you again. Paige just grins, placing the joint between her lips once more.

Nika is the first to break. "You're the best out of all of us." She sighs dramatically, shoving your shoulder. The others sing your praises, ruffling your hair and flicking your arm.

Paige leans forward a little, closer to you, breaking your surprise from the group's reaction and bringing your focus to her. Her eyes are wide, expecting, pink lips wrapped around the joint. A silver chain slips from beneath her t-shirt, dangling from her neck.

She's waiting. You flick on the lighter, bringing the flame to the tip of her joint. You hold her gaze all the way through, watching how the orange light brightens her face.

Finally she pulls away, leaning back into the theatre seat with her legs spread, two fingers reaching for the joint. You watch her chest rise, and fall as she pulls the joint away, tilting her head back so that all you see is her neck, the sharp lines of her jaw, and the plume of smoke that she exhales.

You look away from the sight of her before she can catch you gawking.

"Give it here." Nika says, holding her fingers out. Paige clicks her tongue, eyebrows raised.

"You forgot the lighter, so no." She says, meeting your eye once more. She leans forward again, arm outstreched.

She calls your name like a question, the joint glowing from one end, her brow raised in wait.

It's too easy to take it from her, to take everything she gives--no questions asked. So instead you shift in your seat, mumbling, "No thanks."

The girls around you deflate, shooting glances they pretend you can't see. She holds her look on you, carefully searching your face. You do your best not to give anything up. She shrugs, and hands the joint to Ice.

You watch as it gets passed from person to person, ignoring the feeling of Paige's eyes on you. The girls talk about trivial things, arguments with neighbourhood kids and easy kills while out on patrol.

Finally the blunt reaches Nika, who giddily holds in the hit before blowing it out, careful not to breath in your face.

"How bout you, newbie?" She grins. "Best kill?"

The girls eye you expectantly again, sharing looks between them. you can see what Nika meant earlier, they think you've given up. What's worse is you haven't given them reason to think otherwise.

Paige had been fending for you before Jackson, and hadn't stopped even when you reached safety. The thought is flattering but infuriating. If there was a time to sever ties, it was now.

"Give me that." You tut, unsheathing your usual demenor, the snip behind your words, the attitude.

You lean towards Nika, snatching the joint from her loosened fingers. She gives it up easily, smile rising on her lips at the tone of your voice.

As you lean back into your seat, you feel like the girls seated above lean back with you, following your movements, noting the change. You bring the joint to your lips, breathing in and feeling the smoke fill you with satisfaction before you exhale slowly, clouding your vison for a moment.

"My best kill," you mumble, savouring the last of the smoke on your lips, "was a few years back. I was on a job with a bigger group, kept having this bad feeling cus we hadn't ran into anything a few hours in. Of course, nobody listened to me." You snort, the sting of being disregarded still fresh.

"Caught the stalker early, before any of them noticed. Shot it twice with a crossbow. Once here," You say, bringing a finger to your forehead, "and once here." You finish, trailing that finger to the bare skin of your chest, just below your collarbone, over your heart.

They watch the way your finger travels down like they're hypnotized, dead silent.

Nika is the first to break from the spell of your simple words, eyes glinting triumphantly. You cock your head at her, and she nods. Damage done.

Paige is next, clearing her throat as she looks away from the finger on your chest, covering her mouth with a closed hand as she glances at her friends.

The rest--Kk, Ice, and Aubrey, nod in delayed understanding. Your story was simple, and consice, but they could gather enough information about you from that alone to grasp your capability.

"I hate crossbows." Kk finally says. "Heavy as shit."

"Long reload time." Aubrey nods, glancing at you carefully. "Gotta be fast to land two on a close target."

"I was fast." You hum, taking another hit and blowing it with a little smile. "I think I still am."

Wordlessly you raise your arm, offering the joint to back Paige, one seat above you. She takes it, fingertips brushing yours.

"What were you guys transporting?" Ice asks.

"I don't remember." You shrug. "Guns, probably. That's what it usually was."

"And where's your squad at now?" Kk chimes in. "You said you were in a group?"

You scoff. "Got into a fight with one of them. After that, I was only allowed to do jobs alone."

"Shit." She huffs.

"So, when Paige found you, you were on the job, delivering weed." Nika says.

"That's what I thought." You shrug. "Got set up, though. One of my old..." You almost say friends, but catch yourself. "..colleagues, fucked with my info. Changed the address, had one of her connections wait there for me."

They seem really intrigued by your story, heads cocked forward eyes wide despite the joint.

"So that's your favourite kill." Ice hums. "You're the type that kills em' like a robot, I bet."

"For sure." Kk laughs. "I thought she was gonna go crazy, talking bout' some blood all over her n' whatever."

Paige exhales smoke from your peripheral vision, passing the joint to Ice again. You can feel her bullet-eyes aimed at you.

"She's not messy like you." Paige says, a slight grin playing on her face. "She likes her kills clean."

You finally turn to meet her stare, brows furrowed slightly.

"How would you know?" You ask, even though she's right. It's the first you've properly spoken to her in ages. It irks you that she just comments about you like that, like she knows you deeper than the few days of weakness you shared with her.

"Cus' I've seen you when it gets messy." She hums. Her voice is low and matter-of-fact, calm and confident.

The girls surrounding you turn to share more glances, more unspoken words at Paige's comment. You feel your face burn at the unintended double meaning, but also at her seriousness.

"D'you miss it?" Nika cuts in, saving you from the situation. "Your old community. Was there anything better than Jackson?"

"No." You respond immediately. "Everything there was worse. I got used to it, I lived there for most of my life. They work us like dogs, leave us with nothing. Here, at least you work and get to live a little."

"Damn." Aubrey sighs. "Scuse' me for saying this, but I thought you were pretty fucking miserable over here."

"We was really asking Paige if she brought you here, or dragged you." Kk laughs.

You grin a little too, hiding it beneath your palm as you rub your face for a moment.

"Best thing here?" Ice asks you.

You think for a moment. "Having my own space. Horses. Decent food." You say.

"Of course she says the horses." Nika snorts, eyeing Kk who shakes her head in amusement.

"Did you guys not have separate housing?" Ice gawks.

"Nope. We got smushed into these sweaty-ass bunks. It was hell."

"Sheesh." Aubrey huffs. "How'd you guys hookup?"

"Literally everywhere else." You laugh. "On the job, mostly. Nobody watches you out there. It's easy to sneak away from the group and...take a break."

"No wonder you at home all the time." Kk smiles. "I'd be a homebody too, if I never had my own room before."

"You hiding someone in there?" Nika raises a cheeky brow. "Maybe she's taking extra advantage of her new hookup spot. Don't gotta fuck on grass or against a tree anymore."

Everyone bursts into CBD-enhanced laughter at that, every giggle echoing through the wide space of the theatre.

"Oh, I got one." Paige finally chimes in, still smiling. "Craziest place ya'll have ever hooked up with someone."

"When you say hookup...what are we talking about." Ice asks.

"Like," Paige thinks, catching your eye for a second before breaking with embarrassment. "Like more than making out. anything further than that."

"Tipsy Bison family bathroom." Nika says immediately, grinning as her friends boo her loudly.

"That's the bar not far from here." She adds amidts the boos, to which you nod.

"Roof of my house." Aubrey says shyly, covering her face as soon as she says it. Kk shakes her shoulders, teasing her, as everyone else laughs and comments.

"Kinda romantic." You hum.

"Sounds uncomfortable." Paige counters.

"It was both." Aubrey huffs.

"Okay...guys I'm basic. Literally just like, against a wall? I dunno." Ice sighs, accepting the boos you all throw at her.

"Kk?" Paige asks.

"I'm not answering this." Kk scoffs with extra put-on attitude. "Cus I'm not a devil's child like you guys."

"You say that as you hold a joint." Paige snorts, smiling when Kk tosses the now-bud away without hesitation.

"Okay P. It was your question, so answer." Kk narrows her eyes. "Actually, I don't think I wanna know."

"Hm." She bites her lip, adjusting her seat on the velvet chair a little more, getting comfortable. "Like, prolly on patrol."

"Oh, what the fuck!" Nika squeals. "You and Azzi? Was I there? This is so wrong."

"You were off somewhere else." Paige snorts. "It wasn't anything crazy, just a quick little...you know, anyways, doing it outside isn't too bad."

You recognize the name, asking Paige before you can think to stop yourself, "Is Azzi your girlfriend?"

She seems surprised that you're asking her anything, eyes widening slightly before she shakes her head. "She was at one point, but we're better off as friends. She's out on an expedition right now."

You half nod, looking away from her before your mind can get ahead of you.

"So, newbie." Nika juts her head in your direction. "You really be doin' it outside?"

You break out into an embarrassed smile at that, shaking your head as the girls begin to coo and holler at your reaction. Paige's eyes burn the most, you make a point not to look at her.

"Okay, okay." You huff. "Yeah. My craziest...um..."

"C'mon. Spit it out." Kk jeers.

"It's not that bad, but uh. Yeah, I've done it like, against a tree. A few times actually."

"Nasty." Kk frowns, eyeing Aubrey, Ice and Nika, who laugh their asses off.

"I don't think that's my craziest, though." You sigh. "There was one time...in our artillery shed."

"The fuck?" Nika guffaws. "Like, where all the guns are n' shit?"

"Yeah. It was actually kinda hot. I was on this table, literally surrounded by all these weapons and bullets...I dunno, it was a thing." You mutter, the words practically tumbling out of you. You feel a little light on your feet, mouth running more than it usually does.

"You're crazy." Aubrey groans, cringing at the thought.

"Yeah, I'd be scared." Ice nods.

"She likes high stakes." Paige shrugs, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Of course, miss get-freaky-while-on-patrol-with-me has no issue with it." Nika rolls her eyes.

"Maybe ya'll are meant for each other." Kk adds with a laugh. The comment makes your jaw go slack, you immediately grind your teeth to wipe your face of any reaction. There are trivial laughs all around you, from everyone but you and her.

You can feel Paige above you, and the moment her attention shifts to you. It makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your face trained on Nika, and try to forget Paige is there at all.

--

COLD SUMMER AIR nips at your fingertips as you walk back home, night sky clear, Nika by your side.

"You didn't have to walk me home." You say, glancing at her.

"It's no big deal." She smiles. "You live close to me anyway. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah." You grumble. "I guess I did."

"Girl, don't be like that." She snorts. "You had a damn good time. I'm gonna bring you every time we meet up now."

"And how would they feel about that?" You ask.

"First of all, don't care." She says seriously. "Second, they like you."

Now it's your turn to scoff. "I thought they thought I was donezo."

"Not after tonight, they don't." She grins, that signature sharp-eyed stare cutting you thin. "Now they know you're good with a crossbow and you like getting fucked surrounded by guns. You're not donezo."

"Stop." You squeal at her recount, shoving her lightly. "I can't believe I actually told everyone that."

"It'll be more personal next time." Nika hums. "We're gonna pry you open."

"Gross, don't." You tut. "Let me be closed."

"S' no fun that way." She responds. "But seriously, nobody in Jackson is a mystery. Doesn't matter if you avoid everyone and play with horses all day. People are gonna know you eventually."

"Okay, okay." You groan. "I get it, alright?"

"Good." Nika says, suddenly serious. "And what's up with Paige n' you?"

You stop in your tracks. "What?"

"What'd she do to you?" Nika stops too, brow raised. "You act like you don't wanna be around her."

You consider spewing a white lie, but you know Nika's eyes catch everything.

"That obvious?"

"To the others, maybe not." She shrugs. "But to me? Yeah. And to her? Fuck yeah."

"Has she said something?" You ask.

"No. She wouldn't." Nika says. "So what is it?"

"It's nothing, really." You say, and it's the truth. Your reasons for distance aren't malicous or fulled by something she did, they're just for your own peace of mind. To guarantee you're careful.

Still, Nika stares. The same way she did at the barn, like she's got you figured out. "Did you hook up with her?"

"No! I barely know her!"

"You know her." Nika says. "She's not some complex character, what you see is what you get. You spent three days with her alone. You know her."

"We didn't hook up." You snap.

"Okay," Nika grins. "so, what then? You look like you're in pain everytime she talks to you."

"I'm not." You frown, finally turning into your yard. Nika follows you to the door, watching as you open it up and step inside.

"Whatever." You huff. "Thanks for today. It wasn't bad."

"It's fine. You're a part of Jackson now, so it's only fair you experience everything, not just the barn." Nika grins, holding your door open.

"Yeah, sure. What's next, we smoke in the farmer's market?" You scoff.

"Hey, we drink too!" Nika laughs.

"But really." She continues, a little softer.

"You don't have to be afraid of people knowing you, okay newbie? There's nothing in you that isn't worth knowing. Jackson is different. We rely on each other, n' you gotta know your people to do that."

"Okay." You nod, taking in her words. It makes sense to you, this place is different from the last. There's no competition, no hidden motives. People here work to live, not live to work.

"I'll try." You settle.

"Good." She smiles. "I'm always here to help...and regardless of what's going on with Paige, she's here too. If there's anyone here I'd want to know me best, it'd be her."

"Really?" You ask.

"For sure." Nika nods seriously. "Because she's the best of us. She cares more than anyone else here, more than Geno and Dawn, even. It's hard to trust people, but trusting her will do you good."

You shift on your feet. You'd witnessed that selfless care first-hand, so you know it's no fluke.

"It's...hard." You mumble. "Hard to be around people who notice everything. Who know you wordlessly."

"It gets better with time." Nika nods, like she knows it all too well.

"Sleep good tonight. I'll see you tomorrow at the barn.

"Yeah." You shoot her a small smile. "See you."

You watch her wave and walk away, the night sky hanging heavy on the landscape. Today was a leap you didn't think you'd ever take, but it didn't feel as wrong as you thought it would.

The shared blunt, the laughter and teasing. It was natural, a warmth that you haven't felt in too long. Paige is dangerous, too kind, too good. It scares you, makes you feel like you're not in control, makes things messy.

Distance is safe, cleaner, colder. You know it well.

You strip off your clothes as you head to bed, dousing your face with cold water and flopping onto your mismatched sheets with a sigh. It's hot in Jackson, the summer leaks through your walls, makes you sweat, ignights you like the end of a blunt.

Friendship is new, messy, warm.

--tags

@juumecca @cowboybueckers @sweetbcgs @rishofkf @yailtsv @bueckers2fudd @syraxsbigfanfr @azziswrld

[upsidedownmvnson]

like the flowers in the kitchen | matt murdock

summary; you buy new lingerie to surprise your husband matt, and he loves it.

warnings: smut, sensual smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, oral (f receiving) unprotected sex, talks of babies/trying to get pregnant, so much praise, literally this is porn with very little plot, not edited was too excited abt it lol

"I want you to feel something," you said, walking into the living room where Matt was laid back on the couch, fingers tracing over some documents for a case he's working on.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, hands stilling as you sat on the edge of the couch. "What is it, love?"

"A surprise, just... tell me which one feels better." You picked one of the few scraps of fabric you'd come over with, "hold your hand palm up."

He did.

You placed the first piece of material on his palm, and he smiled when he recognized the silk between his fingers.

"Here, could you take these please, sweetheart," he asked, handing the small stack of papers over so you could put them on the coffee table. "I want to give this my full attention, I have the feeling it's a very important decision."

"Mhm," you smirked. "How does that one feel?"

"Soft," he mused, "feels good on the skin, wouldn't be too warm." Matt smiled, "but still nice. Like cool to slip into."

You smiled. Matt thought you were buying sheets, for once, once, you were one step ahead of your overly observant boyfriend.

But you had no intention of buying fancy sheets today.

"Next one," you said, taking the silk and placing down lace.

Matt scrunched his eyebrows together. "It's okay, not something I'd want to feel all night though."

"Hmm," you hummed, "okay, last one. I think you'll like this one most."

You replaced the lace with satin, and he smiled. "Would be a very nice choice. A little fancy for how the bed ends up for us though, no?"

"Just pick your favourite, not the most logical. I just want something nice."

"Well you, my love, were right as always. I like the last one the most, just feels the best in the my hand, yaknow? Between my fingers."

You narrowed your eyes at him, it was almost like he knew what you were up to. But he couldn't have. You'd been dropping hints at buying new sheets for two days now. You were trying to play the long game. You wanted to surprise him for a change. For a blind man, being Daredevil had made it nearly impossible for you to ever get the upper hand. But you think, hoped, you'd done it.

"Well, all right then." You ran your fingers through his hair, and your favourite boyish, dopey smile graced his face. "I'll be back in a few hours, don't work too hard while I'm gone."

"Yes, ma'm," he nodded, "any requests for dinner?"

"No," you said, running your fingers gently down his cheek til you were softly grabbing his chin. "Whatever you'd like."

You gave him back the papers he'd been working on, kissed his forehead, and left him on the couch.

Before you were heading out the door, you called over your shoulder, "any preference on colour?" And closed the door as he laughed loudly from the other room.

You weren't gone very long, a few hours like you had thought. You'd spent the afternoon in a lingerie shop, picking out something perfect for the evening. You had some already, of course, but nothing quite... soft enough, nothing that was special to the touch. You wanted something that fit you in just the right way in just the right places for Matt to run his fingers over.

The other ones you owned were fine, but he'd felt everything before. And you wanted to give him something to be excited about. Wanted to give him something extra. He'd been working so hard on a case this week and you just wanted to help him take his mind off of things this evening.

And recently, you'd been trying for a baby. And Matt had been so patient and loving with every attempt. Never made you feel bad for it not working yet, promised you it would happen when it's supposed to and you're doing everything right. He was the ideal man, ideal husband, the kind of guy you wanted to be around whenever possible. And trying was the most fun part.

When you'd finally settled on a few different ones, all made of the satin he preferred, you came home to Matt standing in the kitchen, cooking some pasta, looking sexy as hell chopping some veggies with a cloth slung over his shoulder.

"Hey sweetheart," he said, smiling before you even walked into the kitchen.

You coming home, safe and sound, always filled him with a sense of contentedness and relief. Just you two, being with each other, exactly where you should be.

"Nice time at the store?"

You hummed happily, dropping the bags by the counter and walking up behind Matt, putting an arm on his back and looking at the sauce he had cooking.

"Yes, I took my time and found something that was just right," you sighed, what he was cooking smelled divine. It was simple, but wonderful. Kind of like how it was being with Matt. You used to worry it would be hard, but something about it just wasn't. Something about it always felt right.

"You gunna tell me what it is you got?"

"You'll find out later," you said, patting his back a couple times, and moving away from him, grabbing the bags back up and walking to the bedroom.

Matt smiles, thinking you're going to change the sheets on the bed. And well, he was kind of right. You did end up buying new sheets, soft ones, comfy ones, but nothing crazy. You wanted him to be extra surprised, so you did change the sheets. Being extra sneaky, you tried to do it 'quietly,' acting like you were trying to hide it from him. There had to be layers if you were going to get one over on Matthew Murdock, the devil of Hell's Kitchen himself.

"C'mon baby! Food's ready!" Matt called down the hall, right as you finished slipping into the light purple outfit you'd bought. It was tight and thin enough over your chest and hips that he could feel it without it moving around too much, and loose over the thighs where he could slip his hand up your thigh and feel it ghosting over the back of his hand, with thigh straps that each had a little metal heart securing it, clipped onto thin soft stockings. You angled the hearts to be on the route his fingers usually take when he's kissing your neck and trying to slide his hand up your skirt.

"Coming!" you called back, straightening out the front of your skirt.

Now you just had to get through dinner without getting anything on it. You thought that him finding out you'd been wearing this in front of him would just excite him even more.

"Get everything done in there?" he asked, placing a plate for each of you on the table.

"Get what done?"

"Oh, you know. Whatever you were doing," he smirked. You really couldn't tell if he knew what you were doing. You'd done everything to mask it. You'd put your regular socks over top of the stockings in case is sounded different across the floor, slid into the seat across from him without being in arms reach, because if you were in arms reach he would always find a way to get his hands on you, and you'd walked with the fabric held down so he wouldn't hear it swishing around differently. It was like playing chess.

You didn't answer him, just continued watching him, his smile giving nothing away. "All right, fine, I'll try not to ruin the surprise then. Eat up, I feel like there's something important we'll have to do later."

"And what's that?"

"Oh I don't know, test drive those new sheets you got maybe," he grinned, laughing softly. "Are you pouting?"

"No," you pouted, arms crossed over your chest.

He just laughed, "eat your supper, it's gunna get cold."

Throughout the meal, the two of you held normal conversation, he told you what he could about the case, you told him the plans you had for tomorrow. You'd tried to slyly kick off your regular socks, so you could slip your leg over to his side of the table, brushing your toes up his pant leg, and running the soft material against his leg just above his sock.

"Hey," he mumbled, reaching down to catch your ankle before you could sneak away, and you giggled, trying to kick out of his grip, but he effortlessly pulled your leg up, making you slouch in your chair. "You got new socks too? Oh wait, no..." he ran his other hand up along the back of your calf, "stockings," he mused, sliding his back back down your leg. "Soft, baby, these are very soft." He leaned back, letting go of you, smile twitching at the corner of his lips as you dragged your foot slowly down his thigh, just to bring it back up again.

"Notice anything else?"

He brought his hand up to his mouth, finger running over his lips as he held his own chin. "Did I miss something?"

"I wouldn't say you missed it," you said, leaning forward in your chair to rest your elbows on the table, chin resting on your knuckles. Matt looked so pretty, his sparkling with wonder as he tried to figure out what you were hiding.

"What're you hiding, pretty girl? Hmm?"

"Since you think you're so smart, figure it out."

Matt raised an eyebrow, not moving an inch otherwise. "Figure it out, she says," he mumbled, voice getting lower and pants growing tighter. All he really wanted to do was run his hand up your leg again, and figure out how high those stockings went.

"I think I'm all done with my food," you said, pushing the plate a few inches away from you.

"Oh, I think I'm still very hungry," Matt smirked, chair squeaking as he drew back from the table. "And I think you're gunna have to help me with that."

"Want me to make you something else?" you chuckled, watching him come around the table.

"No," he said, grabbing your chair and pulling you away from the table as well. "I just want you to lay on those new sheets you got us and let me have you for dessert."

"I think I can do that for you," you said, putting your hand in his so could guide you to stand. You didn't get all of two steps before he grabbed you, slinging you over his shoulder with his arm wrapped around your thighs to stabilize you, as he walked you off to the bedroom. He hadn't said anything yet, maybe he was too caught up in the moment, or maybe his shirt was just hiding the feeling of the new fabric.

You laughed as he kicked the door to the room open, leaving it open wide behind him. He brought you over to the bed, crouching down to set you back onto your feet by the foot of it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to place a few chaste kisses along your knuckles. He tugged you to stand between his spread thighs, handing coming down to both of your knees, fingers spread on the backs of them.

"You stand right there, baby." Matt's hands ghosted down a few inches, then slid back up, fingers searching for the end of the fabric. When he found it, mid thigh he sighed, the frilly edges of the stockings making him lick his lips. He felt around the edge of the stockings with his thumbs, so softly like he was afraid of breaking it. When he got to the thin straps on the side, he followed them up, til his thumbs hit the metal heart. Your breath caught in your throat, his quiet exploration making your heart start racing.

"All this for me?"

You nodded, knowing he'd know.

He traced the hearts, now warm from resting against your thigh, then felt the thick straps holding them in place. One more inch higher and he'd feel the satin, but Matt was a patient man, and he'd be taking his time with this gift.

"What colour?" he asked, thumbs flicking the bottom edge of the thigh strap.

"Pink," you answered softly.

"Pink," he repeated, hands sliding down to your knees just to trace the exact same sequence back up, savouring the feeling. You put your hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the muscles, and he moaned, head falling back.

"You spoil me," he moaned, head lulling to the side, "absolute spoil me. All dressed up, baby, you're takin' me right to church."

"Keep going," you urged, thumbs digging into his tense muscles.

"Let me take my time," he whispered, head falling back into place, face determined, focused. "We've got nowhere to be tonight. Just right here," he sighed, fingers inching up higher, slower than he'd ever moved. His fingers hit the edge of the lingerie, and it was his turn to stutter. His breaths deepened, and his pinched the fabric between his thumbs and fingers, swirling it around in tiny circles to feel it.

"What colour?"

"Purple," you answered, moving closer to him so your stomach was pressed tight against his chest.

"Wait," He gripped your thigh in one hand, and leaned back, away from you, so he could use the other hand to pull his shirt over his head, "okay, come back." And you did, lingerie pressing against his bare body. "Fuck," he whispered, leaning forward to press his cheek onto your breast, taking a deep inhale to smell your perfume. Just a drop mixed in with water, not overwhelming, just like you knew he needed. "What kind of purple?"

"Light, so light it's almost white," you said, bringing your hands up to thread into his hair, following his lead with slow, ginger touches.

He moaned, fingers back to work on your body, holding the back of your thighs to press you tighter into him. One of his hands stayed above the fabric, settling over the curve of your butt, while the other slid up under the fabric caressing the plush skin there.

"So fucking soft," he mumbled into your breast, "So soft and pretty," he continued to mumble, placing kisses over you, lips almost quivering over the feel of the fabric against his skin. "And it's all for me, forever. I'm yours, pretty girl. I'll always be yours. Wrapped around your pretty fingers, whatever you ask of me, I'll do it. I'll do anything," he continued praising, muttering things that barely made sense as his brain went into overdrive feeling the edge of your panties, thin and soft and spread over your cheek tightly, wrapping up his favourite present. "What colour?"

"Pink," you smiled laying a few kisses to the top of his head, "also a light hue, like the flowers in the kitchen."

He huffed a shy laugh, "that picture is gunna come back into my head when I make coffee in the morning and I smell those damn flowers."

"I can move them if you want," you offered, fingers scratching gently at his scalp.

"Don't you dare."

He stands suddenly, hands gripping your thighs and pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist earning a whispered gasp from you, music to his ears. But he doesn't throw you on the bed, doesn't waste one precious moment of the feeling of you against him. Instead, he just brushes his nose against yours, your fingers grazing over the stubble on his chin, before cupping his cheeks to pull him into a slow, sensual kiss. Mouths moving slowly, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip, but he doesn't rush even this, even a dance you've practiced a thousand times.

Instead he crawls onto the bed on his knees, pulling away from your kiss to lay you sweetly on his side of the bed, head resting on the pillow that smells like him. You're surrounded by him, in feeling, in scent, in comfort. Every movement he makes is lovingly calculated. He kisses you once more, and brushes the stray hairs off your face, making sure none gets trapped under you.

"What made you do all this for me, huh? Did I forget my own birthday?"

"Just been working so hard, baby, thought you deserved something nice."

"You tricked me," he says, "made me think you were buying sheets."

"I did buy new sheets," you smile, running your hands across the linens.

He follows suit, face lighting up with laughter. "So you did."

"But you don't care about that."

"Not right now, not at all."

And he doesn't have much else to say about, instead brings his mouth to your neck, placing open mouthed kisses against the areas he knows are most sensitive, enjoying every moan and gasp you give him. He takes pleasure in your hands wrapping themselves in his hair, tugging to beg for more, but he's almost evil in his patience. Takes the strap of your lingerie into his mouth and drags it down your shoulder, out of the way of his kisses, where he can suck a shallow purple bruise onto your collar bone.

And he switches sides, giving your other side as much love and attention. And then he's moving down to where the curve of your breast pokes out, and he's laying kisses there, one hand is in your hair, his elbow supporting him, and the other is on your hip, thumbs moving slowly back and forth to feel his gift for as long as you'll let him.

"Matty, please."

"Mm, please what?"

"Please touch me, pretty please."

He moans. "Baby, you never need to beg for me, I told you I'll give you everything." The hand on your hip dips down, sliding under the short skirt and stopping when it reaches the line of your panties on your hip. "It's all coming, I just have to appreciate every inch of it if I'm gunna build the picture of this in my mind." His mouth returns to your breast, the edges of the fabric getting wet from how his tongue licks across it. He nips at it, teeth catching your skin and fabric together and you moan. "Such a pretty fuckin' girl."

"Please," you moan again, unable to ignore the pulse between your legs, the way his crotch presses into yours, his bulge giving you a little but not nearly enough.

"I'm picturing the smirk on your face all dinner, when I didn't even know what was waiting over there." His thumb brushes closer to your core, and you wriggle in a weak attempt to get it there. "Made me pick the fabric I liked best, then wore it and didn't even tell me." He ran his finger down the soaked panties, pressing against your clit and keeping it perfectly still there. "Are these new?"

"No," you moaned, hips bucking to get more from him. "They just matched the thigh straps."

"Then I don't need to take my time on them," he said, finger looping around the soaked material and pulling them down your legs, the speed of it making your legs detach from around his waist so he could get them all the way off, but he quickly moved your legs back, your bare pussy rubbing against his erection made you both moan. "Already so wet for me baby," he mutters, hand sliding back between you to wedge themselves between his jeans and your soaking wet centre. "What did I do to deserve you? I'll never get it," he kissed your breast again, then moved his hands to hold himself fully above you. "My sweet girl, treating me so good. My turn to treat you good, right?"

"Please, yes please." You arched your back up, pushing the satin against his abs and he nearly crumpled, but he stayed steady. Crawled his way down the bed to settle himself between your legs, kissing each thigh once. He pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, hand reaching up to roll a lazy finger through your folds.

"So good for me, aren't you? Always so good to me, baby." His finger found your clit with ease, your moans encouraging him to roll gentle circles around it. "I'll never deserve you," he mumbles so quietly, almost to himself, "but I'll never stop trying." He pledges, finally moving his mouth to where you want him so desperately. His tongue worked like it was one purpose in life, like it was the only thing keeping in here on earth. Flat licks followed by tight circles, repeated and repeated until he was the only thing on your mind, and then when you were a moaning mess above him, he slipped a finger into you, your wet folds welcoming him like an old friend.

"Matty, treat me so good, fuck, you're so good. So good to me," you moan, words coming out rushed, every thought just falling off your tongue like you were speaking directly to God. "I love you, love you so much." Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging the roots as he slipped in another finger, hitting you directly where he knew would make you fall apart.

And fuck, you did. You moaned and begged and pulled hair until you were coming against his face, hips gyrating against his mouth and chin, making stars explode behind your eyes as you bit back a scream, followed by the loving coax of him helping you ride the waves of your orgasm, until you were lax against the bed, and he moved his kisses to your leg, kissing the soft skin, up to the crease in your hip.

"Come up here," you sighed, opening your arms for him to fall into.

"Let me just," he finally undoes his pants, kicking them and his underwear down his legs, and falls into your arms. Bodies flush together, Matt winds his hand between your bodies to grip himself, and line himself up with you, kissing you deeply before pushing himself into you. He groans, your tight walls warm around him, squeezing him as he works himself into you. "Fuck, you got me so worked up, I'm not gunna last long."

"That's okay baby, let go for me," you moan, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. "Want you to feel good."

"Feels so good baby," he moans into your shoulder, "always so good."

He hikes your leg higher around his hip, and grips your soft, plush, satin covered hip, and thrusts into you, so deeply, each thrust thoughtful and intentional. He sucks the skin by your ear, and your moans make his dick twitch, it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard. The way you moan and gasp and grab him, he's overwhelmed by the feelings, both physically and emotionally.

"So in love with you," he mumbles, lost in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. He always fell into a loop of praises and I love yous when he was getting close. "Gunna fill you up, baby, gunna give my beautiful bride a baby, huh? Would you like that?"

You just moaned in response, unable to form words as he continues to fuck himself into you, hips meeting your with enthusiasm.

"So pretty," he mumbled, lips working the skin of your neck in between his dirty praises, and your nails scratch over the muscles on his back. "Gunna look so fucking pretty carrying our baby, baby."

"Matty, gunna..." you just moan, unable to warn him that you're close again, but he feels like. He holds himself back as your walls clench around him, fluttering and pulsing as you come, back arching and loud moans in his ear as he pants and grunts, wanting to give you more but coming close to the edge himself.

"Let go baby," you moan, "it's perfect, let go for me."

His kisses you as he fills you up, groan vibrating into your mouth as his hips stutter and still, warm cum painting your walls. He holds himself still completely sheathed inside you, keeping all his cum inside you, hips flush against yours and lips still moving languidly against yours.

He pulls away, nose bumping yours affectionately. "I love you."

"I love you," you murmur, eyes fluttering closed as you tried to even out your breathing. "Always treat me so well."

He kisses the tip of your nose, slowly pulling himself out of you as you both gasp, the overstimulation both perfect and overwhelming all at once.

Matt falls beside you, arms wrapping securely around you, hand spreading over the fabric covering your stomach. "This one's gunna stick," he whispers, "when we're not trying and just loving each other."

You mumble happily, wiggling closer to him. You had to get up and change, but for now, you just wanted to be wrapped up in loverboy's arms.

"Hmm," he mumbles, running his hand across the sheets in front of you. "These are nice."

[r4fe-cam3ron]

WARNINGS; *please read before reading* — NOT a romanticized oneshot, manipulation (though not plainly stated, it’s clear that remmick is only trying to feed), mentions of spousal abuse — bruises, mentions of a k*lling, a body, and blood, a vague ending. MDNI — 18+ an; this is my first try with remmick, and i’m not entirely sure if i enjoy this or if i’ll actually do anything else with this character — but i love horror and i thought it would be interesting to try and write something horror. if you do enjoy this, and would like to see more horror based oneshots or anything, let me know!! again, im not romanticizing anything in this short oneshot at all!!! please be sure to read all warnings before proceeding. (this is also just so i can actually catch up on all of jack’s film’s before writing for more characters!!)

It’s something that you barely thought about — locking the front door that leads into you and your husband's home. The fire had been put out long ago, smoke swirling its way up the chimney and into the night sky. 

Living room and kitchen had been cleaned after dinner, your feet hurting from the long day and eyes heavy with sleep. Although, your mind still reels from earlier and the visitor you’d grown to know over the last few months. 

The man’s name was Remmick. He was charming in a strange way, words that could pull you into any type of conversation and never bore you. You’ve known him for four months — he’s realized many, many things, even if you haven’t voiced them. 

He’s harmless. Drinks ice cold sweet tea, loves lemon poppyseed muffins and blueberry biscuits with homemade icing. There is something strange about him though — how he requests the curtains to be closed, and how he wears thick coats in the middle of summer and how he tries to shield himself from the light of day, staying until the sun dips below the horizon just enough. 

You don’t ask questions. You’re just happy to have a friend, someone to listen if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or to speak about the heavy weight on your shoulders to remain perfect. 

He’s caught on with what happens behind closed doors — the way you jerk away from his gentle touch, or the way you pull your sleeve to your wrist — to hide something, a secret. It has something dangerous — primal — wanting to shed its shell and show its ugly form. 

“I could help you, you know?” 

It’s said in passing, making you flinch from his voice breaking the long stretch of the silence that had lingered after sharing a plate that had two blueberry biscuits on top, the icing dripping down to the sides. Your eyes flicker up to meet his. “What do you mean?” The laugh that slips past your lips is shaky, nervous. You begin to shake your head. “I don’t need any help, Rem. I’m okay.” 

You stand, trying to move away from him, the conversation. You reach down, fingertips grazing under the plate before his hand is wrapping around your wrist in a gentle hold. Your heart skips a beat, eyes immediately shooting over to stare at him.

He’s already staring up at you. 

His other hand moves slowly, tugging up the sleeve that hides away any deep purple and blue marks or fading yellow-green ones. Your cheeks flush, embarrassed, and trying to pull your arm away only leads him to tighten his grip slightly and pull you closer. “Remmick, that’s not—”

“You think you’re clever at hidin’ them, but you're not,” His eyes drop down to your arms. Goosebumps raise slowly as his fingers trail slowly up your skin, tracing over slowly. “Thinkin’ this is a type punishment is low for a man,” He shakes his head. 

You watch as his eyes trace around the marks, before his head slowly begins to lower and his hands gently cradle your arm in a soft hold as he lifts it slowly. His lips meet the skin, pressing a soft kiss against a fresh mark. 

You’re sweating now, chest beginning to heave slightly. You know you should stop him, but there’s just something so captivating about the man, the words die in your throat when you feel a slight nip from his teeth. The chair shifts under his weight when he stands, your body stumbling back slightly, pressing into the table from the way he crowds into your space. 

“Let me help.” He whispers, eyes darting down to your lips, then your neck. He watches as your pulse begins to pick up, the smell of sweat beading at the hollow of your throat. He relishes the moment, eyes flickering to yours once again. 

You swallow your spit — your throat feeling as if it was glued together with pins and needles. The thought is intoxicating. You’re not exactly sure how Remmick would help, but you know he would follow through on his word. 

His grin is dangerous, sharp, when you finally nod your head. It’s hesitant, but it’s still yes, help me. 

His hand is cold when he cradles your jaw, something that sends chills over your body, your spine straightening from the touch, and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight. 

“Leave the door unlocked tonight,” His voice is low. “I’ll be sure to not wake you.” 

You’re still awake — your eyes now wiped from the heaviness of sleep they were carrying. There’s something that’s different tonight, something in the atmosphere that shifts. You’re not sure what it is, or what it could be, but the way your heart pounded and fingers clenched at the sheets, you aren't sure that you enjoy the feeling. 

It’s distant when you hear the floorboard that squeaks outside your bedroom — you’ve gotten used to listening for it when your husband would come home at three in the morning. 

The door creaks open slowly, the sound of heavy boots making their way over. Your eyes squeeze shut immediately. The slow, tantalizing steps make your breathing hitch quietly, they’re coming closer to you. 

They stop. A finger slowly pushes away the strand of hair that had slipped against your temple, you try not to flinch. The touch is gone and the sound of his boots make their way around the bed once again before stopping. 

It’s sickening — the sounds. The bed jerks and a hand shoots out to grip your arm, but another is jerking his arm away, the sound of bone cracking has your hand pressing over your ear as you try to bury your head deeper into the pillow. 

The bed jerks once more, roughly, before something drops onto the floor with a heavy thud. Slowly pulling your hand away, your breath shaky with every exhale, you wait to move. 

It’s only a minute. Slowly looking over your shoulder, eyes burning with tears, the sight you’re met with is sickening — there’s deep crimson that stains the pillow case and blankets. Sitting up, you stumble to the ground, head banging against the floor. 

A sob leaves your throat and a sudden pounding against your temple has you feeling even more nauseous. There’s something warm under your hand and face, your cheek sticking to the ground. Slowly opening your eyes, you blink once, the grim reality of what Remmick’s help truly meant. 

Your husband's face is stuck in a scream, fear etched onto his face, the life from his eyes dull. Flaring your nose, you slowly lift from the ground, shaky hand lifting as you stare at the small red river that trails down your arm, wrapping around slowly before dripping onto your nightgown. 

A small sound leaves you as you turn your head, eyes lifting as a quick tear rolls down your cheek. Remmick stands by the window, the moonlight seeping into the room casting a ghostly glow over his body. 

“I told you I’d help you,” His voice is different now — deeper, gravelly. “Now, you help me.”

[atangledfate]

Think with his head? That really was never his strong suit was it? Honestly it's why Eggman always lost because it made him so unpredictable. Not that he couldn't be smart when he put his noggin' to the task! But he preferred to think on his toes, and react to every situation in the moment! but he did get her concern, he could blurt things out sometimes. Often in an attempt to lighten a mood or in a moment of frustration. His mother use to say he got it from his father but he hated to believe that since he hated the man so much.

" ouch going right for the jugular eh, i can't say you aren't right though. It ain't like i ever intend to blurt thing's out... it just kinda happens... guess it's my darn ADHD... or something..."

" An, i've fought guys like that president and that general before. Those kinda creeps are always up to no good... can't stand people like that. They just wanna oppress people's freedom in the name of good but--- in reality they are just usin' that shit as an excuse! "

He huffed as that all seemed to be a sore spot, as if he'd been down this road once before.

" Last time i met guys like that ... It created Iblis and Mephiles... i'd rather stop them before we end up with a 2.0 of those two..."

=============================================

The beetle buzzed her wings as she watched the general's image vanish off the screen. Really she had to focus on her duty! she can worry about what those two were really up to later. but right now she couldn't worry about them, and must focus on getting people the help they need. She should probably get checked out herself despite the healing she got from that royal.

" While i think we can all agree with you on that one Princess ... But be that as it may... and like it or not. United Federation is still the ruling body here on Mobius. We have to comply on some level.. and right now i'm more worried about our people getting help... the cost isn't light but it if we must... we must "

She buzzed her way over to Lanolin with a stern gaze to give her acting orders as director.

" Lanolin i want you to gather up Surge, and get her ready for transfer once the proper paperwork and contracts arrive. Miss Odessa could you keep an eye on the border where our people will be moving in and out-- i doubt GUN would start anything but just in case. I'd appreciate an eye on both sides as tensions are so high right now. "

She fluttered over to Miles trying to measure up as a leader and really doing her best. But the stress was getting to her by the way her antenna would slump when she thought no one was watching her.

" Miles, can i enlist your aid? You have access to a legal Team, and i'd appreciate it if you can employ them to check the paperwork and make sure they aren't trying to use some legal loop hole or another. "

She finally addressed Blaze with her hands behind her back

" And thank you Princess... your aid has been invaluable... i hope you'll continue to be a presence until this situation is fully resolved... they'll be sending there legal representative... and i'd like you there when they arrive. If for no other reason then to dissuade any ill action against us... as for everyone else, you should focus on helping the transfer and getting our essential personal back on base! "

The sheep gave a Nod as she made her way out the door to find Surge and Sonic. While Miles already had his phone out making a call to some legal experts he had access to. Things were coming to a close and this scenario was almost over... Yet Jewel couldn't help but stare at the monitor with the GUN cruiser still floating threateningly over head--- this was a bold action by GUN and one that did not bode well for Restoration...

The blue hedgehog gave Surge a sideways glance as he didn't forget about that. It was just that--- so much had happened to him that not even Eggman knew it all. Starline just pumped her full of common info, and assumptions. He didn't know about his adventures in the story books, or about his godling father. He certainly didn't know what happened when he, shadow and silver defeated Solarius. His life might be known, but he was more then a bunch of text in a book.

" ... Then you know i'm good for my word... that's enough right? Heck i'm not even askin' for you to like me. I was happy enough that you and the kiddo were getting a chance to do your own thing... "

he sighed and placed his hands on his hips looking up at the GUN Ship.

" This whole thing sucks... I really wish you two had more time--- And i think we both would like a long talk with that general guy. But i've faced my share of tyrants, hacks, and evil overlords. That guy gives me the willies... both of them do... and that's not easy to do "

============================================

The General remained Stoic as the princess simply iterated what they both already knew. Jewel's tactic was sound, but it was predictable and that alone spoke to Jewels lack of experience. She may have been a keen eyed business woman. But she wasn't a soldier, or a warrior and that was something Blaze and himself shared in common.

" I could have, but i'd honestly I'd like to resolve this in a timely manner. It does none of us any good to remain in this stalemate any longer then we must. Despite what you may think i want what is best for my World... "

He simply motioned with his hand in a dismissive manner

" Which is exactly the problem isn't it? How can we put our fate in the hands of someone so chaotic and undisciplined. I'm sure we'd agree on much more then we disagree on if things were different... as for The President... I hope he can do the things he claims but, he's as of yet untested... "

His one good eye turned to Odessa and acknowledged her without directly speaking to her. He seemed to assess her but his face was like stone and impossible to tell if he was concerned or if he found her threat to be just another annoyance.

" My men are all disciplined... they won't act unless ordered to. you can relax, if i wanted to cause you harm... we wouldn't be having this conversation and you must know that. As for your princess getting hurt--- If a foreign dignitary enters foreign lands uninvited ... i can't be held responsible for any ill that befalls them. In truth your presence could be seen as an act of War... be glad we make an exception for the aid you provided the resistance during the Phantom War "

He sighed to the Princesses desire and his eye shifted away as if he found this argument rather tedious. He understood what she wanted but until Thawn, gave him the go ahead his hands were actually tied. He wanted to explain that but he had a feeling she'd fight him every step of the way. So it was a good thing, that jewel came in almost as if on que. Her wings buzzing as she came into the room and interrupted the conversation.

" President Thawn and i came to an agreement... The blackade is to be opened to essential personnel and, we can begin moving the injured and, get our medical staff back on base! i'm sure the general will get these orders momentarily! "

" Indeed, i was just given a folder with new orders... congradulations Miss Jewel... I look forward to working with you in the future---in less stressful circumstances... Princess it was ... interesting, i hope this doesn't jade you to future talks "

[softsunnyy]

hi babies. As i announced yesterday, with this post i'll officially go on semi-hiatus. With this, i'll try to write all the requests from the beginning of april until now.

my asks will remain open, in case you wanna talk or make requests. However, the requests will have to wait until i finish everything.

thank u so much for all the support you've given this blog; right now there are more than 500 of u, and i don't even understand why :(♡

this contains:

🚨 baby trapping, cumming inside you, oral sex, denying orgasm, jealousy, possessiveness, kinda dark!jack. And i think that's most of it, but if you think i missed something, please let me know, i'm trying to fix the warnings. 🚨

poorly written

Jack can see how he looks at you, how his eyes travel over your hips, your waist, your tits. And he knows you don't notice, or at least it doesn't seem like it, because you're still dancing with your friends, completely oblivious to the guy who's been staring at you from the bar for minutes, never taking his eyes off your body.

and Jack sighs, tries to be rational, to remember that you're his, that you´re in that place literally because of him and the team, his friends, after the win over the rangers thanks to a goal he scored. And he wants to be cocky about it, to feel like the man, but a pang in his chest makes it hard for him to stay calm.

he watches the scene with too much attention now, no longer listening to what his friends are saying.

the thought of another man looking at you, touching you, even thinking he has a chance, is enough to get him moving, walking up to you, putting his hands on your waist, making you jump, only calming down when you see him.

after giving him a peck, you start dancing once more, this time against his body, rubbing yourself, letting your dress slide, higher and higher, and Jack knows, he knows that guy is watching, that he's enjoying seeing your exposed skin, and instead of enjoying it himself, it only fuels his anger, making his hands manipulate your body, forcing you out of there, ignoring your questions, your whines, your bright, confused eyes searching for an explanation for his rough touch.

and he gives you a vague answer, but it's enough for you to understand that right now you should just follow him, let him take you where he needs to, and so you do, walking beside him, letting him put you in his car, taking you back to his house, while you try to remember, to think about what could have happened, without coming up with an answer.

is he just horny?

you don't know, and you're so lost in your thoughts that you jump once more when he opens the door to help you out of the car.

now, Jack waits until he's inside, until he closes the door, to turn and talk to you about the guy, about how his eyes roamed over your body as if you wanted to be seen. And even though his words were laced with venom, you know the only one he's really trying to offend is that boy, while he glares at you with his eyes filled with fury and arousal.

because you see it, the way his cock starts to get hard while he begins to sweat, his eyes dilating, his jaw clenched.

the way you moved, how you rolled your hips, ignoring people, seeking contact with his body. Jack can't forget that. But he also can't let go of the fact that another man enjoyed that sight too.

and the thought alone makes him want to destroy you.

so it doesn't take long for him to have you on your knees, swallowing his cock. Your cheeks wet with your hot, fat tears of pleasure, while your throat burns, you gag and try to swallow it all, with your hand playing with his balls.

“i bet you knew, you knew someone was watching you,” he said between small moans, his hand in your hair, guiding your moves, making you choke. “Did you enjoy being a whore?” you tried to respond, but you could only whimper. Your sounds dying against his cock. And he smiled a little, but his smile was completely bitter. “Bet you did.”

and you wanna be patient and good, but unconsciously you start rubbing against the carpeted floor, trying to relieve the tension in your pussy, while your panties begin to stick to your skin, completely soaked.

you didn’t know what had happened in that place before Jack told you, but if you had known he was gonna react this way… maybe you would have tried a little harder.

because it’s so hot, the way the vein in his neck is visible, while his jaw clenches so hard every time he remembers it that his teeth feel like they’re about to explode.

and his hand in your hair is demanding, his gaze is sharp, intimidating, and makes you feel small, but in a good way.

when Jack gets like this, it's fun, unexpected. And don't get me wrong, you enjoy sweet and loving sex, and doing things slowly, carefully, with time, but this? this is different, and you crave that feeling of your swollen, irritated pussy, your legs shaking, and your nipples so hard it hurts.

so you let him keep going, keep feeding his anger with every second, while he uses your throat to hammer inside you, sliding his cock on your tongue, letting you feel the full weight of it.

and you want him to cum, to drown in his thick white strands that always caress your throat like honey, making it all worth it. But he doesn't seem to have the same plans, because just when he seems close, he pulls his cock out of your mouth, making you gasp, your expression showing disappointment and discontent.

and he laughs at you, at your desire, and makes you lie down on the couch you recently bought, making you rest your face against the fabric, with your ass raised and your panties, several shades darker, stuck to your skin.

“i didn't even touch you.” he smiles, running his fingers through your folds, wetting them through the fabric of your underwear, making a wet, obscene sound that made him smile even wider. “Is this all for me? or did you just enjoy being a whore in front of our friends too much?”

you whimpered, unconsciously moving your body back, seeking some contact, feeling your cheeks burn. “Just for you, Jack…” you moan, but it's so low and weak that he slaps your ass, making you flinch.

“didn't hear you, pretty. Who are you saying it's for?” he´s smiling, you know it even though you can't see it, and he teases your folds again, now reaching your clit, rubbing you through the fabric.

“for you!! fuck…” you whimper, your hole throbbing, your clit sensitive from all the time you spent trying to stimulate yourself.

“mhm, i don’t know…” you hear him say, while you feel him slowly pull down your underwear, seeing your shiny and soaked pussy, ready to receive him, like always “i don’t believe you” he declares, running two of his fingers through your folds until he slides inside your hole, going as deep as he could, drawing a loud moan from you.

you feel his long fingers, welcomed with pleasure by your tight walls that throb, expand, and suffocate them. And he doesn't even give you time to prepare, because he immediately starts moving them, sliding them in and out quickly, making your fluids splash and your legs tremble.

and he's normally slow, careful, and takes the foreplay very seriously, even when he's angry. But now he's rough, wild, and careless. As if he doesn't really care how much he's helping you, but rather seeks to increase your pleasure.

and he succeeds, because you moan, your walls throbbing, your eyes squeezed shut, and his name rolling on your tongue like a broken record.

Jack feels powerful because he feels how every second you're wetter, more lost, your mind clouded, your thoughts everywhere, your body completely surrendered now. But even so, he waits until the first tears begin to appear, and then he starts rubbing your clit, bringing you closer to your orgasm, letting the knot form and making you feel confident. However, just as you were about to release, he slid his fingers out of your pussy, making you open your eyes in panic, begging him to let you cum, and promising that you'd be good, that you'd pay for what you did.

oh, but he has plans, don't worry.

you didn't have to beg for too long, because soon his cock was forcing its way into your walls, expanding them so roughly that a broken moan came from your throat.

your hands form fists, gripping the fabric of the couch as he begins to move, instantly finding his rhythm. And he's rough, without a single drop of mercy, making his thighs hit your skin, making it turn reddish while his hands grip your ass, leaving the marks of his fingers as his mind drifted further and further into madness.

you can't leave him. He won't be able to tolerate you abandoning him, you no longer belonging to him. Your body is his, your mind is his. He's the only one who should be able to see you like this.

he was your first kiss, your first time. He's the only one who should be able to claim your body.

the thought of someone else putting their hands on you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, making you giggle and blush like you do with him, sickens him, making him wild, more primal, not even focused on your moans, on how you tell him how good it feels, how deep it goes, how perfect it is.

god, he's even missing the bulge in your belly, the way his tip hits your cervix again and again, the way he's abusing that sensitive little sponge inside you that has you drooling, fucked stupid.

he's missing it because a new idea came to his mind, and he can't stop thinking about it.

the two of you have always been careful, he's always respected you, and even when he's fucking you raw, he doesn't cum inside you. He knows you want to wait, give him time for his career to fully stabilize. But he always thinks about how it would look, your pussy releasing strips of his thick cum, staining your folds, your thighs. Always thinks about how you would feel walking everywhere with his cum inside your sweet, tight pussy.

and maybe this is the chance.

you wouldn't hesitate, you wouldn't realize how close he is, you'd just have to take it. And you're so fucked stupid that you'll only be able to drool, whimper, and moan, but not stop him. And he'll be able to fill you, leave you so full again and again that there'll be no doubt a life will begin to form in your womb.

so you won't be able to leave him.

you'll be joined to him, carrying a tiny version of you both for months.

he can imagine you, round, full, with swollen tits and sensitive nipples. The image alone could make him drool and cum now. But he can't; it has to be you first.

so he keeps going, using one hand to rub your clit, making your eyes roll back, a dark stain from your drool and tears on the couch, and your legs shaking, spasming, completely useless.

you moan, trying to think of something coherent, but when the knot forms it doesn't take long for it to explode, and as you cum, you hear him whisper in your ear, showering you with sweet nothings.

“you want me to fill you? bet you'd look beautiful with my cum sliding out of your pussy.” the thought makes you whimper, trying to nod, even though you don't really understand the gravity of those actions. You just want to be filled, to receive everything he has to give you.

“i need words, my love, i need you to say it,” he sighed, trying to control himself, to resist even though the ideas kept coming to him.

“please…” you sob, trying to look at him, your eyes glassy. “Fill me, Jack.”

and he closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, too affected by the way you said it. “You're gonna look so beautiful holding my baby,” he murmured, placing a kiss on your head before he began to fill you.

and you can't deny it. The sensation is different, but it's delicious, dangerously addictive, and you scold yourself for ever asking him not to cum inside you, because now you want him to do it all the time.

but don't worry… he doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon tonight.

you're not gonna leave him. Not for that guy. Not for anyone.

you'll be his forever, even if he has to trap you with him, even if he has to cum inside you again and again. Just to be sure, of course.

[judesmoonbeauty]

𝕁𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕁𝕒𝕫𝕫𝕒'𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕕 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝔼𝕟𝕕: ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟙 + 𝕊𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

Fan translation only. Accuracy not 100%. Please expect grammatical errors. Creative liberties are taken. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere, claim them as your own, or use them without my permission. Thank you for your support! ☾.

After Jude put me to sleep, I woke up in this coastal town.

All that was left behind was a trunk and the pocket watch that Jude had given me.

Jude has pushed me away yet again, but this time it was to drive me out of the darkness for good.

But I will never allow you to get away with it—

(—That’s what I thought but)

Both the Privy Council and the Army know what I look like, so I can’t make any rash moves.

(Could I slip out of this town quietly?)

(…..That won’t work, if I’m caught then it could be fatal to Crown.)

I mull it over and then shake my head as I reconsider it.

Several ideas to get out of this situation occurred to me…..but then I’d get stumped, so it was all pointless.

Kate: ARGH! I can’t do anything…!

In the back of my mind, I can just picture Jude laughing my average, worthless incompetence.

(Jude knew this would happen, that’s why he left me behind here.)

"There ain’t nothin’ a princess can do, just wait ‘ere like a good girl till the heat dies down.”

It’s as if I can hear his voice.

Kate: ……Jude’s an idiot.

My insults only serve to melt into the sea breeze.

Essentially cornered, all I can do is stay in this town…..

And so, time passed as I felt frustrated.

But after a few weeks went by, something strange happened when I went shopping in town one day.

Kate: ……..?

I had the feeling that someone was watching me, but when I turned around there wasn’t anyone on the street.

(Before, I would’ve just brushed it off as my imagination but…)

Since I’ve lived as a fairytale keeper, I’ve acquired the ability to sense when something’s off.

(….Could it be that the Privy Council or Army is pursuing me?)

I doubt they would chase me this far from London, but Jude has the agreement that proves his innocence.

What if on the off chance he was caught, tortured, and made to confess everything…..

I shook my head to deny the unpleasant thoughts swelling in my chest.

(There’s no way Jude would get caught.)

He’s a vindictive, ruthless, merciless, but above all a strong person.

Besides, no matter what kind of torture he was subjected to, he’s not the type of person to cough up information about anyone other than himself.

(I’m worried about Jude, but….)

(I shouldn’t get myself worked up by imagining things that aren’t true.)

Looking ahead, I started back to the inn, trying to shake off the ominous presence behind me.

—That disturbing gaze continued thereafter.

However, as days like that continued….I began to notice that the stare I was receiving was a bit different from ominous.

(It’s not really a stare filled with malicious intent…?)

(It’s more like…)

As I realized the intention behind that gaze, I suddenly came up with a plan and spoke to a group of young men staying at the inn.

Kate: Um, hello. Could I have a moment of your time?

Black-Haired Guy: Oh….you’re the young lady who’s been staying here for a while right?

Brunette-Haired Guy: What is it? Are you in some kind of trouble?

The curious men immediately showed interest in me.

Kate: Actually, I have a request—

[Transitions to Nighttime at the Beach]

That night, I went for a nighttime beach walk.

[Flashback]

Kate: Actually, I have a request—

Kate: I’ll pay you, so will you act as if you’re attacking me publicly at night?

[Flashback Ends]

The men blinked at the extremely strange request, but when I explained that it was just a pretend attack, they readily agreed saying it sounded like fun.

They wanted money to have a good time, and I was troubled by someone’s watchfulness, so our interest’s aligned perfectly.

(All in order to uncover the stalker’s gaze that’s been following me for so long.)

(…….Let’s see, they should be calling out to me right about now.)

Then a few steps later, the young men from the inn approached me from behind just as planned.

Black-Haired Guy: Hey, hey. Are you all alone cute lil' missy?

Brunette-Haired Guy: We’re staying at the inn back there. Wanna come back to our room?

The guys try to put on their best performance according to what we discussed beforehand.

(I’m so sorry to put you through all this….)

While apologizing profusely in my heart, I also tried to act reluctant to go along with them.

Kate: Please stop. If you don’t, I’ll call for someone!

However, the identity of the lurker didn’t appear….So, I signaled the guys with a wink to be a bit more forceful.

Black-Haired Guy: So cold! Why don’t I just take you away—

When one of the men grabbed my wrist—

Black-Haired Guy: UWAAAH?!

A black shadow appeared before him.….and suddenly twisted the man's wrist.

Beneath the moonlight, my eyes locked with the gaze of the one holding the wrist…..

Kate: Ellis!

Ellis: Uh-oh, I got caught.

Ellis: Long time no see, Kate.

I simply blinked at his usual smile.

Ellis: So, do you want me to get rid of these people?

Black-Haired Guy: AHH OWWW!

Hearing the man cry out in anguish, I quickly stop Ellis’.

Kate: No, don’t!

Afterwards, I invited Ellis into my room at the inn, and explained the situation to him.

Ellis: —So that means, those men were hired by you, Kate?

Kate: That’s right, all so I could uncover the identity of my stalker.

Kate: But I never thought it would be you, Ellis.

Ellis: Haha, sorry for scaring you.

In the end, the men that worked with me, deemed me a troublesome woman who just wanted to test my boyfriend’s love.

Afterwards, the good-natured group went out to a pub, saying they were going to drink all night with the money they received from their performance.

Kate: Once again, it’s been a while Ellis.

As we face each other, the night I parted ways with Ellis at the military base comes back to me.

(It’s been a while since I’ve seen him like this.)

When I look at Ellis’ gentle eyes, a feeling of happiness gradually spreads within me.

Kate: I’m really….glad you’re safe.

Ellis: You too, Kate. I’m glad to see you again.

We looked at each other with a smile to ensure the other was okay.

There’s a ton of things that I want to ask Ellis.

(Like why were you following me?)

(But the first thing I want to ask is—)

Kate: Ellis. Do you know how Jude’s doing?

He kindly reacts to my stare as I think about my beloved.

Kate: Ellis after we split up.…..I discovered a contract between the Privy Council and the Army.

Kate: Then I after Jude and I fled from the military base, I gave it to him on a train……

Kate: But then he used his ability on me, and left me behind in this place.

Kate: So, I don’t know anything about Jude after that….

After telling him what had taken place up until now, I looked straight into Ellis’ eyes, and his eyes gently softened.

Ellis: Jude got the contract delivered to Crown safely.

Ellis: His research was proven innocent, all thanks to you.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard that Jude's innocence had been proven.

Kate: It’s…..thanks to everyone.

Kate: Because everyone protected the agreement, Jude was able to get it to where it needed to be.

Ellis: You really do care about Crown.

Ellis: The only reason we are where we are today, is because you crossed a dangerous bridge for us, Kate.

Ellis: But, there’s still a problem….

Ellis: Jude murdering a privy counsellor was holding us back, and the Privy Council tried to use the murder as a means to demand that Crown be disbanded.

(….Mm.)

The night Jude shot the privy counsellor rings back to mind.

[Flashback]

Jude: ….If bastards like ya don’t get shoved t’hell, you’ll just keep doin’ the same thing.

Jude: So I’ll just send ya straight t’hell now.

[Flashback ends]

It was an unforgettable incident that happened right before my eyes, and an indisputable truth that Jude killed that privy counsellor.

Killing him means something slightly different than the judgements they have meted out to wicked people until now.

He murdered someone from an important institution….whose crimes had not yet been exposed.

(So, we can’t pretend it didn’t happen….)

Ellis: But then a few days ago, things took a turn.

Kate: What?

Ellis: That military officer, Gilbert Murphy…..

Ellis: You know him too.

Kate: Yes, of course. He was my temporary guardian, who was shot by that privy counsellor…..

Ellis: Well, he survived.

My eyes widen in astonishment, because I assumed there was no way for him to be alive.

Kate: What…..

Ellis: So, he testified about everything in court.

Kate: In court?

[Transitions to the Courtroom Scene]

Gilbert appeared in court while in a wheelchair, and provided the following testimony:

Senior Officer Gilbert: I was the one who shot and killed the privy counsellor that night at the base.

Judge: Why would a senior military official, commit such a foolish act?

Senior Officer Gilbert: The Privy Council and I had a contractual relationship.

Senior Officer Gilbert: Both parties had a common goal and planned to use the private research to achieve those goals.

Senior Officer Gilbert: However, conflicts arose as things progressed. He got in the way and this that was the result.

Judge: I see….

Judge: So, you’re claiming this was a case of corruption between the Privy Council, and you, a military official?

Senior Officer Gilbert: Yes, we are wholly responsible.

[Courtroom Scene Ends]

(….You mean, Gilbert took the fall for mine and Jude’s crimes?)

His Side Story: "A Woman I'll Never See Again"

After I left Kate asleep in that town, I boarded a train.

(Mornin’ already, huh. S’bright it’s annoyin’.)

As I stare at the morning sun shimmering on the sea, my mind rewinds to last night.

A small festival was taking place in the coastal town where Kate and I disembarked from the train.

Forgetting all about being hunted down, I enjoy the festival at Kate’s urging.

Once she got tired and sat down on a bench, a man who had been sleeping like a log next to her woke up.

Drunk Man: Damn, I was feeling so good that I passed out…..and my wife told me to be home by 8:00 p.m.!

Drunk Man: Does anyone have the time?

Kate: I have a watch.

Kate took out her pocket watch, provided the time, and then the man hurried off after saying his thanks.

Jude: That…

Kate: Oh, a soldier had this in their possession, so I quickly took it back.

Kate: This belongs to you, doesn’t it Jude? I’ll give it back to you.

(Nah, that ain’t what I meant.)

Jude: It’s yers.

Kate: ….What?

Jude: What’s with that dumb look?

Jude: Ya were eyein’ my pocket watch like ya aching fer it before.

Jude: Did it ‘cause if ya nicked one from someone else, it’d be pain.

Kate: I wouldn’t steal anything…..

Kate: But….I’m happy, thank you.

Kate smiled, so much happier than I had imagined, and gently pressed the pocket watch to her ear, as if savoring this moment.

Kate: Jude.

Jude: What?

Kate: We don’t know what will happen to us in the future. I don’t know where we’re headed, or how we’ll end up.

Kate: I don’t know anything, but I can say this for certain….

Kate: ….I’ll always be by your side.

Jude: ……….

My sight, my breath — I was dispossessed of all my senses.

So much happiness poured itself into me, that it felt like I was suffocating. My throat choked like a drowning fish.

As Kate struggles with her words, she’s oblivious to my inability to respond to her.

Kate: There’s no point in trying to leave. I’ve already stolen something, so I’m full-blown bad guy now.

Kate: This pocket watch is proof of my complicity—

Jude: ……….

(Ah…I get it.)

I already knew this long ago.

But now, I’ve become acutely aware of it.

(I’ve wound up fallin’ fer ya too.)

(I….can’t help but findja cute.)

(S’cause of that….)

Kate: …..Jude……?

Jude: ……Ya fool.

I look into Kate’s eyes.

Jude: Bad guys don’t help flower boys who lost their money.

Jude: If some drunk asks fer the time, they don’t politely tell ‘em.

Jude: Further….

I gently pinch Kate’s cheek.

Jude: A bad person wouldn’t smile like this.

Kate: Ju…Jude…

Jude: What complicity. Just how bad are yer tastes.

Jude: …Yer…….

(Kate, you….)

(Can’t go t’hell with me.)

Jude: Too bright fer me…..

In a single breath, I tell her as if casting away all feelings of love and regret.

Jude: Right, ‘nough ‘o this. This time I’m cancelling the contract.

Jude: Don’t want anythin’ t’do with ya anymore. Don’t care what’cha do, just get outta my sight.

I heard Kate gasp.

Kate: Why……this is….you said a unilateral termination of the contract was invalid!

Kate: No, Jude. I’m staying with you—

Jude: ….Kate.

I don’t want to see her crying anymore, and if she keeps clinging to me, I won’t be able to push her away.

My fingers touch her forehead.

For some reason, my reflection in Kate’s eyes looked sad.

Jude: Thought it was stupid, tryin’ to find somethin’ to like ‘bout me, but….

Jude: It wasn’t so bad bein’ liked, regardless o’ gains ‘n losses.

(I was happy ya liked me.)

I poked her forehead.

Jude: —Good night, princess.

Then Kate fell into a very deep sleep.

[Flashback ends]

Jude: ……….

With the train’s back to Kate, it moves further and further away.

What sort of expression will Kate wake up with?

There’s no way to know for sure anymore.

(Be happy without me, Kate...)

(….Be happier than anyone else.)

That’s all I wished for in the dreary morning sun.

[Main Story Master List] [Mad Love Chapter 22]

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

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[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

You got me good (I knew you would)

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary Sam and you go on your first date after a long time of skating around each other. During dinner, you reveal to Sam that you’ve never had sex. But Sam is about to change that… CWs Virgin!reader. Sam being the sweetest potato. Communication. Loving, sweet and gentle (but still kinda steamy). 18+. 9.6k words. AN Virginity is a dumb as fuck concept, but this is the reader deciding it's her "first time". She's not particularly virginal or innocent, either. She's just a person who happens to not have had sex before. :)

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

The restaurant wasn't fancy, but as fancy as you could get in a no-name town in the middle of nowhere. They had seated you close to the kitchen and you kept hearing the clanging of dishes and occasional cussing. There was an A/C somewhere above you that was making the air just a little bit too cold for you in the dress you were wearing. When you got your food it was somehow overcooked and undercooked at the same time.

None of it mattered.

The world could have been burning down around you and you would have looked at the flames and thought pretty!, because Sam was sitting across from you on your first official date.

Sam and you had talked a long time about whether first official date was the correct title for it. It was your first date, but you had spent so much time together in the last months, living basically cheek-to-cheek that it felt a little strange to call it that. You had also done things together, all above deck, and you had kissed, so yeah, having your first date now was definitely a little weird.

When you had told Sam this he has chuckled, but then he had turned to you, all intense, serious, long-legged, geeky, earnest 6’4’�� of him looking at you fully, and he had said that this was different though. Things between you were different now.

So first official date it was.

“You don’t think we have enough horrific stuff in our daily life?” you were asking, stealing a cherry tomato off Sam’s plate. “I guess I just don’t get the appeal of reading about even more of that stuff in your free time.” Sam grinned and watched you pop the tomato into your mouth.

“It’s just interesting,” he said. “How people work, what they think. How they get to be that way.” He reached for the bottle of wine you had ordered, topping up your glass first and then his. “Plus it tells you a lot about police work, how sometimes the most obvious details are missed because people don’t want to see what’s right in front of them.”

He stopped himself, looking a little shy the way he sometimes did when he thought he’d been ranting. He checked your face for boredom or annoyance. He wouldn’t find either. Your hands were placed under your chin and you were listening to him attentively, watching his face. A small smile came over him as he picked up his glass to take a sip.

“’s just interesting, is all,” he mumbled into it. You smiled at his constraint.

“Well, maybe I need to give it a go,” you said, and Sam’s eyes lit up. “I’m sure there’s some serial killers that are fun to read about.”  Sam grinned.

“I think you’d like it. It’s all about psychology, at the end of the day.”

“There you go with that big brain again,” you sighed, making Sam chuckle. “I like my reading a little dumbed down.”

Sam was taking another sip and almost choked with how hasty he put the glass down. “That’s not true! There’s nothing dumb about what you read,” he said, actually sounding offended on your behalf. You grinned.

“I say that proudly, Sam. We get enough complexities in our day job. So it’s visceral delights during off-time for me.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fantasy lands, quests, good guys, bad guys, torrid romance,” you counted down, then shrugged. “Couple o’ nasty sex scenes.” Sam’s smile stuttered.

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Mmh hmm,” you said, taking a drink. “Gotta tread carefully, though. I read the first Ice and Fire book waaaay too young, and it gave me a lot of weird ideas about what sex was.” You chuckled into your glass.

“Like what?” Sam asked, a distant smile on his face. He was watching you intently.

“Like… how much of it is had in taverns?” you said, a slight nervousness creeping into you. Sam grinned, though.

“Real life not holding up on the tavern sex, huh?”

You tried to return the grin, but noticed it didn't come to you. Okay, you thought. You were gonna have to talk about this sooner or later.

Taking a breath, you gave yourself a push. “Tough to say,” you replied, holding onto your wineglass for emotional support. “Since I’ve never had sex.”

You looked at Sam’s face while you said it, your expectations running wild. His eyebrows went up a little, and that was it. He didn’t run out the door. He didn’t laugh at you.  Which were all things you’d imagined might happen, but they didn’t.

“Really?” he asked, but he didn’t sound shocked or weirded out. He was just confirming.

“Really,” you said, and you weren’t sure if you sounded nervous.

“How come?” Sam asked, then added: “Because I know it’s not for lack of offers.” You smiled, a little flattered.

“It just never… felt right, you know?” you explained. “I got close a few times but then I always kind of put the kibosh on it.” You shrugged. Sam nodded.

“I think that’s good,” he said. “I mean to wait if it doesn’t feel right.” God, you could have kissed him. You pressed your lips together.

“Not sure what that does for my market value, though,” you said, trying to play past the moment. “Do guys want whores or virgins these days? I can never keep up.”

“No idea,” Sam replied, his face a little serious, and then he said: “I just know what I want.” He was looking at you, pointedly and you felt your face heat up.

“And what’s that?” you asked. Sam kept looking at you.

“You.”

Holy mackerel, this man, because he quickly added: “That’s if you want to be wanted. If it’s not for you…” he shook his head. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” you said, “you’re making me the opposite of uncomfortable.” It sounded a little weird so you chuckled. Sam grinned.

“Good. I’m glad.”

You put your glass down, poked at the rest of your food even though you’d lost all interest in it.

“So would you…” you started, then pivoted, not sure how to approach what you wanted to say. “Do you want to want me… anytime soon?” You looked up and Sam was already looking at you. You were just dropping your fork, so he moved his hand over the table to you and held yours.

“What do you want?” he asked. Chewing the inside of your lip, you looked at him.

“I wanna have sex with you, Sam,” you said, because, well, you did. You really did. Yes, there were nerves and as much as you knew that it was nonsense there were preconceived notions in you through years and years of horrible socialization. That you wouldn’t be good, that Sam wouldn’t like you as much afterwards. But you recognized these things and compared them to the man sitting in front of you, the man you were pretty sure you were in love with, and they seemed to pale. You trusted Sam, trusted him with all your heart. And you wanted him.

He was stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, looking at you. “I wanna have sex with you, too,” he replied. You squeezed his hand, a chaste gesture compared to what was happening where your eyes were meeting. You had to take a deep breath.

“Tonight?” you asked, carefully.

“If that’s what you want,” Sam said, squeezing your hand again. “I can wait,” he added, “for as long as you want. But yeah, I mean, I’m not gonna lie.” At that, that shy grin returned to his lips. “I would really love to be with you. I’ve been thinking about it… a lot.”

You licked your lips at that, the thought that Sam had been thinking about you making more heat run through your body.

“You have?” you asked, and Sam nodded. “What’s it like?” you asked, hungry to know what was going on in Sam’s head, what he was imagining, what he liked and wanted. He shrugged.

“Kind of changes. What’s always the same is that I want to make you feel good.”

A small, shuddery breath left you. Sam cleared his throat, seeming to give himself a little push just as you had earlier. “I mean I want to make you come. I want to eat you out.”

You bit your lip, feeling a delicious pull in your core. Was this how you found out you were into dirty talk? Or was it just Sam?

Seeing your reaction, Sam continued: “I want to know how you sound and feel when you come. What you like, what works for you.”

Of course Sam would want to learn, would want to explore. That was just the kind of guy he was. You nodded.

“I would like that,” you replied, your voice coming out a little breathier than you’d expected. Sam nodded, holding your gaze.

“What do you want?” he asked. You took a second to think. You’d never considered that you would have a conversation about the sex before you had it. It had always seemed like something that just happened, in the throes of passion. This was much nicer, much less daunting.

“Well, that whole you-making-me-come business sounds really good,” you said, making Sam grin. “Uhm, I’m not sure, I mean…” You leaned forward, hoping no staff would heard you. “I think doggy-style always looks really hot? Or when the girl's on top?” you said. Sam took an audible breath through his nose. “But I also I would just want to look at you and see you, so it’s a toss-up.”

Sam nodded slowly, looking at you. There was a look on his face that you’d never seen before until recently. It showed up on his face sometimes when you kissed him or when he was just looking at you for a while. A hunger, or something like it. A want. It thrilled you, seeing it now.

At that moment, your waitress came over to your table. “Anything else I can get you guys? Maybe some desert?” she asked.

You held Sam’s gaze as he raised his eyebrows, a question in his face.

“No, thanks,” you answered. “We’ll just get the check.”

The evening outside was cooling off after the day had been warm and sunny. Sam took your hand the moment you were out of the restaurant. You smiled up at him and he tugged your arm in close to his body.

The motel you were staying in was down the road, which was good, since you didn’t have a car. Dean had left earlier that day to visit an old flame a few hours away, and you weren’t expecting him back until the next day, or even the one after. So you had the room, and Sam, all to yourself.

The thought made you stop on the sidewalk. Sam took another step, then noticed you were behind him. He turned around, a questioning look on his face while his hand still held yours. You pulled on his arm only a little but he followed it as if you’d tied him to a ten ton truck.

Once he stood close to you, your neck all the way bent back you told him: “Kiss me.” The question disappeared from Sam’s face, replaced by a smile. His free hand went up to your face, barely touched it, his thumb running over your jaw. His face came closer and his nose touched yours, and only then did he kiss you. Softly and gently but passionately at the same time.

You dropped back on your feet after having pushed yourself up the better to reach him and looked into his eyes. Then you tugged his hand again and you continued to walk towards the motel.

You were both giggling and already touching each other all over by the time you reached the room. Sam had planted a hand on your ass and you pretended you were trying to get away from it, but the touch made you so giddy you thought you might burst.

You got to the door, Sam pulling the key from his jacket pocket, and you leaned your back against it, Sam standing as close to you as possible as he put the key in the lock. You were looking up at him and managed to distract him before he could turn it. His hand left the key, instead going to your hair, as he leaned down to kiss you. Your arms went around him, pulling him closer, and the combination of the door behind you and Sam-the-wall in front of you made your head spin.

The kiss turned a little, giddy pecking becoming something different. Your hands went up to Sam’s head then, pulling him against you, as you could suddenly feel his tongue. You opened your lips, letting him in, and he did that thing where he breathed out of his nose, as if he needed to control himself. It made you shudder. When you separated for a second to catch your breath, you were almost panting.

“Open the door, Sam,” you said. His hand shot over to where the key still was and turned, making you both almost fall into the room together. It would have made you laugh, usually, but not right then. You were too busy pulling Sam’s face in again, push your tongue against his. You were both breathing hard and you were distantly impressed when Sam remembered to kick the door closed behind him.

Then both his hands were on you again, pulling you close, closer, closer, closer. There was no room left between you two and still Sam wasn’t close enough. Your hands dropped to his shoulders, finding his collar, and you started to push his jacket off him. Sam moved his hands from you only for a second to let the jacket drop, then he was on you again, his hands running up your back. Your denim jacket was riding up since you had to stretch your arms so high to reach Sam, and he ran his hands under them, the thin fabric of the dress that had made you feel cold in the restaurant earlier suddenly a godsend.

Sam wasn’t moving fast enough for you so you removed your hands from him a second, the effort of it nearly making you groan, and tore the jacket off your own shoulders, dropping it somewhere behind you, your arms shooting back around him immediately. A second later they were dropping to his chest, as you started to unbutton his shirt. You made it to three buttons before you started struggling on one.

Breaking the kiss, you looked to where your fingers were, cussing silently, while Sam looked down at the same time. Your hands were shaking from anticipation and when you spoke your voice sounded shaky as well.

“Damn Winchesters and their layers,” you muttered, trying to make a joke. Sam huffed a little, then his lips were meeting your forehead, your hair. Finally you defeated the button and opened the rest of Sam’s shirt, tearing it off his shoulders but as you looked up at him again to kiss him, his hands landed on your arms.

“We need to slow down,” he said, breathing hard. You felt an uncomfortable twitch in you. Slow down? Why? Was it not good?

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you muttered instead as Sam moved half a step away from you, the distance feeling huge. He breathed out slowly. Now that they weren’t on Sam anymore you suddenly felt intensely aware of your hands, unsure what to do with them. You wrung them in front of you for a second, then quickly stopped when you realized what you were doing.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his voice gentle. You looked up at him. He was watching you carefully.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding, “yeah, just, uhm, little nervous. But I liked the kissing part. Maybe we can do more of that?” Sam smiled at that, but as usual he wasn’t falling for your joking if it was covering up something else.

“We can just take it slow, okay?” he said, his hands going from your arms to your shoulders, squeezing them gently. You pressed your lips together.

“I was kind of hoping to get past the nerves, just get through it, by not slowing down,” you admitted, a little embarrassed. Sam nodded.

“I get that,” he said, “but if it’s something we just want to get through, maybe we should wait?” Your nerves were raging a battle in you, but the thought of waiting, of not getting to be with Sam that night was even more upsetting.

“No,” you said, almost whining a little. “I want to be with you, Sam. But yeah, I’m nervous.” Sam nodded again.

“What are you nervous about?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Part of you still didn’t want to talk about it. The talk you’d had at the restaurant had been great, sexy, something new you wanted to explore, but now that you were in the middle of it, the idea of revealing your fears made you feel vulnerable. You took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips.

“I’m…” you started, then cleared your throat to continue. “I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you said, to Sam’s continued, encouraging nodding. “I’m scared I…” You stuttered a little, feeling much more embarrassed about this fear than the previous one, feeling like it stood in for some kind of failure of character, that you should be above this.

“I’m scared I won’t be good,” you finally continued, suddenly feeling a lump in your throat. “And I’m scared,” you said, pushing yourself through, trying to ignore the tears you suddenly felt in your eyes, the tingling in your nose. “I’m scared you won’t think I’m good and that it’ll change something about us.”

You sniffled. The way Sam looked at you, the empathic expression, the sweet puppy dog eyes, the absolute goddamn fucking earnestness of him was like a finger poking at your heart. And then, when he saw that you weren’t going to say anything else, he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, holding you against him, his free hand stroking your hair. Your head landed on his chest, his broad, wide chest, and you snuggled yourself against him.

Sam kissed the top of your head, and you could have combusted from how much you loved him in that moment, from how close you felt to him.

“Okay,” he said, his words vibrating through you from where the top of your head was now tucked against his throat. “First of all,” he continued, his voice serious, “we’re not going to do anything that hurts or doesn’t feel right or good.” You nodded against him.

“We’ll use lube,” he continued, “and I’ll make sure you’re relaxed before anything else happens.” His words sent a twitch of arousal through you, despite your emotions. He would relax you.

“And second,” Sam continued, holding you a little closer against him, “and I want you to really hear this, you do not have to worry about being good or being good for me or about anything changing about the way I feel about you.”

Sam’s fingers were making little circles on you, and combined with his body heat radiating off him it was calming you down. “It’ll be good if you enjoy yourself. That’s the only deciding factor.” He moved his head, and then he was pulling you away from him, making you look at him. His face was serious. “It’ll be good because it’s you and it’s me and whatever that means and whatever works, that’ll be the good part, okay?”

And because you were maybe still looking a little unsure, he added: “Fuck the rest.” It made you laugh. Sam cussing always made you laugh, because it was so uncharacteristic for him. “Okay,” you said, nodding.

“So,” Sam said, looking into your eyes. “Do you want to keep going? Or we can do something else. We can watch TV or just sit, or—” Your hands had wandered up to his face again, gently cupping it.

“Thank you, Sam,” you said. He smiled a little. “You have nothing to thank me for.” He looked into your eyes a moment longer, then leaned down to kiss you again. Softly, lips only, almost carefully as if you hadn’t just been devouring each other’s faces a minute earlier. You felt an intense stirring inside you, and you dared to pull him a little closer. Sam didn’t stop you, instead his hand also found your face.

“Are you sure?” he muttered against your lips. “I’m sure,” you muttered back, and then: “I want to feel you, Sam.” Sam sighed at that. His hands went to your hips, and the tugged at the fabric of your dress a little.

“Do you want to take this off now or wait?” he asked quietly. You grinned.

“I want you to take it off me,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. Sam smiled at that. He started pulling up the dress, the fabric bunching where he was collecting it, and then slowly pulled it over your head, his hands reaching high to take it off you, letting it fall behind you. He looked down at you, at your body and his forehead met yours.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. You laid your hand on his chest, biting your lip at the tone of his voice, one of absolute admiration. You giggled a little, and he smiled when he looked at your face. “I can’t believe I get to see you and touch you,” he said, pressing his nose in next to yours.

“Well,” you started, “tit for tat, Winchester. Let me see those demon slaying muscles I keep dreaming about. Get out of that slutty, little v-neck.” Sam laughed, a little sheepishly. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, laughing as well. Sam assisted you, helping you pull the shirt up over him. You nearly swooned as you allowed your hands to run over his neck, down his chest to the pronounced muscles of his hip bones. You couldn’t help but bite your lips, and after allowing your eyes to roam over him as well before you looked up at him again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” you said. Sam looked at you, a moment of surprise on his face, then he pulled you in again to kiss you. You hung your arms around his neck, using your hold on him to kick off your shoes, making you hop a little which made Sam grin against you, and only hold you closer. He did the same with his shoes while you blindly opened his jeans, and he pulled them low enough to fall.

You felt one of his hands move up your back to your bra and suddenly another rush of nerves went through you. Being in your underwear was one thing, but Sam seeing you naked...

You broke the kiss, taking a deep breath. Sam looked at you, studying your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately. “Just a little nervous about the naked part,” you said. Sam shook his head.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Do you want to keep your underwear on for now?”

“Maybe for a little?” you said, and Sam nodded, then kissed you again.

“Do you want to lie down?” he asked when he broke away for a second. “Get more comfortable?” You nodded against him. Without separating, the two of you side-stepped to the bed, you stepping on Sam’s toe once. “Sorry! Sorry!” you cringed. Sam chuckled. “All good.”

You reached the bed, your calves bumping into it. “Oh, wait,” Sam said, suddenly letting go of you. He turned around and located his bag. As he walked to it, you crawled on the bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter. Sam pulled something from his bag, then turned around and walked the few steps back before stopping dead in his tracks. He was looking down at you, a slight smile on his lips, lips slightly parted.

“What?” you giggled. Sam shook his head a little. “Nothing,” he said. Just then, you were taking him in as well, just in his boxers now. You saw that he was hard and looked back up at his face again.

“Come here,” you said. He crawled on the bed as well, setting a small bottle on the night stand first, what you assumed was lube. Sam came close to you, laying his hands on you knees.

“Do you wanna lay down?” he asked softly. You nodded, then leaned back, lying down and stretching out your legs. Sam did the same, but he laid on his side, head propped up by one arm bent at the elbow. Once you’d both settled, you looked at each other.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you said back, smiling.

“What do you want?” Sam asked. You thought for a second, then took the arm he wasn’t holding himself up with and laid it over yourself, petting it. Sam’s fingers stroked your side, his underarm was across your stomach. It just felt right, he felt right.

“I just want to keep kissing,” you said, lifting one hand to play a little with his bangs. “And keep touching.” Sam nodded, and then leaned down to you, your lips meeting. The hand that had been on your side moved to your hip, making beautiful little circles. He kissed you, and kept kissing you, and you would have been content to spend your days like this but there was a pull in you, a need building.

Feeling bold, your hand went down to Sam’s resting on your hip and, slowly, you moved it to your lower stomach, to just above the waistband of your underwear, then pushed his land even lower, his fingers finally touching the fabric. Sam broke the kiss and looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” he said, but even having his hand there was making you clench. You nodded.

“Yes, Sam,” you said, and it came out breathless. “I want you to touch me.” Sam kissed you again and then his hand slowly, slowly wandered lower, slipping into your underwear. Sam was perpetually warm, always running hot, so you didn’t have to worry about his fingers being cold.

The tips of his fingers were on your mound and then there was a gentle touch on your lips that made you shudder a little. You took a deep breath, but not from nerves this time. Sam was touching you. He broke the kiss again, and looked at you.

“All good,” you said, bringing your hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer, “feels nice.” He nodded, and then, instead of kissing you, his mouth landed on your cheek, then traveled to your jaw. At the same time he was running two fingers left and right of your clit and pussy. He wasn’t rubbing you, but on every other round he made his fingers come close to your clit. He was slowly bringing the two fingers together and then there was a low thrill of pleasure when he arrived closer to your center, the nerves there being stimulated.

You hummed and closed your eyes as Sam’s mouth wandered to your neck. This, you knew. This was what you did to yourself, often to the thought of Sam. Without thinking about it, you wanted to let him know.

“Do you know,” you said, your voice quiet, “how often I touch myself thinking of you?” Sam’s movement stopped for a second, both in your panties as well as on your neck as a small groan left him at your words. Then he picked up his rhythm again. He liked that, you thought. You ran your hand over the arm that was moving against you, over the hard muscle, the soft skin.

“I always think of you, Sam,” you continued. The low thrill of pleasure you’d felt kept returning, Sam’s fingers just barely brushing past a part of you that was hot, almost itchy, slowly zeroing in on it. “Hmm,” escaped you, “oh, that feels nice.” Your breathing was picking up a little and you suddenly noticed that you could feel how wet you were. Sam’s movement on you was moving your inner lips and you realized you could hear it as well. An intense blush moved into your face but a second later the thought exited you, wondering if Sam had heard it as well. If he would like it as much as knowing that you masturbated to the thought of him.

His mouth was wandering up to your jaw again after having been stunned against your neck, listening to you. Then he was back at your mouth, and you could see him, see his face. That hungry look on him.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, giving you a short kiss.

“Yes, it feels really good,” you replied, giving him another kiss with your eyes open, not willing to not see his face. A little gasp left you when Sam’s circles found just the right spot.

“There?” he asked and you nodded.

“Keep going,” you whispered, your breathing picking up. He kept going, adding a little bit more pressure. A high little moan escaped you and you pulled up one of your legs on instinct, letting it drop open so Sam could move with more freedom. He smiled at that.

“Can you, mmh, can you go a little faster?” you asked, feeling a little timid about making requests. Sam started going faster, just a little and you had to bite your lip at the feeling.

“Right there, right there,” you mumbled and Sam concentrated on that spot as your pleasure kept building and building. Sam was about to make you come, and that thought alone was pushing you towards the edge fast. You had to close your eyes at the feeling, your hand going away from Sam’s arm to his side for something to hold onto, as his work on you was starting to make you come undone.

“Oh, Sam,” you sighed, “that feels amazing, don’t stop.” Sam leaned his head down, mouth close to your ear.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he whispered. “So fucking hot.” Okay, so the cursing worked for him in this specific situation, you just managed to think, before your hand curled in pleasure where you were holding Sam, your head going up to be closer to him.

“Sam, I’m gonna—” you panted, your eyes falling shut and your lower body seeking more friction. Sam was breathing hard against you, and then you were coming, your head hitting the pillow under you, while you were biting your lip hard, suppressing your whimpers as you pulled your leg up, and Sam continued rubbing you through your release.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out, the tension leaving your body, only your chest rising and falling. Sam kissed your cheek gently, and you turned your head to catch his lips with yours. Then he laid his forehead against yours. When you finally blinked open your eyes, he was looking at you. His pupils were blown.

“Good?” he asked. You nodded, feeling a grin spread on your face.

“Very good,” you replied.

You lay like this, for a little while, while you stroked Sam's side and he your arm. Eventually he gave you another kiss, then your chin, your shoulder.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked. Keep going? What else was he going to do with you?

“Do you want to…?” you asked, looking down his body. Sam shook his head. “Not yet, okay?”

You nodded and then Sam was slowly kissing his way down your body. Oh. That was what he was going to do.

You waited for the rush of nerves to spike but it didn’t come. Maybe you were simply too fried from the orgasm. Sam was kissing your stomach, tearing you away from your thoughts when he made you giggle. He looked up at you, grinning.

“I love your laugh,” he said. And I love you, you almost said. You pressed your lips together.

“Can I take these off?” Sam asked, laying his finger on the waistband of your panties. You nodded. “Yes.” Sam’s hand went to your hips, and you pushed your lower body up, letting him tug them off your legs. You saw a smudge of white in its crotch as he did.

“Oh geez,” you said, but Sam smiled.

“You know that’s good, right?” he said.

“I know,” you mumbled, “just…” Sam kissed you high on your thigh.

“If I do my job right there’s gonna be a lot more where that came from,” he said, and playfully nipped at the place he just kissed.

“Sam!” you gasped, but couldn’t help but laugh. He grinned up at you again, then moved both his hands to your hips. “Ready?” You nodded. “And if there’s something you don’t like just say it or tap my head, okay?” You nodded again, your hand going to your mouth, a grin building behind it. “Are you gonna, uhm, use your fingers?”

“If you want me to,” Sam responded. You nodded again, your damn head getting a little too used to that. “Yes,” you said. “Just tell me before you do, okay?” Sam smiled.

“I will,” he said.

“Well, then,” you said, unsure what to say. “This pussy’s not gonna eat itself, Sam.”

Sam did a pfff sound. “How romantic,” he joked. You shrugged. “That’s me.”

Then Sam, still chuckling a little, lowered himself, continued kissing your thighs and hips but soon moved closer to your sex. You looked away shortly and pulled a pillow from the head of the bed to push under your head below the one that was already there. When Sam noticed and looked up, you said bashfully: “Wanna see you.” There was that look again, that deep look like something was hooked in Sam’s heart or his brain. Something good.

Without breaking eye contact he lowered his head and kissed your clit. The sensitivity sent a delicious shudder through you that made you gasp. But that was nothing compared to the picture of Sam between your legs. You tried to take a mental photo, just in case you ever fell on hard times.

His mouth met you again and this time his tongue came darting out, slowly moving over the bundle of nerves. You sucked in a breath, arching your back up a little, wanting him closer. You watched as he continued, the feeling sweet and tickling. Then he lowered his mouth further, and sucked the little nub into his mouth. Your plans to watch him throughout went out the window then, as your head fell back, your chest heaving.

“Sam,” you moaned. In response he hummed, his sucking creating a pulsing sensation that you swore you could feel behind your eyelids. Suddenly the sensation was gone, and you looked down at him, the loss actually heartbreaking. Sam was looking up at you, his face still close to you.

“I’m gonna use a finger now, okay?” he said. “And you tell me if you want another one?” You nodded, you lips clenched together. “Yes, just, keep going please? That was amazing.”

Sam grinned, giving you a quick kiss. Then his mouth was on you again and the wonderful feeling was back. You actually found yourself snuggling your back into the bed, and then you felt his finger at your entrance. You felt a touch of nerves then. You’d used your own fingers of course, and toys, but while you had an intense appreciation for Sam’s hands, they were big, the fingers long. Just relax, you told yourself. You can stop at anytime.

Sam’s finger was still exploring you and then he was slowly pushing into you. The feeling was strange at first, something entering you that you weren’t controlling, but Sam’s work on your clit was a good distraction. His finger went in and then you felt him curl inside you, the sensation strange at first but not uncomfortable or painful as he was moving the tip of his finger up, stroking.

You focused on the feeling on your clit again, the suction and the pulsing pleasure but then you felt something suddenly, a warmth, no, a heat and your attention was drawn back to Sam’s finger. It felt like he was igniting a fire in you, stoking it.

The more he continued the more you liked it, the more it was making you roll your hips, grind down against him. You moaned and then your hand was finding the back of Sam’s head, needing something to hold onto, while the other went to grab the pillow under your head.

“Yes, yes,” you moaned, your breathing so heavy it was almost painful, as the two feelings Sam was creating in you suddenly shook hands, melted and then it was just one wave, one wave of Sam, taking you higher and higher.

“Sam, more,” you panted and you felt something change, another finger entering you but you were too far gone when suddenly your back arched up, your breathing became shallow and you came hard.

You whined, then sobbed as you tried to suck as much air as possible back into your lungs. Your body was nothing but waves of warm goodness for a few seconds, like like was shooting out of your every pore.

After what felt like your consciousness reentering your body your back met the mattress again, a heavy sigh leaving you. You looked down to find Sam. He was nuzzling your thigh, looking up at you.

“Get up here, you magic man,” you said, breathing still heavy. Sam grinned and you saw his chin and mouth were wet. When he came up to kiss you you must have cringed for a second, because Sam stopped, then wiped his hand on the bed covers, and then his hand over his lower face.

“Sorry,” he said, “got a little carried away.” You chuckled as he kissed you, the happy grin not leaving his face. You tasted yourself on him, distantly. It was strange.

“You like this?” you said, looking at him, a little unsure. He nodded.

“You taste sweet,” he said, kissing your cheek.

“Sam,” you said, closing your eyes at the kiss. “You can’t be sweet and smart and this sexy and love makings girls come with your mouth. What is your deep, dark, dirty secret?” Sam chuckled.

“You,” he said, as he kissed your cheek again. “I love making you come with my mouth.”  You looked into his eyes then.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” you whispered, because somehow whispering it was less terrifying than saying it out loud. Sam looked at you, his eyes boring into you. It felt like he was speaking to you even though he didn’t say a word. Feeling emboldened, you licked your tongue over him below his mouth, where he had missed wiping off part of you. Sam huffed, surprised.

“Yeah,” you said, grinning, “not too bad.” Sam leaned down, kissed you hard. When he stopped, he said: “Fuck, you’re sexy.” You bit your lip.

Sam kissed you again, and you pulled him close, trying to maneuver his big body over you. Sam budged, following your hands until you had him over you, his hips between your legs. You wrapped yourself around him and then you felt his erection in his underwear. Tugging him closer, you ground yourself against him, and Sam groaned into your mouth.

You didn’t have the physical strength to roll Sam over, but when you pushed up on one of his shoulders and he looked at you to see what you wanted, he followed your lead. He rolled on his back, taking you with him, and you laughed against his mouth. Then you were pushing yourself up and moved down to his underwear.

“Can I?” you asked, mirroring his question earlier. Sam nodded and then you were pulling his boxers down, all the way down his long legs and then dropped them.

You had seen a few penises in real life but most in movies, or porn, so you had some idea what to expect. But you hadn’t expected to think that Sam’s cock was beautiful like the rest of him. He had a thick head from what you could tell, and looked smooth and soft. Well, soft except for all the hardness.

You marveled at it for a second, then looked up to meet Sam’s eyes again.

“Can I touch you?” you asked. Sam nodded. “Yes.” You lifted your hand, your fingertips slightly grazing the skin. Sam’s cock twitched at the touch and Sam took a deep breath. You looked up at him.

“It’s okay,” he grinned. “Just sensitive.”

You bit your lip, then ran your fingers along him again. The skin was soft and silky. You licked your lips, then lowered your head, and kissed the side of him, very gently. Your eyes went back up at Sam, who was watching you intently, his lips slightly parted, his face concentrated. You kissed him again, then stuck your tongue out, licking the skin. He didn’t taste like much, skin and maybe a little salty, and just a little bit Sam.

Feeling a little more confident, you raised your hand again and took him in your hand. “Is that too hard?” you asked. Sam shook his head.

“It’s perfect,” and after a second added: “You’re perfect.” You grinned.

“You only think that,” you said, emboldened by his compliment, “because you don’t know I’m about to do a is this thing on? joke.” Sam laughed loudly, his head falling back and he tugged one arm behind his head.

“So long as you don’t knock on it,” he said.

“That wouldn’t be good, huh?” you asked. He shrugged. “Who knows, never tried it.”

You chuckled, then licked your lips again, but this time you concentrated on his head. There was a bead of moisture on top that you lapped at and as you did you heard Sam inhale again. His sounds were beautiful. You wondered what he would sound like when he was inside you.

You felt a pull of arousal in you. You leaned down again, and licked over his head again, then suckled at the top of it. He felt nice. You closed your eyes, a mmh leaving you as you continued sucking on him, then flicked your tongue against him. Letting him slip out of your mouth, you looked up at Sam again.

“What’s the part that feels the best?” you asked. Sam looked down at you, waiting a second before he answered.

“You don’t have to—” he started.

“I just want to know, okay?” you said, and then gave his head a gentle kiss. “Don’t make me do any crowd work,” you added, raising your eyebrows. Sam chuckled, then cleared his throat. “The, uh, below the head, underside.”

You flicked your tongue against him, testing. On the second flick you seemed to hit it, because Sam gave a hard exhale. You did it again and his eyes closed.

“I wanna learn how to make you come as hard as you made me come, Sam,” you said, giving him another lick. Sam opened his eyes, searching out your gaze. Then he sat up and pulled you up to him.

“Okay,” he said, his face close to yours, so close that you could feel his breath on your face. “But we can do that some other time.” He kissed you deeply, and you sighed against him. When the kiss broke, Sam didn’t go far. “Let me make love to you,” he said in a quiet voice. You leaned forward, catching his lips again. “I want you to,” you said against him.

Sam easily and gently rolled you back on your back and then reached for the lube on the night stand. While he did, you reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra. Sam looked back just as you were taking it off yourself and you waved it over your head once or twice, lasso-style, then threw it into the room. Sam grinned, but then looked down at your breasts.

He leaned forward, hands holding him up on your right and left, and let his lips grazed over one of your nipples. Next he sucked it into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it. You let your hand run into the hair at the back of his neck, sighing. It felt wonderful. But you wanted more of him.

“Sam,” you said, and he pushed himself up. “Want you,” you said in response to his questioning look.

In response, Sam sat up, briefly letting go of you and opened the lube, squeezing a helping onto his hand and placed the bottle back on the night stand. He spread the lube along his cock and you watched him, fascinated to see how he touched himself. He pumped himself a few more times and then turned his body to you.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked, looking at your face. You nodded.

“I want you to,” you added. Sam looked at you for another few seconds, surveying your face. He didn’t seem to see anything to give him pause, so he grabbed another one of the abundance of motel pillows, laying his hand on your hip, telling you to lift up. You did, and he shoved the pillow under you, elevating your lower body.

Then he leaned over you and kissed you deeply. You hugged his shoulders and then felt him bob against your pussy. Sam broke the kiss, looking down your bodies, and his head met your entrance as he lined himself up.

“Okay,” he said, looking back up at you again, “angle up your legs?” You did, so they were higher on Sam’s body. He hooked one leg around him, then scooted is hand under you, holding you up a little so you could hold on to him better.

“You decide,” he said, once everything was where he wanted it. “You can just pull me in and you decide exactly how fast or slow I go. And if anything doesn’t feel good—”

You interrupted him with a kiss, then looked at him again.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet. Sam looked confused. “I told you," he replied. "You don’t have anything to thank me for." You shook your head.

“I just wanted to say it,” you replied, a little bashful. Then you took a deep breath, relaxing yourself. You weren’t nervous exactly, but the anticipation was a different matter. You licked your lips then, and nodded.

“Okay,” you said, “I’m ready.” Sam kissed you again, then leaned back just far enough that he could see your face.

He started pushing forward, and you could feel his head slip between your folds. There was some resistance as he adjusted his angle and then you felt him press into you, the angle of your lower body making it easier.

It didn’t hurt, the feeling simply a little strange, unusual. He stopped after a second, checking your face.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” you nodded, and then couldn’t help but grin.

“Remember,” Sam said. “You decide.” You nodded, then started pulling him closer with your legs hooked around him. He slipped deeper into you, making you feel a stretch now that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sam swallowed, then pulled back a little again, only to let you pull him in again. You continued this way, you pulling Sam in further, him pulling out again, and that way you slowly brought him closer.

At some point, one of Sam’s hands came out from behind your back, dropping to your pussy and he very gently started massaging your clit.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice sounding broken. You searched your body for the answer. Good. It felt good. It felt good to have Sam inside of you.

“Good,” you said, looking into his eyes. You pulled on Sam, trying to get him to move further into you, but he stopped you.

“Let’s just work with this, okay?” he said, smiling at you. “I want all of you, Sam,” you said, realizing your own voice was breaking a little.

“You’ll get it,” he said, making a wonderful rush run through you. “But let’s start with this. I’m gonna pull out and then push into you again, and I’m gonna go slow, and you tell me if you want me to be faster, alright?” You nodded.

His words were having quite the effect on you, hearing him talk about what he was doing to you somehow adding to the stimulation. He slowly pulled out of you until only his head remained inside of you, and when he pushed in again, his cock touched something inside you that made you shiver.

Sam was going slow, so slow, his touch on your clit just as slow and gentle. His thickness inside you didn’t hurt, but it felt like he was opening up something inside you, a different kind of need and desire that you had never felt before. Like a part of you was missing and Sam was giving it back to you. You held him close, pushing your face against his.

“Sam,” you said and it was a whimper.

“Slower?” he asked, immediately.

“No,” you said, almost not recognizing your own voice with how much want there was in it. “Just want more of you.”

Sam looked at you for a second, then kissed you while he slowly pushed himself into you again. He didn’t go deeper, but his next stroke came just a little faster, while the petting of your clit became a little more intense. You whined again, at the wonderful feeling of him.

Of course, you thought. It all made sense now. You could have been with a thousand men before Sam and still this would have felt like the first time. Because you’d never felt about anyone the way you did about Sam, never trusted anyone as much.

“You feel so amazing,” you panted against him. Sam sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. You felt the slow rising pleasure of an orgasm building again.

“Sam, can, mmh, can you go faster?” you asked, feeling like you had an itch inside you that only he could scratch. Sam nodded, picking up his pace a little.

“Like that?” he asked, voice low. You nodded, as his cock kept sparking that strange feeling of fullness, of being closed and warm and taken care of, in you.

“Yes,” you breathed out. Your eyes had fallen shut at some point, so concentrated were you on feeling Sam, that you gasped when you opened them now and saw him. Sam was tensed, all his concentration on how he was moving in you and how he was touching you. His brow was in deep furrows and he looked almost like he was in pain.

“Sam?” you asked and he looked up at you, features immediately softening. “Are you okay?” He nodded, needing to take a breath before he could answer.

“I’m good, you just,” he said, a groan interrupting him, “you just feel so, fuck, you feel so good.” His breathing was stuttering and he looked beautiful. The thought that it was because of you, that you and your body were making him feel this way, made you clench around him. Sam almost hissed, his strokes stuttering before he held himself still.

“I need…” he said, but didn’t continue. You ran a hand into his hair. “I’m about to come, I need to stop,” he finally forced out. You pulled him close.

“Don’t stop, Sam, please.” Sam’s chest contracted as he looked down at you.

“Can you, uhm,” he started, “can you maybe touch yourself? I would do it but I think if I can concentrate…”

Your hand was already moving down your body, meeting his, gently running over his wonderful fingers and then replacing them. Sam moved his hand up instead, holding himself up with both arms now. Then he started slowly moving again, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed that feeling, in those few seconds you hadn’t felt it.

“Yes, oh yes,” you breathed as you started circling your clit, and Sam closed his eyes.

“You sound so hot,” he ground out. Unable to help yourself, you moved your mouth to his ear. “You feel so good, Sam, I never thought it could be like this.” Sam groaned, kissed you. You were flying higher and higher, picking up the pace on your clit while Sam kept gently fucking into you.

“Sam, I’m gonna—“ you moaned, “I think I’m gonna come again.” Sam nodded against you.

“I want to feel you,” he panted. You kept rubbing, the rhythm steady and your wetness and your muscle contractions made Sam slip that little bit deeper into you. Just then, another whine left you, and then you felt it, Sam filling you where previously there had been nothing, feeling so right, so perfect. He pulled out again, his head bumping into that special place inside of you as he pushed himself back into you and then you came.

It was different, Sam’s cock there to push back against your clenching, and you were intensely aware of your body, how you were shaking, little moans dropping from you.

Sam clenched his jaw at the way you were squeezing him and while you were still in the throes of your orgasm, he leaned down, pressing his face against the side of yours, his shoulders tensing as he moaned against you, then suddenly held still. You could feel his stomach muscles contract where they were pressing against your arm that was still between your legs, and then you felt a warmth spread in you.

A second later you pulled your arm out from underneath Sam, instead wrapping it around his back. Sam rolled himself sideways a little so he wouldn’t have to hold himself up anymore, making sure he gently pulled out of you first.

You felt the loss of him and when he laid down next to you, your arms immediately went around him again, kissing him almost desperately. He rubbed his hands over your back. Your body was exhausted, buzzing, but you didn’t have your fill of Sam yet. You weren’t sure if you ever would.

You kept kissing him, a little whimper escaping you. Sam pulled you away from him even though you were trying to hold onto him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and worried.

“Yes,” you breathed, nodding vigorously. “I just can’t get enough of you.” Sam looked at you, emotion in his face as he leaned in and kissed you, his hands gently running over you. You felt your breathing slow, your body relaxing. You moved your head, laying it on Sam’s arm, so you could still look at him.

“That was incredible,” you muttered, running your fingers over his lips. Sam smiled, petting your cheek.

“I…” he said, but stopped himself.

“What?” you said, moving closer to him. You saw the battle behind Sam’s eyes. Finally he sighed.

“I want you,” he said. He seemed immediately unhappy with what he’d said, breathing out through his nose, looking into the distance to find the words he was searching. “I mean,” he said, correcting himself, “I don’t know how to say it. I just want to spend all of my time with you. I want to keep making love to you.” Then he laughed a little at himself. “Like, it pisses me off that there might be days where we’re not together, you know? Where we don’t see each other for a few hours.” He turned back to you. “Does that make any sense?” he asked. You nodded.

“It does,” you answered. “I feel the same way, but Sam," and at that you stroked his cheek and couldn’t help but grin. “You’re not getting rid of me.”

At your words, Sam pulled you in, kissed you again. He kissed you for a long time, softly, nipping at you, his hands running over your body, yours over his, without a goal, just to feel each other, get to know the other.

Eventually you got up to use the bathroom, Sam barely letting you go. When you came back, he pulled you close, pressing your back against his broad chest.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your ear, and you grinned. You had missed him too.

Eventually you both fell asleep, tangled up and close and your breathing synced.

You woke a few hours later, disoriented by the big warm thing next to you. A second later you remembered it was Sam, and a rush of such intense love went through you that you could have cried.

Instead you pushed yourself against him, kissing his jaw. Sam woke up slowly and you watched him, wanting to see everything, to know everything about how he looked, how he came back from sleep.

When he understood what was happening he pulled you in, kissing you immediately. Soon you felt him grow hard against you, felt yourself react as well. You felt a little sore, and a little empty, like your body had made room for Sam the way your heart had.

You almost rolled your eyes at your own thoughts. To distract yourself, you let your hand wander down Sam’s body.

“Now,” you said quietly and Sam looked into your eyes, a glimmer there. “Here’s some stuff I always wanted to try.” 

[billloveshushu]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 02━ 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

✦∘˚━ ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕩 𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕆ℂ.

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∘˚✧˙𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽✦•˚∘

✦( "" ) Thoughts (━) Dialogue✦∘•

English is not my original language, the translation was fone by Google Translate, so sorry for spelling mistakes.

Warning🚨: There will Be another OC in the story.

"I finally have a name!!"

Suyana Martha Wayne.

When she saw Bruce signing his name completing his civil registration with his mother's name, Suyana was very surprised and felt a strange feeling, she felt happy realizing that Bruce, now officially her adoptive father, liked her to the point of putting her deceased mother's name as his surname.

But she realized, it was really happening, she was now the adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne, from Batman the Dark Knight, now she was feeling such a big existential crisis, and she wasn't even a year old!

Also, when she heard Alfred or Bruce say the name Suyana, she felt a good feeling, it was as if it already belonged to her, it was nostalgic. Could this have also been her name in her past life? That would explain this feeling.

Anyway, Suyana gave up on remembering her past life. That night traumatized her in a way she would never forget. The space filled with blood and those overwhelming emotions were like a threatening warning from her own subconscious showing that if she remembered, there would be no turning back. It seems that her past life was not happy at all. Of course, curiosity arose, but she put all that aside.

“As the saying goes, Happy is he who does not know what he is, and unhappy is he who knows what he is … why do I know that? Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Sometimes she forgot that she was just a baby, many times she would find herself playing with her teddy bears or even biting her own foot and would wonder "What the hell am I doing?!"

It was possible to see that he was very tired, even when Alfred appeared to wake him up, he got up without complaining and just adjusted his neck, Suyana knew that Bruce used meditation to control fatigue, muscle pain and even a broken rib just to keep up appearances, but seeing it in person is scary and impressive at the same time.

Bruce asked Alfred to prepare the milk while he got the baby ready. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with Suyana today because last night, at the exact moment Batman arrived at the cave, the Justice League called him to say they had a mission and that they needed him. It was unknown how long this mission would last. Bruce read in an article that young babies, if they don't see their father figure much, end up forgetting about them.

He doesn't want that to happen so he will do everything he can to make this mission go faster, for now he will enjoy this moment with his daughter. Bruce came down the stairs with Suyane in his arms already dressed in a fuzzy jumpsuit, Alfred handed her the bottle and Bruce fed the baby, he watched her cheeks sway as she drank from the bottle like a squirrel.

He couldn't help but kiss her forehead, this was such a normal morning, it wasn't boring, it was more like a calming agent, she was like a calming agent after a chaotic day, no, a chaotic night, his muscles relaxed, leaning his back on the counter and he just looked at her, enjoying the silence of the morning.

Until Alfred enters the kitchen━ Sir, little miss's room is ready.

"What!? Seriously?"

Suyana swung her little feet excitedly, she saw Bruce ask a few more things about the room but decided to ignore it, taking so long to just renovate a baby's room was probably because of this security system, to save her mental health she decided not to know any more about it and just ignore it.

"Ridiculous paranoia, seriously"

Bruce had already noticed that Suyana had already finished her milk and placed the bottle on the counter right after he helped her burp.━They finished faster than I expected, sir. ━Alfred said.

Bruce wiped Suzana's mouth━ But of course, they are competent Alfred, I guarantee that in addition to being safe, the room is beautiful.

"I wonder how it turned out" Suyana wondered, she didn't know what the room looked like even though it was close to Bruce's room, Alfred always stayed away because of the dust, after the dust was gone it was time to decorate the room, Bruce wasn't a man of style and used what was necessary, so he didn't even know where to start.

Normally it was Alfred who did this, but he is already an elderly gentleman, so he can only take care of Suyana because she is quiet and well-behaved, which is worrying, but Dr. Leslie said that it was normal for some babies to behave like this, especially like Suyana.

So Bruce hired an interior designer, a woman who was quite nice, and when she arrived she just told him that she was going to transform the room to be worthy of a princess.

And she actually did it.

Suyana looked at the newly renovated room with wide eyes, the walls were a pastel pink color with flower designs, the floor was padded with a large rug and the furniture around was hand-customized with a beige color and an antique style, and the crib now sat near the window with a large veil made of satin around it.

It really looked like a little princess lived there, Bruce smiled with satisfaction, it was perfect for his little princess.

The princess in question was still perplexed but could not deny that the room was beautiful ━ Isn't it wonderful?━ said the girl smiling at Bruce who immediately activated his Wayne Playboy personality ━ Wonderful, just like you ━ then he kissed her hand leaving the girl blushing while she let out a few laughs, she tried to start more conversation with Bruce Wayne but he interrupted her.

— I would like to enjoy this moment with my daughter, so thank you very much for your service ━ Bruce said, shaking her hand and asked Alfred to take her to the front door.

━ Oh, of course, but if you want, you can call me later ━ She said as she was almost pushed by Alfred to the exit of the room.

Suyana looked at Bruce in amazement. He seemed like a completely different person, outgoing, lively and even seductive. But the moment the girl walked out the door, Bruce returned to normal, the normal that Suyana at least knew. “He could win an Oscar with that.”

Bruce turned his attention to Suyana calmly as if he hadn't changed personality a minute ago ━So Susu, did you like your new room?━ And he kissed her cheek making her let out a sweet baby laugh.

Suyana sometimes felt embarrassed by Bruce's display of affection, it's not every day that she is kissed by Batman himself, and that affectionate nickname 'Susu' came about after a fateful day when Suyana tried to say her name, it was the same day that Bruce signed his name on the documents, but she could only say ━ Su..su. Ha..su ah Susu!.

Bruce found this demonstration so cute that he started calling her Susu, even Alfred called her that sometimes, it's a cute nickname but she felt a little embarrassed remembering it, Suyana remembers that Batman was portrayed as a very cold person and that he didn't show much affection, in fact the bat family in general weren't used to showing affection, Suyana never really understood these dynamics, but seeing him show this affection for her even if sometimes silently still leaves her shocked.

Soon Alfred returned ━ Mr. Bruce, the league called again asking for your presence━ Bruce sighed and nodded indicating that he understood, he handed Suyana to Alfred and stroked her small forehead looking lovingly at her but became serious again and said ━ If I take too long Alfred, show her my photo once a day and make sure she won't forget me.

Alfred raised his eyebrow.━Mr. Bruce, I think you are worried too much.

— Preparation is never enough, you should know that by now Alfred ━ then he looked at Suyana — I'll be back soon.

Then he turned and left the room while Alfred and Suyana looked at him, it didn't even seem like he was going to leave for a Justice League mission, leaving the room normally as if he was going to work, well in some way it was work, Susu could only hope that he would be okay.

"Batman is acting strange" was what Nightwing thought as he looked at Gotham City from atop a building, still dark and melancholic exactly as he remembered, he came here personally to ask Bruce what was going on.

He tried first with Barbara, but even though he insisted, she didn't say anything, the other members also didn't care much when Dick talked about it, he didn't blame them, saying that Batman was acting strange was just another ordinary day, but Nightwing lived long enough with Batman to know a lot about his obsession with Gotham, if he could he would spend the whole night protecting the city, risking himself in every way almost like suicide.

But suddenly he changed, Batman started to be more careful and even avoided getting hurt, and that's not the most shocking part, he started to finish his patrols earlier, his methods of dealing with thieves started to be more brusque, and with villains he started to be more violent, as if he was angry with them for making him late.

At first Nightwing was even happy with this change, a lot of the time he worried about Bruce and his health, and he was irritated by the way Bruce didn't care about it, so he was relieved.

But that was until the Riddler's attack on Gotham.

This made Nightwing finally come here, it wasn't disclosed in the media but Batman literally beat the Riddler, in a way that hit all the fatal points and that would take a while for him to fully recover, so it was obvious, Batman wanted the Riddler to stay out of the plan so as not to get in his way.

Nightwing quickly thought of some plausible reason for Batman to act that way. Could it be that he wanted to focus on a more important mission? That he couldn't be distracted for even a second? A mission that required all of his attention. Would it be the Court of Owls? Or the Joker? It wouldn't be possible, since he's in Arkham Asylum. Would it be to save the world again with the Justice League?

Nightwing didn't know but he wouldn't stay out of it.

He prepared to jump but his body stopped, Nightwing looked down and realized how tall the building was, his vision began to distort and his breathing began to become labored, he only managed to calm down after moving away from the edge of the building.

Nightwing looked down at his trembling feathers, cursed loudly, and pushed his hair back with a sigh. It looked like he was going to have to use the stairs. After several steps down, someone opened the back door of the building, already dressed in his civilian clothes and adjusting his coat. Now without his mask, it was Dick Grayson.

Dick first thought about paying a visit to the mansion instead of going straight to the cave, it had been a while since he had been there, very busy with his duties with the Titans, protecting Bludhaven and he still had his job as a police officer who took a few days off to go to Gotham, and he still has his girlfriend... Dick came out of his thoughts then started his motorcycle and headed towards the mansion.

Driving at high speed, Dick saw the Leon lights of the city center slowly disappearing and giving way to the darkness where he was going. From afar he saw the mansion's gate already opening with automatic technology. Alfred certainly already knew he was coming.

He saw the old butler already standing in front of the mansion's door, Dick got off the motorcycle and went to greet Alfred with a handshake and one of his classic bear hugs ━ Alfred! It's been a while! Is everything okay?

━ Master Dick, I am surprised by your visit━ said Alfred, pulling out of the hug and looking at Dick with a raised eyebrow, blocking the main entrance to the mansion ━ I dare ask, what is your objective, Master Dick.

He sighs with a tired smile.━ Nothing escapes you, does it, Alfred? Well, I came after Bruce.”

Alfred immediately understood what he was saying, knowing that the first Robin must have already noticed Batman's strange changes, so Alfred left the entrance asking Dick to follow him into the mansion.

Right at the entrance, Dick noticed something different, the rooms in the mansion were more reinforced and protected than normal, seeing some sockets using protection, and corners of cabinets or tables with rubberized edges, before he went any deeper, Alfred spoke.

━ I'm sorry to tell you, Master Dick, but Mr. Bruce is not in the mansion at the moment.━ Dick looked at him confused and then asked ━ Where is he then?

━ With the Justice League, they called him for a mission, I can't say when he'll be back.━ Dick regretted Bruce's absence, looked around the room and noticed toys and stuffed animals scattered across the carpet, then a pop sounded in his head.

He pointed to a rattle toy with a trembling hand. ━ Alfred, what is that? ━ The butler sighed when he realized he could no longer distract Dick. ━ I thought the ideal moment would be with Mr. Bruce present, but it seems that is no longer possible.

━ Please Master Dick, come with me and I will explain everything ━ Alfred walked down the hall with Dick following behind him, while he tried not to believe his hypothesis, it was not possible that Bruce had adopted another child, right? He knows that Bruce has a serious problem in leaving his "nest" empty.

But it hasn't even been a month since Damián fought with Bruce and left home and he's already adopted someone else?! Dick thought he had already taken care of this but apparently not. Not that he didn't like being the older brother, but for everyone the family was already complete, everyone was already used to each other and suddenly adding a new member!?

He rubbed his eyebrow and whispered uneasily━ I just hope it's not that much of a problem━ Alfred, who could hear, just sighed, knowing that it would be complicated to deal with Dick like that.

Alfred stopped at a door and opened it, signaling for Dick to enter first. He looked at the room in shock, seeing that there was no child but a crib wrapped in a thin fabric. He pushed the fabric aside with his hand and stared in a daze at the little baby who was sleeping peacefully.

He turned sharply to Alfred ━ A baby!?

Alfred quickly told him to speak more quietly,━Master Dick! I understand your fear, but there's no point in shouting and waking the child.

Dick sighed even more with his hands on his face━ I know, I'm sorry... ━ and looked at the baby again, she was a cute baby, with plump, rosy cheeks and reddish hair, he realized now that her appearance is quite peculiar.

But now he couldn't focus on her cuteness, all he could think about was the reaction of the other family members. Would it be a problem if she was a new child, but a baby!? ━ How many people know about her? ━ Dick asked Alfred━ Only four people, Mr. Bruce, Barbara, me and you.

Dick took a deep breath and looked around the room━ We were hoping to announce it at family dinner but something unexpected happened━ Alfred said looking at Dick.

━ OK ok, I'm sorry for showing up by surprise... ━ He put his hands on his face and sighed, Dick calmer looked carefully at the room, it was beautiful and cute, with the flower details and pastel colors, it was even out of place from the rest of the mansion that had a colder and more rustic appearance, looking like a castle from ancient times.

They were silent for a minute until Dick spoke━ Damián won't be happy about this... And Jason? I don't even want to think about his reaction━ Dick could only think about that now, he didn't want to admit it but he came here thinking about finding an adventure or a mission to distract himself from his own problems but now he found even more problems.

His sudden fear of heights gets in the way of his daily patrols and missions, and many times the bandits take advantage of this to escape, and this happened more than once, Dick has never felt so incompetent in his life.

He still had his girlfriend Shawn Tsang, a beautiful, cool and intelligent girl and Dick is an idiot who doesn't know how to value her, because of his busy schedule he can't give her the attention she deserves and she gets very uncomfortable with it, sometimes she even thinks that Dick was cheating on her. Now "running away" like this, it really seems like he cheated on her.

Alfred, seeing Dick sink even deeper into his thoughts, decided to intervene by placing his hand on his shoulder, attracting his attention━ Master Dick, calm down, I know it seems like an irresponsible decision but it's not.

━Master Bruce thought a lot about it, so much so that only after a month he decided to adopt her━ Alfred said calming the situation, Dick turned and nodded that he understood, even with his problems he shouldn't blame an innocent baby for this━ You're right Alfred, I'm sorry for... acting like this.

The butler smiled satisfied with the answer, he suggested leaving the room so as not to wake the baby and talk better, before leaving Dick decided to look again at his new "little sister" but was surprised ━ Hmm, Alfred... I think she's already awake ━ He said pointing to the crib where the baby was staring at him, as if he had found a treasure, Her little eyes shone as she looked at him, it kind of scared him, it seemed like she knew who he was, but she kind of really knew.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!! Is that Dick Grayson!!?? Nightwing!!??"

The little baby was waving her arms towards Dick, who didn't know what to do with her excitement, and he is considered the most lively and sociable of the family. Alfred came to the rescue, taking the little one in his arms.━It seems she's already woken up...━ He said, caressing her little forehead. Even though he wasn't smiling, you could see the affection in his eyes.

Dick just looked surprised, because it was one of the few times he saw Alfred being affectionate and delicate with someone, and also with the butler in front of her, the baby tried to look at him again. Seeing how the baby was distressed trying to look at the stranger, Alfred turned to introduce them formally.

━Master Dick, I present to you little Miss Suyana━ He showed the baby, pulling away the cloth and making the light illuminate her little face, looking now with the light reflecting her red hair looking like fire and her light brown eyes, Dick thought━ She's so cute...━ Right, he was weak with children.

Alfred offered to hold Suzanne but because of his nervousness Dick was afraid of dropping her so he refused, he just got closer to her face and watched as the baby looked at him without even blinking, which was a little strange. But who could blame her? One of DC's most beloved characters was in front of her, Suzanne had to act like a strange fan, maybe that's one of the reasons why Bruce was so distant in the beginning, every time he passed by Suzanne would stare at him, like she's doing now.

"Wow! He's so handsome, Bruce is also that handsome! Is Dick really adopted? It seems like beauty is genetic!"

━Is she that quiet?━ Dick asked, worried about her silence. Alfred nodded. ━It seems that Susu is like that with new people.

━Susu? Is that her nickname? How cute! ━ Alfred apologized, embarrassed by his carelessness, Dick smiled impressed, usually Alfred ensured his education to the extreme, always calling them master, sir, boss and miss, for him to hesitate and call them by their nickname he must be quite used to her.

━And I thought I was the only one who created nicknames in this family━Dick tried to lift his face but Suyana stopped him by placing her little hand on his nose, wanting to look even more at his face, his eyes widened but then he laughed and held the little hand and was impressed by how soft it was, so he decided━I'll stay here for a few days, to get to know Susu better and also help with the patrols while B is away, who stayed to take care of Gotham?

━ Miss Kate, but any help is welcome ━ Alfred said, noticing that Dick was relieved to know he had some to do here. The butler sighed seeing the resemblance between father and son.

If she spent a week with Dick at the mansion, he is exactly as Suyana imagined, a ball of joy, always smiling and making lame jokes, helping Alfred whenever he could and taking part in the patrols at night, and with her he played the role of older brother.

But to Suyana, it seemed so superficial.

Maybe it wasn't with others, but with her it was. Every time they were in the same room, you could see that he felt uncomfortable around her, and he hid it with laughter and jokes and soon found a reason to leave.

━ Sorry Alfred, I have to go━ Dick said, adjusting his coat━ But already sir? You won't be staying for lunch?━ Dick made a sad face━ Sorry, it's urgent.

Alfred sighed but agreed that he understood ━ But wasn't it saying goodbye to the little one too? ━ Dick looked apprehensively at Suyana who was lying on the couch looking at him.

━ Sorry, it's urgent━ He looked away and closed the door, Suyana lowered her head a little sadly, now he was avoiding her, at least in the beginning Dick talked to her, maybe it was also her fault. Dick tried to join in with common baby games, but Suyana simply didn't react and just looked at him, it was even comical to see Dick making a thousand faces and trying to make the baby laugh, in the end he was a little embarrassed and didn't know how to interact with Suyana.

Suyana scolded herself for not acting like a normal baby at that moment, but it can't be just that, Dick must be dealing with a lot of things and she is a problem he doesn't want to deal with right now.

In some way this could be a preview of what the other members of the family will be like, the baby was reassured thinking that Bruce and Alfred's affection was enough, but a part of her was still saddened thinking about the possibility that Dick and the others wouldn't like her.

"In the life they lead, perhaps I am a misfortune"

For the first time Susu wanted Bruce to be there.

At the North Pole at that exact moment, in a cave camouflaged by the blizzard, a hand covered in a black glove pressed a remote control signaling that he was at the vigil point, Batman sighed tiredly and felt the cold even with his suit having heating technology.

He looked at the mountain with some indignation. The Justice League had been investigating Lex Luthor because he had been acting suspicious lately, until we found out that he had made an alliance with one of Wonder Woman's villains, so it was obvious what they planned to do, combine magic with LexCorp's technology.

That's why Batman is now investigating a "mountain", which is actually a secret laboratory, and the current job is to find out what they are planning, silently and without attracting attention, it would be very easy for Batman if it weren't for... ━ That's it, mate!

By Green Arrow, Batman sighed tiredly and turned to greet his companion on this mission━ Have you done your part?

━ Straight to the point, isn't it? But yes, I managed to shoot the target, now we just need to wait for the signal━ Oliver sat on the cold floor tiredly while Batman checked his batcave communicator once again and saw that there were no messages because of the bad signal, he hit the wall angrily.

It had been a week since Batman had been on this mission trying to find out what Luthor was planning and putting up with Green Arrow's irritating presence. During these days, he was always worrying or thinking about Suyana, which was new to him. This feeling of worry never occurred with his other children, as he calmed down thinking that they could manage on their own.

But Suyana is different.

At first her concern was calmed by Alfred's daily updates, reporting how she was, but when she arrived at the North Pole, to be more exact near this "mountain", the signal suddenly dropped, there are few things that make the signal of your technologies drop, something was happening and it is strong enough to block all local communications

Batman looked at the last message sent by Alfred which had a picture of Suyana sleeping with a stuffed animal and this gave him a small, unnoticed smile. Deep in the cave, Green Arrow looked curiously at Batman's actions. Somehow he felt a similarity in these behaviors, because he had also gone through this phase with his son.

━ What are you looking at there?━ Batman quickly hid the communicator and returned to his cold countenance━ Nothing of interest to you━ Green Arrow raised his arms in surrender━ Hey, calm down! I was just curious.

Batman raised his eyebrow in question━ What do you want to know?━ Oliver rolled his eyes at his old friend's distrust━ I just noticed that you've been acting strange on this whole mission, more rushed and irritated.

━ Are you saying I'm getting in the way of the mission? Green Arrow.

━ What!? No B! I'm just expressing my concern... as an old friend ━ After he said that, Bruce realized that Oliver wanted to talk as old friends rather than coworkers, he sighed knowing that he would probably regret it in the future ━ It's okay, I'm just in my head somewhere else.

━I know, look how you're not easy to open up to, let's do it like this, I'll tell you my concern at the moment and then you tell me yours, huh? ━ He smiled sideways, as if he had been very intelligent ━So it would be more of an exchange of information than a conversation, don't you think? ━ Before Batman could refuse this idiocy, Green Arrow spoke.

━ I'm worried about my wife taking care of our son alone. ━ Batman stopped immediately and looked at Oliver in surprise, who was smiling, knowing what he was thinking. Bruce knew that Oliver and Dinah had been married for a long time, he even attended the wedding, but he didn't know they had a son. ━ How did you two have a son? If I don't even find out... That year Black Canary spent recovering.

Years ago, Black Canary was seriously injured in a Justice League battle, so she spent a year away recovering with Oliver, who refused to leave her side. It was probably around this time that Dinah got pregnant. ━Yes, it was that year that she found out she was pregnant. At that time, the Justice League wasn't as united as it is today, so we planned to pretend she was injured, and that helped the pregnancy go unnoticed.

Green Arrow took a small photo that Batman couldn't see━ After that, everything changed... that child became our lives Batman━ He caressed the photo with a smile, then Batman asked━ Why did you tell me now? If you hid this until today, then you want this child to grow up away from the life of heroes, away from danger.

━ Because I noticed that you're like that too ━ Green Arrow pointed his finger at him mockingly ━ Anxious, irritated, worried and even checking your communicator all the time or just... simply upset that you're not there ━ Batman remained silent until he simply sat down next to him with a frown on his face.

The two remained silent until the bat spoke ━ She's still just a baby, small and fragile, how can I not worry?━ Oliver laughed again but without mockery━ You won't, you'll always be worried.

Oliver turned his head and asked ━ So you adopted another child?━ Bruce nodded ━ But I met her not in a good way.━ He still remembers, the intense fire and the blood on the floor, but he mainly regrets how he acted around Suyana in the beginning━ And are you going to tell how it was?━ Oliver asked but Batman remained silent ━ OK ok, I understand.

━ You know, I want my boy to grow up as a normal child, happy and without any worries, look how happy he was to get a dog ━ Green Arrow finally showed the photo he was carrying, revealing a boy of approximately four years old, smiling with the Siberian husky puppy in his arms, he had blond hair and green eyes just like Oliver's ━ Isn't he very cute? ━ Oliver asked proudly.

He doesn't know if it was out of pride or mere competition, Bruce secretly showed Suyana's photo in the statement and simply said: ━ She's cuter ━ Oliver was so shocked by Batman's childish demonstration that he started laughing a lot ━ Hahahahaha! Ha... but I disagree, mine is cuter, although yours is too.

Batman growled in anger and threw a Batarang at Green Arrow who dodged it, soon preparing himself with the fighting stance and catching one of his arrows ━ Wow!, are you seriously going to fight me just because you don't admit that your daughter is cuter?!━ Batman responded by catching another Batarang with a more irritated face than usual━ If you want to see this situation that way, then yes.

Green Arrow became even more irritated by Batman's shameless attitude and launched an arrow in his direction which he managed to dodge━ The loser will admit that the winner's son is cuter, closed? ━ Batman didn't respond but he moved forward and at the same time Oliver did too.

Just as the two idiots were about to fight over their disagreement over their children's cuteness, suddenly the ground shook and a blinding light appeared behind the two, the mountain had exploded ━ What!!??━ the two looked in shock at the mountain that was previously covered in snow, was now full of flames, the League's communicator started working again and Wonder Woman's urgent voice came out ━ Batman! Green arrow! An accident occurred and the machine exploded! Luthor is missing and the other is dead.

━ How did this happen!?━ Green Arrow shouted, and Wonder Woman replied ━ We don't know!! The explosion happened out of nowhere!

Batman analyzed the mountain and said ━ Hun, Wonder Woman, focus on saving as many people as possible from the facility. I'll summon Superman immediately to help, in the meantime, let's capture Luthor. ━ Batman hung up the call with Diana's statement, then with just a nod the two immediately started running towards the smoke.

Continued...

OH PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!!!😫 I know it took me a long time to release the new chapter, and I apologize for that, most of the time was spent on this ending, if you didn't notice the new OC is Green Arrow's son with Black Canary. I don't know if they have children in the current comics but I haven't found any so far so if they do... apologies, but I did this because I wanted to highlight Bruce and Olive's friendship and them sharing something in common as old friends, I don't see that much lately in the comics. And I'll try to do the next chapter faster, I even bought a notebook just to write in at school!! The next one will be Suyana conquering her brother! I swear.（；´д｀）ゞ

Taglist: @proper-fox @kore-of-the-underworld @type-ink @mallowryblog @cruzerforce4256 @cxcilla @fantasyhopperhea @psysgr @hotdinoankles @bearlittlesworld @thatpersonnamedrook @bookwarm0-0 @nervousalpacalady @mircall4a @thegothamsiren @vxsire @butratherbutrather @1abi @alishii @umzugih @fadingenthusiastnightmare @yua-who @antov828 @seemeee3 @littlesweetbunnysworld @moon0goddess @ryudeiparine

[colouredbyd]

Web Of Secrets

🕸️ spiderman au: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader

part 2 of caught in the web

synopsis : when secrets unravel and danger finds you again, your fascination with Spider-Man only deepens. trouble has always had a way of finding you, but with Remus by your side, steady and unflinching, you begin to realize that heroes come in many forms—and sometimes, they are closer than you think.

warnings: violence ,explosions, injuries, free falling, and mentions of blood. (contains best friend regulus x reader, and potter reader. takes place in modern au)

w/c: 13k

a/n: i absolutly love this <3 also had to put my physics skills to write this

part 1 masterlist

The past week had been painted in shades of crimson and shadow, spider-silk threads connecting moments you could barely believe belonged to you.

It started with rooftops—peeling brick and rusted water towers, the whisper of wind brushing against your cheeks as you waited. He found you there more often now, like it was planned, though neither of you ever admitted it.

Remus would find you there with the kind of ease that felt almost instinctual, a soft smile always lingering on his face. You would talk sometimes. Quietly. He would ask if you were still running around in places you shouldn’t be, and you would laugh and deflect, watching the corners of his mouth twitch upward. Other times, there was silence—comfortable, almost familiar—as you watched the city stretch out like a heartbeat beneath you.

And it was ridiculous, really, the way your heart fluttered like wings caught in a web when he turned his head toward you, when he lingered just a little too long before heading back down the fire escape. 

Ridiculous because you had been here before—years ago, back when Remus Lupin was just your brother’s best friend and you were just a girl with stars in your eyes and scraped knees. You remembered the way you’d watch him from the corner of your eye, the quiet boy with kind eyes who always told you to stay out of trouble.

It was even more ridiculous now, considering the lecture Remus had given you just days ago, all furrowed brows and frustrated sighs, about staying out of Spider-Man's way. 

He had been so stern, so achingly familiar that it had stung more than you wanted to admit. But that was just Remus—always careful, always looking out for you in his own quiet, stubborn way.

James had been livid after your last rooftop rendezvous, pacing back and forth with all the fire of a hurricane. 

Even Regulus had been done with your obsession–fascination after you’d barely escaped last time, his hand still shaking slightly when he’d taken yours and told you to drop it, to let it go.

Yet here you were, knee-deep in dust and shadows, the empty warehouse stretching out around you like the ribcage of some long-dead beast. 

It was reckless, absolutely mental to be here just a night after Spider-Man had torn through the place like a storm. The police tape still fluttered at the entrance, yellow and bold, a warning you had ignored without a second thought. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and concrete dust, and shards of glass glittered like tiny stars scattered across the floor.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, weaving between splintered crates and broken beams. 

It was dangerous, maybe even unforgivable, especially after what had happened. But you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it—the mystery of it all, the rush of knowing you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, somewhere Spider-Man had been just hours before.

Your hands skimmed over metal scaffolding, brushing away cobwebs and collecting fragments of webbing left behind. They glimmered faintly in the pale light, stretching between your fingers with the tensile strength of something unbreakable. You twisted one carefully around your finger, feeling its strange elasticity, its softness. 

Proof that he had been here. Proof that you were just one step behind him.

But before you could examine further, the distant wail of sirens cut through the silence, sharp and sudden. Panic shot through you like ice water, and you scrambled to your feet, heart thundering in your chest. 

You shouldn’t be here. Not now, not ever. You spun around, eyes darting across the shadows, searching for somewhere to hide. The police were getting closer, the sound of their radios crackling just beyond the walls.

Without thinking, you bolted toward the far end of the warehouse, weaving through the scattered debris, lungs burning as you ducked behind a stack of forgotten crates. You pressed your back against the splintered wood, breathing hard, ears straining for footsteps. But instead, there was silence—a thick, waiting silence that stretched out like a thread pulled too tight.

Your hands brushed against something hard, and you looked down, eyes widening. 

Tucked between the crates, half-hidden by thick strands of Spider-Man's webbing, was a metal device—small and unassuming, barely the size of your palm, except for the faint glow of purple light blinking from its core. 

It was heavy in your hands when you peeled the webbing off, its surface warm and humming faintly with energy.

The device itself was sleek and metallic, etched with unfamiliar symbols that curved and twisted in patterns that made your eyes ache if you looked too long. 

Right in the center, a snake was engraved in emerald green, coiled and glimmering as if alive. It felt...otherworldly, humming with a power that had your fingertips buzzing. 

This wasn’t ordinary tech. This was something more.

And what was even stranger—it looked like it had been hidden deliberately, tucked away where no one would find it. Not unless they were searching. Not unless they knew where to look.

You swallowed, adrenaline still flooding your veins as you slipped it into your bag, fingers shaking slightly as you zipped it closed. There was no time to think, no time to question. The sirens were getting louder now, and you forced yourself to move, slipping through the shadows and back out into the night before they could catch you.

You slipped back into your room with the kind of silence only practice could perfect. The adrenaline still thrummed under your skin, your breath catching slightly as you locked the door behind you.

 The warehouse, the sirens, the device—they were a flurry of images that blurred together, half-formed and frantic. But before you could even catch your breath, a voice cut through the silence.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You jumped, spinning on your heel to find Regulus sitting at the edge of your bed, arms crossed and eyes sharp with irritation. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but the flicker of tension around his jawline told you enough. 

He had been waiting for you.

"I was out," you replied, shrugging off your jacket and throwing it over your desk chair. "Had to get some things."

His gaze was unyielding, icy and calculated as it roamed over you. "Getting some things," he repeated, voice flat. 

"You were out getting some things at one in the morning? Dressed like that?" He gestured to your dust-streaked jeans and scuffed boots, and you fought the urge to flinch.

You forced a smile, dropping your bag onto the floor with a muffled thud. "You know me, always up to something."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "That’s precisely the problem."

You ignored him, moving to your desk and shuffling papers around for the sake of distraction. Your heart was still hammering, and you tried desperately to will it into submission. 

The last thing you needed was for Regulus to dig deeper. But before you could even think of diverting the conversation, a metallic clink echoed from the floor, sharp and damning.

Regulus's eyes narrowed instantly. "What was that?"

"Nothing," you said too quickly, bending down to grab your bag. "Just some stuff from class. Projects and...and things."

He was faster. Before you could pull it away, his hand snapped forward, catching the strap and yanking it open. 

The zipper gave way with a harsh rasp, and the device tumbled out onto the wooden floor, glimmering under the low light. The purple light pulsed once, twice, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Regulus stared at it, his expression unreadable. "What the hell is that?" His voice was low, sharper than usual, and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You snatched it up, cradling the cold metal to your chest. "It’s for a project," you lied smoothly, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. 

"Something for class. Advanced tech. We’re studying...uh...hybrid mechanics."

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, taut and fragile. Then Regulus released the bag strap, leaning back with a sigh. "You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days," he murmured, the edge in his voice softening just enough to make your stomach twist.

You forced a laugh, tucking the device back into your bag. "Not today," you replied, and he just shook his head, pushing himself off your bed with a fluid motion.

"Just...be careful," he said finally, pausing at your door. His eyes flickered to the bag once more, suspicion simmering just below the surface. But then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.

The room felt colder without him there, the silence heavy and looming. You exhaled slowly, sinking into your desk chair and pulling the device out once more. It sat in your hands like something alive, humming gently, its purple light flickering with a hypnotic rhythm.

You turned it over, fingertips grazing the emerald-green snake carved into its surface. The symbols etched along its sides pulsed faintly, shifting in patterns that made your eyes blur if you looked too closely. 

It was heavy, impossibly so for its size, like it was carrying the weight of something far larger than itself.

Experimentally, you pressed your fingers along its sides, searching for seams or buttons. Nothing. 

You tilted it, shook it gently, but it gave no hint of its purpose. It was maddening, this enigma of metal and light, and you found your curiosity only sharpening with each failed attempt.

Finally, you leaned back, fingers tracing absent patterns across its surface. It blinked steadily in your hands, as if taunting you, its purple light casting shadows across your walls. There were secrets here, tucked into the crevices of its design, and you intended to uncover every single one of them.

You just needed time.

Sleep came reluctantly, pulling you under only after hours of restless turning and the purple glow of the device still blinking faintly from where it sat on your desk. When you finally surrendered to the weight of it, dreams flickered like shadows behind your eyes, indistinct and lingering.

Morning came harsh and unyielding, sunlight spilling through your curtains and casting patterns across your face. 

Your eyes blinked open slowly, heavy with sleep, before snapping wide in realization. "Shit." The word tumbled from your lips as you shot upright, heart pounding. The clock on your bedside table flashed the time in unforgiving red digits. 

You were late.

You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you threw on the first clothes you could find. The device lay untouched on your desk, still humming faintly, but you barely spared it a glance as you grabbed your bag and tore out of your room, feet pounding down the hallway. 

The rush of air did little to wake you up, but adrenaline coursed through your veins, sharpening your senses as you navigated through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts University.

Students milled about, unconcerned and unhurried, and you weaved through them with practiced ease, barely avoiding a head-on collision with a group of first-years before turning a sharp corner. 

That was when you nearly barreled straight into him.

Remus was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy sort of grin playing on his lips. "In a bit of a rush, aren’t we?" he mused, raising an eyebrow as you skidded to a stop just short of him.

You huffed out a breath, brushing stray hair from your face. "You try being late to McGonagall's class and see how fast you run," you shot back, and he laughed—soft, warm, the kind of laugh that curled around your heart and squeezed just a little too tightly.

"I’m fairly certain she’d just take my head off," he replied, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. 

"And what’s little Potter been up to lately?" he asked, voice dropping into that familiar, teasing lilt. "I hope nothing dangerous, or you know James will die at the fine age of twenty-one purely from stress."

You snorted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "Me? Dangerous? I’m an absolute delight."

"Is that what you call it?" he shot back, amusement lighting his eyes. "I’m pretty sure James calls it a heart attack waiting to happen."

You bumped your shoulder against his, the contact brief but grounding. "Well, he’s still alive, isn’t he?"

Remus just shook his head, but his smile softened, eyes flickering over your face in that way that made your stomach twist and settle all at once. "Barely," he replied, voice gentler now. "Just...be careful, alright?"

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something careful and deliberate that made your heart stutter. 

You forced a grin, shrugging off the heaviness of it. "You know me. Always careful."

"That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," he murmured, and it was almost too soft to hear, almost lost beneath the noise of students rushing past. But you caught it. 

You looked away before he could see the blush creeping up your cheeks, focusing instead on the hallway stretching out before you, wondering—not for the first time—if maybe you weren’t the only one who felt the pull of something just beneath the surface.

Class felt like a slow, dragging stretch of monotony. Words blurred on the board, lectures drifting through one ear and out the other as your mind wandered—to the web samples stuffed carefully in your bag. 

You took notes out of habit, the tip of your quill scratching mindlessly across parchment, but nothing stuck. Spiderman lingered at the edges of your thoughts, his webs glimmering silver in the moonlight, the way he seemed to belong to the city itself, like its shadows and its secrets were his to command.

When the final bell rang, you slipped out of the room with the rest of the crowd, your head still clouded with half-formed thoughts. You made your way down the main corridor, and that was when you saw them.

Regulus and Sirius were leaning against a pillar, heads bent close, talking and—laughing? You stopped in your tracks, blinking in surprise. 

The two of them were always a wildfire, crackling and unpredictable. Lately, they had been nothing but sharp edges and bitten-off words, yet there they were, Sirius throwing his head back with a bark of laughter while Regulus shook his head with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It was a fragile thing, their relationship—built on the remnants of something broken and hastily stitched back together. 

They had been raised in a house of silence and shadows, where affection was a language spoken in hushed tones, if spoken at all. Years of biting words and icy stares had carved deep lines of distrust between them, but now...now there were moments like this, rare and glimmering, like shards of glass catching the light.

You almost approached them, the instinct to nudge your way in and tease them both flaring up, but you stopped yourself. Whatever this was—this brief flicker of peace—you didn’t want to ruin it. 

So, you turned away, slipping through the crowd and heading down the hall. That was when you saw James.

He strode forward with purpose, eyes locked on Sirius and Regulus, mouth set in a grim line. He grabbed Sirius by the arm, pulling him away from Regulus. 

Sirius' confusion melted into something sharper, more focused, as they turned the corner. You caught a glimpse of Remus waiting for them, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes wary and flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

You slowed as you passed, catching just the edge of Sirius’ raised voice, sharp and unyielding: "What do you mean when you went there you didn’t find it!"

And James, loud and incredulous: "Gone? You're kidding, right?"

The door creaked open, the familiar groan echoing off the walls of your room as you stepped inside, shutting it behind you with a quiet click. 

The weight of the day settled over your shoulders, and you dropped your bag onto the floor, not caring as it slumped against the leg of your desk.

Your room was chaos—organized, in your eyes, but chaos nonetheless. Stacks of notebooks, scribbled with half-formed ideas and rough sketches of spiderweb patterns, were piled haphazardly across your desk. The walls were papered with articles, photographs, strings of red yarn linking pieces together like some kind of conspiracy theorist's fever dream.

 In the corner, half-taken-apart gadgets lay scattered on your dresser, gears and wires spilling out like entrails. It was a mess, but it was yours.

You kicked off your shoes and crossed to the desk, fishing out the sample of Spider-Man’s web you had collected the night before. You held it up to the light, watching the way it shimmered, silvery and impossibly strong. It stretched and flexed in your hands, thin as thread but sturdy as steel. 

You’d been studying it for hours the night before, picking apart its structure, analyzing its durability, its tensile strength. 

It was unlike anything you’d ever seen—more synthetic than organic, yet somehow...alive. The way it glimmered when light hit it made you think of silk spun by moonlight, delicate but unyielding.

You frowned, fingers brushing over the delicate strands. They weren’t natural, you were certain of that. 

Someone had made this, engineered it. Which meant Spider-Man wasn’t just swinging off buildings and fighting crime solo—someone was behind the curtain, pulling strings, creating tech that defied logic. 

And that someone...they were good. Very good.

Your gaze drifted to your desk, and that’s when you saw it—the device, still where you left it, except now, it wasn’t glowing anymore. 

The soft purple light had dimmed, flickered out like a candle snuffed by the wind. But something else had taken its place. The snake symbol etched onto its surface was glowing now, a vivid, almost hypnotic green, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You swallowed hard, nerves and excitement pooling in your stomach as you stepped closer, fingers hovering just above its surface. It was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive, thrumming with energy beneath your fingertips. 

You turned it over, inspecting the smooth metal casing, the strange symbols engraved along its edges, symbols you didn’t recognize—sharp and twisting, like some ancient language long forgotten.

The device was heavier than it looked, the size of your palm but dense, like it was packed with secrets. Light bled from its seams, streaks of neon-purple that pulsed rhythmically, like it had a heartbeat of its own. At its center, the snake emblem gleamed in emerald light, flickering softly as if it were breathing. 

You traced its edges, fingers brushing over the cool metal. It was smooth, almost unnaturally so, with no visible seams or screws. Whoever made it, made it to last.

A thought flickered to life at the back of your mind, reckless and dangerous, the kind of thought that should’ve been smothered the moment it sparked. 

But it wasn’t. Instead, it grew, catching like wildfire, spreading through your veins with a thrill that had you clutching the device tighter. 

If this was Spider-Man’s...if he’d left it there, hidden away behind webs and shadows, then it was important. 

And if it was important, then maybe...just maybe...it could lead you straight to him.

You felt your heart begin to pound, adrenaline sparking through your veins as the idea solidified, reckless and daring and entirely too tempting. A grin tugged at the corners of your lips, and you turned the device over in your hands once more, determination settling like iron in your bones.

If Spider-Man wanted it back, he’d have to find you first.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when you burst out of your room, heart pounding with the thrill of what you were about to do. 

You grabbed a matchbook, a lighter, and a half-empty canister of fuel from under your bed—leftovers from a very ill-advised experiment last semester that had nearly cost you your eyebrows. Not your finest moment, but at least it left you with supplies.

Your hands moved quickly, scrawling out a note on a bright yellow sticky note before slapping it onto your door. In your messy handwriting, it read:

Gone to make a deal with Spider-Man. 

P.S. James, try not to throw Regulus out the window while I’m gone xoxo

You stepped back, admiring your handiwork with a grin before turning and bolting down the stairs, sneakers slapping against the pavement as you made your way into the heart of the city.

The streets were quiet this early, the sun still stretching its fingers over rooftops and alleyways, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at your ankles as you sprinted past. 

You ducked under scaffolding, slipped through narrow alleyways slick with last night’s rain, and finally found yourself standing before the rusted gates of an abandoned building. Its windows were shattered, jagged shards of glass clinging to their frames like teeth. The walls were scrawled with graffiti, layers upon layers of paint peeling back to reveal years of rebellion and lost causes.

Perfect.

You squeezed through a gap in the fence, heart thrumming in your chest as you made your way inside. Dust kicked up around your feet, swirling in the soft light that spilled through broken windows. 

The air was heavy, stale with the scent of rust and decay, but you barely noticed as you ascended the stairs, two at a time, until you burst onto the rooftop, breathless and alive with adrenaline.

The city sprawled out before you, stretching towards the horizon in jagged lines of steel and glass. You stood at the edge, toes curling over the lip of the rooftop, staring down at the dizzying height beneath you. 

Cars crawled like ants, oblivious to your presence far above them. You took a breath, the air sharp and cold in your lungs, and pulled the device from your pocket.

It gleamed in the sunlight, the snake emblem glimmering with that same eerie green light. You tossed it between your hands, weighing it carefully before raising it above your head and striking it against the metal railing of the roof.

Nothing.

You frowned, glancing around before trying again, harder this time, sending sparks flying into the air. 

The device vibrated, thrumming beneath your fingers, and you Held it up with a grin. “Come on, Spider-Man,” you whispered under your breath, voice carrying off into the wind. “Let’s see if you want this back.”

A flash of movement caught your eye, and your heart leapt into your throat as a streak of red and blue zipped through the skyline, landing on the rooftop opposite you with a grace that should’ve been impossible. 

He straightened, hands resting on his hips as he regarded you with what you imagined was disbelief behind that mask.

“Well, well,” you called out, tossing the device between your hands again. “There you are, Spider-Boy.”

He tilted his head, arms crossing over his chest. “Didn’t I save you a week ago?” His voice was distorted through the mask, but you could hear the incredulity in it.

You shrugged, holding up the device. “I think this belongs to you, bug boy.”

He stiffened, gaze snapping to the object in your hand. You could almost feel the tension ripple through the air, crackling with electricity. He took a step forward, hands dropping to his sides. “That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be carrying it around.”

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I’m not carrying it around. I’m giving it back.” 

You tossed it up in the air and caught it again, his shoulders tightening as he watched it flip. “Or, I was. Haven’t decided yet.”

He stepped closer, voice edged with something sharper now. “Look, just hand it over. You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

Your smile turned sharp, taunting. “Maybe I want to find out.”

His head tilted slightly, and you could feel his eyes on you, even through the mask. “You’re reckless,” he murmured, almost like an accusation.

“And you’re dramatic.”

“Please,” he said, voice dropping to something softer. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity bleeding through his tone. But you covered it with a laugh, shaking your head.

 “That’s cute, but I’m not the one swinging off buildings in spandex.”

He took another step forward. “If you don’t give it to me, I’m gonna have to take it.”

You raised the device high, eyes glimmering with mischief. “If you want it,” you called, voice carrying over the wind, “you’re gonna have to catch me.”

Before he could reply, the air shifted. A crack of metal, harsh and jarring, split the rooftop silence, and something massive landed with a thunderous slam. 

You stumbled back, hands instinctively gripping the edge of the building as the ground shook beneath your feet.

Spider-Man moved in an instant, body coiling like a live wire as he stepped in front of you, stance low and defensive. 

The thing—no, the machine—stood ten feet tall, a monstrosity of green and black steel that glinted under the pale morning light. Its eyes, if they could be called that, glowed an acidic green, and coiling tendrils of smoke leaked from its joints. 

The symbol of a serpent, coiled and poised to strike, gleamed from its chest.

It tilted its head, a screech of metal against metal, and the voice that came out was smooth, dripping with venom.

 "Hand over the device," it commanded, green lights flickering as it spoke. "And maybe the girl comes out of this alive."

You stiffened, heart pounding, but Spider-Man’s arm shot out, stopping you before you could step forward. "Don’t," he whispered, voice tight with something raw and desperate.

The machine’s head cocked to the side, almost as if amused. "It’s simple," it drawled, each word stretched out like it was savoring them. "Give her up, and I might let her live. Refuse... and I promise she’ll wish you did."

Spider-Man’s hands balled into fists, and before you could say a word, he turned to you, fingers cradling your face with surprising gentleness. His eyes—hidden behind those white lenses—burned with urgency. 

"You run," he whispered, voice cracking just a bit. "And you don’t look back. Not for me, not for anything. You hide that device. You throw it in the ocean, bury it under a mountain, I don’t care. Just don’t keep it with you. Please." 

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, steadying you, grounding you. "Promise me."

Your breath caught, words failing you for a moment before you finally nodded. He let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering just a heartbeat too long before he released you.

Then he turned, muscles coiling as he launched himself toward the machine with the kind of reckless bravery that took your breath away. You stumbled back, the device heavy in your hands, its pulsing glow seeming to thrum in time with your heartbeat.

And then you ran.

The rooftop shook beneath the weight of colliding metal, the world vibrating with each hit that Spider-Man took. You watched from the narrow edge of the stairwell, heart thrumming painfully in your chest, breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. This was different. 

More brutal, more desperate. The villain, all jagged edges and searing green light, moved with the kind of precision that spoke of ruthless experience.

Spider-Man swung wide, webs slinging him to the far edge of the roof, but the villain was relentless, smashing through concrete like it was paper, claws raking through stone with shrieks of splintering rock. 

You wanted to scream, to yell at him to run, but your voice was stuck somewhere between your ribs, tangled with fear and something deeper—something sharper.

You forced yourself to move, stumbling back down the stairs, feet slamming against each step as you tried to make sense of the pulsing device in your hands. 

It throbbed, slow and steady, the light blinking in time with your heartbeat. You stared at it, the snake symbol flickering with every step you took. 

The further you moved away, the more violently it pulsed; when you edged back up, it softened, almost like it was... responding.

Your mind spun, puzzle pieces clicking together in a rush of realization. 

The villain’s chest—there had been a symbol, the same snake coiled and glimmering, and when Spider-Man had struck him, the light had flickered, just for a second. 

You turned the device over, fingertips grazing the surface, searching for... there. A seam, barely noticeable, like it was waiting to be slotted into something.

The thought was insane. Reckless. Borderline suicidal. And yet…

You were already moving. The rooftop exploded back into view, chaos stretching out in jagged lines of smoke and fury. 

Spider-Man swung left, barely dodging a strike that cratered the concrete, but he caught sight of you instantly. 

"What the hell are you doing? I told you to run!" His voice cracked with something raw—panic, maybe. Fear.

You ignored him, eyes locked onto the villain’s glowing chest. 

"Hey!" you shouted, voice cutting through the violence. Both heads snapped towards you, one masked in crimson, the other gleaming with emerald fire. 

You held up the device, feeling its weight heavy and dangerous in your grip. "You want this?" you called out, voice steady. "Come and get it."

Spider-Man’s curse was swallowed by the metallic roar of the villain charging. You spun on your heel, heart lurching as you sprinted to the edge of the rooftop. 

It was instinct, it was madness, it was pure adrenaline. And it was too late to stop.

Wind screamed past your ears as you flung yourself off the edge, gravity seizing you with ruthless hands. The city stretched out beneath you, endless and uncaring, but you barely saw it. 

You heard the crash of metal as the villain followed, felt the rush of air as he plummeted after you, close enough that you could feel the crackle of energy in your bones. One breath. One heartbeat. 

You grabbed the device, hands steady, and slammed it into the symbol on his chest. 

Light exploded, brilliant and searing, cutting through the sky with blinding intensity. You heard metal shriek, felt the impact of something colossal and unforgiving, and then you were weightless again, falling.

But in that brief flash of light, you saw it: the metal plates groaning and shifting, peeling back like the petals of some iron flower. 

Beneath the fractured shell, his real face almost came into view. You caught the faintest glimpse of a scar on his wrist, thin and silvered with age, before the world splintered around you.

An explosion tore through the air, deafening and absolute, flinging you back with the force of a tidal wave. Smoke and fire curled into the sky, swallowing the fragments of metal and light. There was no time to think, no time to breathe—just the sensation of weightlessness, of falling once more into the abyss.

And then arms—strong, steady—wrapped around you, yanking you from the air. Spider-Man’s grip was unyielding, his body curling around yours as the explosion above bloomed with violet light. 

You buried your face in his chest, his heartbeat thrumming through the thin fabric of his suit, and he held on, even as the world shattered around you.

The world was a smoldering ruin of jagged metal and drifting ash.

 You woke with your cheek pressed against rough concrete, the taste of smoke heavy on your tongue. Blinking against the haze, you sat up slowly, head swimming, and the first thing you noticed was the blood—thick and dark, smeared across your hands and arms. 

It took a sharp, panicked breath to realize it wasn’t yours.

Spider-Man lay sprawled a few feet away, his suit torn open at the ribs, blood pooling beneath him. His mask was still on, but the fabric clung to his face like it was barely holding together, ragged edges soaked through. 

You scrambled forward, knees scraping against the grit and rubble, hands shaking as you pressed them against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice cracking. 

“Hey, come on, you gotta wake up.” He didn’t move. Fear clawed its way up your throat, sharp and unrelenting. 

Then a crackle of static caught your attention—a tiny device, nearly hidden behind his ear. An earpiece. It was barely clinging to life, sparking with flickers of green light.

Through the static, you heard a voice—muffled, frantic. "Moony? Moony, are you there? We’re coming to you, just hold on, alright? Hold on." 

You frowned, the name tickling at something familiar in your memory, but it slipped away too quickly to grasp.

Your gaze drifted back to Spider-Man, his breathing shallow, his blood warm and slick beneath your palms. You hesitated only a second before your hand moved to his mask, fingers curling at the seam. You could help him. Maybe if you just—

But your hand stopped. Something about the way he’d always kept his distance, always shielded his face, it felt sacred. A choice. 

One you couldn’t bring yourself to break. Swallowing back frustration, you ripped at your own shirt, tearing a strip free and pressing it against the gash in his side, tying it off as best as you could manage. 

Blood soaked through instantly, but at least it was something.

You barely had time to register the footsteps before a cloth was pressed to your mouth, a sharp, sickly-sweet scent flooding your senses. 

You tried to fight it, hands clawing at the grip that held you, but your limbs felt heavy, disconnected.

“Shhh, little Potter,” a voice murmured, low and familiar, dripping with an accent that sent ice trickling down your spine. “You’re alright.”

You caught the glimmer of long black hair before the world faded to black.

You woke to sunlight filtering through blinds, soft and golden against the walls. It was the smell that hit you first—clean linen, a hint of cologne you knew too well. James’s room. 

His old hockey jersey was slung over the back of his desk chair, a heap of his sneakers scattered by the door. You touched your face instinctively, fingertips brushing over the tender stitches at your temple, and everything came crashing back.

Spider-Man. The fight. The explosion.

You were out of the bed in an instant, the covers flying back as your feet hit the hardwood. "Spider-Man," you whispered, the name barely more than breath. 

The door creaked open before you could make it, and Peter slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind him.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he soothed, hands up like he was trying not to spook you. Your eyes flicked over him, and something odd snagged your attention.

A faded scar, thin and pale, curled over his wrist, just visible beneath the edge of his sweater. Something about it felt familiar, nagging at the edges of your memory, but you couldn’t quite place it.

Before you could question it, footsteps sounded from the hallway, and the door burst open—James, Sirius, Remus, and Regulus all crowding in, faces tight with worry. 

Remus was leaning heavily on a crutch, his head wrapped in thick layers of bandages. He gave you a small smile, strained but real.

“Finally awake, huh?” Sirius asked, attempting nonchalance, but his eyes were sharp, watchful. 

Regulus stood a step behind him, arms crossed, gaze flicking over you like he was checking for injuries. His eyes were darker than usual, rimmed with something you couldn’t quite name—worry, maybe, or something heavier.

"What happened?" you asked, but your mind was somewhere else. "Spider-Man. Is he—"

James’s face darkened, eyes flashing as he stepped forward, voice rising in a way that made everyone else stiffen. 

"Would you stop worrying about some masked hero that means nothing to you?" he shouted, and the room went silent. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. 

"You keep putting yourself in danger for some vigilante who you don’t even know. I almost lost you before, Y/N. I can’t—" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady, and for a moment, he looked impossibly young. 

"I can’t lose you. You’re my sister. The only family I have left."

His voice wavered, trembling under the weight of unspoken fears. "Do you know what it was like seeing you like that? Seeing you not move? I thought..." He stopped, voice breaking, and his hands flew to his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes. 

"I thought you were gone," he whispered, so quiet it was barely a breath. "I thought you left me too."

He was crying now, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Sirius and Peter exchanged glances, both helpless. Regulus looked away, jaw clenched tight, fists curled so hard his knuckles were white. Remus watched you, eyes full of shadows you didn’t understand.

Without thinking, you reached for James, arms going around him tightly. He clutched you back fiercely, hands grasping at your shirt like if he let go, you’d disappear. His breaths came out ragged, harsh against your shoulder.

 "I was so scared," he choked out, voice muffled. "I can't do this without you. I can't."

"I'm here," you whispered, voice cracking. "I’m right here. I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m so sorry."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "Promise me," he demanded, voice rough. "Promise me you won’t do this again."

Your throat tightened, the words caught somewhere in the ache of your chest. "I… I promise," you murmured, the lie slipping through your teeth like smoke. 

His gaze searched yours for a long moment, something breaking in his eyes before he nodded, pulling you back into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

For a while, there was only silence. His heartbeat thudding against your ear, his hands gripping you like you were the last solid thing in his world. And you clung back, because maybe you needed it just as much.

The room was hushed, fragile, like a single breath might shatter it all. And then, quietly, your mind snagged on something sharp and sudden. 

You stiffened in his hold, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

"Wait," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. "Wait… how did I get here?"

James stiffened, expression going taut. "Spider-Man's fucking fine," he bit out, sharp and edged with something you couldn’t place. "He got you here when you went unconscious."

He looked away, and you swore you saw Sirius and Peter exchange glances, just for a second. It felt wrong, stilted.

 Your gaze flickered to Remus, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes, just stared resolutely at the floor, fingers flexing around the handle of his crutch.

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest tightening. Spider-Man brought you back. But then… why didn’t you remember it?

James pulled back, running a hand through his hair with a sigh that carried both exhaustion and relief. “I’m gonna head out. Got a date with Lily.” He glanced at you, softer now. “Regulus will stay with you. Just—please, rest. Take care of yourself.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, honest and pleading.

You nodded, still shaken, as he slipped out, Sirius following without a word. The silence that settled was heavy but less suffocating.

You turned toward Remus, who leaned awkwardly against the wall, still gripping his crutch. “Hey,” you said quietly. “Where did those injuries come from?”

He shrugged, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Failed prank. Went wrong yesterday. I ended up with a concussion and a mess of bruises.” His eyes twinkled as if daring you not to believe him, but you didn’t press. Something about the way he said it felt like a shield.

You eased down onto the bed, muscles still tense but willing to soften just a little.

Remus nodded at you, gave a tired but genuine smile, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, the room felt too empty.

Then the door creaked open again. Regulus stepped in silently, eyes searching yours. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled you into a careful, guarded hug. Your breath caught. Regulus never hugged anyone. 

It was like breaking a secret code.

“I won’t lecture you,” he said softly, voice low. “I know what you did. It was reckless. Dangerous. But…” He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his rare kindness sinking deep.

Regulus spoke up from the beanbag, patting the spot next to him. "Come on, you’re wasting valuable movie time."

You glanced over, surprised to find him watching you with something close to amusement. "Since when do you want to watch movies with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "You almost died. I’m feeling charitable." He gestured again, a touch more insistent.

You huffed, but joined him, settling into the beanbag with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I’m picking the movie."

He groaned. "Just don’t pick one of those horrible rom-coms. I’m begging you."

The night slipped by in laughter and groans, Regulus arguing with you over the plausibility of action scenes and you smacking his arm every time he tried to fast-forward through a "boring bit." 

At some point, he fell asleep, head tipped back against the edge of the beanbag, arms crossed over his chest, mouth slightly open. 

You bit back a laugh at the sight—Regulus Black, passed out during The Princess Diaries. You’d never let him live it down.

But then the stillness settled, and boredom crept in. You nudged him with your foot. "Reg," you whispered. 

Nothing. He was out cold.

Regulus’s breathing evened out beside you, eyelids drooping, until finally, his head lolled to the side, and he was asleep.

You tried to focus on the screen, but the quiet gnawed at you. Restlessness crept up your spine. 

You shifted, sat up, and glanced around the room. James’s desk caught your eye—promising a treasure trove of distractions.

Curiosity overpowered fatigue. You pushed yourself up and padded over, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath your bare feet.

Drawers, papers, tangled cords—nothing exciting. Until your fingers brushed something cold, smooth, and unfamiliar. You pulled it out carefully, heart skipping.

It was sleek and mechanical, shaped like a wrist device but unlike anything you'd seen before. 

Thin webs of synthetic fibers stretched taut from tiny nozzles along its edge—webbing that gleamed faintly under the light.

Your breath hitched. The webbing was exactly like the synthetic strands Spider-Man used.

Hands trembling, you rummaged deeper in the drawer and found a tiny black earpiece, shaped perfectly like the communication devices Spider-Man’s allies wore.

Everything clicked inside you like a lock snapping open. James wasn’t just some reckless friend—he was Spider-Man’s ally.

You dropped the earpiece back in the drawer, slamming it shut harder than you intended. Your hands shook, breath coming fast and shallow. This changed everything.

You swallowed hard, the room suddenly closing in around you. Questions flooded your mind, but one burned brighter than the rest 

If James is Spider-Man’s ally… then who is Spider-Man?

You backed away from the desk, thoughts clashing into one another with dizzying speed. You had to tell someone, ask someone—no, not James. 

Not Sirius. Not yet. You needed to think. 

You slipped back out into the hallway, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. But as you crept back towards Regulus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground had just shifted beneath your feet.

Your feet moved of their own accord, faster and faster, until you were practically running down the corridor, heart slamming in your chest. There was only one place you needed to check.

Remus’s room.

You reached his door, breathless and shaking. It was unlocked, which was strange—Remus never left it unlocked. 

You pushed it open, the hinges groaning. The room was empty, untouched, but the window was open, curtains flapping gently in the night breeze. 

Your mind spun, piecing together fragments of moments you’d never questioned before. 

The bandages. 

The injuries. 

The late nights and the cryptic glances between him and James. 

A thousand little things that seemed trivial until now.

You took a step forward, then another. The room felt colder somehow, empty of the warmth that Remus always carried with him. 

And then—a shadow moved outside the window. A flash of red and blue, streaking across the night sky before landing silently on the window’s edge.

Spider-Man.

You sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back a step as the masked figure climbed inside, graceful and measured. 

He didn’t see you at first, his back turned as he ripped off his mask and tossed it onto Remus’s desk. Brown hair spilled free, mussed and tangled, and a hand reached up to wipe blood from his temple.

Remus.

It was Remus.

The room spun. You gripped the doorframe to steady yourself, eyes wide and unblinking. He turned then, and the moment he saw you, every ounce of color drained from his face. 

His hands stilled, still streaked with crimson, his gaze locked with yours.

“Y/N…” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. He took a step forward, hand half-extended. “I… it’s not… I can explain.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Remus was Spider-Man. The one who saved you. The one who bled for the city. The one who had cradled you from free-falling off a rooftop just days ago.

Everything shifted. Nothing made sense. 

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but the words never came.

You’re frozen, chest tightening, every breath shallow and ragged as the words land like a hammer: You’re Spider-Man. 

You stare at him—Remus—who’s sitting there, the faint moonlight catching the edge of his face, the same face you’ve known for years. But it’s different now. Everything is different.

“How…” Your voice cracks, barely more than a strangled whisper, “How is this even possible? What the fuck?” The shock is raw, a fire racing through your veins. 

Your heart pounds so loud you’re afraid it might tear right out of your chest. Your hands tremble, and you feel like the ground beneath you has crumbled away entirely.

Remus shifts, panic flaring in his eyes, a flicker of desperation that makes your stomach twist. “I never wanted you to find out like this,” he says, voice thick with something you can’t quite place—guilt, fear, regret. 

His hands twitch at his sides, as if holding back something that’s clawing to escape.

But your voice is sharper now, breaking through the silence, tearing into the space between you. 

“You all lied to me. You knew. James knew. Sirius knew. You all knew and never told me. How could you? How could you keep this from me? From me?” The words spill out in a torrent of betrayal, pain, disbelief. 

Your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall, because if you do, you might drown in them.

You feel small, raw, exposed—like the trust you built was a fragile castle, and they’ve shattered it with secrets.

Before you can pull away, his hands are on your face—warm, steady, insistent. His fingers cradle your jaw gently, but there’s an urgency in the way he holds you, as if afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low, thick with emotion, so fierce it vibrates through your bones.

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, everything falls away—the anger, the confusion, the heartbreak. There’s just this moment, fragile and trembling between you.

“I am not Spider-Man right now,” he says, and the words drip like honey but taste of something far heavier. 

“I am Remus. The same Remus who sits with you on rooftops when the city is silent, the same Remus who watches the stars with you, who talks with you about everything and nothing.”

His voice falters for a second, a crack that makes your chest ache.

“I am Remus who cares about you. Not as a hero. Not as a mask. Just as me.” His thumb strokes lightly over your cheek, tracing a path that sends shivers down your spine.

You blink back the storm behind your eyes, the knot in your throat tightening.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m here,” he breathes. 

“I’m not some untouchable symbol or a secret you can’t reach. I’m the boy who knows your scars, your fears, the way you smile when you think no one’s looking.”

The intensity of his gaze pulls you in, raw and vulnerable. It’s like he’s tearing down the walls between you piece by piece, laying everything bare. 

His honesty is almost too much, a fierce, aching kind of love that makes your breath hitch.

Your throat tightens as your own voice trembles. “But why... why didn’t you tell me? Why keep me in the dark? Was I not enough to trust?” The hurt is suffocating, but beneath it, something deeper pulses—longing, a desperate hope for connection.

He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper, “Because I was scared. Scared that if you knew, if anyone knew, you’d see me differently. Scared I’d lose you—not just as Spider-Man, but as Remus. And I wasn’t strong enough to carry both.”

You stand frozen, caught in the raw vulnerability radiating from his trembling hands cradling your face. His voice, soft yet weighted with fear, breaks the silence between you.

“I am not Spider-Man without the mask,” he confesses, his breath shaky. 

“That mask… it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m something — like I’m not just broken pieces drifting without purpose. Without it, I’m nothing. Just Remus, scared and lost.”

His eyes search yours, wide and desperate, as if begging for understanding. “I never wanted you dragged into my world. I thought if you saw me — the real me — you’d run away. You’d see all my cracks and be gone.”

The tension coils tight in the air, thick and electric. Your heart pounds loud enough to drown out the world, every word tearing through you, yet igniting something fierce beneath the surface.

Then, without warning, his hands tighten around your face, pulling you closer. The fear, the desperation, the raw need in his eyes crash into you like a tidal wave. 

His lips slam against yours—rough, urgent, aching.

The kiss is everything he’s been holding back: fierce and trembling, wild and vulnerable, desperate and demanding. Your breath catches, your body aches for him, and all the unsaid words burn away in the heat of that fierce connection.

He clings to you like you’re the only anchor in his shattered world, and you melt into the storm, fierce and unyielding, knowing this—this chaotic, broken passion—is the closest thing to truth you’ll ever find.

You pull back from the kiss, your breath mingling as your eyes lock with his—intense, searching, vulnerable. 

For a long moment, the world outside this quiet room disappears, leaving only the weight of this shared silence between you.

Then his voice slips out, barely more than a breath, trembling with a mix of fear and humor, “James is gonna kill me.”

A soft laugh bubbles from your chest, surprising even yourself, breaking the tension in the air. 

But then you catch the glint of red, the dark smear on his temple. Your laughter halts instantly. “Bug boy, you’re bleeding.”

He raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bug boy? Is that what I am now?”

Before he can respond, you push him gently but firmly back onto the bed. “Stay put,” you say with a grin that doesn’t quite reach your worried eyes. 

You grab the med kit nearby and kneel beside him, careful as you open it. Your fingers work deftly, cleaning the blood from his skin, the warmth of your touch making him quiet, watching you with something soft and unfamiliar in his gaze.

He speaks again, breaking the comfortable silence. “You know, I have powers. I can heal quickly.”

You look up, surprised and genuinely impressed. “Really? That’s so cool.”

His smile falters just a little, touched with something sad. “Though the only way for me to heal this,” he gestures to the fresh wound, “is with some secret remedy I don’t have right now. So… I’m just gonna keep bleeding.”

The sadness in his voice makes your chest tighten, and panic flickers across your face. “What is it? What do you need?”

Without a word, he pulls you gently into his chest. The weight of him settles around you like a shield. “Kisses,” he whispers into your hair, voice soft and almost playful.

You grin, teasing him, “Well, I guess I’m just the remedy then.”

And with that, you tilt your head, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, then another to his lips. It’s light and warm at first, then deepens into a tender promise—sweet—the kind of moment where everything feels just right, fragile and infinite all at once.

The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of your breathing mingling with his steady heartbeat beside you. 

Remus’s arm rested lightly over your waist, the warmth of his skin seeping into you, grounding you in a way nothing else could. The night stretched on, gentle and slow, as if the world had paused just to give you this moment.

You shifted slightly, your eyes catching the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting a pale glow over everything. 

The comfort of being here, so close to him, made your chest ache with a sweet kind of ache you hadn’t expected. You wanted to say the words—the ones that floated on the edges of your thoughts—but you didn’t need to. He was here. That was enough.

Then suddenly, a wave of unease washed over you, an unexpected chill creeping down your spine. 

Your breath hitched and your skin went pale, the warmth draining from your face. Remus stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open to find yours clouded with something unspoken.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with concern, gentle as a whisper meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I just realized you saw my room. You saw everything... all my notes, the pictures, the way I was stalking you.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you looked away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

There was a pause before he laughed, low and full, not mocking but filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter wildly. “I found it very adorable.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, disbelief etched deep in your expression. “Adorable? You found me stalking you adorable?”

He smiled, that crooked, slow smile that made you forget every worry you’d had just moments before. “Anything you do is adorable.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again, a flush that wasn’t just embarrassment but something softer, more intimate. 

It was as if the space between you was charged with quiet electricity, a pulse you both could feel without needing words.

Remus shifted closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You could kill me for all I want,” he murmured, voice low and filled with something fierce, “and I wouldn’t mind. I’d be honored to die at the hands of Y/N Potter.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a blanket, thick and comforting and impossible to ignore. 

Your heart hammered wildly, and for a moment the world stopped turning, held captive by the intensity in his eyes.

You laughed softly, a breathless sound that slipped out unbidden. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned, eyes shining with an unspoken promise. “Maybe. But I’m your ridiculous.”

Just as you opened your mouth to retort, the door burst open so hard it crashed against the wall.

 Sirius stood in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes wide. "Remus—the villain isn’t dead—"

His words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him. 

Remus, still in his Spider-Man suit, mask tossed on the floor. You, tangled in the sheets beside him, cheeks flushed and hair wild. 

Sirius blinked once. Twice. Then, with the most dramatic flourish you’d ever seen, he slapped a hand over his eyes.

“What the fuck?” he finally managed, voice tinged with both horror and something akin to amusement.

Remus groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Sirius—"

Sirius peeks between his fingers. "You—wait. She knows?"

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the flush on your cheeks only deepens.

Sirius drops his hand and points at the two of you accusingly. "James is going to absolutely murder you, Moony. What the hell were you thinking?"

Remus tries to sit up, wincing as his sore muscles protest. "It’s—complicated."

"Oh, I bet it is," Sirius mutters. Then he shakes his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. 

"Wait. Why are you in bed, in the Spider-Man suit, with James’s sister? Are you out of your mind?"

You press your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, and Remus shoots you a look that’s half pleading, half exasperated.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "So, what? You decided to just have sex?"

You and Remus speak at the exact same time, voices loud and full of mortification. "We didn’t have sex!"

"Oh my god, no!" you add, shaking your head rapidly. "Definitely not!"

Sirius blinks, then smirks. "Alright, alright. Just checking."

Remus rubs his hands over his face, muttering something under his breath, and you can’t help but laugh at the shade of red creeping up his neck.

Sirius just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Well, this is officially my favorite morning of the year."

Remus groans, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he glances back at you. 

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, still flustered from Sirius’s endless teasing, but the grin on your face made it all worth it. 

He finally straightened, running a hand through his messy hair. “Where are James and Peter?” he asked, voice steadying as he shifted back to business.

You adjusted the sheets around you, still fighting the blush on your cheeks. “James went on a date with Lily,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though the idea of your brother actually on a date was a little surreal.

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. “And Pettigrew is…out,” he said with a shrug, like that was explanation enough.

Remus paused, gaze sharpening. “Out?”

“Yeah, out,” Sirius replied. “Probably running errands or something. He’s been a bit more…secretive lately. I just assumed it was some…Peter thing.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed for just a moment, but then he shook it off. “Right. Well, I’m going to go get rid of that villain. I’ve let him play around long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

A sly smile curved his lips as he bent down, reaching under his bed. From beneath the frame, he pulled out something sleek and silver, wrapped carefully in cloth. He peeled it back, revealing a high-tech version of his Spider-Man suit—polished, reinforced, and far more advanced than the one he currently wore. 

Tiny lines of blue circuitry glowed faintly along its surface. “He can’t beat that,” Remus said confidently, brushing his fingers over the smooth material. 

“And the best part? The villain doesn’t know about this new tech I’ve got in here.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Remus grinned, that familiar spark of mischief back in his eyes. “You coming?”

Sirius scoffed. “You think I’m letting you have all the fun? I gotta be in your earpiece, making sure you don’t trip over your own feet.” 

He gave you a wink and a salute. “Try not to miss us too much.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get yourselves killed.”

Remus moved toward the door, steps heavy with purpose, but before he left, he turned back to you. 

His eyes were molten with something unspoken, the kind of thing that lingered in rooms long after someone left. His hand found the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness that nearly broke you. 

"Come back to me, okay?" you whispered, voice cracking just enough to reveal the fear clawing at your heart.

He gave you that lopsided grin, the one that was all Remus and none of Spider-Man. "If I don’t," he said, voice soft, "then who’s gonna save you from all that trouble you always find?"

You laughed shakily, and before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you. It was quick but fierce, his hands tangled in your hair like he was afraid you might vanish the moment he let go. 

He pulled back, breathless, and then with one last look, he was gone.

Sirius clapped you on the back, though a bit more gently than usual. "I’m off. Gotta make sure our boy doesn’t do anything stupid out there," he said with a wink. You nodded numbly, still tasting Remus on your lips.

When they left, the room felt impossibly silent. Too big. Too empty. Your thoughts roared back in, louder than ever. 

You let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the kiss, from the way his hands had cradled your face like you were something fragile. 

But then something nagged at the back of your mind. A whisper of a memory you hadn’t quite pieced together.

You leaned back against the pillows, mind replaying the events from the rooftop, the chaos of the fight. You remembered the villain’s hand, reaching out to grab you. You remembered the scar on his wrist—thin, jagged, unmistakable.

You froze.

That scar. You had seen it before. A million times, in fact. 

At parties, during missions, lazy days lounging around headquarters. 

Peter had that exact same scar. You had always wondered where he’d gotten it, but he’d brushed you off every time you asked.

The room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as the realization sank in, icy and sharp. 

Peter. 

Peter was the villain. 

Peter had been betraying all of you this whole time. He knew Remus’s plan. He knew the new tech. He knew everything.

And Remus was already gone.

Your hands shook as you stumbled out of bed, heart in your throat. How long had Peter known? How much had he seen? Your mind was racing with questions, each one darker than the last.

A flicker of movement caught your eye from the window, something darting between shadows too fast to be human. You rushed to it, throwing it open, and for a moment, the city sprawled out before you seemed quiet. 

But then you saw it—far in the distance, flashes of blue light sparking against the skyline, too sharp and erratic to be anything but a fight.

Your breath caught. Remus was out there with no idea he was walking into a trap. Peter knew. Peter always knew.

And now, you were out of time.

The realization crashed into you like a tidal wave, too strong and too consuming to push away. 

That scar on his wrist was the missing piece, the mark you’d seen a thousand times without a second thought. And now Remus—Remus was walking right into a trap, armed with his confidence and a suit that Peter already knew everything about.

You couldn’t breathe. The walls seemed to close in on you, suffocating and sharp-edged. 

He knew Remus’s plan, the new tech, the strategies. He had been playing all of you like puppets on strings, pulling tighter with each lie and every fake smile. 

Panic clawed its way up your throat as you stumbled out of the room, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, heart hammering in your chest. 

You dialed James’s number, praying he would pick up. It rang and rang, each passing second stretching thin like wire. “Come on, come on…” you whispered, voice cracking.

Finally, there was a click. “Y/N?” James’s voice was breathless, wind rushing past him as if he were running. “What’s going on?”

“Peter,” you gasped, shoving your feet into your shoes as you spoke. “It’s Peter. He’s the villain. I saw the scar. It matches. He knows everything, James. Remus—he’s walking right into a trap.”

There was silence, heavy and stretching, before James cursed so violently you flinched. “What do you mean Remus? What the hell are you talking about?”

You paused, breath hitching. “Gosh, Spider-Man. I know everything, James.”

Another pause, sharper this time. “How do you even know all this?” he demanded, but there was no accusation, only shock and urgency.

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, running down the stairs two at a time. “Where are you?”

“City center,” James said, voice clipped. “I’m heading back now—”

“No!” you shouted, hailing a cab as you stumbled onto the sidewalk. “I’m coming to you. Remus is already out there. He—he’s fighting him, I saw it.”

James cursed again. “Get here fast.”

The line went dead, and you threw yourself into the back of the cab, voice breathless as you gave the driver directions. 

The city blurred past, buildings stretching into smears of light and shadow. Your fingers tapped anxiously on your knees, thoughts racing faster than the car could move.

When you finally arrived at the city center, chaos had already erupted. Crowds of people were screaming, scattering like ants as bursts of blue light ricocheted off metal and concrete. 

Above the skyline, two figures clashed—one clad in crimson and silver, the other in jagged steel, metal gleaming under the flicker of broken streetlights.

Your heart stopped. Remus. He was out there, alone, fighting against the very person who had been one of your closest friends. Betrayal and fear tangled in your gut, sharp and twisting. 

The metallic villain’s fist crashed into Spider-Man with a force that shook the ground, sending him sprawling across the pavement. 

People screamed, scattering like leaves in a storm. The air was thick with panic, the chaos of it nearly blinding as you pushed your way through the frantic crowd, heart pounding like a drum.

Your eyes locked on the scene unfolding before you. Remus—Spider-Man—was struggling to get up, shaking his head as if to clear it. His new suit shimmered under the flickering streetlights, cracked slightly at the shoulder where the impact had hit hardest. 

The villain loomed above him, mechanical limbs whirring with each predatory step forward.

You sucked in a breath. The last time they had defeated him, it had been with that device—an energy amplifier. 

Your mind spun with the memory, grasping at every detail. If you could replicate it, if you could make something similar…

There wasn’t time to second-guess it. You turned sharply, pushing your way through the throng of terrified bystanders until you found what you were looking for: a tech vendor's stall, abandoned in the chaos. Pieces of scrap metal, circuit boards, wires—it was a mess of technology, but it was something.

Your hands moved on instinct, gathering what you needed: a copper coil, lithium batteries, a panel of solar conductors, anything that could channel raw energy. 

The amplifier worked by redirecting kinetic force into a concentrated pulse—if you could just build something close to it…

Your fingers flew, twisting wires and connecting circuit boards. 

The copper coil would act as the conduit, the lithium as the charge, and the solar conductors to boost its power intake. You pulled open a panel, exposing the wiry guts of it, and started connecting everything together. Sparks flew, the hum of energy rising beneath your palms. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you worked, heart hammering as you glanced back at the fight.

Spider-Man had gained some ground, landing a kick to the villain’s chest that sent him stumbling back, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. 

You jammed the final piece into place, tightening the last wire and securing it with a twist. The device pulsed once, then lit up, a soft blue glow emanating from its center.

 The air was thick with tension, shattered glass crunching beneath frantic footsteps, and the sharp crackle of energy bouncing off cold metal. 

Shitty news reporters had swarmed in, their cameras casting the entire fight live for the world to see, their voices a distant drone beneath the roar of the crowd scattering in panic.

Remus lay on the ground, winded and battered from a brutal blow the villain had just landed. His crimson and silver suit was scuffed and torn, but he pushed himself up, grimacing through the pain.

You knew you had to act fast. The device—the energy amplifier—was the only thing that had worked before. But this time, the stakes were even higher. 

The amplifier was powerful enough to disrupt the villain’s defenses, but it had one cruel catch: whoever wielded it had to maintain direct contact with the target. The energy surge would course through you as well, and you wouldn’t come out unharmed.

With no time to waste, you darted behind a broken stall and gathered whatever materials you could find: frayed wires, twisted metal strips, bits of a shattered electronic billboard. 

Your hands moved quickly, weaving and twisting, soldering circuits in a makeshift bow—an amplifier bow wired to release a focused burst of energy. It was crude but brilliant, a weapon born of desperation and ingenuity.

You stepped into the clearing, heart hammering in your chest, and called out loudly, voice steady despite the chaos. “Or should I call you Pettigrew, you fucking traitor?”

The villain—metallic and menacing—slowly turned to face you. His snake symbol glinted on his chestplate, a dark promise of betrayal.

From the distance, a shout pierced the noise. “No!”

James had arrived, breathless and frantic, but too far to intervene just yet.

Remus, lying on the ground, looked up at you, eyes filled with pain and warning. He shook his head weakly. “Please… don’t.”

But you had no choice.

Raising the amplifier bow, you steadied your aim. The wires hummed with electric energy, circuits pulsing like a heartbeat in your hands. 

You released the shot—a brilliant surge of raw power blasting toward the snake emblem on the villain’s chest.

The moment the energy connected, it was like a thunderclap. The force surged through the air, wrapping around you in a shocking embrace. 

Pain flared up your arms, your vision blurred, and the world spun wildly before everything went black.

-

-

-

You woke slowly, the world coming back into focus in fragments. The ceiling above you was painfully white, sterile, the kind of brightness that belonged to hospital lights. 

Your body felt heavy, limbs weighted down and wrapped in tight bandages. There were wires connected to you, snaking out from beneath the covers, their ends disappearing into beeping machines by your bedside. 

A wave of panic surged up your throat, and your fingers twitched, searching for movement.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice murmured, gentle and reassuring. You blinked hard, vision clearing enough to make out Remus sitting beside you, bruised and bandaged himself, but very much alive. 

His hand found yours, squeezing it softly. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Regulus was there too, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and watchful. He offered a small nod when your eyes met his. “You scared the hell out of us.”

The door swung open, and James all but burst inside, eyes wide and frantic. “Thank god you’re awake,” he breathed out, stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to your bedside. 

He looked you over with a mixture of relief and exasperation, ruffling his hair as if trying to shake off the adrenaline. “You’re insane, you know that? Completely reckless.”

A weak laugh bubbled up from your throat, more relief than amusement. “Nice to see you too, Potter.”

James snorted, dropping into the chair opposite Remus. “You’re lucky you’ve got these two looking out for you. That was…insane. I mean, brilliant, but insane.”

Remus’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unspoken and fragile. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he murmured, voice low. 

“You could have died.”

“Yeah, well,” you managed, voice cracking just slightly. “I couldn’t just stand by.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, finally pushing off the wall and coming closer. “You might want to consider standing by next time. You nearly got yourself killed.” But there was no bite to his words, only a thin veil of concern he didn’t bother to hide.

You tried to sit up, but a sharp pain flared in your side, forcing you back down with a wince. Remus’s hand pressed gently to your shoulder. “Easy,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “You’re still healing. Just…take it slow.”

For a moment, there was only the soft hum of machines and the steady rise and fall of your breaths. 

Then James leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “So,” he drawled, a grin creeping onto his face. “When you’re back on your feet…we’re going to have a long talk about your definition of ‘safety.’”

Regulus scoffed. “Safety? She ran into the middle of a full-on fight with a homemade amplifier. I’d say her definition of safety is a bit skewed.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, the sound cracking the tension that had built in your chest. 

Despite everything, despite the pain and the panic and the aftermath, you were here. 

James stretched his arms above his head, glancing at Regulus with a grin. “Okay, well, me and Reg are gonna go catch up with Sirius, who’s currently losing a battle with a vending machine.” He rolled his eyes affectionately. 

Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to you and Remus, eyes narrowing playfully. “And don’t get too cozy with my sister, Lupin.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and James ruffled your hair on his way out, Regulus following with a parting nod. 

The door shut softly behind them, leaving the room draped in quiet warmth.

Your eyes immediately met Remus. “I know you don’t like what I did, but—”

Before you could finish, his hands cupped your face, pulling you in with a kind of desperation you hadn’t expected. 

His mouth met yours, soft and searching, like you were something delicate he was terrified of breaking. 

You melted into him, hands slipping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His breath stuttered against your lips, and when you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed. 

“You’re everything I tried not to want. And now…I can’t imagine wanting anything else.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, words trapped in your throat.

A crooked grin played at his lips as he pulled back, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Come on. I’m going to show you something.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I thought I was supposed to rest.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Good thing I’m Spider-Man, right?”

Remus moved toward the backpack stashed behind the door, unzipping it and pulling out his Spider-Man suit piece by piece. 

He slid it on with the kind of practiced ease that came with repetition, the mask hanging loosely from his fingertips as he turned back to you. There was a flicker of hesitation before he stepped closer, his gaze softening. "Ready?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"

He grinned, a flash of mischief lighting up his features. "To get out of here." Without another word, he slipped the mask over his face, the familiar lenses locking into place, and in one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms.

A startled laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck. "Remus! What are you—"

But he was already moving, pushing the window open with a flick of his hand. The city sprawled out below, lights blinking like distant stars. 

Before you could protest, he stepped onto the ledge, his grip on you firm and steady. "Hold on," he murmured through the mask, and then you were airborne.

Wind whipped past your face, the rush of it stealing the breath from your lungs. The hospital fell away beneath you, replaced by the glittering sprawl of the city as Remus swung from one skyscraper to the next with effortless grace.

 Your heart pounded wildly, caught somewhere between exhilaration and disbelief. You tightened your hold around him, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow.

It was nothing like you’d ever experienced—weightless and wild, the world stretching out beneath you like a living, breathing thing. 

You laughed, the sound lost in the wind, and Remus’s grip on you tightened just a fraction, almost like he was savoring the way you clung to him.

When he finally landed again, it was on the pavement just before the city’s grand bridge. Its arching structure loomed above, glittering with strings of lights like stars hung low enough to touch. 

But what stole your breath wasn’t the view—it was the webbing stretched across its iron frame, glistening silver in the moonlight, spelling out three simple words: 

I Love You.

Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide and heart thundering. You turned to him, and he was already looking at you, mask off, eyes raw and unguarded. 

"I wanted you to see it from here," he murmured, voice trembling just enough for you to hear it. "Before I said it."

The world felt impossibly still. "You… you did this?"

He nodded, taking a step closer. "I’ve loved you for a long time," he confessed, voice thick with emotion. 

"Way before I walked into your room and saw that mess of clues and pins and theories. Hell, I think I loved you the second James introduced you as his 'forbidden-to-date' sister."

You laughed, the sound cracking with disbelief and joy. "You’re serious?"

"I’m completely serious." He took your hands in his, the warmth of him grounding you, anchoring you. 

"I’ve tried not to. I swear I’ve tried. But you’re everything I can’t shake. You’re everything I want. You could kill me for all I care, I’d be honored to die at the hands of Y/N Potter."

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in like the softest kind of devastation. 

He was so close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Remus," you whispered, voice cracking. "I... I love you too."

His eyes flashed with something wild and desperate, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. 

It was slow and aching at first, like he was savoring every second, but then it grew deeper, more consuming, his hands coming up to cup your face as if he was afraid you might slip away. 

You kissed him back with everything you had, fingers tangling in his hair, breath mingling with his until the world around you blurred away into nothing.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed, lips parted. "You made this for me," you whispered, voice trembling with awe as you looked back at the bridge, the words shimmering like spun silver.

He opened his eyes, gaze softening as he looked at you. "I’d make you anything if it meant I got to see you look at me like that."

“Wait, I’m not done,” Remus whispered suddenly, reaching behind the doorframe where his backpack lay hidden. 

He fished through its contents with a sort of hurried excitement before pulling out a small, glimmering necklace. It hung from a delicate chain, a tiny spider charm nestled at its center, its eyes gleaming with a crimson shimmer.

He stepped forward, lifting it so it dangled between you, catching the streetlights. "This," he murmured, voice soft and sincere, "is linked to my suit. If you press it, I’ll find you. Wherever you are."

Your fingers reached out to brush against it, eyes wide with wonder. "You… you made this for me?"

"I did," he nodded, fastening it around your neck with a gentleness that made your heart lurch. "And there’s more." 

He reached back into the bag and pulled out a matching bracelet, sleek and shimmering, threaded with the same crimson accents. "You can’t seem to stay out of trouble," he teased, his eyes sparkling. "Consider this my way of keeping an eye on you."

You laughed, light and breathless, fingers touching the necklace that now rested against your collarbone. "Gosh," you whispered, looking up at him with a grin so wide it hurt. "I love you."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss so soft and slow that it stole the breath right out of you. 

i highly suggest playing Honest by The Neighborhood here for the perfect outro <3

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—minutes or hours, time blurring into something infinite. But at some point, the silence grew heavy, and you turned to look at him, his profile bathed in moonlight. 

His mask lay beside him, the eyes still fixed in that eternal wideness, but his real gaze was softer, warmer.

“Remus?” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

He turned to you, brow lifting in question. “Yeah?”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “When I found out you were Spider-Man...it just...it made so much sense.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sense? I’m pretty sure it’s the most nonsensical thing that’s ever happened to me.”

But you shook your head, voice steady now, charged with quiet certainty. “No, really. It made perfect sense. Spider-Man isn’t just a hero to me—he’s everything you are. Brave beyond reason, endlessly kind, carrying the world on his shoulders but never losing that spark of selflessness. Always giving more than anyone could ask for, even when he thinks it’s not enough. That’s you. Has always been you.”

Your voice grew softer, almost confessional, as your fingers entwined with his. “When I found that earpiece in James’s room, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I didn’t run to Sirius’s or Peter’s room. I ran straight to your room. Because you’re the one I believed in. The one who’s been there even when the world wasn’t. I could have assumed it was James—maybe that would’ve made sense, especially after seeing the webs in his room—but I didn’t. Because no one wears Spider-Man like you do. No one.”

He gave you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You squeezed his hand, your voice a soothing balm against his fears. “You do. More than anyone else. The suit is just cloth and webbing. But you... you breathe life into it. You give it heart and soul. The mask isn’t a shield—it’s a window and I always knew it was you beneath it. The way you move, the way you fight, how fiercely you love even the people you’ve never met.”

He swallowed hard, eyes locking with yours, raw and unguarded. “The way I love?”

You leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. “You don’t do anything halfway—not even love. It’s reckless, it’s fierce, it’s everything. I knew it was you because Spider-Man loves the way you do—with every inch of his heart.”

“I’ve spent so long hiding, pretending no one could see me,” he murmured. “But you… you see all of me. The hero and the man. The fear and the strength. The light and the shadows.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned into his touch. “I’ve always seen you. And I always will, spider-boy.”

His breath came out shaky, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Honest?”

You cupped his face, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone. “Honest.”

He watched you with those gentle brown eyes, a question unspoken on his lips. 

But before he could say anything, you moved, the cool night air brushing your skin as you stood up, brushing off the dust from your jeans. Remus blinked up at you from where he sat, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice laced with surprise.

You did not answer—not right away. Instead, you moved, steps soft and measured as you wandered toward the edge of the rooftop. 

Your heels scuffed against the concrete, a whisper of sound against the city's distant hum. Below, the world stretched vast and shimmering, lights flickering like scattered stars, restless and alive. 

You turned back to him, the wind catching in your hair, loose strands dancing around your face. For a moment, you were still, arms at your sides, eyes holding his like a promise.

“Hey, Bug Boy?” Your voice was soft but sure, lacing through the space between you like a silver thread.

And before he could shape the words on his lips, you leaned back, tipping off the edge with your arms spread wide, surrendering to the night. 

There was no scream, no flinch of fear—just weightlessness, the air rushing past you in ribbons of wind and light. The city blurred beneath you, gold and white streaks smearing across your vision. Your eyes slipped shut, heart hammering wild and free.

Because you knew he would jump immediately after you.

There was no question, not even the whisper of doubt. Because Remus Lupin had always caught you, always been the net beneath your fall. In all the ways that mattered. In every small, unspoken gesture. In every steady gaze and every soft-spoken promise. This was no different.

The wind howled louder, rushing past your ears like the roar of the ocean, and you just let it take you. Down and down, the city lights smearing into wild streaks of gold, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears like the rush of wings. 

And still, you did not open your eyes.

You thought of his hands, steady and warm, always reaching, always finding you. 

You thought of rooftop nights and whispered promises, of moonlight slipping through cracked windows and the way he always called you reckless with that crooked smile.

Maybe this was what flying felt like.

The wind howled one last time, and you smiled into the rush of it, arms still wide, eyes still closed.

And then, just as the city lights began to fade into shadow, you felt it: a tug, gentle as breath, soft as the brush of a fingertip.

He caught you.

He laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound vibrating through you. He held you tighter, like he was terrified to let go, and you realized then that maybe you didn’t need wings to fly. Maybe you just needed him.

Because some part of you always knew: you would fall, and he would catch you.

Every. Single. Time.

a/n: sooo? i honetsly loved writing this and id love to make more blurbs of this au with spiderman remus <33

[ablobwhowrites]

corrupted worlds mini stories

(so this is just kinda mini stories of my apocalypse au and I'll only be making a few of these but yeah.)

Y/n sat in the vacant house that the cookies of this kingdom let them have, Y/n hung their cloak on the coat hanger but they were a bit confused on why there were other coats on it but they just thought maybe some cookies forgot their coats here and will get it tomorrow. The house was very well decorated to y/n's surprise as maybe this is why they asked y/n to wait for a bit while cookies rushed around to the house y/n was staying at, seeing the living room having such a lived in feeling as well as some plushies that Butterbear cookie probably put on the couch. Y/n went to the bedroom and seeing it so decorated was also a bit of a shock as y/n was so use to having a mattress on the ground or just a blanket on the hard floor to get sleep, walls having this pictures some painted by the small cookies and some that butter pretzel cookie definitely painted. Seeing the bookshelves littered with random trinkets the cookies put up and on the bed as it was lollipop cookies teddy bear laying against a pillow on the bed, y/n sat on the bed as they took the teddy bear to look at it and y/n remembered when they got injured for the first time in their world, they were to afraid to sleep because of the fear that it'll be back to finish then off but lollipop cookies saw y/n staying up with tired eyes and went up to give them her teddy bear. 'I get scared when sleeping in the dark too but when I have my teddy bear, He makes me feel better. I think he'll make you feel better too.' she said in that memory, y/n started to tear up with their tears rolling down their face and dripped onto the teddy bears face. They missed home, even as bad as it was, they miss it and their people, people who depended on them in such a hard time. They wish to be able to just go back to maybe find a cure, y/n hugged the teddy bear close to them as they squeeze the poor thing as they didn't want to let it go.

Y/n had finally decided to sleep after deciding that maybe they could finally have a good shower as they were kinda covered in dirt, a bit of blood and dried mud that stuck on them. Y/n felt so selfish that they are able to do this as maybe if they asked this worlds espresso cookie maybe he'll be able to help y/n's friends find a cure. Maybe when they wake up they could ask espresso cookie to help. Even as welcoming as these cookies were, y/n felt a bit odd having pajamas again and what are considered luxuries in their world as they use to wear the same clothes over and over again because of how chaotic their world was but it felt nice and maybe they could bring back these to help their cookies and maybe make life easier for them. Y/n finally decided to get some sleep as they held the teddy bear close to them and turned off the bedside lamp.

Y/n sat in the safe haven. Trying to help cookies stay warm and eat enough food as it was tiring but it'll be good in the long run and it helps the medical cookies have less work to do. "Y/N COOKIE! Y/N COOKIE! COME QUICK!" alchemist cookie shouted from a tent with y/n rushing over and into the tent "what happened! Is anyone hurt!?" Y/n shouted in concern but only met with excited faces from Dr. bones cookie and alchemist cookie. "The trio that muscle cookie and espresso cookie went on to the hollyberry campsites, they were able to find the researchers there and found a cure! It can reverse ever cookie back to normal!" Alchemist cookie squealed in delight. Y/n froze as tears welled up in their eyes "we can cure every cookie? We can-" "WE CAN! AND IT CAN HELP OTHER COOKIES WHO AREN'T CORRUPTED TO WORK AS A VACCINE!!" Dr bones cookie said as y/n hugged the two tightly, it was finally over. Everyone would be safe. Y/n let the two go "When those two get back, let's get everyone here vaccinated by the cure and then send out scouts to deliver them to other kingdoms. I have to go tell everyone about this. WE'RE GOING TO BE OKAY!" y/n shouted with delight as they ran out into the camp shouting about the great news. Many cookies both corrupted and not were able to go back to normal cookies though with heavy side effects from the cure for those corrupted being turned back to normal but many felt better after the cure and many wanted to celebrate but no one could find y/n. Where did they go?

Y/n arrived on a cookie horse to a small abandoned village as one house stood in the other decaying and rubbled houses. Y/n quietly walked into the house and stopped as they saw a corrupted cookie that seemed to have decaying corrupted jam that anchored itself to the lounging chair it sat on and faced a fireplace that had since been used for what seems like decades. The corrupted was huge and its body trying to fuse with the floor and anything it touched. "Mom? Dad? I'm back...I know you can't hear me but if you can, I have a cure...Please let this work." Y/n whispered as they took the small vile out and popped off the top as they got in front of the corrupted to pour it into its mouth. Y/n was blinded by a bright flash of light as they covered their eyes until it stopped "y/n? Sweetie what's going on?" Y/n put their arm down to see their mom and dad back to normal, y/n's dad helped their mom up as she was abit weak. "Oh sweetie where are we-" y/n rushed to hug their mom and dad as they cried, tears streamed down their face "I- I thought I lost you two, I was so scared I wouldn't ever see you again." Y/n sobbed not wanting to let them go "oh sweetie, me and your father would never leave you. I promise" she said petting y/n's hair as y/n's dad hugged them closer. "And I know my tough cookie would make it through, I know my kid could be as tough as nails!" Y/n's dad said proudly and y/n finally felt like this nightmare was over. Finally over.

Dreamweaver cookie held a orb and looked at y/n's dream as they brushed off any nightmares that try to form Y/n's dream and smiled as they continued to watch the dream. Y/n laid asleep in there new bed as they smiled with small tears rolled down as they hugged the teddy bear again.

(that's it for this kinda mini fic. But if you like it please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[wlwsoccerfics]

Where is the Coach? (RenéeSlegersXReader)

Warnings: mentions pregnancy and giving birth

Summary: Renée isn't showing up to practice but has a really good reason for it.

You were currently standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Putting your Hair in a Ponytail. Dealing with Braxton Hicks. Or so you thought. You wanted to go have breakfast with a friend of yours when all of sudden your water broke.

"oh." You just said, looking down. "Babe!" You yelled out. Catching your wife, right before she was about to leave for practice. Renée ran upstairs.

"what...oh..." She said and dropped her bag.

"my water broke." You told her, like she couldn't see what had just happened.

"i see. let's get you cleaned up and dressed and Drive to the hospital." Your wife said after kissing your head.

"sounds like a plan." You told her. Offering her a soft smile. Which she returned. You could feel and hear how excited she was about your daughter being born in the next few hours.

Renée quickly helped you to Clean yourself up and put on some fresh clothes. Then she helped you to the Car. The hospital bag already in the Trunk of the Car. All the way to the hospital your wife Held your hand.

"how are you feeling?" Your wife asked. You smiled slightly.

"i am feeling fine. The contractions do hurt but i got this." You answered. Holding your stomach with your free hand. While using the other hand to squeeze Renées.

"you do got this." She told you and smiled. "And i will be right by your side the entire time." Your wife let you know. And she sure kept her promise.

"where is Renée?" Katie asked Kim. But the Arsenal Captain had No Idea where your wife was.

"i don't know. But it's weird that she isn't there yet!" Kim answered.

"it sure is!" Leah stated.

Your wife just realized that she hasn't told anyone at Work about her not coming in today and had called the other Coaches to tell them she can't make it. Then she quickly called your sister Lotte. Who grabbed her bag to get to the hospital cause your plan was to have her there for the birth of her niece.

"i have to go. My sister is in Labor! Which is why she hasn't shown up. But don't worry. The other Coaches will be here soon! Oh and Lia, my sister wants you there! Since you are her best friend." Lotte stated. Lia quickly grabbed her bag.

"let's Take your Car, so Mario can Drive Home in ours." Your best friend answered. The two walked out together after the others told them to Wish you all the best and that they excited for you Guys.

You couldn't believe how fast it all went down cause when you reached the hospital ten minutes ago the contractions only were 2 Minutes apart. When your water broke and you left your Home to get to the hospital they were 6 minutes apart still. Appearently your daughter enjoyed the fast things, just like you. Cause you used to be a Motorcross Pro until five years ago. Then you went back to your old Job as a physio. You actually are working for Arsenal as well as your wife but the Last two months of pregnancy you decided to Take a little break.

Your sister and Your best friend made it just in time to witness you giving birth to your little girl.

"you are doing so good, liefje!" Renée told you. Squeezing your hand gently after you took a deep breath.

"one more push." The doctor announced. Lotte and Lia stood behind Renée. Being really excited about this Moment. You pushed again and a tiny but strong cry filled the room. And all of your eyes filled with tears.

When you held her for the First time you couldn't help but be in 'awe' . Like that tiny human was inside of you for nine months. Now she was here. Your Highlight for sure was when you watched your wife hold your little love.

"Lotte, Lia meet your niece Jette Harriet Grace Slegers. " Your wife said softly.

"she is Perfect." Your sister answered and sniffled softly. Smiling through the tears.

"yes she is." Lia agreed.

"i am so happy for the two of you. Well three of you! I mean you deserve it! I know how much you two wanted a Baby!" Your sister stated. She hugged you gently and you hugged back.

"thanks sis! I Love you." You said softly. Smiling at her.

"i Love you too." Your sister answered.

The four of you took a picture with Jette and sent it into the Arsenal wfc group Chat. Which went crazy. All of the Girls were so excited to meet her at some point. You promised them they could meet her at a Barbecue you would throw this Weekend. Which was in 3 days.

When you were alone with just your wife and Jette in the hospital room, the three of you cuddled.

"thank you for everything you did for our little Family, Babe." Renée told you.

"you don't have to thank me. We were in this together. I enjoyed carrying her for us. And i would do it again in a Heartbeat!" You said softly. Kissing her head gently. She kissed your cheek.

"i love you so very much." She answered.

"and i Love you so very much and our daughter." You told her.

"well i Love her too. How can i not? She is perfection. Just like her Mommy." Your wife let you know.

"and like her Mama!" You said softly.

The next day you went Home. This was the beginning of a beautiful Journey called Parenthood.

[sillygoobermanlol]

Imposter

Silly short fic I wrote

You are dead lol sorry

Simon has retired, thought he could ignore the mental effects of what his former job brought onto him.

Simon Riley sat with his hands cuffed to a table, on his wrist they were too tight. Straining his blood flow, nobody had fixed it, not since the officers came, when they saw you on the floor in a pool of your own blood, blood that was still stuck under his nails, still staining the lines of his hands. Part of him still didn’t believe it was real, grey eyes dazed as he stared at the metal table blankly, no mask, only flesh. Not a monster, but a very bad man. Somehow that was worse. The glint of the bright light overhead overbearing. His leg bounced and he couldn’t unclench his fists. The sound of sirens was still blaring in his head, and he couldn’t think. Though he was acutely aware of the man in the corner, watching him with a gun, ready to fire if he so much as moved an inch. Simon Riley was no small man, it was only reasonable, and with what he had done even more. But part of him itched to fight, only instinct with such a weapon pointed at him while he had nothing. After years of keeping one in his grip so tightly, how could he have let himself get soft? How dare he try? How dare he promise you that he could be. 

A tear rolled down his cheek, and fell into his palm, taking some of your blood with it as it rolled down, he hadn’t realized he was crying. 

He hadn’t noticed either the sound of voices that grew louder. But when he did, they were already so close.

“Simon Riley. Ex soldier, murdered his partner.” Said one, 

“Jesus,” said another under their breath, a woman. He didn’t look up when the door was pushed open. There was only silence for a moment, before the sound of a chair dragging across the floor, she sat down sitting the clipboard she held on the table before clasping her fingers together on top of it. “Simon,” she said, and it was so sickeningly soft. It reminded him of his mother almost, soft, yet didn’t do anything to stop the chaos around him. It wasn’t protection, but pity. “I know this is hard, but I need to know what happened tonight.”

Of course, they knew what had happened, somewhere the details were written on paper, that described the state of your body and what killed you. This was for him, to put him behind bars. He knew that he deserved that. But he didn’t know if he could take picturing your face right now. It settled in. You were dead, oh god, you were dead. 

“Simon?” she said again, dipping her head to see his face. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

All he could see was the blurry outlines of his hand, tears were still falling unwilfully. But he couldn’t feel anything. Gods, why couldn’t he feel anything? The woman only sighed, “My name is Detective Porter, I’m not here to hurt you, or accuse you of anything. I just want the truth. Can you give me that at least?” 

When he didn’t say anything, she kept going, “I was told you were ex SAS, is that true?” 

Silence. 

“You retired a year ago, worked with the T141. Under John Price, with the callsign: Ghost.” 

His eyes shot up, peering at her. He was shaking. Of course, they knew all of that, they knew everything about him. Ghost was a manufactured weapon, a successful one. He was milked for everything he had and when let go didn’t know how to be human. He didn’t know how to be gentle for you, yet you still stayed. And now you were dead. He always thought that maybe it would have been the demons that followed him off the battlefield, hungry for revenge. Wanting to take away the only happiness he ever had. Like they did to his family, scared that one day he would come home and find that they had put a hole in you, leaving him to grieve yet again. He thought he was clever, thought that if he kept you close, he could stop it, but he didn’t think to save you from himself. 

The woman nodded, pleased that at least she had ignited some reaction in him. “Let’s talk more about that then, yeah?” 

“No.” he finally spoke, gravelly and deep in his throat. 

“Then we have to talk about what happened tonight.” 

He went still again. 

The woman sighed, taking apart her clasped hands and taking up the clipboard. Reading over the text before speaking, she said your name first, the wound was still so fresh that he didn’t think of you gone, but the way she spoke of you in past tense made him sick, “Your significant other, correct? They were found dead inside of your shared apartment. You were the only one inside, you were also the one to notify the authorities.” 

Simon dug his nails into his palm, where your blood still stained red. Get it off, please get it off. The realization of what he had done was still fresh in his mind, when you stopped moving, when he touched you and you were real, when just a second ago he was convinced, you were not. That you were here to hurt him. A threat, another enemy. 

“Simon, I want you to understand that-”

He slammed a fist on the metal table, she flinched, the man in the corner tightened his grip on the gun, she let out a shaky breath, holding a hand up to stop the man from proceeding further. 

“Stop, saying my fuckin’ name like that.” He snarled. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t,” She breathed out, “What would you prefer? Ghost?” 

“No.” he said, and his voice shook slightly, he didn’t know. He did not want to be Ghost nor Simon right now. 

“This is serious, I want to make sure you understand that all I want to do right now is understand.”

He was still shaking, the cuffs rattled on his wrists like chains. “No…No, you jus’ wanna…you..” he rambled, voice shaking, his entire chest shuddering. 

“I want to help, I want to know why they were found in your apartment with their neck broken.” 

Simon whimpered, shaking his head. “Don’t…Don’t do that, don’t you fuckin’ do that.”

“Do what? Tell you what happened? That’s what we found, Simon.” 

He shook his head again, shaking violently, he knew these interrogation techniques, hell, he’s used them himself. But he was breaking, because this wasn’t war, this was you. 

“I didn’t mean to- please, I didn’t-” he choked on his own words, “I thought- I didn’t know it was them I didn’t know..” 

“You didn’t know?” She leaned forward a bit, like she had a fish caught on her hook now, all she had to do was reel it in, “Can you tell me what you thought, then?” 

“I…I…I didn’t…I thought-” he sputtered, everything felt so real now, the fuzzy haze in his mind was gone, no longer there to protect him from reality. Is this why it had been so easy to kill before? With a mask and convinced he did not have to be human. Like a machine, with just a job to do. But your blood was on his goddamn hands. Your body was somewhere getting cold, and he had done it. 

Porter tilted her head down to write on the clipboard before looking up at him again, “Did you kill them, Simon?” 

“I didn’t mean to.” He said, and it was so broken. So gone. He did not register your cries, your begs, when he put his hands around your neck because something in his brain was telling him that you were not real, only posing as someone he loved. He squeezed you until you stopped moving, you clawed at his arms, at his face and now he could feel them burning. Like all of his kills they had left a mark, physically or mentally. You had left both.