#but it would make me happy if they could be even for a moment

[chamisulgrape]

give me tough love 𖤐 [s.jy]

Jake's always liked pretty things, and you're the prettiest he's ever seen. Another thing about Jake? He always gets what he wants.

☆ pairing → jake x afab reader

☆ word count → 12.9k

☆ tags → omegaverse/abo dynamics, alpha x alpha, one-sided enemies to lovers (?), jock!jake, cheerleader!reader, jake is highkey a huge virgin & loser in this, jealousy and possessiveness, weed and smoking

☆ smut tags → pwp, unprotected p in v sex, lots of power play/switching dynamics, mild dubious consent, overstimulation, degradation & dirty talk, lots of spit and drool (they're nasty for each other), virginity kink/inexperienced kink, service top!jake, breeding kink, oral sex (f receiving), tl;dr just lots of nasty smut

☆ warnings → alpha x alpha dynamics if u r not into that! also as always, not proofread

☆ a/n  → monster of a fic is finally done! pls reblog or leave me asks/comments if u enjoyed hehe that would make me very happy :3

minors dni.

♪ give me tough love, leave me with nothing when i come down my kinda love, push me and choke me 'til i pass out

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

One thing to know about Jake: he’s possessive.

It’s not one of his best traits, but it’s something he can’t help. It’s in his blood—his DNA and chemistry. He doesn’t believe in what’s mine is yours or what’s yours is mine, to him it’s bullshit. He’s an alpha, at the very top of the food chain. So why should he share something that’s his? There’s no such thing as ours in Jake’s book, and he’d spill blood before he lets someone have something that’s his.

Maybe he has a problem, but he never admits it until you. Rather, it never became a problem until he met you. 

It’s unavoidable, you’re unavoidable. You, a cheerleader in his year; nice ass, long legs, pretty face. How could he have helped himself? 

Jake’s always liked pretty things, and you’re the prettiest he’s ever seen. 

Jake was doomed from the start.

“Dibs.”

Sunghoon turns to Jake in surprise, mouth parted and sweat sheening on his forehead, sparkling under the sun. “What?”

“I said dibs,” Jake repeats, looking across the field to where the cheerleaders are practicing with the rest of the team. He wipes his forehead with the bottom of his jersey and points with his free hand, “That one, I call dibs.”

“You can’t just call dibs on someone like they’re an obje—” Sunghoon squints, following his finger. “Dude, _____? No fucking way. She doesn’t even know who you are.”

Jake scoffs, tossing a football right into Sunghoon’s chest. “Yeah, not yet.”

Sunghoon winces, “You’re fucking weird. Have you heard what people say about her? She’s supposedly really bitchy. And she’s an alpha. It’s never going to work.” 

Sunghoon hisses the word alpha out like it’d keep Jake from doing something rash. Jake sees it as a challenge.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Yeah, well you’re too blind to be staring at anything other than her ass.” Sunghoon tosses the ball back to him before calling in the rest of their team. “So, no. You can’t call dibs on her.”

Another thing about Jake: he gets what he wants. Not because he needs it and never because he deserves it, but simply because he wants it—and god, does Jake want. He craves you more than anything he’s ever wanted, desperately now just because Sunghoon says he can’t have you.

So Jake doesn’t listen to Sunghoon, his mind already far past made up. He decides at that very moment: you are going to be his. 

Jake has a small problem: you hate him.

Saying you hate him is an understatement. 

He doesn’t know what it is, it could be the fact that he’s been shamelessly hitting on you for weeks, but he isn’t too sure.

Okay, he isn’t exactly hitting on you, but he thinks he’s made it very clear what his intentions are. Very.

“Jake Sim.” You spit, glossy lips curling into a frown, your signature pretty pout on display. 

“Were you waiting for me?” Jake smirks, kicking the locker room door closed behind him as he walks out and swinging his duffle bag over his shoulder.

“Why are you telling people that we’re fucking?” You cut to the chase, crossing your arms and glowering at him. Jake thinks you’re cute, and god, this only makes him want you more.

You’re a few feet too far from him, which Jake fixes easily. He closes the distance between you both, leaning against the side of the wall and grinning at you with a smug smirk, one that he knows gets under your skin.

“What can I say? Futuristic thinking. Manifesting.”

Jake watches as you furrow your brows, your pretty pout deepening further as Jake places a hand on your waist. “Well, you need to stop.”

“Stop what? No use when they’re all thinking it already.”

You huff, frustrated. “Stop going around and telling people we’re fucking when we’re not!”

“Why not?” Jake questions, just to push your buttons further.

“Because we’re not!” You snap. “Jake. I’m an alpha, you’re an alpha. What’s not clicking?”

Jake hums, tilting his head. “Do you have a mate?”

“No—”

“Aw, really?”

“No!”

Jake squeezes your waist once, twice, before sliding his hand further, resting his palm against your lower back. Leaning down a centimeter, he pulls you closer, until your hips are pulled flush against each other. “Then what’s the problem?”

When you sigh, he can practically taste the mint gum off of your breath. you maintain eye contact, squinting and leaning in further to prove your point. You press a finger against Jake’s chest, “You. God, you’re such a fucking sleaze.”

Jake places a hand over his chest, right where your finger just was, feigning hurt. “Sleaze? Angel, that’s so mean.”

“I’m not an angel, Jake. I’m an alpha. Leave me the fuck alone, Jake.” You say, before turning on your heels and stalking off. Jake watches you go like a predator stalking his prey, his eyes trained on your ass.

Jake feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to meet Sunghoon’s questioning gaze.

Jake shoots him a shit eating grin, shrugging his shoulders. “She wants me so bad.”

Sunghoon shakes his head in disbelief before squeezing Jake’s shoulder pityingly, hand falling to his side after. “Of course she does. Come on, lover boy.”

Jake prides himself in being patient—patience is a virtue, or something like that—so he’s not surprised when things change the night of the party.

Sunghoon’s omega is hosting a party for her cheer team (something about celebrating a win they had at a competition, but Jake is really only there for free alcohol) and if Sunghoon is invited, Jake is too. Best friend perks. 

“You guys are late.” She says, greeting Sunghoon with a kiss when he opens the door for them.

“Sorry baby, blame Jake.” Sunghoon slings an arm around his omega’s shoulders, her arm coming around to hold his waist like it belongs there. 

“You guys are sickening. Absolutely fucking sickening.” Jake gags exaggeratedly, pushing past the pair and making a beeline for wherever the alcohol is.

He makes it past the crowd of sweaty bodies, pushing his way through to find the kitchen. Jake finds it easily, knowing Sunghoon’s omega’s place like the back of his hand. The kitchen is packed with people pouring cups of something from a bowl, and others hanging around the clutter of bottles on the table. 

Jake follows suit, filling his own red cup with some kind of red punch, when someone shoves him to the side, hard enough to have punch spilling from his cup and onto the countertop. He’s about to turn and say something when he sees a familiar varsity jacket.

“Get out of my way.”

Jake scoffs, worrying the inside of his cheek as he watches you fill up his cup. “Seems like you’re the one following me around. Careful, people might get the wrong idea and think that you’re the one who wants to fuck me instead.”

You pause, huffing before tossing the ladle back into the bowl. You turn to him fully, taking Jake’s cup right out of his hand and pouring the remnants into your own. “Get your head out of your ass, Jake. I’m just filling up my cup, you just happened to be here.”

“Yeah, filling up your cup with mine. It’s like you want me, or something.” Jake smirks when you roll your eyes.

You glower at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re so cute when you try to play hard to get.” 

You down your drink in one go, shoving it against Jake’s chest after crushing your cup in your hand. “Eat my ass.”

“Gladly!” Jake yells over the music as you leave the kitchen. He laughs, amusement filling his chest. Jake licks his lips, pushing himself off of the counter to follow you out of the kitchen.

Jake bumps into Sunghoon and his omega as he’s about to leave. He grimaces at the sight of Sunghoon already sporting a few small hickeys on his shoulders. “You guys are sickening, did I tell you that? Because you guys are disgusting.”

She flips him off. “Shut up, ass eater.”

“You heard that? So you agree that it was an invitation, right?” Jake’s lips curl downwards at the sight of Sunghoon hanging off of her, arms wrapped around his omega’s neck. Gross. “I’d be mad about the fact that you guys keep forgetting that some people are single here, but I don’t think I’ll be single for much longer.

“Leave my cheerleaders alone, Jake.” She retorts, rolling her eyes.

Jake waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Not my fault that your cheerleader is hot.”

Sunghoon interrupts them then, “nice talk, but we have places to be. Bye, don’t come find us,” before shuffling aside and leading them both into the kitchen.

Jake scoffs to himself, mumbling something about how gross they are before remembering why he left the kitchen in the first place. He searches the crowd for his target, squinting when the flashing LED lights burn his eyes. His eyes roam the room, scanning over people dancing, hanging around in corners, making out on couches, before he finally sees you. 

The sight makes his blood boil. There you are, sitting pretty in some douchebag’s lap. Jake laughs under his breath, tonguing at his cheek, seeing red at the way the guy seems so enamored with you. He probably thinks he’s the shit with a pretty cheerleader in his lap. Jake wonders if the guy is an alpha too.

Jake is about to say fuck it and go get you back himself, when someone elbows his side. 

“Wanna smoke?” He turns to find Riki, who’s dangling a bag of pre-rolled joints in his hand. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A few minutes later, Jake and Riki are seated on a couch just a few feet away from where you are.

Riki takes a drag of the joint before passing it to him. Jake takes a hit, eyes still trained on where you’re fucking laughing against the guy’s chest. He clenches his jaw, running his tongue along his teeth before exhaling. Jake can be funny, too.

“You good?” Riki asks, raising his brows at him. Jake is losing control of his scent now that he has alcohol and weed in his system, and he can’t bring himself to reel it in when you’re still in the guy’s lap.

Jake rubs a hand across his face, then takes another hit before shoving the joint into Riki’s hands. When the guy places his hand on your waist, just shy of creeping into the waistband of your pretty little skirt, he sees red. “Yeah, just—be right back.”

Jake can’t stop himself from walking right up to you. You notice him right away, Jake’s scent enveloping you as soon as he’s a few steps away. He towers over you, smiling sweetly. “Baby, who’s this?”

The guy looks between the two of them, quickly shuffling to the side and tossing you off his lap. “Shit—Sorry man, I didn’t know she was claimed.”

Jake smirks, filled to the brim with satisfaction and pride. Jake swears the guy’s tail would be between his legs if he had one. He looks down at you, who’s glaring at him with a curled lip, and he remembers why he’s mad in the first place. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You say, then standing to be toe to toe with Jake. They’re a ticking time bomb by now, both so close to exploding, and Jake feels as though the time is up. Jake is done with the games, he just wants.

“You. You’re my fucking problem.” Jake growls, taking a hold of your hand and leading them away from the living room.

To his surprise, you don't resist like he thought you would. “Jake—”

You let him lead them into an unoccupied bathroom, only narrowing your eyes at the way Jake locks it behind them. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jake crowds him against the door. Your head knocks back at the sudden movement, eliciting a hiss out of you. The music is muffled from inside the bathroom, and he’s sure that you can hear the way he’s breathing heavily. He lets out a ragged breath before taking your jaw between his fingers with more force than necessary.

He can feel your pulse thumping against his fingers, matching the bass reverberating through the bathroom. He tilts your face up, his grip bruising. “What are you playing at?”

It doesn’t surprise Jake that you are allowing this, even though he’s an alpha. Jake knows that you also enjoy the game they play, he knows that you like the push and pull. Something tells Jake that you like being treated like this, if the sudden spike of arousal of your scent is anything to go by. 

“What do you mean?”

You have the nerve to look innocent with your cheeks squished between Jake’s thumb and forefingers, like Jake can’t smell you at all, like your scent isn’t flooding the bathroom along with Jake’s. 

“I mean,” Jake stops himself when your scent gets too heavy, making his head spin and his dick throb. He inhales sharply, bringing your face closer. “What do you think you’re doing? Sitting on that guy’s fucking lap?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, grinning, trailing off into a wince when Jake squeezes just a tad tighter. 

“You know what I’m talking about. You wanted me to see? Is that it?” He releases your jaw, only to grip your hips instead. “You knew I’d be there, you’re doing this on purpose.”

The arousal in your scent when Jake’s fingers dig into his flesh only gets heedier, and Jake’s mouth waters when he’s hit with the smell of grass and mint and tea and the air charged with your pheromones and—holy fucking god, Jake wants to devour you whole, every last bit of you.

You only swallow, eyes flicking down to Jake’s lips. Your breath is sweet, still smelling like the mint gum you chew every day, when you speak. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Is all Jake says before he closes the distance between you two.

It’s at this moment that Jake’s brain short circuits, reminding him that he’s never done this before—this being anything remotely sexual, aside from short makeouts with randoms he’s never cared for. You can most likely tell by the way their teeth clash together messily, but when Jake bites at your lip, you only whimpers in response.

It makes Jake want to laugh. You, who used to tell Jake that because they’re both alphas they can’t be involved, is now speechless, at Jake’s mercy.

For what he lacks, he makes up with enthusiasm. You gasp against his lips and he takes his chance to slip his tongue inside, licking over teeth and gums before pushing against your tongue. You don't let up easily, still fighting for dominance. Jake trails his palms down to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh there, and you break the kiss to gasp for air. 

Jake nips at your jaw, and his chest rumbles with satisfaction when your head lolls to the side, practically submitting for him like he wanted. He trails kisses down from your lips to your neck, tongue coming out to lick at your throat and leave marks against the skin there. When he reaches your scent gland, you gasp, hips bucking against Jake’s when Jake grazes his teeth over it, licking tenderly. 

“You’re so—fucking annoying,” you breathe out, words getting cut off when Jake bites down at your throat. He sucks a spot right above your scent gland, biting with the intent to hurt. Jake relishes in the way you whine, and it only spurs him on further.

By the time he leans back, your neck is already sporting fresh bruises and adorning marks that Jake can’t believe he left himself—that he can’t believe you let him leave. The mere sight fills him to the brim with pride.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

“For someone who was just panting like a dog, you have a lot to say.” Jake bites back, using the hand he has on your ass to pull your hips closer against you. 

You have the audacity to glare at him with glazed eyes and spit-slick lips, and you look so wrecked that Jake wants to retort more, to push your buttons further, but he knows that this is already enough—as an alpha, you’ve already allowed him to do so much. You’ve already given him more than enough. 

“You’re an asshole.” You pout.

Jake just scoffs, shutting you up with another kiss. He licks along your lips, biting down when you don't willingly submit to the tongue prodding at your mouth. Your chest rumbles with a growl at the feeling, and Jake grins against your lips at the metallic taste of him breaking skin. He sucks your lip apologetically, sucking the flesh into his mouth to soothe it.

He gasps against your lips when he feels your hand come down in between them. Your hands trail lower before meeting his bulge, and Jake realizes that he’s embarrassingly hard. You hum, and Jake knows that your alpha is satisfied. You squeeze him over his pants once, before dropping to your knees.

Jake’s brain lags. “Wait—”

You look up at him through your wet lashes, and the sight is already enough to have him nearly close to coming in his pants. “‘Wait’? You brought me in here, and now you’re telling me to wait?”

“No, I—”

“What? You’re acting like you’ve never gotten head before.” He sees the moment it dawns on you, who scoffs. “No fucking way.” Jake swallows, words lost and his mind clouded and fuzzy. You laugh, throwing your head back. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

He bites his lip, not knowing what to say back for once. “That’s—”

Your lips quirk up at the corners. “You’re all talk and no fucking bite.” You unzip Jake’s jeans in a flash. “Who would’ve thought, Jake Sim is a virgin.”

Jake opens his mouth to rebuttal, his alpha and ego taking hits at your words, but once you tug his pants down low enough to see Jake’s cock straining against his boxers, he can’t find it in himself to say a word. 

“God, you’re a fucking loser.” You shake your head, and Jake can tell you’re enjoying the role reversal, finally having the upperhand over him.

He sees the prideful look on your face when your words draw a faint whimper out of him, and he feels momentarily embarrassed, cheeks hot with mortification. He’s supposed to be an alpha, but here he is, putty in the hands of another alpha. Jake hates the fact that he likes it.

“You were going around telling people we’re fucking when you haven’t even fucked anyone.” You grin, palming at Jake’s bulge. “Such a disappointment of an alpha, hm?”

Jake groans lowly, and shame fills his chest as he bucks against your hips, seeking your touch out. “Shut up.”

You let out a laugh, squeezing the head of his cock. “You’re so wet already, practically soaking, just like an omega.”

Jake huffs. He reaches out to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling another hiss out of you. “You gonna suck me off or what? You’re the one who’s all talk and no bite.”

“Am I?” You tilt your head. “You think you’ll even last a few seconds?” 

Jake opens his mouth to retort, to say anything in rebuttal, but he’s silenced at the sight of you getting up. You pull him close with a finger tucked into the waistband of his boxers, leaning in to bite at his ear. You tug them against the door, Jake stopping himself from hitting into it face-first with a palm against the wood. 

He gets no warning when you slip a hand into his boxers, gripping him loosely and tugging his cock a few times. The slide is dry, making Jake hiss out a curse as you squeeze him at the head again. He sighs in relief when you pull his cock out, the cold air enveloping him. 

“Such a shame, you have a dick like this and you don’t even know how to use it,” you stroke him slowly, almost as if you’re bored. “Pathetic, really.”

“Get on with it already.”

Jake chokes on a whine when you suddenly grip him tightly. “Don’t talk to me like that. You were telling everyone that we’re fucking, so if you wanna get your dick wet then shut the fuck up.”

He pants, nodding his head. You grin, picking up the pace again. “You’re pathetic.” You kiss Jake’s cheek, thumb applying pressure to the head of his cock, digging into the slit.

Jake nods again, whimpering out a please. “You’re so pretty like this, Jakey. When you’re not being a fucking bitch.” Your lips are warm against his ear. “But maybe if you last long enough, I’ll even let you fuck me.”

It’s embarrassing, really. The way your words make his stomach churn with arousal and his hips stutter, causing him to fuck into your fist. It’s even more embarrassing that you calling him a bitch and the image of him even being able to get close to your ass has him coming within seconds. His cum coats your hand as he spills into your fist.

Mortification fills him to the brim, his face and cheeks getting warm. The shame is hot, and he burns when you laugh at him.

“Seriously? I barely even touched you, how are you going to ever fuck me like this? I don’t fuck people that can’t even last a fucking minute.” You release the hold you have on Jake’s cock, pushing Jake off of you. “And I don’t fuck virgins.”

Jake closes his eyes, inhaling shakily as he falls back a step. Hot tears run down his cheek, and he can’t bring himself to open them to meet your gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? And now you’re crying. Jake,” he opens his eyes at this, looking at you through blurry vision. “God, you’re a mess.”

You step around him and close the lid of the toilet down, the slam resounding throughout the bathroom. You settle on the seat, squirming until you’re comfortable. Jake doesn’t know what to do anymore, too embarrassed to even speak. His breath catches in his throat when you tugs your skirt down mid-thigh, rubbing yourself over your panties. 

You beckon him over with a hand. “Jake, come here.”

Jake inhales shakily, trudging over slowly until his shoes knock into your sneakers. You tut at him. “Now sit.” Jake drops to his knees immediately, and you hum in satisfaction. “Good boy, now watch me.”

You spread your legs, and Jake chokes, mouth suddenly too dry. He can’t seem to look away from your face, feeling mesmerized at the way your lids are hooded with arousal, your gaze burning. You tilt your head, smiling at him innocently. 

“Don’t look at me, I told you to watch, didn’t I?”

Jake nods obediently, and you grin. He watches as you rub yourself over the fabric of your soaked panties. Jake gapes, mouth dropping open at the wet patch at the front.

“What? You’ve never seen panties before? Sorry—forgot, you’re a virgin,” you jut your chin, beckoning him even closer. “C’mere, help me take this off.”

He obeys, reaching out to place his fingers over the fabric. With shaky hands, he helps you tug your skirt and panties off. He pulls your sneakers off one by one, placing them next to his knees. He places your clothes on the counter next to him, then places his hands on your hips, when you slap him away. 

“I didn’t say you could touch, did I?” Jake shakes his head, mumbling out a weak no. “Good. You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?”

Jake nods at this, folding his hands on his lap. You lean your back against the toilet, cum coated hand coming down to caress your now bare cunt. You spread your legs further, and Jake almost comes a second time when he realizes that you’re touching yourself with his cum.

“Jakey, come closer,” you gasp, biting your lip as you rub yourself slowly. “Feels so good—you wanna touch, don’t you?”

Jake nods, entranced, too distracted watching in awe as your hole, wet and slick, clenches around nothing.  You bring your sticky, shiny fingers in front of Jake’s face, holding them in front of Jake’s mouth. “Suck.”

He does as told, taking your fingers into his mouth and sucking eagerly. The taste is unlike anything he’s ever tasted, way better than his own come, and he finds himself wanting more.

Jake moans around your digits, licking in between your fingers. He barely notices when you start fingering yourself with your unoccupied hand, faster now to the sight of your fingers deep in Jake’s mouth. 

“You’re so good, Jake. You listen to well, just like a fucking dog.” You trail off with a whine, and Jake looks down to see you adding a second finger inside of you.

He’s entranced at the wet sounds of you fingering yourself, the noises echoing off the walls. “Too bad you can’t fuck me, would feel so good to have you inside of me.”

Jake’s gaze is focused on your pussy, and he can’t find it in himself to look away. “Maybe I should go back outside, find that guy and use him instead, hm? He’d probably know how to use it better than you can.”

“No!” Jake objects, coming out muffled around your fingers. He pulls off with a lewd pop, “I can—I can show you. I can be good for you.” You hum, eyes closing and voice breaking off into a moan. “Yeah?”

He nods, “I can be good for you, please. Let me be good for you.”  He hears your breath pick up, the squelching sounds getting louder as you move your hand quicker. “God—Jake, I’m close, so close.”

Jake’s mouth waters, and he can’t stop himself from getting up onto his knees to press their lips together. You gasp in surprise, granting Jake entry into your mouth. He breaks off the kiss to pant against your ear. 

In the heat of the moment, Jake places his hand on top of yours, his palm against the back of your hand and moving in time with yours. 

You shake, gasping, and Jake feels it when you cum, your body convulsing and shaking against him. “Fuck—shit, Jake!”

When you come down from your high, you pull Jake into another kiss. Your lips move languidly against each other, spit making the slide wet and slippery. Jake takes it all, swallowing down the small mewls and whimpers you let out.

When they pull away, Jake can feel himself dripping with more precome at the sight of a line of spit hanging from between their lips. You bring your hand up to your mouth, sucking your fingers clean and Jake swears he could’ve come again right then and there.

You pull out your fingers with a lewd sound before getting up from the toilet. You put your skirt back on, fixing your appearance in the mirror. He watches as you grab your discarded panties, shoving them into Jake’s back pocket.

You lean in, pressing your lips to Jake’s softly. “Keep them,” You turn to leave, hand on the doorknob before looking back over your shoulder. “And put your fucking dick back in your pants.” Jake looks down, cheeks aflame when he realizes that his dick is still out in the open. When he looks up, you are nowhere in sight.

He stands there in shock, groaning. They’re back to square one. 

If he goes to lock the door and rubs another quick one out while holding your panties against his nose, it’s nobody’s business but his.

When you corner him outside of the locker room two weeks later, Jake feels a little bit surprised. 

Jake flinches in surprise, “_____.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “_____?”

“Is that not your name?” Jake asks, just to be an asshole. 

He smiles when you scoff. “My name? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” Jake says, furrowing his brows in confusion. 

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You know what I mean, don’t play dumb,” you spit, crossing your arms. Jake can’t help the way his eyes drop to your chest. “Cheerleaders are your type now, huh? You think you can just go around making fuck me eyes at all the cheerleaders now?”

Jake cocks his head in confusion, before it dawns on him. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” You argue back. 

“You’re jealous I haven’t been giving you any attention, is that it?” He tongues his cheek. “Never pegged you as the jealous type, angel.”

You purse your lips at the nickname. “I’m not jealous. You’re just being a fucking asshole and you know it.”

Jake raises a brow, stepping closer into your space, right until your toes touch. He leans down, towering over you. “Me? An asshole? Angel, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You!” You inhale, looking around to see if anyone was there to witness your outburst before lowering your voice. “You know what I’m talking about. Why the fuck are you hanging around them?”

“Hanging around who?” Jake pushes, a grin spreading across his face when he sees your cheeks get pink. 

He sees you look past him, hiding in Jake’s chest when a few students walk by. “Fuck—come here.”

Jake lets you grab his hand and drag him away from the locker room, following behind you with a whipped, dopey smile on his face. They pass by Sunghoon, who’s on his way back to the locker room.

Sunghoon points at them with a shocked look, “What’s—”

“Hi Sunghoon—” you tug on his hand, making him almost trip over his own feet. “—bye Sunghoon!”

He gets dragged all the way to the parking lot in front of the field, not stopping until he’s in front of a black car. You turn on your heels, dropping Jake’s hand. “Get in the car.”

You scoff when he reaches for the passenger door’s handle. “No, you fucking idiot. In the back.” 

Jake raises his hands in surrender, getting into the backseat. He’s a foot into the car when he realizes he doesn’t have his things. “Wait—I don’t have my shit.”

He gets shoved into the car, hands coming out to catch himself as you push him in roughly. “Can you just shut the fuck up and listen? You’re so annoying.”

“You tell me that everyday, angel,” Jake says, situating himself until he’s comfortable. “This is kinda—”

You groan, getting into the car and closing the door behind you. You lock the doors, tossing your keys somewhere and climbing into Jake’s lap to straddle him. “Do you ever shut up?”

Jake’s hands come to rest on your hips on their own accord. “What are you—” he stops himself when you squirm, grinding down into his lap subtly.

“You’re such a fucking dog,” you start, hands scrambling to take off Jake’s varsity jacket. He complies, leaning forward so you can tug each of the sleeves off. “You know what I’m hearing now?”

He hums, a little confused and a little turned on. Once you’re satisfied at the sight of Jake in just his white shirt, your hands creep lower until they situate themselves under his shirt and on his chest. “It’s funny, this girl is saying you guys fucked.”

“What?” Jake questions with a quirk of his head. 

“Don’t what me. You know who I’m fucking talking about,” your manicured nails scratch at his skin, probably leaving angry red marks. “She’s saying you guys fucked the night of the party.”

Jake hisses when your nails dig into his skin, “but I was with you at the party.”

You scoff, taking your hands out from under his shirt and resting them on his nape. “Exactly, so tell me why she’s saying you guys fucked.”

“Hey,” he groans when you lean in to nip at his jaw, placing sloppy kisses down his neck. “Angel, how am I supposed to know?

Jake tilts his head back to rest against the headrest, letting you continue your ministrations. He bites his lip, a moan almost finding its way out of his mouth when you bite at a spot on his neck, sucking on the skin there. 

You pause in your ministrations, “gonna mark you, have you walk around with my bruises on your neck so people know you’re owned.” 

“Hey—baby, that’s great, but—” Jake’s voice breaks when you nibble harder, hand coming up to his hair to tug at the strands. “We’re at school. In the parking lot.”

You don't let up, kissing along his jaw until you find his lips. You kiss him once, twice before you place your hand over one of Jake’s wrists to detach it from your hip, trailing lower until his fingers meet the soft fabric of your uniform. “But Jakey, feel.”

Jake’s lips part in a silent gasp when you use his fingers to rub between your legs, and he exhales shakily once he feels that you're soaked. He’s losing his self control slowly, and when you rut down against his hand and whine against his lips, he throws all caution out the window.

He lets you grind against his hand for a bit before he cups you over your panties, fingers applying the slightest pressure. You gasp, leaning further against Jake’s chest when he captures your lips with his own, swallowing down all of your noises. 

Jake rubs over your panties, the small whines and whimpers spurring him on further. He toys with the hem of the fabric, “Can—can I?”

You nod, cutting him off with another kiss. Jake slides your panties to the side, finally feeling how wet you really are. “Fuck—angel, you’re fucking dripping.”

“For you, all for you.” You say, panting against his mouth. Your hips buck when Jake trails his fingers through your slit, coating the digits with your slick. Jake groans at the stickiness, and he can’t stop himself from slipping a finger inside. 

“Ah—Jakey,” Jake twitches in his pants at the sound of your voice. He’s been hard since you first sat in his lap, and he’s this close to coming untouched. “You can—you can add another.”

“Fuck—yeah, okay.” Jake rasps out, complying right away. He slips his middle finger beside his ring finger, relishing in the warmth and softness of your warm walls. 

Jake’s brain short circuits and he panics internally because he doesn’t know what to fucking do. He didn’t think he’d get this far. You seem to take notice, because you start grinding down on his fingers yourself. “You don’t have to do anything just—ah, keep your fingers there.”

He obeys, hand staying still while he’s buried knuckles deep, two fingers in your cunt. You take it all, riding his fingers enthusiastically. Wetness drips down to his wrist, and his hips buck against you when you let out a throaty moan. 

“Fuck, you sound so good.” Jake groans, leaning forward to lick the sweat off of your neck. 

You huff at this, your hand gripping tighter from where it’s resting in Jake’s hair. “Shut—shut the fuck up.”

Jake moves his hand again, meeting your every move. He starts to get the hang of it, learning what makes you moan and what makes you whimper. When he curls his fingers, pressing his palm against your clit as he grinds down, you keen.

“Fuck, Jake,” you throws your head back, the sound of your moans filling up the car. “Right there—oh!”

You shudder, clenching around his fingers. Jake can’t stop looking at you, admiring the way your hair falls and the way you looks so pretty like this. “Yeah? There?”

He does it again, curling his fingers and keeping the same tempo as your grinding. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Jake smiles at the way it brings a whine out of you. He gets brave, slipping his index finger inside next to his others, scissoring them the slightest bit. “Yeah? You like that? So pretty, my pretty fucking angel.”

“Mine, you’re mine,” you cry, head lolling forward to rest on the headrest next to Jake’s ears. You mewl, clenching sporadically around his fingers. “Tell me—say it, you’re mine.”

“Yours. I’m all yours,” Jake says, repeating it again and again. “I’m yours, only yours.”

“Fuck—” you trail off with a moan, reaching below them to tug at Jake’s shorts. “Off, off.”

Jake nods eagerly, using his free hand to shrug his shorts down enough for his cock to come out. “Yeah? Fuck, okay baby.”

Your breath hitches at the sight of Jake’s length before you’re licking your lips and pulling Jake’s hand out from your legs. You reach down to stroke him, humming appreciatively at the way he’s so responsive, cock already hard and leaking in precome onto your hand.

“Jakey, you’re so big, you’d fuck me so good, I’d feel it for weeks,” you close yours eyes at the thought, breath coming out shakily. “Too bad you’re a virgin.”

Jake makes a sound of distress, closing his eyes and whining at the feeling of you stroking him slowly. “Jake, Jakey. Look at me.”

He thinks distantly, whenever you tell him to look at him, it never ends well. He opens his eyes, meeting your mischief filled ones. Jake chokes on a gasp when he feels something wet rubbing against him, looking down to see you rubbing your dripping pussy right against his cock.

“You’re gonna be a good boy, right?” You say, voice coming out restrained. 

He nods, he’d do anything he’s told at this point. You run your hand through Jake’s hair appreciatively before tugging, baring his neck back. “You’re gonna come like this. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Uh-huh.”

You smirk, leaning in again to peck him on the lips twice. “You can’t come until I do first. If you last long enough, I might even let you fuck me next time.”

The pure thought of being able to fuck you almost makes him blow his load right there. Jake holds himself back with the little restraint he has left. He nods, promising that he’ll do good.

You reach below them again, grabbing ahold of Jake’s dick and pushing aside your panties to rub your wet cunt against his cock. Jake throws his head back, whining at the feeling. It’s warm and wet and better than his own right hand, and he has to tell himself to not come on the spot.

Jake, if you come right now I’m gonna fucking kill you. God. Do not fucking come.

He can feel himself throbbing when you grind against his cock, spreading your slick all over the length. Jake can’t stop his hips from snapping up, meeting you in your every movement.

Jake uses the hold he has on your waist to guide you back and forth, grinding up as you grind down. He moans at the feeling of you slicking up his cock, and he wonders distantly if this is what it’s going to feel like to be inside of you. His dick twitches in interest at the thought.

“I was so, so fucking mad when I heard that bitch talking about you,” you breath out. “And then I see you fucking hanging around her and, fuck, wanted to fuck you so bad.”

Jake preens, the thought of you being jealous fills his alpha to the brim with pride. “Yeah? Would let you, I bet you want that. Let her see us fucking in front of her. You grinding against my cock like a fucking slut.”

He feels your hips stutter. “You’re mine. She had the fucking audacity to ask me about you. Asking me why people were saying we’re fucking.”

Jake groans at this, his grip on your waist is bruising. He looks down between them, watching as you move your hips against him. Your skirt is covering what he wants to see, and he lifts the hem with a hand. He salivates at the sight of his shiny, wet cock sliding and disappearing between your legs. 

“What’d you say? Hm? Tell me.”

Your hips speed up, your face scrunching up when Jake’s dick rubs you just right. “I told her—I said it was true. That we were fucking, and that you—”

“That I what?” Jake presses, using his grip on your hips to hold you down, grinding up against your pussy. 

He removes a hand from your waist to reach between them, thumb coming down to rub between your legs. You grab his hand shakily, guiding him to your clit. Jake sucks in a breath at the way he can practically feel your hole fluttering against his cock when he rubs your clit experimentally.

“That I what?” Jake repeats.

“That I was your first,” you gasp, shaking in his hold. “That I took your virginity. Let you come inside me and that you were mine.”

Jake moans lowly, shoving his face into your shoulder. “Yeah? You want that? Bet you’d like that, knowing you’re my first. First hole I used—the only hole I’ll use.”

This pulls a shrill cry out of you, who nods eagerly. “You’re—you’re mine, only mine. Gonna let you fill me up like I said, marking me as yours.”

“Yeah, baby? I’m yours, my first is yours. All yours. Fuck.” Jake practically growls out, the thought of you taking his virginity is already too much for him, and before he knows it, he’s cumming against your cunt.

You moan at the feeling, voice rising in octaves as you feel Jake’s cum, warm and hot, shooting up against you. “Oh—fucking shit, Jake—”

You reach down between them, taking Jake’s cock into your hand and positioning it right against your hole. You run the tip of his cock over your hole a few times, spreading the cum there before pushing the head inside. “Fuck, Jake, come inside me—”

Jake bites down on your shoulder, the thought of his cum filling you up pulls a moan out of him, the sound muffled. His body shakes, hip bucking when he feels the tip of his head enter your pussy. “Fuck, fuckfuck.”

When he comes down from his high, head fuzzy and heart beating erratically, you’re breathing heavily. He winces when you grip his hair, tilting his head back with more force than necessary. “You didn’t fucking listen to me. You came first.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” Jake gets out, still panting from his climax.

“Fucking pathetic, your dick is good for nothing. Can’t even get me off when I ask you to. Really, what are you even good for?” You spit at him, the words making his cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

Jake begs and pleas, “No, I—I can be good.” 

“No, you can’t,” you dig your nails into his scalp, smirking when Jake’s face scrunches up. “You’re not stopping until I come, alright?”

He nods at this, complying with your every word. It clicks in his brain then: he’s wrapped around your finger, and you don't intend on ever letting him go.

Things haven’t changed since the time you cornered him outside the locker room. Well, they haven’t changed much.

You still roll your eyes when you see him, always throwing some shady insults at him that Jake takes with pride, and he still chases you like a loyal dog.

“Why do you keep trying? She literally hates your guts,” Sunghoon says during practice one day. “Isn’t it tiring?”

Jake shrugs, tossing the ball to a random teammate. “I think I’m making progress.”

Sunghoon raises a brow. “Dude, just give up. You’re not gonna crack her anytime soon. How do you know she’s even into alphas?”

If only he knew, Jake thinks. “If your omega hated your guts, would you give up?”

“No, that’s my mate,” Sunghoon replies, easily. “Do you know how long I courted her for until she finally accepted me? Jake. I chased after her since I was a junior. In high school.”

Jake sends him a deadpan look. “Exactly.” He says flatly.

Sunghoon only shakes his head at him. “You’re down bad. So bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says passively, waving him off. Jake’s eyes are trained on where you’re stretching a few feet away from them on the field. 

It’s routine now, the way you catch his gaze, smirking as you stretch your legs. Jake watches as you bend down to touch your toes, tilting your head in the way of the locker room before standing up and heading there first.

“Duty calls.” Is all Jake says before taking off, ignoring Sunghoon’s sounds of protest.

“Practice isn’t even over yet!”

Jake jogs over to the locker room, knocking a few times before the door opens and he’s getting dragged in roughly. 

The door closes behind him and he faintly registers the lock clicking shut. Before he can get a word out, there’s a pair of lips attached to his neck.

“Angel, I’m sweaty, and we’re gonna smell like each other.”

You pout against his neck, hand trailing down to cup at his dick over his shorts. You squeeze him once, before rubbing your palm against him. “But I want you so bad, and everyone thinks we’re fucking anyway. Jake…”

Jake can feel his restraint slipping. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Been watching you all practice, you’re so fucking hot. Couldn’t even focus today, all I can think about is sucking you off.” You say, slipping your hand into Jake’s shorts.

Jake takes a glance at the clock above the lockers, silently appreciative that he has roughly half an hour before anybody would be coming in to use the lockers. When he looks back at you, you’re already looking at him with lust filled eyes and blown pupils.

You blink at him, a lazy smile on your lips as you stroke Jake to full hardness. “Please? Come on, alpha.”

And who is Jake to ever deny you?

“Fuck, fine. C’mere.” Jake replies, pulling you until you’re between a row of lockers. He pushes you by the shoulders, back, back until your knees hit a bench.

Like this, towering over you, he can’t help but feel big—big at the way you appear so small beneath him, nothing like the alpha you’re supposed to be. Jake snorts fondly at the way you look up at him with the biggest puppy eyes.

“You’re cute.”

You instantly frown, lips pulling downwards. “You’re gross. I didn’t bring you here to be sappy. I’d be way cuter with my face covered in your cum.”

You tug at Jake’s shorts, frowning deeper when you realize Jake isn’t budging. “What are you still standing there for? Drop your fucking pants.”

Jake rolls his eyes, grabbing your hair with a fist. He yanks you forward, your chin now digging into his stomach. “You want it so bad? Beg.”

Jake preens internally when your mouth drops open in shock.

“Beg? You want me to fucking beg? In case you forgot, you’re not the one in charge here.” 

“In charge? If you want to suck me off so bad, then beg, angel,” Jake says, yawning. “I have practice to finish, so if you’re not going to, I’m leaving.”

“You’re—” You open your mouth before closing it shut again. 

“Or, how about we try something different this time?” Jake cuts you off, releasing his grip on your hair to get on his knees himself. Even on his knees, you’re eye to eye.

He leans closer, nosing at your cheek and inhaling deeply. “Let’s see how long you can last,” Jake glances at the clock again. “If you hold out, I’ll let you suck me off. Deal?”

“Who’s teaching you these things? Fucker.” You scoff, craning your neck to look at the clock behind them.

“You did.” Jake smiles, and you shake your head, mumbling little shit.

Your facade cracks easily. “Shut up.” You say, smiling so small that Jake would’ve missed it if he wasn’t already staring at your lips.

“So, deal?” He meets you halfway, kissing you softly before pulling away, not missing the way you chase after his lips.

You huff, pulling him back in by his jersey. “Deal.”

And just like the first and second and tenth time, you fall right back into each other.

One thing about you is that you get jealous.

At first, Jake is too caught up in his own jealousy to even entertain the thought of you being jealous.

Their relationship, if you could call it that, is remotely private. Although everyone used to think they’re fucking, they now either think that they hate each other, or are in some sort of platonic fuck-buddies arrangement because people catch them smelling of each other’s scents so often. You’ve both kept it under wraps for months, and you prefer to keep it that way. So when you start acting differently in public, Jake notices.

It starts like this: Having the same group of friends meant that they see each other all the time, being forced to hangout and be in the same vicinity of each other almost every day. So when the casual touches started, needless to say, their friends, and many others, were confused.

First, it was you wrapping an arm around his waist whenever you’re walking together. 

After that, it was you throwing your legs over Jake’s lap at the bleachers.

Another time, when you showed up to practice in his varsity jacket.

Then out of nowhere, you start taking it further.

You start getting handsy in public; at practice, outside of the locker rooms, at parties. Not that Jake minds, he’s just curious to know what caused this. He isn’t complaining, not when you look like that and when you let Jake walk around with his hand stuffed into your back pocket like he owns you—which if you ask him, he does.

But it all hits him when they’re at another party.

When Sunghoon told him his omega is throwing yet another party, Jake automatically agrees, because wherever Sunghoon goes, he goes. And wherever Sunghoon's omega is, you are. You get the idea.

He goes with the intent of seeing you, and free weed, but mainly for you.

So when they get to the familiar house, Jake is on a mission to find you. He leaves Sunghoon and his omega to go around and find you, stopping by the kitchen to grab a cup of spiked punch for him and one for you.

He’s about to head upstairs when, just like last time, Riki stops him.

“Weed?”

Jake makes a mental note to text you and ask him where he is, before nodding. “Lead the way.”

Like the last time, they’re seated on the same couch, smoking Riki’s weed again. Except, you’re nowhere in sight.

Riki leans his head back, exhaling a thin cloud before handing the roll to Jake. “Did you figure things out last time?”

“Yeah,” Jake takes a hit, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “But I can’t find her.”

“Who, ____?” Jake nods in affirmative.

“You sure she’s even here? I haven’t seen her since I got here. Want me to ask my girl?” Riki asks, already reaching for his phone.

“Nah, it’s cool. Pretty sure she’ll show up soon.” Jake shakes his head, waving the joint around before Riki plucks it from his fingers.

Riki shrugs, “If you say so.”

It’s quiet, but comfortable. That’s something Jake likes about Riki: the fact that he never feels the need to fill the space with meaningless small talk. They sit side by side, smoking in silence until someone walks up to them.

It’s a girl, another cheerleader on Sunghoon's omega’s team by the look of the uniform. She holds a cigarette out, asking them for a lighter.  Riki motions to his pocket, mumbling something to Jake. He gets the hint and digs into Riki’s pocket, flicking the lighter open for the stranger. She bends over, closer to the flame to light the end of the stick.

“Thanks, you’re Jake right? Sunghoon's omega’s boyfriend’s friend?” She asks, already making herself comfortable on the handle of the couch.

Jake hums, head tilted back and eyes heavy. “Yeah, best friend.” The girl nods in greeting. “I’m Yun.”

“Riki,” Riki cuts in, snatching his lighter back before shoving it into his pocket. He stands up, shoving his small bag of weed into his hoodie. “My girl is looking for me, see you later Jake.”

Jake nods in goodbye, watching as Riki makes it across the room to the end of the stairs to meet his omega. The sight of Riki’s stupidly bright smile and her fond grin makes his stomach churn. He misses you.

He pulls out his phone, remembering to shoot a text to you.

jakey: where r u jakey: miss u jakey: lonely :(

Jake frowns when you don't reply, and he’s starting to regret smoking because he forgot how clingy it makes him. He huffs, pocketing his phone. He is not going to pout at a party. The girl clears her throat, reminding him that she’s still there. Jake glances up at her.

“Can I have one of your cups?” Yun asks, motioning to the two cups on the table in front of her that say Jake in sharpie.

Jake frowns, shaking his head. “No.”

The girl looks momentarily taken aback, before she recovers, tilting her head. “Why do you have two?”

“Because one is for ____.” He shoots back defensively, leaning forward to place the cups closer to him.

“____? Oh. The one on the team?” She looks up in thought. “She’s pretty cute.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Yun hums. “I think she has a boyfriend or something though.”

“Really?” Jake questions, partially out of curiosity, and mostly because he’s the only boy there could be.

“She comes to practice with hickeys sometimes. And people say they see her and some football player messing around all the time, plus she always smells like another alpha.” Her lips curl down at the corners.

Jake raises a brow in amusement and he has to hold back his laugh. “Really?”

Yun nods enthusiastically, looking around before leaning closer. “Can I have a cup now? I don’t think she’s even here.”

Jake closes his eyes, irritation bubbling under his skin. He forces down a growl, “No, I told you already. It’s for—”

“Me, Yun. It’s for me.”

Jake has never looked up so fast in his life.

“____!” Jake is so happy he could cry.

Your eyes soften at this, and before you know it, Jake is pulling you down right next to him, grabbing one of your legs to throw it over his own. 

“I texted you and you didn’t reply.” Jake says, rubbing his forehead against your cheek.

You rub his nape with a hand, letting Jake rub and scent all over you as he pleases. Jake leans back at the sight of a familiar jacket. “Hey, this is mine.”

You laugh, making yourself comfortable and resting your other leg next to the one already over Jake’s thighs. Jake wraps an arm around your waist, and he can’t help but feel content because: one, he’s warm, and two, he really missed you so bad.

He voices it out loud, “Missed you.”

“Of course you did. God, you’re so clingy when you’re high.” You joke, but you rub your knuckles under Jake’s chin as a way of saying it back.

“Oh, I saved a cup for you. It might be warm now though, it was sitting for a while.” Jake reaches for it, and registers that the random girl isn’t with them anymore.

“It’s okay, Jakey. You can get me another one, yeah?” You reply, and Jake nods, standing up right away, keeping an arm around your shoulders. “God—baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you know how long I waited for you? Me and Riki smoked like, three prerolls. I counted.”

“Okay, dumbass. You can count. Now come get me a drink.” You start walking, and Jake follows, as always.

He says at your side, with his arm now around your waist. When they make it to the kitchen, Jake almost throws up at the sight of Sunghoon and his omega making out against a counter.

Jake groans exaggeratedly, tightening his hold on you. “Dude! There’s people here!”

Sunghoon's omega flips him off, only stopping to look over Sunghoon’s shoulder once she sees who Jake is with. She whispers something in Sunghoon’s ear, who turns to side-eye Jake.

“Why are they looking at me like that?” Jake says under his breath, against your ear.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “I don’t know. Maybe because you look dumb.” Jake sulks at this. “Why are you so mean?”

He only receives a pat on the cheek. “Get me a drink, please.” Is all you say before slipping out from under his arm to go meet Sunghoon's omega.”

Jake mumbles to himself about how he’s unappreciated and nobody cares about him, not even Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon what?” 

Jake jolts. “What?”

Sunghoon squints at him. “Are you high?”

“No.” Jake replies, smoothly, too focused on pouring you a drink.

“Uh-huh. What’s up with you and ____?” Sunghoon asks, taking a cup for himself.

“What do you mean?” Jake says, turning to lean back against the counter, eyes drawn to you instantly.

Sunghoon follows his line of sight. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Hey. You made an oath, remember? No lying to your best friend.” Sunghoon nudges him with his elbow.

Jake groans, “You only bring that up when you want something.”

“So?” Sunghoon says, expectantly.

“I told you, nothing’s going on,” he replies. Jake’s chest burns with fondness when he sees you laughing, eyes crinkling at the edges and your pretty teeth on display. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, okay. Tell that to the mirror. And your stupid lovesick scent says everything, dumbass. You stink.” Jake can practically hear the sarcasm in Sunghoon’s tone, and he doesn’t have to look to know that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Whatever.” Jake trails off when you meet his gaze, sending him a small smile. He almost thinks it’s cute until he sees Sunghoon's omega, who’s glaring at him, practically cursing him with her eyes. 

“Sunghoon. He’s doing it again.”

“Huh?” Sunghoon pauses for a second before throwing his head back and laughing. “Oh. Babe! I told you, you could totally beat him in a fight.”

Jake shouts in protest, only quieting down when you sidle up next to him. His voice gets caught in his throat, enamored by the way you look so, so pretty. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” You lean against his chest, standing between his legs. 

Damn it, he thinks to himself, he’s so fond. “Wanna get out of here?”

Your nose scrunches up at this. “Greasy. The worst line ever,” You detach yourself from Jake. “I need to go to the bathroom first, come with me?”

Jake nods wordlessly, suppressing a smile when you grab his hand and slings it over your shoulders, latching onto his side. Jake likes this, like, really likes this. 

“Reel it in, Jake. Your alpha is showing.” You shake your head, and Jake forgets that you can smell how pleased he is through his scent.

You lead them to the bathroom at the bottom of the stairs, telling him to wait for you. Jake nods, leaning against the wall while he waits obediently. You laugh, mumbling something about how he’s like a big puppy, and he can’t even find it in himself to argue back when you’re right.

He’s on his phone, tapping through people’s Instagram stories when he gets tapped on the shoulder.

“Hey! Jake, right?” 

Jake turns to see Yun, standing a head shorter than him. Jake suppresses a tired groan, because he doesn’t want to be bothered right now, just wanting to get you and go home. “Yeah.” Jake replies, looking back down at his phone.

He can see her shifting awkwardly on her feet. “Are you waiting for the bathroom?”

Jake glances at her before looking at the door. “No, I’m waiting for ____.” “Oh,” she murmurs. “Are you guys a thing?”

“What? We’re—”

She cuts him off with a hand. “No! I didn’t mean it like that—I’m not against alphas dating alphas or anything, fuck society, but I was just curious.”

Jake nods. “Ah. But no, we’re not.”

“Is it like an open relationship thing then?”

“Dude, you’re—” Jake stops himself, trying to withhold himself from bursting on this girl, who hasn’t done anything to warrant it. “No, it’s not.”

“I mean, it’s cool if it is! I was just wondering if you were single.” She gives him a smile, and Jake narrows his eyes. “Is that too forward? It’s cool if you guys are in an open relationship, I’m not opposed to sharing.”

Jake can’t stop the annoyed sigh he lets out. “You talk way too fucking much.”

She frowns. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Honestly, you’re overstepping right now,” Jake says, hand dragging down his face. “You’re killing my mood.”

“You’re being an asshole.” She spits out, crossing her arms.

Jake snorts, finding the whole situation amusing and exhausting. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He silently sends a thanks to you when the bathroom door opens. Jake is quick to turn around and hold onto you, pulling you out of the bathroom in a rush. “Thank fuck, I was about to lose my shit.”

“What’s wrong?” You make a confused noise.

“Are you guys together or not?” Yun says, bringing the attention back to her.

Jake rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. “Please.”

“He’s not gonna fuck you.” Jake watches as you narrow your eyes at her, your scent spiking.

Jake bites his lip to hold back a laugh. “It’s not like you guys are together. Don’t you think that he’d wanna try dating an omega, rather than an alpha?”

“It’s not like he’d wanna fuck you either way,” you say, arm wrapping around Jake’s waist protectively. “Did you need something else? Because I have no problem with you watching us fuck if that’s what you’re really curious about.”

Yun’s face twists in disgust. “You guys are gross. And your boyfriend is an asshole anyways.” “I know.” You reply, and you both watch her turn on her heels and walk away.

When Yun is out of their line of sight, Jake sighs, turning in your hold and hugging you against his chest. Jake’s chest puffs up with pride and his heart swells. “My knight in shining armor. You’re so cute, did I tell you that already?”

You roll your eyes but your face is fond, letting Jake press his face against your neck. You place a kiss on Jake’s neck in return. “Let’s just get out of here, I wanna fuck.”

Jake fakes a pout. “All you want me for is my body.”

“She’s right. You’re an asshole. Hurry up before the offer expires.” You kiss him quickly, before slipping out of his grip and running into the crowd.

Jake’s heart starts to race at the challenge. If you want him to chase you, he will. 

He counts a few seconds in his head before following after you, searching for a jacket with Jake Sim emblazoned on the back.

Jake slips out the door, finding you a few feet ahead of him. It’s already night, and goosebumps rise on his arms from the cold as he runs towards you, catching you in his arms. 

“Wanna fuck in the car?” “No.”

Like always, Jake gets what he wants.

Five minutes later, just as he planned, they’re seated in the back of your car.

The windows are fogged, and he feels thankful that your windows are conveniently tinted—although he wouldn’t mind fucking in the back even if they weren’t.

“Fuck, Jake,” you breathe heavily against him, and Jake has to hold your hips in place to keep you from bucking up against his mouth and hitting him in the nose. “Jakey, fuck, yes.”

If there’s one thing that Jake likes doing, it’s eating you out. 

Even since the first time you taught him, he still finds himself addicted to it. Maybe it’s the fact that you make the prettiest sounds when he does, but honestly, he just likes to make you feel good. Jake thinks he could eat you out for hours.

He’s ripped out of his thoughts when you place a hand into his hair, using the grip to hold him there so you can grind your hips against Jake’s tongue. 

“Hngh, Jake—fuck!” you cry when Jake hums against you, licking along your folds before sucking your clit softly. He uses the hands he has around your thighs to pull you even closer.

Jake relishes in the moans you let out, pulling back the slightest bit to lick circles against your clit. He looks up to drink in the sight of you with your head thrown back, eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

You shake in his hold, and Jake can practically feel the way you’re clenching around nothing. He moans, licking along your slit again before thrusting his tongue inside your hole.

“Oh,” it elicits a whimper out of you, one that breaks off into a long drawn out moan. “Jakey, do—do it again.”

He obeys, fucking his tongue inside of your hole a couple more times before coming back up to suck at your clit. The sounds they’re making are dirty, and Jake closes his eyes at the sound of the wet slurping noises filling up the car. 

You grind up against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck your tongue feels so good. Ah!”

Jake lifts his head, licking his lips before kissing your inner thigh. “You gotta be quiet, people are gonna hear you.”

It’s impossible. Especially because the music coming from the house is too loud and nobody would be able to hear them unless they come to the car, but he likes to entertain the thought anyways, and he knows it gets you off too. 

He smirks against your thigh when it brings a soft, breathy moan out of you. “Yeah? You’d probably like that, huh? You want them to hear you, want them to hear you whine like a fucking bitch with your alpha’s tongue inside of you.”

“Jake, Jakey, please,” your face contorts in frustration when Jake holds your hips down. “Keep going.”

“Say it. Tell me how much you want them to hear you,” Jake replies, moving a hand down to play with your clit. He rubs slowly, just to be a little shit. “Tell me, angel. C’mon.”

You shake your head, “I just—fuck, please.”

“You know what to say.” His breath ghosts over your pussy. 

“Want—want everyone to hear me, want them to hear how good you fuck me,” you pant, head thrown back against the window. “Fuck, want everyone to know how much of a slut I am for you, alpha.”

Jake delivers a harsh suck to your clit, fingers entering your hole at the same time. You sound absolutely wrecked, voice cracking every time you moan. “Gonna stretch you out, open you up so good. Get you ready for my cock.”

You nod erratically, “yeah, yeah. Stretch me open—shit!” Jake curls his fingers, scissoring them and pumping them inside of your hole. The noises are loud, wet squelching mixing with moans and bouncing off the inner walls of the car. 

“Jake, want you now. Can’t wait anymore. Wanna cum on your cock, please.” You get out between cries. 

“Shit, yeah? Fuck, c’mere,” the position is awkward, but he leans back onto his knees to bring their lips together. You pant into the kiss, hips bucking up against Jake’s thigh. “Turn around.”

It’s hard to make it work in the small vicinity of the car, but with Jake’s back pressed to his chest and you on your knees on the seats, you make it work.

He runs his hands along your body, squeezing appreciatively when you shiver. You whine, pushing back against his dick. “Jake, fuck me already, want you now.”

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, looking around the car.

You huff, “I don’t fucking care. We’re both clean and if you don’t fuck me now I’ll kick you out of the car.”

“Impatient.” Jake kisses your shoulder before pulling himself out of his pants. He strokes himself a few times before grabbing his cock to slap it against your cunt. He slides the length between your folds, coating himself in slick to get himself wet. Jake runs the head of his cock against your hole before entering the tip in slowly.

“Fuck,” he groans out when you clench around him. “How are you so fucking tight.”

You both moan simultaneously when Jake finally bottoms out, hips flush against your ass. “Fuck. Gonna fuck you until you’re fucking loose. Gonna have you on my cock all the time.”

You pant, “Like you don’t—fucking do already.”

Jake pulls out to thrust back in harshly, shoving his face into your neck and groaning at the feeling of you so wet and tight around him. “You’re so pretty baby, such a pretty fucking cocksleeve.”

“Shit, Jake!” Jake’s thrusts are fast, unrelenting. The only thought on his mind is to make you come, to make you come first.

The sounds of his hips and balls slapping against you has him groaning, biting into your shoulder. “Wanna fill you up, fill you up with my cum. Gonna knock you up, fuck.”

Jake can feel his dick throbbing inside of you, and his hips stutter at the thought of getting you pregnant. “Gonna—gonna get you pregnant, let everyone know you’re mine. That I’m the only one getting you fuck you like this.”

He pulls your hips flush against him as he thrusts in rapidly, throwing his head back at the feeling of you clenching around him again. “You like that? Wanna walk around full of my cum, knocked up like a dumb whore.”

Your body trembles beneath him as you whimper out pleas. “Yes, yes, fuck, wanna—want it so bad.”

Jake wraps his arms around your waist, hand finding purchase on the smooth expanse of your tummy. “Baby, can you feel that?”

You hold yourself up with one hand, the other feeling around to find Jake’s where it is on your belly. Jake places his hand over yours, pushing down on your tummy. “You’re so fucking tiny, I can feel my cock rubbing up right against your fucking stomach.”

This pulls a throaty moan out of you. Jake’s thrusts don’t let up, and he pulls out until the tip of his cock is against your hole before slamming inside in one go. 

“Baby, talk to me,” Jake says, his breath hot against your ear. He knows how you get, too fucked dumb to even speak. “Hm?”

Your mouth drops open, and Jake takes this chance to slip his fingers in your mouth. It’s wet, and he can feel the drool pooled up and dribbling down the side of your chin. 

He stills, cock still buried to the hilt. “I told you to do something.”

“Mmph!” It comes out muffled around his fingers. Just to be a little shit, he pushes down on your tongue, chuckling lowly when you gag.

“I’m not gonna move until you do what I asked.” Jake keeps his fingers in your mouth, repeating himself.

You shake your head, mewling when drool escapes from the corners of your mouth. “I—hmph.”

Jake presses down on your tongue again before thrusting his fingers deeper, barely hitting the back of your throat. “God, you’re fucking drooling everywhere like a whore.”

He takes mercy on you, finally pulling his fingers out of your mouth with little resistance. You gasp, head lolling and forehead coming into contact with the window. 

Your voice comes out broken, “Jake, fuck, please—need to come so bad, want your cock so bad, please, I’ll be so good.”

Jake decides to be nice, pulling out before thrusting inside roughly. He trails his spit slicked fingers down your jaw to circle around your nipple, smearing the spit there. You jolt, hips bucking back against Jake’s cock.

“You always get so dumb when you have a cock inside you, huh? That’s all it takes for you to shut up?” Jake pinches your nipple. “You’re so fucking easy.”

You clench sporadically around his dick, telltale signs that you’re getting close. Jake brings his hand lower to rub at your clit rapidly, hips never slowing. 

Jake growls against your neck, “Such a dumb bitch. You’re a dumb puppy. Right? Getting fucked by another alpha like a stupid omega.” 

You scream at this, voice high pitched when you cum around Jake’s cock. Jake groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, rolling his eyes when he feels wetness seeping down his balls and to his thighs. 

Jake doesn’t let up, fucking you through your climax. “Fuck, you fucking squirted? You really are a dumb fucking bitch.”

He hears you sob, and it only spurs him on further. Jake fucks into you at an animalistic pace, stomach tightening at the whines and whimpers you’re letting out. 

“Jakey, Jake, can’t—it’s too much, ah!” You cry, cheek pressing up against the window. 

Jake growls against your neck, “fucking take it.” 

His hips stutter when you choke on a sob, the band in his stomach finally snapping. He buries himself to the hilt, making sure to coat every inch of your insides with his cum. 

Your hole flutters around him, tightening and clenching at the feeling of Jake’s cum, warm and hot, filling you up to the brim. 

Jake manhandles them back against the seats, making sure to keep his cum plugged into you. He leans back, you now in his lap, back against his chest. At this angle, he feels even deeper, and he can’t stop himself from thrusting up into your heat once more.

You protest, scrambling until your hands are holding onto the back of the driver’s seat. “I’m, I’m too sensitive.” 

He spreads your legs, hand coming down between them to rub at your swollen, abused clit. Jake suppresses a smirk when you flinch, tightening around him in surprise. 

“Jake, I can’t—it’s too much, please,” you beg, squirming in Jake’s lap.

“Your alpha is still hard, baby. Be good for me, you’re gonna cum again, okay? I know you can.” Jake kisses your shoulder, nosing along your nape. 

You shake your head, panting heavily. “I can’t, Jake, please.”

Jake tuts, hand still rubbing circles against your clit. He brings his other hand to play with your nipples, knowing where you’re the most sensitive like the back of his hand.

“C’mon, I know you can. You wanna be good for me, yeah?” He places a wet kiss onto your neck when you nod. “Be a good omega and cum again, wanna feel you cum around my cock again.”

You gulp, exhaling through your nose. Your whole body shakes and quivers in Jake’s hold. Jake talks you through it, whispering about how good you are and how obedient you are. 

He brings the hand that was playing with your nipple up to wrap around your throat, applying the slightest pressure there. Jake thrusts his hips up at the same time as he squeezes your throat — and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge again.

You curl up, too fucked out to do anything other than cum and sob silently. Jake feels it when you cum, your walls tightening around his cock. He squeezes again before releasing his hold around your neck to turn your head and capture your lips in a kiss.

The angle makes it hard for them to kiss, but you take it all, opening your mouth obediently and letting Jake explore every inch of your mouth with his tongue. They kiss lazily for a few more minutes before you pull away with a wince.

“My seats are gonna be so gross,” you say, leaning your head back to rest against Jake’s.

He wraps his arms around your waist. “Who’s fault is that?” 

“Yours. You’re the one who always wants to fuck in the fucking car. In my car!” You shoot back. You make a sound of protest when Jake goes to pull out. “Don’t! It’s gonna make a bigger mess.”

“Liar, you just like the fact that my cum is inside of you right now.” Jake teases. 

You groan, “Shut up, no I don’t.” They both know it’s a lie.

“Kinky,” he strokes your stomach with a thumb. “Hey.”

You hum, still leaning against his chest. “Are we… Are we gonna keep acting like this?”

“Like what?” You question.

“Like we hate each other.” Jake replies. 

It’s silent for a few minutes before you speak again, “is that what you want?”

“Is that what you want?” Jake repeats. 

You swallow, the sound making an audible click inside the quiet car. “Let’s talk about this when you’re not literally balls deep inside of me.”

Jake makes a sound of agreement, but he can’t help the uneasy feeling that fills his chest. He listens, trusting that they’ll cross that bridge when they get there, because if there’s anything about Jake, it’s that he always wins and he always gets what he wants. 

And what Jake wants? It’s always been you.

[mercurial-chuckles]

Witless Wednesday Thought

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Warnings: Fluff | Hot n Spicy Supersolider | Bucky losing his shit | Bucky defending you | Smitten Bucky | Smitten Reader | Language | Mutual Pining | Kissing | Happy Ending | Language | ~1k | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: I was working on another story when this tiny one sucker-punched my flow of thoughts. I scheduled it for yesterday, but that didn't work out. Anyhoo, here ya go! Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. GIF credits to the OP. Divider made by me. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Part of ♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

Indulge Away!

You'd never seen Bucky so angry, so enraged.

As a matter of fact, you barely saw any other emotion flit his face except impassiveness.

Sweet heavens! He was the most devastatingly handsome man you'd ever seen, too.

Normally, you would admire him inconspicuously, just like you did every day when he walked through your part of the office. But you snapped out of your 'Bucky delirium' for Wyatt's sake, who was currently being throttled by the supersoldier against the shelves.

"You don't call her that," Bucky growled.

Holy Shit! It took you a moment to peel your eyes away from that bulging bicep and clenched jaw to make sense of the situation.

One moment, Wyatt thanked you for resolving the system layout issue, 'I knew I could trust you, dawg!' Wyatt said, and the very next second, you saw Bucky throwing him against the shelves. You didn't even realize Bucky was there. He was so fast it made you question your senses.

Bucky must have misunderstood. As much as he'd adapted, James Buchanan Barnes was still a man rooted in a different era. Modern slang still tripped him, you figured.

"Please," you pleaded hurriedly, unsure how to actually intervene.

Wyatt coughed, stunned, his feet dangling as he struggled in distress.

"Bucky," you said, scared out of your wits. He looked down at you intensely, and you quickly took a small step back when you realized how close you were. As much as you silently pined loved Bucky and had imagined him doing wild things to you with that very same rage on countless occasions, you were, very realistically, intimidated at the moment.

"Please, Bucky," you whispered.

Bucky seemed to snap out of his trance as he blinked, his expression still rigid. He released Wyatt, who stumbled and fell to the floor.

Wyatt crawled away a little. Bucky stepped closer and sneered down at him, "Apologize. Now." He warned.

As much as you enjoyed your friend's sense of humor, Wyatt was so out of his depth sometimes, and you were sure his penchant for saying inappropriate shit would be the end of him. Because after all that just happened, he wouldn't shouldn't have said "Are you serious?"

Wyatt was a personality, alright! You tried your best to look at Wyatt, but Bucky's tall, broad frame blocked your view.

Bucky chuckled darkly, crouching down in front of Wyatt, who was still sprawled on his ass.

"Take a guess. DAWG," Bucky growled.

This shouldn't be funny.

This really shouldn't be turning you on as much as it was.

Wyatt finally seemed to realize the issue.

Fucking finally!

You wanted to explain that what Wyatt said was just an endearment, but the basic functioning of your brain had been fused.

"Look… I didn't mean…" Wyatt started, his gaze shifting to yours, and you must have looked like a stunned animal.

For the love of God, Wyatt! Shut up and say sorry! You thought.

"I'm sorry," Wyatt finally squeaked, trying to push himself off the ground when Bucky leaned further.

Bucky gestured toward you, "Apologize to her," he ordered.

Your heart pounded wildly. You hoped to stay upright and not fall victim to your dancing nerves.

"Sorry," Wyatt muttered, looking at you, and you felt terrified for him too. The poor guy was freaking the fuck out, and all for what, being cool?

"It's alright," you mumbled awkwardly. If not for the very adult feelings currently coursing through your body for the six-foot-something supersoldier, the whole thing might have felt like Wyatt was being scolded for pulling your pigtails on the playground.

When Bucky rose to his full height, you expected him to dash off. But he didn't. He stayed rooted in place, eyes fixed on Wyatt.

Wyatt, however, finally managed to peel himself off the floor, and he bolted in a jiff.

Good for him.

Not so great for you.

You stood there trembling, flushed, and utterly confused.

Bucky slowly turned to you, and the intensity in his gaze caught you off guard. You awkwardly shuffled back, lost your footing, and staggered. He steadied you, metal arm circling your waist and pulling you forward into his chest.

Goodness, Bucky was tall! He was so strong, all muscle, and smelled divine. The urge to nuzzle into his chest made you blush even more. Luckily, a modicum of rationality still prevailed.

But his eyes were so blue and beautiful you couldn't stop looking into them. He didn't avert his gaze either.

Bucky tilted his head and moved closer, studying your face while your brain buzzed and your ears rang.

"You okay?" he asked, his breath warm against your face.

It was totally unfair for a man to look the way he did.

"You with me, doll?"

That nickname in his raspy voice had your lips parting. Reminding yourself to respond, you put some effort into nodding your head a couple of times.

Noticing his eyes shift to your lips, your heart picked up, and you bit on your lower lip, feeling the pulse thrumming in your entire body. His tongue peeked out, quickly proceeding to lick his lower lip.

What was going on? Were you dreaming? But if you were, why did it feel so vivid? You fully expected to wake up on your couch like yesterday, with the TV running in the background.

Bucky slowly stepped back, removing his hand and taking all your sanity with his retreating touch.

"I..." Bucky began, running his fingers over his stubble and licking his lips again. You couldn't help but stare. His lips were so damn pink, and you really, really wanted to kiss him.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Your brain needed rehabilitation from Bucky Barnes.

"Wanna grab a coffee with me?" he asked.

You heard the words coming out of his mouth, you did, but you didn't quite process them. You just kept staring at him.

When you finally noticed the shift in his expression, his face falling and eyes apologetic, you cleared your throat.

"Coffee? With me?" That was a dumb response, but that was what your self-deprecating self came up with.

Bucky nodded, quite expectantly and hopefully.

"Okay," you managed to say, offering a small smile.

Bucky sighed in relief. Then he smiled, all shy and adorable, and you bet you could faint just like that.

Charming bastard! He was gonna kill you with his looks.

"Thank you," he said, grinning wildly. He felt overwhelmingly everywhere around you. Bucky shuffled, rocking on his feet awkwardly before nodding at you curtly.

"Right. Umm…I'll be here at 5:15," he said, and you nodded, though a bit too surprised he knew exactly when you clocked out.

Bucky took a few steps toward the door, and you stared longingly at his retrieving form. He stopped, turned around, and looked at you for a whole minute. His gaze transfixed you. Bucky strutted toward you and pushed you against the wall, both hands cupping your cheeks, making you gasp at the feel of them, at the feel of him.

"Sorry... I just..." he breathed against your lips, giving you a millisecond of space to push him away--you didn't. Instead, you rose on your toes, hands on his chest. Bucky groaned softly, pressed a gentle kiss to your nose, then tilted your face closer and captured your lips, tasting, nipping. The rough stubble scratched your skin sensually.

And somewhere in the corner of your mind, it became clear that Bucky Barnes, an Avenger, had no reason to stroll through the Technical Analysts' floor except for you.

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[venomvalley]

NEON CARNIVORES

dom!sevika x fem!reader x pathetic!vi | 5.9k words

SUMMARY: You're Sevika's long-time girlfriend. Vi is Sevika's new roommate. What could possibly go wrong?

TAGS: 18+ only! smut (porn w/ plot, voyeurism, fingering, oral, threesome). angst, addiction, mental health issues, sex as therapy. modern!zaun au. complicated character dynamics.

NOTES: been working on this for so long and i just hope its good. split this into two parts btw so.. look out!!

-> READ ON AO3 | ARCANE MASTERLIST

Saturday morning rolls around with a blare of your work alarm—an early shift to cover for your sick coworker, with the added bonus of overtime for this pay period.

Sevika isn’t too happy about seeing you go, arm wound tight around your waist, grumbling out a throaty protest when you try to wriggle beneath her hold.

You spend every weekend at your girlfriend's new apartment. Twice the size of her last, with an extra bedroom neither of you ever use outside of temporary storage. She’s been weighing the idea of getting a roommate, with the recent hike in rent by her scummy landlord, and you would jump at the opportunity, if not for her insistence that you take things slow.

(You’ve been dating for two years. In Zaunite terms, you might as well be married already.)

Ten minutes later, after wrestling for your freedom from the cage of her bed, you shuffle into the kitchen with a loud yawn. Wearing nothing but a long shirt and a pair of random underwear.

You freeze at the sight of an unknown woman stood at the sink, scrubbing a dish. Pink hair, broad shoulders, intricate tattoos. Dressed similarly to you.

Who the fuck…?

“Uh, hi,” you say, hid half-behind the wall to conceal your state of undress. The woman turns to look at you, and—

(Pot of boiling water, meet frog.

Inevitability is a crazy, crushing thing when combined with your power of extreme denial. One moment, you're sitting in a jacuzzi, and the next, your skin is peeling away from the bone.

A slow, sanguine death.)

“Oh, hey,” she replies, reaching to dry her hands off on a nearby towel. “You're Sevika's girl, right?”

You nod your head and offer up your name, stepping out to stand behind the lip of the counter.

“Name’s Vi. I'm the new roommate.” Ah. Would've been nice if Sevika had warned you beforehand. “I'm just gonna,” a thumb points to the once-spare bedroom, “crawl back in my hole now.”

“Right. Good morning, Vi.”

“Yeah. Morning.”

You return to Sevika’s bedroom with a scowl on your face and a complaint on your tongue, shutting the door a bit harder than you meant to. Her shape beneath the sheets jolts at the sound, head popping up from the pillow.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had a new roommate?”

She blinks, swiping her palm over each eye, jaw dropping to make room for a loud yawn. “Oh, her.”

“Yeah. Her.”

“Relax. Vi stays in her room all day,” spoken mid-stretch, her lone arm reaching for the lip of the headboard.

“That’s not the point. What if I had walked out there naked?”

“Then she’d get one hell of a show.”

You physically deflate, shoulders curling inward, and shuffle over to the bed. Sevika scoots over to give you room, then lifts the sheets in invitation.

“You know I'm joking, right?” she asks, the curve of her nose brushing against your cheek.

“I know… ‘m just embarrassed.”

“Don't be. Vi has three braincells to her name. No chance she even noticed.” Sevika pauses a moment, then gives a lazy shrug of her shoulder. “Probably.”

Thus begins a new era of your relationship: Roommate Woes. Except, Vi isn't the problem here. She keeps to herself, does her chores, pays rent on time via her night shift job (whatever that is). Sevika, on the other hand, never learned subtlety, and coupled with her insatiable libido, you experienced PDA on levels previously unknown to humankind.

But gone are the days of her bending you over the kitchen counter, or fucking you on the couch, or being as loud as she wants—just to spite the cantankerous old lady living next door. While Vi works, Sevika sleeps. Opposite schedules that leave you no room for sexual intimacy. As such, both you and Vi share in this odd stall-state of perceived encroachment. Her, encroaching on your relationship; you, encroaching on her home.

So. In an amiable show, you decide to talk with Sevika about inviting her to your weekly movie night.

The two of you stand in the kitchen mid-discussion, making food to much on as the television plays the movie's menu screen on repeat.

“But why do I have to ask her?”

“Because this was your idea in the first place.” Sevika steps away from the counter with a sigh, hand adorned with a sickly-pink, heart-patterned oven mitt (she swore when you bought it for her that she would never wear it, and now it's the only one she uses). “She won't bite.”

“I think she hates me.” At the crook of her brow, you scoff, voice veering toward whiny. “I’m serious. Every time I come over, she scurries off to her room and I don't see her the rest of the weekend.”

“She does that anyway.”

“It's different, though.”

“… Just knock on the damn door.”

Against your better judgement, you trundle off and away, stopping before the looming pane of wood that separates you from Vi's bedroom.

Really, it's not a big deal. It shouldn't be. But your girlfriend's roommate is a pink-haired enigma, a puzzle stuck in a perpetual state of unsolvable. A disappearing act that, you gotta admit, hurts your ego a bit. You don’t recall saying anything wrong, but maybe, given the circumstances, you should double check that your presence is even wanted. Vi lives here, after all.

So you knock on the door—a few quick raps of your knuckles, just loud enough to grab her attention. You wait for a beat, then another, then another, and just as you turn to leave, the door swings open in a rush of cool air.

Some sort of fan whirs a steady noise from inside her bedroom, the floor strewn with clothes, room dark except for the blue-light halo emanating from her computer. She starts at the sight of you, jolting half a step backward before collecting herself.

“Oh. Sorry, I thought you were—”

“Do you wanna watch a movie with us?” The question comes out in a rush, your synapses a live-wire of anxiety.

Shit. You just want her to like you. Better for all parties involved when you show up every week without fail.

She blinks the kitchen light from her eyes, hand slipping beneath her shirt to scratch at a hip. “What?”

“A movie? Neon Carnivores just came out, and Sevika picked up the DVD after work. It's supposed to be this noir-horror filmed in the Lanes. Thought you might like it.”

“Uh,” a quick shake of her head, “yeah. I'll be there in a minute.”

Then she slams the door in your face.

You shuffle back to the living room, head emptied of all thought. Bewildered. Sevika sits on one end of the couch sans prosthetic, munching on a slice of pizza fresh from the oven. Carefree and oblivious.

“How'd it go?” she asks, bumping her shoulder into yours when you sit down beside her.

“She slammed the door in my face.”

Sevika has the audacity to laugh. To say, “Oh, she's got it bad.”

You land an admonishing smack on her thigh. “Stop, Sev.”

“It's true.” Another bite of her pizza. “You’re all she talks about.”

“What, about how much she hates me?”

“Do you want her to hate you?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Your mouth drops open in half-serious shock, but she continues to eat her stupid slice of pizza and stares at you like she said nothing wrong.

Vi's bedroom door creaks open. A beat of awkward silence passes before she appears in the corner of your eye, weighing her choice of couch or recliner. One glance at Sevika makes up her mind, and Vi takes the cushion beside you. She offers up a tight-lipped smile when you meet her gaze, turning away before you can reciprocate.

The rest of the evening follows a similar pattern: Vi curled up against the armrest while Sevika cuddles you against her side, the movie you chose bathing the room in colors of neon velvet. An indie-arthouse flick hallmarked by practical effects and unusual cinematography.

Sevika spends the last thirty minutes of the movie with her head tucked to her chest, vehemently arguing against the idea of exhaustion every time you wake her up and tell her to go to bed.

When the credits roll, Vi excuses herself, and your girlfriend finally succumbs to your prodding. Kisses you goodnight and shuffles off to bed.

So here you sit, stretched out on the cushions, cold and lonely and mourning the loss of Sevika's weight against you. Some game show continues in the background as you scroll through your phone, leagues away from the exhaustion that usually sends you to bed.

“Hey.”

The sudden greeting jolts you, and you turn around to find Vi stood at the entrance of the small hallway, housing her bedroom on one side and bathroom on the other. Scarred knuckles curled over the wall's edge, almost skittish in her stance.

“Oh. Hey.” You sit up against the armrest, elbow denting the back cushion.

“Where's Sevika?”

“In bed.”

“This early?” A click of her tongue, arm swinging a lazy rhythm as she steps into the living room. “Somebody's getting old.”

The first conversation you've ever had with her, aside from the greetings-in-passing on your way to Sevika's bedroom. But those don't count, right?

“Yeah, I tell her that all the time.”

Then silence. Vi remains awkward behind the couch, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Your teeth tug at a piece of stubborn skin on your bottom lip. The show drones on, forgotten in the wake of her presence.

“So. How long have you two been together?” she asks, hands finding comfort in the pockets of her sweatpants.

“Two years tomorrow.”

She exhales a sound halfway between a hum and a grunt, brows lifting clear to her hairline. “Shit. Practically married, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Sevika doesn't believe in marriage. A piece of paper solidifying love? Bunch of bullshit, far as she's concerned. And it isn't that you don't agree, but… well. It would be nice to have the option this deep underground. That useless piece of paper is only reserved for pilties.

“She’s happy with you.”

You blink, and she's circling around the couch. “You think so?”

She plops down in Sevika's recliner, one leg thrown over the armrest. (Sevika would kill her if she knew, but you swear yourself to a vow of silence. An olive branch for a budding friendship.)

“Definitely. She helped me out a few years back. Less of an asshole now, with you in the picture.”

So, they know each other. That makes more sense than Sevika inviting some random stranger to live with her. She's made too many enemies to consider such an idea.

“How'd you two meet?”

Her foot jitters back and forth, shaking the armrest. “She knew my old man when they were young, and when he died a few years ago, she kinda… took me under her wing.”

Vi says nothing else, and you don't intend to pry. But you're curious. Who wouldn't be? Sevika stays tight-lipped whenever Vi’s name comes up in conversation, and she’s the only person you know to answer all your burning questions. Aside from the woman herself.

But you're not there yet. Your nosiness will have to wait.

So you smile and say, “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

When she smiles back with a lopsided quirk of her mouth, you think you might be kind-of-halfway friends.

—

A simple text changes everything.

Hey. Turn your tv up.

Sender: Sevika. Recipient: Vi.

A heat-of-the-moment decision from a brain fogged by hormones and the sight of your bare tits in the mirror while changing into pajamas. Post-anniversary date, mid-makeout in her bed, she grabs her phone and sends The Text.

What follows is a marathon of impressive proportions. A box of sex toys, a bottle of lube, and two very insatiable libidos. You expected this after teasing her all night—kissing her neck on the drive to the restaurant, groping her ass during the post-check bathroom break, babbling about your ideas for sex after the two of you make it home.

She fucks you like she's trying to leave a scar in the mattress, maybe carve your body into the wrinkled sheets. Heavy and hot. Angry. Staking her claim. A routine of feeding you her cock until you cry, then soothing the ache with her mouth, then flipping you over and doing it again.

Then, a shadow under the door, shifting its weight. Sevika doesn't notice, too busy lapping at your wet cunt, but you do. Head tipped upside down over the side of the bed, that little patch of inky darkness is all you can look at.

For a moment, you contemplate saying something. You should say something, but you're selfish, and the looming orgasm that numbs you down to the bone steals away every braincell capable of thought.

You know Vi's been listening. Sevika and subtlety mix as well as oil and water. That fucking text. Her shadow lingers under the door like a spilled-ink stain as you whine and whimper through orgasm number three. Even when your world shifts, and Sevika kneels over your prone form, your gaze remains on the shadow beneath the door. A constant, an anchor to the real world.

Strap buried inside your cunt, Sevika flattens herself along the expanse of your back. The soft plush of her lips ghosts over the shell of your ear.

“We have a visitor,” she mutters, and you shudder beneath her. “What do you say? Should we ask her to join?”

The scary part? You actually think about it. Not exactly crossing the line to consideration, but you entertain the idea. The width of Vi's shoulders spreading your thighs, the softness of her mouth against your skin, the layers of her mullet caught in your fist—

Okay. So you consider it.

“Seriously?” you ask, voice a hissing breath of disbelief.

Sevika mouths along your pulse, the cold metal of her prosthetic hand smoothing up your spine. “She's standing outside for a reason.” A sharp bite to the curve of your shoulder, and an inhale catches between your teeth. “That reason isn't me.”

“I—”

Her posture softens, and her voice along with it. “Just think about it, okay?”

Sweet and tender, a facet of Sevika that she reveals only to you—almost comedic given the circumstances. Dangling the idea of a threesome in front of your face, so blasé about the whole thing that you're afraid to take her seriously. No, it's nothing more than dirty talk. Fantasy.

(The disappointment that knots in your gut doesn't actually exist.

Right?)

Things become… weird after that night. Tense as a band waiting to snap. Vi avoids you like you've caught the plague, lurking at the corner of your vision but never daring to approach. No more late-night conversations on the couch, or sharing the burden of dishes, or trading memes back and forth during the week. Like she never even existed at all.

You fucked up. You don't know how, but you did.

Her absence shouldn't bother you so much, but Sevika obviously cares about her to an extent. Why wouldn't you want Vi to like you? And yeah, maybe you enjoy her being around. She's easy to talk to. A comforting presence that reminds you a lot of Sevika.

Given her indefinite absence from your life, you don't expect your phone to blare with her ringtone on a typical Wednesday night (three thirty-two a.m. to be exact) long after you've fallen asleep. You paw at the nightstand for the familiar rectangle of your phone, bleary-eyed and frustrated at the interruption.

At the sound of her voice when you answer the call, you bolt upright in bed.

Slurred and trembling, weak:

“Fuck, it's late, I know, but my boss won't let me walk and I can't call Sevika like this. Can you just—” rustling on the end of the line, a muffled exchange between two voices that you can't quite hear, “I need a ride home.”

Before she can finish her last sentence, you’re throwing a coat on and snatching your keys from the coffee table. “Where are you?”

“Um,” she sniffles, “Apex Eleven. It's this club near the apartment.”

“I'll be there. Wait for me inside.”

She mumbles in agreement then hangs up.

You know that place. Sevika took you there when you first started dating, and though the night started out awkward in that new-romance-learning-curve way, you eventually coaxed her onto the dance floor after a shot or ten. You shared your first kiss in the parking lot outside, right before throwing up all over her pants.

In the heart of the Lanes, the streets awaken at night. Traffic thickens as you near the strip of bars and clubs and brothels, neon signs blinking in rhythmic disorder. Crowds of people stroll down the sidewalk on either side of the street, a jumble of conversation and thumping music intruding on the silence inside your car.

You pull into the club's parking lot then beeline for the front door. One ID check later, and you step inside the club to meet a thick wall of smoke and the smell of sweat-masking body spray. The floor sticks to your shoes as you skirt the outer edge of the dance floor, pinballed between drunken bodies. A party of overstimulation.

Vi sits slumped at the bar, her pink hair a stand-out amongst the sea of clubgoers, undeterred by the lights that cloak her form in multicolor strobes. The tattoos branching up her bare arms ring familiar.

You sidle up beside her, shaking her by the shoulder. “Hey.”

She sits up at the sound of your voice, eyes squinting in confusion, body drawn tight and angular—preparing for a fight.

After a long, breath-stilling moment, she relaxes. “Oh. Hey.”

You nod toward the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

“Whatever. This place sucks anyway.”

Now, the hard part: dragging her to the car. A task she makes no effort to help you with, still sat at the bar, eyes never leaving your face. Low-lidded and darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“What is it?” you ask, shifting back and forth on your feet. The atmosphere of the club renders you drunk by proxy.

“Fuck, you're pretty.” A hand reaches out to touch your face, palm sweatslick against your jaw, fingers ice-cold as they follow the curve of your skull. “Anybody tell you that lately?”

You grab her wrist and step away, a suggestion written in the tug of your hand. “Sevika. Ya know, my girlfriend?”

She slithers out of the chair, balance precarious as her brain struggles to command her feet. One step, then another, until her shoulder collides with yours. You steady her with an arm slung across her back, wincing beneath the drag of her weight as you begin to walk.

None of your Vi-shaped puzzle pieces fit together. No red string to connect all the details. During all your conversations, she kept topics shallow, information casual: likes the color blue, and exercise, and video games; grew up rough; has a sister and a nameless ex. Harmless breadcrumbs to leave behind.

And now there’s a brand new tidbit, filed away under ???????

Fuck, you’re pretty.

She’s far from sober. People say anything when they get a few drinks circulating in their blood, and she passed that threshold a while ago. Mystery solved.

Vi climbs into the passenger seat of your car and curls up against the console. When you buckle her seatbelt, she barely stirs. Something tender and aching rises at the sight of her, impossibly fragile and motionless, just before you close the door.

The drive back to her shared apartment is silent. She adjusts her position every few minutes, grumbling something under her breath—thankfully, still breathing.

Dragging Vi over to elevator is another mountain to climb. She stubs up once she recognizes the run-down shell of her apartment building, slurs something about Sevika and disappointment, and you don't understand the issue. There's no way you could drag her up four flights of stairs to your elevator-less apartment.

“Besides,” you continue, “Sevika's asleep. It'll be alright.”

It takes even more reassurance before Vi finally agrees to walk. You lead her through the small hallway, into the elevator, and up to the third floor.

Before you can find the key in one of Vi's many pockets, the apartment door swings open, and there stands—

“Sev. I didn't think you'd be awake.”

You find no anger in her features, but they contort all the same. Behind her shines the kitchen light, a small halo that cuts through the empty shadows plaguing the small living room.

Her eyes cut to Vi, sharp and piercing. “Women's intuition.”

"How'd you know?” Vi asks, head lowered, unable to meet the gaze of the woman before you.

Already, she stands a bit straighter, weight easing off your shoulder. No doubt sobered up by shock.

Sevika shrugs. Takes a drag of her cigarette. Says nothing, but steps aside to allow you both entry. And once inside, she takes Vi by the arm not slung over your shoulders.

“I got her, honey,” she says, stepping forward in silent request for you to take the cigarette from her mouth.

They disappear into Vi's bedroom. You take a seat on the couch and pass the time by chewing on the filter and watching the paper burn with each lung-filling puff. A fitting end to a night of self-destruction.

A few minutes later, Sevika comes back. Worn down to the bone, wet around the eyes.

“Is she okay?” you ask, scooting over to give her room to sit down.

She collapses beside you, head tipping back against the couch. “I don't know.”

A bad sign. Whatever they talked about, Sevika can't immediately fix, and the worry carves wrinkles into her brow.

Your fingers find the soft thickness of her thigh, comfort stamped in the press of your lips to her shoulder. She's warm, impossibly so. Worked up. Angry, even.

“The deal when she moved in was that she stayed sober.” She scrubs her hand over her face, frustration tangible, thickening up the air that surrounds you. “I told her that job was a bad fucking idea.”

“Is that what you helped her with a few years back?” you ask, voice never daring to rise above a whisper. “Getting sober, I mean.”

“She told you about that?”

“She just said you helped her with a situation.”

A stretch of tense silence, where nothing you say can fix the situation, and Sevika has no interest in wasting the energy on words.

“She wants to talk to you, by the way. You don't have to, but… Vi's a good person, she's just…”

“Been through a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

You're not angry. Worried, yes, but angry? Your Vi-shaped puzzle sharpens into view: a bad childhood, a sister she either doesn't talk to, an ex she refuses to name, a struggle with addiction. One awful event after another, woven into bone and muscle and joint and tendon. Staining everything she touches.

(Really, you don’t know why you care so much.)

When you open the door to Vi's bedroom, she’s laying in bed, tucked beneath the sheets. Staring up at the ceiling, she wipes her face on her shirt.

“Feel like company?” you ask, offering up a smile when she cranes her head to look at you.

The room lay dark, her form a deep splotch of shadow against the wall as she sits up. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed and wait for her to speak.

“I just wanna say that I'm sorry for tonight. I know I should've called Sevika but I was terrified that she would,” she shakes her head, “kick me out.”

“She wouldn't.”

“Well, I know that now, but… sorry for being trouble.”

You shrug. “Better you call me than something bad happen.”

She snorts, pillows creaking beneath her weight. “The worst already has.”

Your jaw aches from the force you exert to keep it shut. Curiosity rears its ugly head once again, but now isn't the time for indulgence.

“You can ask. If anybody deserves to know, it's you.”

“When Sevika helped you a few years ago, what was that about?”

“Oh, that? Funny story, actually.” A sharp sniff. “I was living on the streets at the time, going to bars and clubs every night, fighting for money. Literally, by the way. And one night, this woman walks up to me and says she knew my dad, Vander, before he died.

At that point, I’m ready to knock her out and go back to drinking, but she starts giving me details about his old life that nobody would know. So we go back to her apartment and she’s an asshole about the whole thing, but she helps me get my life straightened out.”

“And after that?”

“I move out on my own. Things are good for a while, but… life always catches up with you, I guess. I start thinking about Vander and my sister and—and Cait, and I start to spiral again. Go back to my old ways.”

Cait. A name for the unforgettable.

“It’s easy, isn’t it?”

The shadow moves, and you think Vi nods her head. “Yeah, it is.”

In a stroke of courage, you move from the end of the bed to its head, and after a bit of searching, you find Vi’s shape beneath the sheets. You lean into her, throwing your arms over her shoulders in an awkward hug. The smell of vodka leaks from her pores, skin sweatslick and sticky, and you can only hope that this brings her comfort.

“You’ll be okay. Maybe not for a while, but horrible things don’t last forever.”

Her hands press against your back, following the curve of your spine. “I’ll take your word for it.”

—

Vi loses herself for a while. She regresses back to some younger, weaker version of herself; back when everything was too much and too big and too scary. She quits her job at the club and starts sharing Sevika's bed at night. Another presence to drive out the demons that plague her.

It happens in the dark.

You're trapped between two very warm, very clingy bodies after a long conversation about boundaries and adaptation and how Vi fits into your life. Sevika tells you that you don't have to stay, that she isn't your responsibility, but you aren't gonna just leave her like this.

(You don't know why you care so much.)

“Can I kiss you?” Vi asks, whispered against the shell of your throat.

The world stops turning. She leans back and rests her head on the pillow, bright eyes wide, bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

Sevika lay right behind you, fitting perfectly against the curve of your spine, arm slung over your waist. That arm tightens, tugging you impossibly closer.

“It's okay,” she says.

Her hips grind against your ass, soft enough that you almost believe it an accident. Soft enough to jump-start the pulse between your legs.

You can't come back from this. Once your lips meet, it's done.

Does Sevika really not mind? Watching you kiss her… whatever Vi is? Friend, responsibility, something inbetween?

Fuck it.

You meet Vi's gaze and nod your head, and her smile flickers beneath the light of the television. As she leans in, her nose brushes yours, and Sevika's buries her face in your shoulder.

Vi kisses you like she loves you, all passionate and needy. Like you mean something to her, for all the ups and downs of your short relationship and her isolating tendencies.

Before Sevika, you never experienced love as a universal truth, giving or reciprocal. No butterflies, or fuzzy feelings, or giddiness at the sight of a lover. But when Vi kisses you, it feels… right. Comfortable. She licks into your mouth and she's warm and soft and impossibly sweet. Tender and careful and savoring.

She pulls away with a sigh, and the hand on your belly moves to cradle your jaw. A turn of your head, and Sevika sucks Vi's taste off your tongue.

It happens quick. The pulse between your legs sparks a fire that threatens full-body consumption. The women that sandwich you in take turns stealing the breath from your lungs, over and over and over again. A competition brews between the two regarding who can turn you into the biggest mess, and while one kisses you, the other nips at your neck and gropes your tits and teases at the seam of your underwear.

You don’t know how things turned out this way, but you aren’t complaining. Not when Vi rucks up your shirt and sucks a nipple into her mouth, and Sevika's lips feel like home against yours. Too much yet not enough, brain dizzy from overstimulation.

“Wait, fuck,” you gasp in a breath when they both part from you, “I just—I need a second.”

So horny you could honestly cry. If Vi wasn't here, you'd be begging Sevika for the strap, face buried in the sheets, ass in the air. They give you time to calm down, and you mourn the loss of their weight and warmth, skin buzzing from the ghostly stamp of their hands.

“Are you okay?” asks Sevika, nosing at the divot of your temple.

“Yeah, just…” you try and fail to suppress the stretch of your lips, “I didn't think you liked to share.”

She exhales an unamused breath, eyes darting to Vi when the latter drapes herself over your middle, hair tickling your chin.

“I'm a special case, right?”

Sevika shoves her off by the shoulder. Says, “Shut up. At least I don't listen in on my roommates—”

Vi stutters a moment then holds up a defensive finger. “Okay, that happened once. Once.”

“Porn exists.” A beat of silence, and Sevika laughs under her breath. “But you don't want porn, do you?”

You're definitely missing context for this conversation, but they argue like you don't even exist in the room.

“Don't,” Vi hisses, rising onto an elbow to glare at Sevika through squinted eyelids. “Seriously, I'll kick your ass.”

“Just ask her.”

Finally, you chime in. “Ask me what?”

Vi's glare turns to pleading, but beside you, Sevika remains stalwart.

“Ask me what?”

“Vi wants to fuck you.”

You blink. The neurons in your brain short-circuit. “For how long?”

“A while,” Vi grumbles, turned on her side, facing away from the two of you.

It's not the idea that surprises you, but the verbal admission. You know how to take a hint, and Vi's slip-up at the club cemented what Sevika already told you as fact.

“It doesn't bother me, if you're worried about that. Brat wants to feel good and she trusts you.” A lazy shrug that jostles your shoulder. “Your choice, honey.”

You look over at Vi to gauge her reaction, and find her already staring at you with pleading eyes. Tender as a healing wound.

It's an easy decision. Easier than your conscience allows. Your memory returns to the night Vi stood outside the bedroom door, when Sevika teased you about inviting her in. She recognized your own attraction before you did. That soft spot on your heart for an unsolvable woman.

“Let's do it.”

The once-playful atmosphere thickens into something anticipatory when Vi crawls between your legs, and your nerves might fray to breaking if not for Sevika’s presence at your side. Always doing what she does best—why you stayed despite her every effort to snuff your relationship out.

As Vi's hands find your inner thighs, Sevika kisses you soft and slow in an effort to tame the wild buck of your pulse.

“Go easy on her,” Sevika says to you, lips stretched in a teasing smile. “I'm sure it's been a while.”

“Fuck you,” Vi mutters, but says nothing in her own defense.

As if it even matters. Your girlfriend serves as the warden of your pussy, and she loves to bark an order or ten. You’re in good hands.

Off come your clothes while the other two remain dressed, a feeling of stark vulnerability that seeks to fry the white matter of your brain. Sevika rubs a comforting hand over your belly, while Vi shoulders your thighs apart.

The first thing you do is reach down to run your fingers through her hair. Soft as you imagined.

She dives in tongue-first, licking you from hole to clit, and groans when your thighs close around her head on instinct. It's all soft, wet heat. Messy from her spit. What she lacks in technique, she makes up for in enthusiasm. Moans so loud against your pussy that you almost believe she can feel your pleasure.

Sevika doesn't let you forget her. She murmurs praise into your ear, teases you for being so wet, asks you how good Vi's mouth feels. You've made it clear how her voice affects you, and she wields dirty words as a weapon any chance she gets.

Good girl.

You look so pretty like this.

How's it feel, honey?

You kiss her just to shut her up. The burn in your belly turns to a blaze embarrassingly fast, and when Vi slides a long finger into your cunt, stars burst behind your closed eyelids. There's no holding back your orgasm when her tongue circles over your clit, slick and hot and—

You turn away from Sevika's mouth and fist Vi's hair in both hands, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Fuck, please."

"Come on, honey." A pair of plush lips trail down the line of your neck, nipping at your drum-beat pulse. "Let her make you feel good."

That's all it takes. Permission. Weeks without so much as a finger on your clit leads you to a breath-stealing release, and your hearing blots out as you grind against Vi's face. So selfish, needing more, craving the impossible: inevitability.

When the pleasure breaks, you sink into the mattress with a heaving sigh. Each lobe of your brain makes a slow return to normal, and when you blink your eyes open, Vi's face sharpens into view.

Wide-eyed and nervous, she smooths a hand up and down your thigh. "Was that okay?"

All you can do is giggle and nod your head. Too fucked-out to form words.

To your left, Sevika wraps a thick arm around your ribs and pulls you to her. She knows you too well. A long cuddle is neccessity after an orgasm, and she's warm and soft and her chest makes a great pillow. And if you fall asleep for a few minutes, you're none the wiser.

You open your eyes again to Vi gently cleaning you with a washcloth. Sevika sits beside her, nursing a glass of water.

"Hey, Vi." They both look down at you. "Want me to return the favor?"

She shakes her head, slick lips stretching into a dopey grin. "No. I got what I needed."

When Vi moves to lay back down, Sevika catches her by the shoulder. "Wash your face."

"Why don't you clean me up?"

You watch the exchange half-lucid and half-listening, until their voices filter through a lens of fading lucidity. What they both fail to realize is how alike they are, and suddenly everything makes sense.

That's why you care so much.

[satorus-princess]

epiphany

synopsis: the moment jjk men realise that they are in love with you.

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, ino

a/n: guys i struggle to write geto so much please tell me if he's ooc also ino is so precious <33

ˋ°•*⁀➷ satoru doesn't allow himself to fall in love easily, not with his fears of losing those that he cherishes most. in all honesty, he was even afraid to ask you out on a date - not because he was scared of rejection, but because of what the future would do to him. life has never been kind to him, after all.

sweaty hands hesitant to reach for yours, an infinity of his fears that was separate from his infinity technique, preventing him from becoming too affectionate with you. a constant longing in his eyes that formed from his fervent desire to let himself get close to you, to let you come close to him. but he couldn't, not when letting you get close to him means you inching closer to death because you'd become a target.

so, when he realises that he's no longer fearful, he also realises that his fondness for you is no longer something fragile. it's something powerful, unbreakable, yet almost foreign. and if anyone dared to look in your direction in the wrong way, he wouldn't hesitate to take their life.

patience and understanding is all that you have ever shown him, never critical of him keeping his distance or being too reluctant. he needs time, to trust, to know that he's safe, to share some of his silent burdens. it's difficult when he was brought up with the instilled idea that he's different from everyone else.

but he isn't. he's human, too. and that's how you always make him feel. a human capable of love. and he loves you. willing to place his unguarded heart into the palms of your gentle, careful hands.

even with his red, puffy, vulnerable eyes, runny nose, and trembling lips, you still look at him with so much warmth and... is that love he sees peeking in your eyes?

ˋ°•*⁀➷ geto isn't easily impressed. he doesn't bother to, well, bother with anyone without reason. except for his daughters, of course. there's nothing more he loves in the world than them

it's hard to find someone he trusts them with while he's doing his usual cult business, sometimes not wanting his girls to be around for that.

over time, though, he found that he was beginning to trust you. not only were you a good assistant, but you were also good with the girls. you'd watch them and make sure they're happy while geto is in his "meetings". and eventually, he couldn't suppress the affection he felt towards you no longer, deciding to give you a chance.

and fuck, was he glad that he did.

otherwise he would've missed out on moments like this - the three of you sit on the sofa in front of the tv which plays some disney film (one with a rapunzel or something like that, which is where they got the idea to braid geto's hair and weave colourful flowers into it). nanako is tucked into your right side and mimiko on your left. the screen flashes onto your sleeping faces.

his heart practically melts at the sight as he quietly steps over the nail polish bottles and bracelet-making set sprawled on the floor. he dismisses the mess, leaning down to press a kiss to each of your foreheads. he could get used to coming home to this.

you stir awake, squinting an eye open to find geto standing in front of you with a softened smile, natural and sincere, as he carefully tucks the blanket around all of you.

“hey, you're back,” you murmur. you dig into the pocket of your hoodie, pulling out a beaded bracelet with letters on it. “the girls made one for all of us. it's all of our initials on each bracelet.” and oh, he couldn't stop thinking about how much he ached to change your initials.

geto never took off that bracelet, making sure to never lose it. and he also made sure to never lose one of his girls, including you.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ nanami has always been enamoured by you. he's never believed in love at first sight because, despite catching his attention when you first met, his feelings towards you gradually grew. from your first day when you bumped into him and almost spilt coffee on him, which ended up on your blouse instead. and he, thankfully, had a spare shirt that he offered for you to wear.

he does, however, believe in fate because of you.

because how could one read him so well and fit with him so perfectly as if your souls are already intertwined? he knows he isn't the most expressive person, but you still manage to know what he's thinking, what he needs.

he also viewed himself as an independent person, used to not having another person in his space and cooking for one. but he grew accustomed to your presence relatively fast. you brought such light into his life - not a bright, blinding light that one might think; more like the soft glow of a lighthouse, guiding him through the monotonous, sometimes stormy, days.

he began to find himself craving your company. his heart aches in a way it never has before and he doesn't remember the last time he cared about someone to this extent. or if he ever even cared about someone this much. with his busy schedule and focus on work so that he can finally retire, he didn't really have or make much time for anything personal. until you, of course.

and he doesn't see you as an obstruction to his life plans; you complement them. he's able to spend time with you and focus on his work at the same time because you keep him company while he works, bring him homemade food which he'll always eat even if you aren't the best of cooks. and when you fall asleep on his lap in his chair, head resting on his shoulder, he can't help but smile tenderly. he feels his heart pick up pace - unusual for him - and he realises that perhaps everything is worth it because of you, for you.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ino, such a lovesick puppy. he's been in love with you since the two of you were only best friends, but he doesn't even realise he's in love until long after. sure, he had a crush on you and he's aware of that, but your heart captured him unknowingly over time.

he had the brightest smile, putting the sun to shame, when you agreed to go on a date with him. and then, a second, and another, and another. he'd go back to his dorm feeling giddy, heart warm and fluttery like a hummingbird, mind racing with thoughts of only you and where to take you on the next date. and he would already be texting you about another date.

one of your favourite places to go to together was the park in the evening so that it was mostly empty. he sat with his legs crossed, leaning back on one of his hands as the other hand feeds you crisps. your head lies on his thigh, legs outstretched along the grass. he's gazing down at you, his heart totally not threatening to jump out of his chest.

and it's one of the many moments that he makes you laugh and you're almost tearing up with giggles, and oh my god, i made her laugh. and since when did your eyes look like they were created from the prettiest of jewels? and your smile, your smile. it's directed at him. those smile lines pierce right through his chest and become engraved into his heart.

he loves your laugh, your eyes, your smile. he loves you.

oh, i love her.

“i've been waiting for you to say that for so long,” an angel speaks.

oh. no, it's you. and he realises he might have accidentally let the confession slip out. he was so caught up in his daze he didn't notice the world around him - or even himself, for that matter. his focus was only on you, his angel.

“... did i say that out loud?”

[kisses4themissus]

Unknown Feeling | M.R X Reader

a/n: wydm i gotta go to work now :'( pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom!Reader wc: 2.4k

!! warning; semi proof read !!

prev | masterlist | send me a love letter ♡

It was off, lacey sat across from nick with a look of uncertainty.

“I got you a gift buggy!” Nick smiled as he grabbed a small gabby cat keychain form his pocket, lacey smiled politely at it; truth be told lacey had hated the kids show, her allergy to cats filled it, only acting happy to please you.

“Thank you, nick.” She gently placed it down on the table beside her, you held back a laugh at the motion, the hidden look of disgust on her little face.

“Nick? I’m dada!” Nick smiled, making you nod and smooth the hairs on lacey’s head.

“You’re name is nicolas though!” She explained, looking at her mom, as if asking if the man in front of them was dumb. “I heard you’ve been doing ballet, you like it?” Nick asked, scooting the the edge of your couch.

You saw the plain difference, robby had asked the same question and gotten a whole exclamation of her ballet moves and class while now nick only gotten a small nod. “I’m going to be a rat again.” Lacey explained, looking to the side before back at you. “Can i get a juice, mommy?” She asked politely making you nod before getting up.

Not long after you left nick followed, sighing as he leaned against the kitchen island, admiring you.

You pulled out a small juice box, many cartoon animals on the carton, as you cleaned up you stood at the sight of nick. “What is it?” You asked, grabbing a small pack of pretzels for a snack for lovebug.

“Motherhood suits you y’know? The whole material is your vibe.” He chuckled, moving closer to you. 

“Opposited to your non paternal vibe?” You joked, laughing at it.

He rolled his eyes playfully and moved closer to you. “I could take care of you girls, i’ve got my own place not the far from the studio, you could quit the hospital and take care of lacey full time…maybe some more?” His words made you scoff.

“Sure, so you can leave again!” You smirked, placing your hands on your hips. “I was young, didn’t know what i even wanted.” Nick tried to defend, making you scoff. 

“And i wasn’t?” You asked, tilting your head to the side slightly. Nick sighed and stared at you for a moment before scoffing at you, an annoyed smile on his face as he paced the room.

“I get it now, you want me out so you can make that emergency doctor to her dad!” He accused, at his words you couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “You know what, he’d probably be a better dad than a deadbeat like yourself.” You scoffed, picking up the juice box and walked over to lacey who had zoned into her cartoons.

Nick walked over and sat down beside lacey. The little girl drank her juice and watched you both before going back to the TV.

“You excited to be a rat this year, baby?” Nick asked, lacey nodded wordlessly. 

“What do you plan on doing?” He asked, trying to start a conversation. Lacey sighed and blinked slowly, “Dance.”

Nick sighed and got up from the couch, this meeting clearly not working in his favor.

- - - - - - - -

It had driven robby crazy, you had been avoiding him at all cost. When you would run into him you’d refer to him as dr. robinavitch, there had been rumors of your own dating life going around now, robby had hoped none were true.

You had been spotted several times getting into a truck with a random guy. One of the nurses said they had seen you out in public with him at grocery stores and coffee shops.

Robby knew deep down he shouldn’t have felt that way after he hadn’t cleared up rumors of him and collins together. It was a constant thought in his head, were you and lacey happy with...him?

Sighing as he leaned onto central before getting pulled away by a trauma, most of his days had gone faster as he thought of several ways he could apologize to you, it had killed him to see the look of love change to nothing, as if you never opened up to him. He sighed as the EMTs rolled in more patients.

Robby glanced over them before sending them to open rooms and some into the trauma rooms. All while assisting the residents and interns robby couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift off to you.

As he exited the trauma room, tossing his gloves into the nearest trach can he mindlessly looked up and stopped as two ICU nurses rolled you in on a wheelchair, vomit bag in hand. “She keeps fainting, vomiting excessively and a high fever.” The nurses began listening off your symptoms to robby as you gagged into the vomit bag.

He knelt down and looked over you, ignore the death stare you gave him, he nodded and motioned for the closed off room. “Don’t do it robinavitch!” You warned him, your hand gripping one of the nurses hands as she went to wheel you away, stopping her from doing so. 

He smirked at you and tugged your hand back to your lap, following behind the nurses. “Too bad, it’s my ED, and I think you don’t look too good.” He chuckled, as you thrashed from the nurses. “I’ll go into an urgent care after work!” You yelled, glaring as one prepared an IV.

“You work at a hospital for gods sake, just see one here!” One of them groaned, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t make me give you propofol!” She warned, at he threat you groaned and helped the two as you got into a hospital bed.

As robby went to check you over a trauma caught his attention, he looked at you for a moment before leaving to the trauma, leaving you and the nurses in the room.

As you fell in and out of sleep, a knock on the door made you glance up, both dr. collins and dr. king stood at the door. You sighed and attempted to sit up. “Heard the ICU’s best finally fell.” Collins teased earning a small nod, you attempted not to be upset at heather, she couldn’t have known about you and robby either..

“Lovebug caught something, I assume it’s the stomach flu.” You sighed, motioning to the several vomit bags now laid out nearby in case. Dr. king sighed looking between you and collins. “We just need to rule out other things, Um– is there a chance you could be pregnant?” Mel asked politely, making you snort at the question, you shook your head at her.

“We’ll still have to run a test to be sure but more than likely you probably caught a stomach bug.” She nodded, handing you a testing cup. You nodded and got up with the help of the two women. Mel had helped walk you to the bathroom, quickly filling the cup.

You washed your hands and let your thought go to your patients upstairs or lacey’s practice. With a groan you realized you had left your phone upstairs on your desk. Walking out of the restroom, you walked over to mel and handed the test over.

Thankfully collins had gotten pulled away and mel walked to the lab to have the sample tested. You looked around, it had seemed busy, quickly making your way to the elevators, as your foot stepped in, a firm hands stopped you. “That’ll be an AMA, get back to your bed!” Langdon scolded, making you groan.

“I thought i was in the clear,” You whined as langdon guided you away from the elevators.

“I just left my phone upstairs, please can i go get it?” You begged, making him snort a laugh. “Sure you did, i’ll send an intern up.” He watched as you got back into the bed before flagging down whittaker to get your phone. The blond nodded and scurried away.

“I have two legs y’know?” You rolled your eyes, langdon shook his head. “And excessive vomiting, don’t need someone slipping in your dinner..” He smiled before leaving to central.

- - - - - - - -

It had been about two hours since you had tested, majority of the ED workers had “happened” to be passing by your room. You had managed to fall asleep, the fatigue hitting hard. 

A soft knock made you wake from the light daze you had fallen in. Mel stood at the door with her eyebrows furrowed. She stepped in and stood up closer to your bed. “Um- I got your results back.. It’s actually positive…” Her words make your stomach drop.

“Excuse me?” You asked, feeling ringing in your ears at the news. “You’re pregnant, congratulations, or if you need we can have a medical abortion, totally your choice!” Mel ressured, making you nod, your thought going wild. 

“Don’t put it on my chart please, um– just say it’s the stomach flu..” You asked the doctor who nodded, a bit confused but agreed. She had quickly dismissed you, helping you as you disconnected from the IVs, you shrugged on your jacket and walked back upstairs, quietly.

Lacey was going to be an older sister? It had to be robby’s child, you had refused to let nick get near you in any intimate way. Your thoughts ran wild the elevator ride. 

As you sat back down at your desk, you placed your hands on your head, wishing the world would swallow you whole at the moment. One of the nurses walked over and watched over you. “You alright?” She asked, eyeing you carefully. With a nod you sighed and got up to attend to the patients nearby, distracting yourself from the news.

As your shift had continued you couldn’t help but want to see the results yourself after seeing on your period tracker your cycle had been late,  quickly telling the others you needed to buy something at the cafeteria you had slipped down to the ED, making your way to their supply closet.

Slipping into the room, you searched over the shelves before landing on the pregnancy tests they used. You grabbed three and shoved them into your jacket pockets, making sure nothing stuck out.

As you went to leave, robby entered the room and blocked you in. You scoffed, the universe had it out for you that day. 

“Can i get by dr. robinavitch?” You asked, not making eye contact. 

“Not unless we talk.” He shook his head, crossing his arms as you nodded and looked around the room. “Dr. king cleared me, i have the stomach flu, lacey caught one from the kids at the studio..” You explained, grabbing a vomit bag in case, you quite literally couldn’t stomach the situation. 

“I mean about the park, these past few weeks..about us?” Robby kept his gaze on you, watching as you look down at your shoes; those pregnancy test burning a hole into your pocket as he kept talking.

“Talk? Talk about you randomly running off and appearing in a relationship the next week?” You asked, scoffing, your outburst taking robby off guards. “We should talk about this another time michael, i have patients and so do you. Now if i may leave!” You excused yourself and pushed past him and ran back upstairs to the nearest secluded bathroom.

Robby sighed and groaned as you ran past him, refusing to speak to him, calling him michael, it wasn’t like how he imagined it would go, rather then it sounding soft and filled with love, now it had a serious tone and nothing more.

Robby huffed into his hands as you left him in the supply closet, he couldn’t help but grow frustrated at his own actions.

As he leaned his forehead against the shelving, the supply door opened.

“Sorry to interrupted your breakdown but no one had taken a look at a dancer with a broken ankle in south 15..” Dana informed, watching as robby took a moment before nodding at her. “Yeah– yeah i’ll be there..” He sighed, running a hand over his head before walking out of the supply closet.

- - - - - - - -

“Hi there, i’m dr. robby, heard you have a broken–!” Robby stopped as he made eye contact with the three girls in the room, cursing under his breath.

Lacey sat on the patients mom’s lap, tapping away on her tablet while the mom quietly rocked lacey and herself on the plastic chair. “Broken ankle, um–how did it occur?” Robby asked, grabbing the nearest stool and sat down by the patient’s ankle.

“Dance practice…I was suppose to be our sugar plum..” The teen sighed, resting her head on gurney’s railing. Robby nodded and looked over to the ankle before nodding to himself. “Looks like you’ll be needing a cast and a replacement.” He sighed, his gaze following to lacey who had occasionally looked up from he tablet to listen.

“I told her only to do four pirouette’s for the practice...” Lacey muttered under her breath, robby hid a smiled as he typed up the order on the computer. “How many can you do?” Robby asked lacey, turning as she looked at robby before looking to the teen in the gurney. “I’m not showing you, look at what happened!” She said dramatically, patted the teen’s uninjured leg in comfort.

“A nurse should be in to set things up for the cast, then i’ll be back.” Robby smiled and went to leave the room, quickly waving to lacey before exiting.

- - - - - - - 

You paced the bathroom as the test laid face down, the timer on your phone going. As you thought of possibilities your phone rang, looking at the contact you sighed and answered.

“Yes mom?” 

“Oh perfect you answered, listen anna had a bad fall and her mother called to say that she won’t be able to be in the show and well me and marissa were going through the storage unit and happened to find your old sugar plum and it’s perfect since tomorrow evening the photographer will be here..” SHe hinted making you scoff.

“I haven’t done sugar plum since I was eighteen, nice try mom..” You sighed.

She scoffed on the other side before confessing. “Fine, when i picked lacey up, i may have snooped through your closet to have your costume resized, it should fit like a glove honey!” She reassured.

You sighed, going to open your mouth but stopping as the timer went off. “Yeah, sure mom. um–I’ll call you in bit!” You quickly hung up the phone and flipped over the test results.

All tests laid out the same result.

Negative.

lovebug taglist!! @nerdgirljen @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @snowflames-world @evans-dejong @lovebuggyies @itschelseacisneros @kmc1989 @foolishseven @rhysology @delicatetrashtree @whimsicalfungiforager @equallyshaw @qardasngan @fallout-girl219 @dantemorenatalie @18lkpeters @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @blackblueberries @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @isla-finke-blog @baileythepenguin @khaleesibeach @obfuscateyummy @li22ie2017 @hagarsays @catmomstyles3 @antisocialfiore @journalism2004 @capswife @obsessed-fan-alert @sabrinaselina55

[katethewriter]

Just For A Picture

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Words: 2.6k~

Summary: Based on the song Smile by Morgan Wallen

Warnings: grab your tissues my friends, depression, anxiety, all the sad feelings, I wrote this instead of sleeping and haven't proof read it, so there are probably many, many errors

A/N: I actually listened to the lyrics of this song for the first time, and they hurt my feelings. Jokes aside, idk if this is how he meant to write the song, but I heard it and thought, "that's exactly what it feels like to love someone with depression." The song got stuck in my head, and... well... this happened. It was actually really cathartic to write. I hope you enjoy!

When you began getting ready for the party, they were surprised... 

...pleasantly.  

Natasha and Wanda share a small smile before continuing their own prep. Wary that a larger reaction may cause you to change your mind.  

Yesterday, you had told them you would go to the party, but they weren’t sure if you would still feel the same today.  

It had been so long since you had gone out with the team.  

You’ve been able to keep up with training and missions for the most part, but everything else is just too much. Socializing, exercising, cooking, chores, bathing, eating, even getting out bed some days just seems impossible. 

The last few months being the worst you’ve had in a while.  

The team does all they can. Your girlfriends most of all. They try to take as much of the burden for you, but they know there are some parts of this they can’t take from you, no matter how much they wish they could. So, they do what they can and enjoy whatever moments they are able to share with you. 

Which is why tonight means everything to them. 

I can’t remember the last time you looked as happy as you did tonight.  

The team has the entire place to themselves.  

Carol is on Earth for a few days, and Tony had bought out the entire bar to celebrate.  

Wanda and Natasha stand with you at a table to the side of the bar. Each of you have a drink in front of you, even if you hadn’t taken a single sip of yours. 

They can tell your uncomfortable, but you’re trying.  

For them, right now, that is enough.  

“Thank you for coming out with us tonight,” Wanda wraps a careful arm around your waist. 

Natasha reaches across the table to take one of your hands in yours, “we’re so proud of you.”  

You give them a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching your eyes and bring your glass to your lips.  

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Carol asks, coming up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.  

“Just a little quieter,” you answer her with a small smile.  

The blonde steps away from the table pulling gently on your arm, “come take a picture with me?”  

You give a quick glance to your girlfriends, before allowing yourself to be pulled away. 

Your tipsy friend grabbed that bar tender, gave him her phone and pulled you over there with her.  

Carol hands her phone to the guy behind the bar and pulls you close to your side.  

You’re not particularly fond of pictures, but seeing as she is your best friend, you oblige her. You ready yourself to make your best fake smile.  

As the bartender holds up the camera, Carol whispers a joke in your ear.  

... and for the first time in a really long time, a genuine laugh bubbles up from your throat. 

He counted to three, and baby I haven’t seen that side of you in forever.  

From the table, your girlfriends watch as the two of you pose. They know you dislike photos, but they also know Carol, as your best friend, is capable of talking you into doing anything.  

They watch as the bartender counts 1...2... You smile.  

Most people would probably think nothing of it. They would see that smile and think you’re the happiest person alive. 

 But not the two of them. They know you. They know that smile. They know it's the mask you put on when that's the best you can do.  

Just before he gets to 3, Carol says something they can’t hear, then the most beautiful sound cuts through the air. 

A laugh.  

Your laugh. 

Your real laugh. 

The bartender snaps the picture and captures you smiling ear to ear. 

A smile they barely remember but still takes their breath away every time they see it.  

Natasha and Wanda relish in the sight. The concern ever present in their chests lifting, if even for a second. 

I hate it's the truth, but baby you never do when we’re alone together.  

As the night goes on, the weight on Natasha and Wanda continues to lift as you become more yourself then you’ve been in months. 

You don’t order your own meal, but you help both Wanda and Natasha finish their plates.  

You even take up Yelena’s offer to taste her mac ‘n cheese. Normally the blonde would never share with anyone, but you having any kind of appetite is more than worth it for her.  

You tell Carol about the new book series you’ve read since she was last on earth. She makes you pinky swear to let her borrow them before she has to leave again. 

You playfully debate over the correct order to watch the Star Wars movies with the guys.  

You roll your eyes when Clint and Kate let you win a game of darts. 

It takes a couple drinks, but they are eventually able to get you on the dance floor for a bit.  

When the dj slows the music down, Wanda and Natasha wrap their arms around you and sway softly to the music.  

“Are you having a good time?” Wanda asks gently. 

You nod your head with a smile. The alcohol has turned your brain a bit fuzzy. The thoughts that normally cloud your consciousness are quiet. You feel like you can relax. ... like you can breathe. It’s not weighing you down. It's not unbearable. 

 “Are there plans for tomorrow?” you ask quietly, resting your head on Natasha’s shoulder, feeling just a bit sleepy.  

“Do you want plans?” Natasha answers your question with a question of her own.  

You don’t answer verbally, only nodding. 

“Ok,” you can hear the soft smile in Wanda’s voice, “what about brunch and maybe a walk in the park?”  

“Does that sound good?” Natasha asks. 

Again, all you give them is a nod, this time with a smile to accompany. 

They share a look full of relief and hope.  

Relief that you have this break from the demons in your head.  

Hope that better times may finally be on the horizon. 

It was good to see you smile.  Girl, you know it's been a while. 

Natasha had woken first like normal. She slid out of bed, kissing both yours and Wanda’s heads without waking either of you.  

Her regular morning run seemed so much lighter today, like she had an extra pep in her step.  

She knows the culprit.  

You.  

You at the party last night. 

You agreeing to go out with them today. 

You finally coming back to them.  

This wasn’t the first depressive episode you’ve had since the three of you had been together, but it was the longest.  

They know this mental illness isn’t you.

Just a thief.

A thief that comes and takes your joy. Takes you from them for a time.  

They know this. They know all they can do is love you in every way they can, until the thief releases you again.  

They take advantage of those times. Cherish them, every second.  

When she returns to the compound, Natasha pulls out her phone. She calls your favorite brunch spot, making a reservation for three at your favorite table by the window.  

She ends the call just as she reaches the door to your shared room.  

She opens the door as wide as the smile on her face.  

She’s met with a look of despair on Wanda’s face. Her green eyes are glassy as her arm wrap around you. Your face is buried into Wanda’s chest. Your hands gripping her night shirt. Your shoulders shake tremble with the sobs you struggle to restrain.  

Natasha’s smile falters as reality sinks in.  

The thief had returned. 

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but you ain’t said one since you woke up.  

Wanda shushes you gently, rocking a bit, rubbing your back. Anything she can to bring you even the smallest bit of comfort.  

Natasha lays behind you wrapping her arm around your waist, “no spoons?” She uses the same analogy you had when you explained your depression to them the first time. 

You shake your head as a shaky breath claws its way down your throat.  

“That’s ok,” she comforts, “I’ll go steal some for you.” 

You chuckle lightly at her usual response. She knows it's not that simple. If only it were, you would never know a moment’s misery.  

But just knowing she’s here, that they're both here is enough for now. 

Silly me, thinking we could make it work, but can you blame me for getting my hopes up? 

Wanda holds back tears as she holds you together in her arms.  

The thoughts in your head are too loud for her to block out, and they tear her heart apart. The way you think about yourself.  

She’d give anything to take them from you, especially because she can. Her powers give her that ability, but it would require her crossing a line she doesn’t have permission to cross. So she won’t. 

But it take everything in her not to. Especially after last night. The glimpse. The reminder of life when you aren’t being weighed down by the demons in your head.  

When you get to be happy again.  

You know it took me right back to how it used to be. 

Wanda and Natasha step into the kitchen. They didn’t want to leave you by yourself, but you assured them you were ok. You just wanted a minute alone, and they should go eat.  

“Morning.” Steve raises his cup to say hello.  

Natasha heads for the coffee maker, while Wanda goes to the fridge gathering a few ingredients for breakfast, “good morning.”  

“Is Y/n coming down?” Yelena asks. Everyone’s eyes turn to Natasha and Wanda, hopeful. 

Neither can bring themselves to voice it. They glance to each other for a moment, before Wanda gives them a tight-lipped smile followed by a shake of her head. 

A collective sigh of disappointment settles over the group. 

There’s a sweet sadness they feel together. They all miss her. She is their family. Without her, they feel like something is missing. 

Last night, they felt complete. 

“She did really good last night,” Clint says, sending Natasha a small supportive smile.  

She nods, “she did.” 

Baby seeing us like that, is still a little bittersweet.  

“Hey, can I show you something?” Carol asks, sitting down while Wanda and Natasha began to eat their breakfast.  

The pair nod and lean in as the blonde holds her phone, “I got a few pictures last night.”  

As she flips through the pictures, tears gather in both Wanda and Natasha’s eyes.  

First is the picture of you and Carol that the bartender took. Then a selfie of you, Carol and Pepper. A group shot of several of you around a table. You aiming a dart with Clint and Kate cheering you on behind you.   

The last picture is of you, Wanda and Natasha on the dance floor during a slow dance. You’re standing in their arms. Natasha in front of you, Wanda behind. You’re laying your head on Natasha’s shoulder. Their heads are resting on yours. 

They had no idea the picture was being taken, but you did.  

You are looking right at the camera with the softest smile. 

“I can send them to you if you’d like.” 

Wanda quickly wipes away the tears that have fallen, “please.” 

If someone were to see this, they’d think everything’s alright. 

Wanda stares. She can’t stop.  

Everyone else has finished breakfast and left the kitchen. The only one with her is Natasha who is cleaning the dishes.  

Wanda stands at the counter holding her phone in her hands. The last photo from last night fills her screen.  

There’s an ache too deep for words that settles in her chest.  

The aching wish that she could keep you in that precise moment the photo was taken.  

There on the dance floor, between the two of them, with that smile.  

Completely at peace. 

No raging thoughts. No anxieties. No feelings of inadequacy. 

The longer Wanda stares the stronger the ache gets. Tears fill her eyes until she can’t keep them at bay. Her lips quiver, and her face collapses in pain. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha quickly wraps both arms around Wanda from behind, “I know, I know.” She tries to provide comfort as her girlfriends cries. 

Wanda drops her phone onto the counter and leans back into Natasha, “I just want to help her.”  

“I know.” 

They both look down to the photo.  

“I miss her.” 

Natasha holds her closer, “me too.” 

At least we got a pretty little moment frozen in time.  

They returned to the room a little while later. After they had put themselves back together well enough to be there how you needed them to be.  

They find you still in bed, curled up on your side. 

“Can I lay down with you?” Natasha asks, wanting to respect your space if you still need it, but you don’t. You just need them.  

You nod, and she curls herself behind you again.  

Wanda kneels beside the bed with a bowl in her hands, “I brought some fruit if you think you’re up for it.” 

You shake your head and just reach for her hand instead. 

She sets the bowl on the nightstand hoping for better luck later. When she lays in front of you, you curl into her chest as her fingers card through your hair.  

“I’m sorry.”  

“For not eating fruit?” Wanda questions. 

“You never have to apologize for that,” Natasha kisses your head, “we know you can’t control your appetite-” 

“No-” you interrupt, “for being like this.” They try to hush you, but you continue, “for being sad all the time, and not being able to do anything. I’m sorry you have to take care of me. I’m sorry you have to see me like this-” 

“Shhhhh, what do you mean see you like this?” Wanda takes your face into both of her hands. She brushes away your tears with her thumbs, “can I show you how we see you?”  

After a moment of looking into one another’s eyes, you nod. 

She gives you a kiss on the forehead, and suddenly you’re not in your bedroom in the compound. You’re at the bar from last night, but not in your perspective. You’re seeing through Wanda’s eyes.  

You watch as Carol drags you away for a picture you don’t want, but then you watch yourself laugh, truly laugh, and you can feel Wanda’s relief in that moment. You watch as Wanda shows you the rest of the night. You can feel the way she delights in your happiness. You watch your friends gravitate towards you. The way they look at you. The love they feel. The happiness to just have you with them.  

Then you’re on the dancefloor. The vision fades away and you’re left with Wanda’s feelings and emotions of holding you like you are the most precious thing there is left in this world. 

“We love you so much.” 

It was good to see you smile.  Girl you know its been a while.  It was good to see you smile.  

They lay in bed with you all day.  

They hold you as you doze in and out of sleep.  

You always sleep more on your worse days. 

So, they hold you.  

Praying that at least in your dreams, you get to smile again like you did last night. 

Even if it was, just for a picture. 

a/n: how did I do? I know it's been forever since I've posted anything new. Of course I come out with an angsty heavy hitter lol thank you for reading!

[anonf1writer]

“but please shut up” — ln4

summary: from the SINGLE PARENT UNIVERSE and based on THIS request, I present to you 2k words about the moment Yn first said the three words to Lando, and then told him to shut up (or something like that). reader x lando norris (use of Yn, yes) word count: 2k

NOTE¹: as a fic writer AND reader, i'm aware of the whole AI talk that's been going around. and as i was writing this, i realized how the thing that pisses me off the most about this whole thing, is how the use of dashes (—) became synonym of the use of AI. because i LOVE using dashes. i think they look beautiful and they tell things in a different way. the pause it's different. the information after one dash or between two dashes feels different. so i overuse them naturally. bc i love them. but now any time i add one, i take it back. bc i dont want to be associated with the use of AI. and the more i do it, the more it pisses me off. bc i want to be able to use my dashes. my writing might suck. i might be the worst around here. but i WANT to use my dashes. so please don't take my dashes away from me okay? ok. thank you.

NOTE²: so yeah, that being said, i went back and added a few. and that's it. <3

──────────────────

Yn and Lando had been dating for no longer than six months when the words finally slipped out of her mouth. 

It was a Saturday morning. A sunny one, to be precise. One of those rare occasions that normally meant peeling Olivia away from the TV and getting her ready for a picnic at the park, or for riding a bike, or for doing just any activity that allowed them to soak the sun as much as possible. 

On that particular Saturday morning, though, the clear sky wasn’t the only rare thing happening in London.

For starters, Yn wasn’t at her place, but at Lando’s apartment. Something that had never happened before. Not in the morning, at least. Not as a result of spending the night there. 

Then, of course, because she wasn’t at her place, there was also the fact that Olivia wasn’t there, with her. Instead, her sister had taken Olivia to Bristol so she could spend a fun weekend with her cousins. And so Yn and Lando could have some time alone. 

So, yeah, of course—things were different that morning. 

And yes, maybe she could have sensed that something else would happen, something she didn’t see coming because it also normally never happened. 

But she didn’t.

All she did was wake up wrapped in Lando’s arms, kiss him good morning, and drag herself out of bed. On her way across the bedroom, she grabbed one of his hoodies and put it on. Warm, oversized, and smelling like him. Exactly how she liked it. 

Once she made it to the kitchen, the space opened into sunlight and sleek surfaces. Fancy. Clean. Organized. Looking not even one bit like the messy home she owned. With no crayons forgotten on the table, no mermaids and unicorns in the mugs and cups and plates, no colorful drawings stuck to the fridge. And yet just as comfortable and cozy in its own Lando Norris’ way. 

It made her smile, for some reason. A smile that she kept on her face while trying to decide what to make for breakfast, and that only grew bigger when Lando finally joined her in, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder while she cracked four eggs into a small bowl. 

“Hmm, you look really nice in my kitchen,” he murmured, his morning voice sending chills down through her spine. “Wearing my clothes… Smelling like me…”

She tilted her head slightly at that, leaning into his curls as he kissed her neck and just settled there, keeping up with her movements. With the whisking of the eggs and the soft clink of the fork echoing in that quiet morning. 

Yn could tell Lando was happy with that setting, with spending the morning together after also having spent the night together. Something they couldn’t really do very often, considering she still wasn’t ready to add him into Olivia’s routine like that. Not without making sure—making fully, fully sure—that this wasn’t just a temporary thing for him. That he was staying in for good, and that he was actually willing to have a role not just in her life, but also in her daughter’s life. 

Which, to be honest, was becoming more and more easy to see as time went by. 

Like when he stepped away to grab the milk from the fridge and very casually asked, “Talked to Liv yet?”

“Not yet,” Yn said, then waited until he had splashed a bit of the milk into the small bowl to keep going. “Told my sister I’d give them a call after breakfast.” 

She sprinkled in a pinch of salt and went back to whisking, meanwhile Lando got himself busy by grabbing a pan and dropping a knob of butter into it. 

“I hope she’s having fun,” he said, distracted as he switched on the hob and placed the pan above the humming heat. “Y’know, I was thinking about what it’d be like to take her to the beach.” 

Yn paused. 

She paused and stared at the bowl in front of her. 

And Lando laughed. And the butter sizzled gently. And then the smell of it filled the space. Warm. Comforting. 

“Sandcastle chaos, for sure,” he added.

Still chuckling. 

Still nonchalant. 

As if mentioning he had been thinking about her daughter and about how it would be to spend time with her didn’t bring this funny feeling to her chest. As if it wasn’t a big deal. As if it was normal. 

Yn swallowed.

When it came to Lando, to be fair, it actually wasn’t weird. Because he did that a lot—dropping how much he cared in the most subtle, random ways. In the little things. 

But this morning, for some reason, it seemed to happen more than usual. 

He did it again, for instance, as they were sitting around the small table and having breakfast. As he was telling her about these new clothes he had bought online. Casually, randomly. Just by asking, “Purple’s her favourite, right?” 

To which Yn furrowed her brows and mumbled a simple, “huh?” 

“Liv’s.” He scraped the fork against his plate, gathering the scrambled eggs, and shrugged. “I saw these really cute tiny trainers that made me think of her.” He scooped up the food and shoved it inside his mouth. But he didn’t stop, he just chewed as he talked, muffling the words. “They were… Mmph… Puh’pul… Yeah… Puh’pul’s her fav’rite… Innit?”

 “I— Yeah. Purple’s her favourite color, yeah.”

He smiled, swallowed and nodded, all proud of himself. 

“I knew it.” He took a sip of coffee, then focused on the beans still left on his plate. “Didn’t get them though…” He shoved the fork back into his mouth. Words mumbled as he chewed again. “Didn’know’er size, so… Oh!” He swallowed and shuffled on his seat. “Shit.” He coughed, choking a little around the food that had gone down his throat. “Um… Just remembered… Did I tell you about this… About this new idea we had for the next collection? I didn’t, did I?” 

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Right. Yeah. So, listen to this…” 

And so he rambled about something else. 

And Yn listened. 

Trying to absorb as much as possible. Trying to understand. Trying to make sense. 

But then, as they were putting the dishes in the sink and talking about the next few weekends and how busy his schedule would be, he did it again. 

He brought her up again.

“I’ll try to come home as much as I can,” he said, “but y’know, if you ever want to come to a race one day, I’d love to have you there. Not just you, but Liv, too. Like, not now, of course, but later, when you’re ready. I’d like that.” 

And like a cherry on top, while Yn had her hands submerged in warm soapy water, he asked, “Hey, is it weird if I frame that little drawing Liv made the other day?”

Yn stopped.

And blinked at the plate she had in hands. 

“The one she said was for good luck?” Lando added, pacing in the kitchen. Not in a nervous way, but in that very particular excited version of him. Full of caffeine. Hair sticking up in three different directions. Hands moving along with his words. Babbling. 

Always babbling.

“Or maybe not frame it but put it on the fridge or… I don’t know… Something. Somewhere I can always see it… Y’know? Would that be weird?” 

She blinked again.

“Because I won’t if it’s weird… Don’t want to make it weird…”

Eyes still fixed on the dish in her hand, she mumbled, “Lando…” 

“I mean I don’t know what the protocol is here… I know you said you wanted to take things slow when it comes to her, and I totally get it… I mean you know way better than I do, so I trust your judgment… It’s just that she’s so great, y’know? And that drawing is so cute. It’s been back and forth with me for weeks now, but I wanted to check with you because I—”

“For the love of God!” She dropped the sponge and the plate and turned around, water dripping from her fingers as she glared at him. “Can you just—I mean… Lando I swear, I love you so much, but can you just please shut the fuck up for a moment?”

Lando stopped. 

No. Lando froze.

Mid-step. 

Not even looking at her.

Just.. Hand reaching into the cabinet. Eyes fixed ahead. Blinking to the clean tableware. 

And Yn didn’t even notice, so she just sighed. Loudly. Dropping her shoulders. Grabbing a tea towel to wipe her hands. And then trying again.

“Sorry. I don’t mean like, shut the fuck up, but just… Y’know, give me a minute to think? You’re like… Nonstop right now! Just going on and on and on about Livie and it’s just—”

“What did you say?”

Yn looked at him.

He was still facing away, still frozen on the spot.

“That you’re going on and on about—” 

“No. Not that.” He dropped his arms to his sides and turned towards her. “Before.”

Yn frowned, searching inside her head for whatever she could’ve said that made him look like that right now—pale, shocked, terrified. On the verge of freaking out.

“I don’t—”

“Love me,” Lando murmured. “You said you love me.”

“What?”

“You said,” —he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to say the words— “Lando I love you so much but can you please shut the fuck up.”

“Oh.”

“You said you love me.”

“Shit, Lan…”

She stepped forward, and he stepped backward. 

“Nuh-uh.” He raised one finger and pointed it at her. “Nope. Stay there.”

Her lips tugged up.

“Babe… C’mon.”

“You love me.”

She tilted her head. “Mhm.”

Lando dropped his arm.

Then opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

And then he looked away, dropping his posture like he had just been punched in the stomach.

“Holy shit,” he said. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—wow. Wow. Ok. Okay. Yeah. That’s—That’s just… I mean, did you—You really meant that?”

Yn laughed. 

“Lando…” She dropped the tea towel on the counter and took a step forward, a tiny one. Just to make sure she could. “Baby. Just breathe, okay? You’re sweating.”

“I’m not—” He raised his arms, checking underneath. And then he shook his head. “Maybe, who knows. That’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?” she tried, softly this time. Stepping just a bit closer.

“That you love me.”

“Mhm.” Standing in front of him, she placed her hands on his chest and nodded. “So? You’ll get used to it.”

Lando snorted and looked at her, his own hands instantly finding her waist. Almost involuntarily. As if they belonged there. As if it was the only natural reaction when having her so close to him. 

“You knew this would freak me out, didn’t you?”

He pulled her closer, and when she nodded, she also smirked at him.

“Of course I did. Been holding myself from saying it out loud for a while now.” 

He flinched at that, chin and head jerking back slightly. “Why would you ever do that?”

“Really?” She laughed and slid her hands up his chest, then up his shoulders and neck, until she was able to link her fingers through the short curls on the back of his head. “Did you see your reaction just now?”

Lando shrugged and stepped forward, slotting his feet with hers and crossing his arms around her waist. Getting rid of the little distance between them. “Just because I’m weird and freak out like this doesn’t mean that I… Y’know… That I don’t… I mean I just…”

She nodded and hunched herself forward, kissing his cheek before landing back on her feet. 

“I know. I know you do, babe. So whenever you’re ready. That’s okay.”

He sighed and leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“I’m gonna wait until you least expect it. Freak the hell out of you, too.”

Yn laughed and arched forward, barely lifting off her heels as she reached for a kiss.

Lando reacted quickly, closing his eyes and kissing her back.

And then, around his lips, she murmured, “Bring it on, babe. I dare you.” 

──────────────────

[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.”

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Dbf!Jack Abbot x F!reader

Word Count: 3361

Summary: You can’t orgasm. Doctor Abbot, your father’s best friend, is willing to fix that.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Virginity loss + first orgasm. Doctor ‘Big Dick’ Abbot. Unprotected p-in-v. Creampie, (Jack is snipped!) Fingering. Girthy unspecified age gap. Everyone is legal and consenting. Don’t come for me. Probably more but I am EXHAUSTED. No Beta.

A/N: Big dick energy so enormous he still has 2 legs. Happy fat cock Friday!

Look at him. Feel him. It was Doctor’s orders, after all. 

His shirt was already thrown somewhere onto his bedroom floor, probably halfway under the bed by now. His belt unbuckled, fly unzipped, the elastic of his briefs peeking through. You had already sealed your fate for the night, you both did the second you found each other tumbling into his bed. Heat settled low in your tummy, pawing his biceps in an awe of the size. To put it lightly, you were fucked. 

Or, you were about to be. 

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. You had begun the night with a confession, the classic: ‘Y’know, I never–’ to which, he was quick to shush you with an ‘I know.’ and a thumb to your lips. Your virginity wasn’t the half of it. 

That being said, as soon as you had thrown the–‘No, I never… Orgasmed.’–at him, he paused, stuttered, even. But his mouth was soon to return to yours. Heavy hands squeezing into your waist as he pressed you close. He reassured, he’d teach you. 

You had the utmost amount of faith that if anyone could make you cum, it’d be Jack.

He’d palm himself over his jeans, craning his head backwards–left, right, popping it side to side against his broad shoulders. He’d notice your legs spreading, beckoning him in as you perched on the edge of his bed. He tsked, not going out of his way to be a dick, he was doing everything in his power to avoid rushing. 

He’d make you feel everything but his cock at first. 

“Put your hands on me. Chest– stomach, anywhere.” 

His hands reached for your wrists, guiding them up to his warm skin. Your hands draped lightly over his strong chest, then, upwards to cradle his neck. Your fingers would just barely brush against the ends of his silver curls. He nodded in approval. 

“Mhm. Now my face.” He’d direct. Quickly, you obliged. 

Now is when your fingers developed a very gentle tremble, your thumbs brushed against his stubble-pricked cheeks. Really, you should be grateful he was doing this for you, conducting you, risking blue balls for you– because fuck, he was straining. Your eyes would often shift down every time he’d pat himself through the denim of his jeans, giving himself friction in rations. 

You’d take a slow, deep breath. “I’ve been soaked ever since you kissed me. You realize that, right?” 

“I don’t doubt it for a second, baby.” He paused for a moment, eyes never leaving yours. 

“That plays a big part in it, of course. But, sweetie, I don’t want you to be just wet…Need you to feel everything.” 

His voice was so soft, so sincere. Your fingers trickled down his skin until you were past his pecs, tracing over the thick of his belly. His skin was warm, satisfyingly dewy. You puddled at the sight, eyes tracing every perfect–imperfection, an oxymoron that only made sense while staring at him. Your face slowly leaned forward, placing a kiss upon his ribs. Then, mirroring the affection to the opposite side. 

You felt the familiar, gentle grip against your wrist once again, he guided it low, your soft digits ghosting beneath his navel, down… down… Until the heel of your palm brushed against the elastic band of his boxers. 

“Careful,” He shuddered beneath his breath, carefully reminding you. “Don’t go too quick. Guide him out slowly.”

With all the warnings he was giving you, you were almost fearing that there was a monster beneath that shield of grey cotton– well, both, metaphorically or, literally. Either a big cock or something that’ll bite off a finger. You were opting for option number one. Pretty please?

You curled both your middle and index and tugged down slowly, as he recommended. Your left hand hovered over his hip. The silence was loud, tension too fucking palbable in the atmosphere of his room. You dipped your hand underneath the hem, finding his warm, thick shaft, wrapping your palm around it. 

Option one. Definitely. 

Giving it a careful squeeze that coaxed a moan from deep within his throat. He gulped, and the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes squeezing shut as he gave it his all to hold himself steady, sure was one you’d miss.

You tugged upwards, bringing his cock out to the open air of the room. You breathed through your nose and tried not to overthink, he was swollen, fully erect and standing tall against his tummy as soon as you had let go. Your gaze traced every inch, vein, brows pinching as you were seemingly trying to calculate his size to the one of your untouched, sopping entrance. 

Before you could stammer in protest, his large hands were quick to return to your skin, lunging you forwards onto your feet. Nearly falling back onto his mattress before he slid a palm up your thigh, hiking it over his hip in order for him to yank you up against him. His front pressing flush against yours. On instinct your legs tangled around his hips, locking tight so you wouldn’t fall. 

Hot breaths puffed from his parted lips right against the shell of your ear, his palm cupping against your lower back as a thumb flicked against the clasp of your pink, lace bra. It’d be too embarrassing to admit you wore it just for him, but, both he and you knew, you most definitely did. 

“Let’s see these pretty girls, Baby.” He murmured, pressing his lip to the side of your jaw. 

Pathetically, with the fall of your bra to the floor, you squished tighter against his form. He took note of how you clung to him, tracing his middle finger down your spine. 

“Sweetheart, please?” 

Jack could feel the exhale you took against his shoulder, finally letting yourself lean back, just enough to bare your breasts to him. It was an action that wasn’t taken lightly by him. He’d breathe a low ‘fuck’ as his fingers itched to touch them. His eyes blinked back up to yours, awaiting approval. 

And once he got the nod, he wouldn’t waste a second. 

His hand quickly twitched forward, weighing a tit in his palm before giving it a generous, solid squeeze. Letting up for a second to brush a thumb against your nipple, watching it swell due to the stimulation. 

“Do you have…any fucking idea how sexy these are?” He growled into your neck, and all you did was shake your head and swallow. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You moaned just as your voice faded off, his nail teasing the tip of your nipple. 

And at that, the faintest, most miniscule smirk crossed his features, tracing his lips across your collarbone, breath fanning warmly against your skin. Slowly, he began pressing hot, wet kisses down. 

“Prettiest,” He began, voice low. “I’ve ever fucking seen, Sweetness.” 

His thumb pressed inward, deep into the bottom of your breast. His tongue poked out, wetting his lips before he ducked his head down, latching his mouth to the cusp of your boob. He moaned into the flesh, feeding sloppily as his tongue frenched your erect nipple. 

Your hands desperately searched for something to ground yourself, placing your palms flat against his broad chest. Moaning and wiggling yourself in his grasp. 

“Ah– fuck!” Your legs only lugged higher, to his waist. He was observing you closely, mapping out what touches made you whine, what made your fingers dig tighter into his skin.

You heard a grunt, then a clank as his belt hit the ground. A thud, that followed with his jeans. For now, he wouldn’t bother himself with his leg. For now, all that mattered was getting you comfortable, tucked into his sheets and pillows before he nestled his cock deep within you. And fuck, now the crave of that was turning into a hurt. It wouldn’t be too long now. 

He slowly strode his way over to his bed, kneeling onto it as best he could without too much discomfort– or, the risk of his sheet getting caught in the nooks of his prosthetic. Neither was particularly ideal. He laid you back against his pillows, clad with plain, grey pillowcases. Lowering himself down before he fitted his body comfortably against yours. Pressing you deeper into the plushness of the tempur-pedic– he had bad joints, alright? 

His mouth slotted onto yours, kissing with the deep, heated passion he had given in his kiss earlier. He greedily rubbed his cock against your thigh, spitting a thick glob of saliva into his palm, dipping his hand down to clasp around himself. Sliding his fist up and down in long, languid strokes up the length. He groaned. 

“Fuck– Daddy’s gonna check how wet this pretty little pussy is, alright?” 

Extremely. 

Flooded, even.

It didn’t take much, a gentle, hollowed palm to your mound with barely any pressure, and your cunt pulsed deep. Your hips bucked pathetically against Abbot’s hand. 

“Hurry–” You gritted, teeth clenching as every–smallest–ounce of friction you received had your body stirring. 

He curled an index around the hem of your undies–that he presumed were from the same set as the cute, flowery-laced bra you had on just moments ago. Now a fixture on his carpeted floor. He slid them all the way down to your ankle before he finally threw them off. Not with much care, little-to-none coordination. He’d find them in the morning. Buy you a brand new pair if they god forbid, got lost under the bottomless pit he could only assume was under his bed frame. 

He knew he was going painstakingly slow. The moment he heard that you had never even cum before, he knew how slow he’d be. Take his time, touching, feeling, making sure every nerve beneath your skin knows what his fingertips felt like. He also knew how bodies worked. He knew the longer he spent poking and prodding, the wetter and warmer you’d be for him. 

“Jack–” You whined, hips arching upwards. ”I need you.” 

With that, Jack��s fingers finally spread your folds apart, the mess of arousal leaking from you glistened beneath the warm lighting in his room. You’d think you were already ready to blow, just from the feather light touches of his digits. 

He took his time, pressing his fingers against the ring of your entrance, gathering up all that slick, dragging it upwards to your clit, glazing over every inch of you. He paused for a moment, considering what he was about to do.

“When you touch yourself,” He pressed his pointer right against that bud. “Do you touch here?”

You nod, so fucking quickly. Yelping out a fast, breathless, ‘Yes!’ as he toyed with the sensitivity of the pearl. Pretty girl, already out of her hood. 

“How?” He questioned, his finger slowly beginning to slide in circles. 

“U–up and down…” You shuddered, “Sometimes circles.” 

“Shit. And she just doesn’t give, hm?” 

You shook your head twice more, breath hitching as he let on more pressure to his slow massaging. Your thighs twitched. Eyes wide orbs as you just– stared, refusing to let up your sharp gaze. You wanted to get fucked. 

Before you could shrill in protest of his incessant foreplay, you felt something broad and warm prod at your cunt. Then, stretching.  

Without a vocal warning, his cockhead was slowly pushing in. Your lips parted in an attempt to protest but the feeling of your hole expanding to hopefully sheathe his dick in safely made you shrill. Head bumping backwards into the pillow that was cradling your head. 

A moan died in your throat the moment his head pressed in halfway. It was only the beginning, and it had already begun to feel endless. 

“Too– too big…” You choked out. 

As cliché as it was, during the moment in play it was more than the truth. Jack would grunt as he squeezed himself with the hand he had been using to guide himself in. His head drooping down, sweat beaded on his brow, just from this. 

“It’s alright.” He sighed. Soft. 

He slid in just a smidge more in hopes to get at least his head in. When you let out another whimper, wiggling your hips against the sheets, he paused. 

“Just breathe,” Seemingly, he was stating the obvious. Watching that cunt opening up wider around him, forming a tight ‘o’ around his shaft. He stroked your side tenderly with his free hand.  

“Your pretty pussy was made to adapt, to stretch. C’mon, baby, you can take him. Open up for me.”

It was like ripping a bandaid off. You had done it with your own fingers, to no avail, of course. Though, this was more intense, at the very least–the biggest fucking understatement of your life. This was Jack splitting open your sweet, young cunt over his cock. 

But, just like that, he had ‘ripped the bandaid off.’ His bulbous tip popping through your hole with a wet, sickening squelch. You seized once he was in, body stiffening soon before relaxing again as he, slowly, slid the rest in. It was all so wet, your walls sodden as they fluttered around him. 

“See? You’re so wet– like a fucking dream, Sweetheart.” He muttered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It was all disgustingly sweet. 

Whilst, his cock was disgustingly thick. 

Jack retreated once, before plunging himself back in again. His precum mixing with all the fluids leaking from your poor, crying cunt. Desperate for more, all so needy for his cock. He’d be lying if he said all of this wasn’t inflating his ego, just the tiniest amount. 

His hips began rocking back and forth in slow, measured thrusts. Staying fairly shallow, careful not to hit your cervix– hardly even graze it. Focusing solely those soft spots that he knew would only have you weeping more than you already were. 

His nose brushed against yours, kindly reminding you of how close you were to each other. He saw your brows furrow, and quickly he had captured your mouth between his. Sliding his tongue past your lips before the moan could climax out from your throat. Apartment. Thin walls. 

His cock ticked with a pulse against the side of your walls, his head punching against the ribbed, spongy spot that was going towards your tummy. You felt it– low in your pelvis, simmering, pinching at your guts. Jack pulled back.

Only because he could feel it too. 

You had both been panting in a staccato rhythm. Breaths mingling in the air, between each other. Then, something all-too odd happened, completely unfamiliar to you. Your heart began pumping. Faster, harder. Hammering against your ribcage so quickly it nearly led you to tap against Jack’s shoulder and ask him to get out his stethoscope to make sure you weren’t having a heart attack just from his dick. In any other circumstance you’d find yourself laughing at the thought– but with how you were feeling right now, it didn’t seem like the most far fetched thing.  

Matter of fact, going off the way you felt and only that, it seemed pretty fucking likely.

Now, worse, you were squirming. Involuntarily. And that– that heat, only grew to about 10x the size throughout your lower abdomen. Abbot’s voice only threw your train of thought for a loop.

“That’s it. Good girl– gonna cum for me?” 

Fucking– huh?

Jack thumbed some sweat away from your forehead, brushing your hair back behind your ear, while, at the same time, rutting his hips into yours to drive his cock deep. Hitting your G-spot more insistently. Slowly, you were running more and more brainless with every passing second. 

“Feel you clenching around me, Baby,” He grunts. “That’s it, let her go.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Your bottom lip trembled as his head nicked your cervix, softly. Hardly even a graze, but it made your legs shoot outwards out in front of you. A numbing, novocaine filled out your legs, pumping deep beneath your skin and bones. You whined, only making him force his forehead against yours, pushing your head down into the pillow behind you with the pressure. 

There was a pinch, then another, each one seemingly punctuated by firmly placed kisses against the side of your jaw, neck. His cock stilled, filling you deep, buried to the hilt. He was so proud of you, taking him so well like this. Proud of your cunt for accepting him like this, accepting being stuffed like this– fuck.

There was a slow, but deep, trickling warmth that ran through you. Every thrust inflicts more of that overwhelmingly, tightly drawn pleasure. You wound your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Just one more, one fucking more and–

Suddenly, a loud, broken wail had left your slacked mouth. Cunt clenching around his member, again and again, squeezing. All of this was like your body had gone completely rogue, wringing him in tight in rippling pulses. You’d stuff your face into his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body, the perspiration left against his skin. Trembling hard, unable to hold back any unorthodox cries spewing from your lips. 

Your body twitched with tremors. Body folding in on itself around the hot, wet ache of your orgasm. Pleasure tapped into your spine. Weakly, your fingers trembled as they swiped through the damp, greying curls atop of his head. You were unable to keep track of the amount of times you had moaned ‘Yes, daddy!’ at that moment. You could guesstimate around twenty. 

With the constant flinch of your muscles spasming around him, he couldn’t last. 

He drove himself deep one last time, holding his wide, thick head right against your tender cervix, before a flood of white, sticky, heavy seed spilled into you. If he had never got that vasectomy a couple years back, he’d be praying to any god out there that this wouldn’t stick. 

His cock twitched, continuously sputtering out thick ropes of cum, your walls soaking up every last drop of his spend. His brain was mush, body boneless for a minute. A long minute. 

Once his breath was caught–just barely–he lifted a hand up to stroke your cheek, instinctively, you leaned into the soft touch. It felt so loving, tender. If he wasn’t your father’s best friend, meant to be only that, you’d think it meant something real. 

Though, the deal to make this a one night occurrence had already been dealt. 

You laid back against the feathery softness of his pillows once he pulled out of you. Your breathing had slowed, just barely calmed after you took a second to reflect. Gaze up at his ceiling, hypnotized by the quick spinning of the fan. The moment felt domesticated. 

Forbiddenly domesticated.

All while you were all skin, no bones against his blankets, Jack was somewhere between your legs, examining the sight of his thick, weighty cum spilling out of your hole. Then, a thought struck him at the sight of your cunt, still fluttering, still stretched without the fill of him. But, before she could fully return to size–

His middle finger would glide in. 

“Jack–” You moan, taken out of the state of euphorics and suddenly back to reality. 

Though, the hitched breath quickly turned into a giggle at the feeling of his finger stroking your tender walls. Just the slightest bit more sensitive– particularly, ticklish. 

Jack, in the career path he had chosen, was experienced in his professionalism. If anything, he knew too many things about human anatomy. As he mentioned earlier, you were built to stretch, adapt. Fucking made for it. That being said, the sight of his spend trickling out of you, syrupy and slow, made him only curious to test the limits of your pretty, little pussy. 

He worked a second finger in, slowly, his ring. You felt his wedding band press against your skin–long story, one that he assured that you didn’t want to know. 

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your breast, then your nipple. “Did I end up teaching you… Anything at all tonight? Or was all that just for fun?”

There was a beat between his words and yours, your lips pursing before responding with the honest truth:

“I learned that I don’t wanna do it alone anymore.”

‘It’ being, trying to get yourself cum, alone. Which, usually translated to— sitting in bed with fingers shoved in your cunt, unmoving, virtually not even trying as you toss and turn, just ending up frustrated in the end. Jack nodded, pressing a firm kiss against your sternum.

His finger pumped an inch deeper into your cunt.

“You’re gonna have to,” He chided. “I work nights, sleep days. You’re gonna have to live without my cock, Sweetheart.”

You pouted, brooding like a small child. You could acknowledge you were being stubborn— dare I suggest, bratty. But by god, you’d fucking miss it.

And you’re gonna miss him once tonight is over.

[cryptidcasanova]

Charcoal Smudges

Robert "Bob" Reynolds/The Void x Reader

Summary: Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved. 

Warnings: Angst, cannon level violence, mutual pining. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

Words: 5k

I've been foaming at the mouth. Someone sedate me.

The Watchtower was spacious. It was a beacon of hope where the Avengers once stood. But you felt you were drowning.

The missions weren’t going as smoothly as the team had hoped. When it came to news headlines, everybody was catching strays. Everyone was a critic.

Bob may have had a point all along. It did feel like a void.

Your myriad of thoughts was dark, expansive, and all-consuming. You were helping people, sure, but you were tired…not that you would tell anyone. You didn’t push it down the same way Yelena did, nor did you have wild outbursts like John.

But on difficult nights, you would pull out an old tobacco tin from under your bed. Your dad used to make the prettiest charcoal pictures. But you took time to try and recreate his old drawings from memory, and it kept the demons at bay. Sometimes, you kept at it until your eyes burned, until you were slumped over the old sketchbook.

You weren’t any good at it. The lines were too dark, and the pictures were smudged in the wrong places. But you kept trying. The cleaner your hands, the better the day. But some nights were real bad, and the charcoal would dig into your fingerprints and smear across your cheek. What you were trying to scrub away, you wouldn’t name.

On those nights, you could swear the shadows in your room were darker.

You made an effort to participate with the group. You joined in on late-night movies where Alexi was bound to burn the popcorn. You guided Ava through technical documents, relaying the best ways to bypass encrypted files and store copies of data without the risk of frying the system. Even Bob, who was careful and reserved, offered to help pick up the latest take-out order. You would be a monster not to accept his help.

Even with Valentina keeping the group in the spotlight, you preferred the old Buick for late-night errands. You had a hard time breaking out of keeping a low profile. Bob was still skittish. His memory teeter-tottered on a knife’s edge, and even in those uncertain times, you could rely on the careful smiles and quiet observations. Bob was sincere. He was kind.

“Drawing anything good?” he whispered from the passenger seat.

Bob’s eyes flitted to your hands before settling on the old tape player. You took a moment to look at your hand on the steering wheel as you peeled through a green light. You hadn’t had the time to think about washing up before your late-night run. A sad smile stole at your lips.

“I don’t remember,” you offered just as quietly.

And truly, you didn’t. Overwhelmed with the week as a whole, you were blindly drawing lines and sketching in dark spaces. Everyone had their nightmares. Everyone had their battles, and you tried to relax your shoulders. Little drawings couldn’t harm you. You shrugged as you pulled up to the curb.

“Just feeling it out. Maybe one day I’ll have a masterpiece to show you.”

“Oh. R-right, yeah,” Bob muttered.

But you missed the hint of something in his eye as he turned away, his hands tugging at the lap belt. And you missed it again while you handed him the box of fried rice, your fingers brushing against his.

It was a bad night. You remembered dozing off while laying on your belly and drawing on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the midnight snacks and fucked up sleep schedule gave you bad dreams.

Well, not bad dreams. Just one. One dream that made your insides ache. You were lost and in the dark, the pitch black cocooning you. There was no place for light or peace; all you had were your lonely thoughts. You could reach out and touch, but there was nothing there. Your hands were shaking as you clasped them together. There was no point in walking around, no point in calling out. You were alone. Helpless.

Maybe you were meant to be. That thought stayed with you.

You were enveloped in the darkness, fatigue tugging at you even in your dreams. And then, right when you were on the cusp of oblivion, you heard the rustling of fabric.

It was in your head. You were finally losing it. You were all alone-

Until the weight of a cloak dropped around your shoulders.

An empty feeling lingered for days.

Bad guys were busted, justice was served, and you were on autopilot. You offered to hang back on the next mission and thought it would be the perfect time for redecorating. Something to distract yourself.

“You mean, like painting?” Bob asked, stopping his pacing in the kitchen. He had been looking for a box of Wheaties you knew John threw out the night before. “We…we can do that?”

The owlish tilt of his head caught your attention. Your nose scrunched with mild amusement. You had been noticing those little mannerisms of his more and more.

“Hmm?” You hummed, the hint of a question in your tone. “Well, it’s not like anyone can stop us.”

Bob stood there for a moment, almost mumbling under his breath. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

And a lightbulb flashed.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a flicker of color in his cheeks. “Oh, uh, you don’t have to. I mean -”

But your growing smile and unwavering gaze pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Bob finally pushed his hair back, taking a steadying breath.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And that’s how you two ended up comparing paint swatches at the hardware store. Shoulder to shoulder, you debated the fundamental differences between cream and eggshell.

You noticed how Bob kept gravitating to a stormy blue. Funny. It was akin to how his eyes looked after long days of staring out the Watchtower. Not that you had noticed.

But you could see anxiety rippling through him as he looked at the tape, different primers, and finishes on the paint. You could see the compounding impact it had on him in real-time.

“I thought it’d be easier,” he whispered with a frown. “It’s - it’s too much.”

You stepped forward, letting your paint swatches scatter to the ground.

“Hey,” you urged, reaching for his shoulder. “We can just pick a color.” Bob’s shoulders were rounded in, and his head dropped slightly. He was warm, probably warmer still with a sweatshirt on. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

And his eyes danced from one of yours to the other. Oh. And the storm in his eyes was uncanny.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” He repeated at last.

You hummed out a sigh of relief.

“In fact,” you urged, “I hope it’s not perfect. Then we can come back here and try again. It’ll be fun.” You shrugged. Bob thought about it, debating with a question long enough for you to notice his fingers twitching.

“You want to come back here?” he thought. “With me?”

His eyes drifted down to the toothy smile you offered. His look was like you had unlocked some secret treasure. You didn’t hesitate to seize the moment.

“Who else would I invite? Alexi has no taste. He’s been wearing the same red suit for decades.”

Bob huffed out a hint of a laugh at that. You almost forgot about the aching, empty feeling in your chest. A moment of quiet passed between you, glancing down at the stack of swatches covering the ground and the disgruntled sales associate walking your way.

“You good?” You thought to ask.

Your hand was warm-no, he was warm. Noticing you were still holding to him, you let your hand slip down his arm before letting go. You cleared your throat. He watched the movement before taking his own tentative step back.

“Yeah,” he assured. There was a hint of color in his cheeks. “All good.”

Blue paint was speckled all over your clothes. It was on your arms. Hell, it was probably in your hair. And in the quiet, you listened to an album that Bob put on while pushing all his furniture to the middle of the room. It was a trainwreck, an absolute disaster. You should have had supervision. And you were having the best time.

And you two painted in silence, listening to the rock tunes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at some point, but you waved it off.

“I don’t mind,” you hummed, pulling a rogue paint bristle off the wall. “I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.”

And Bob didn’t quite know how to show his appreciation. In his head, it was loud enough already.

That night, you didn’t have to reach for the sticks of charcoal under the bed. There were no demons to keep at bay. Your paint cans lie abandoned in a pile next to the door, with an unspoken promise behind who would help you paint your room.

It was inevitable that your light-night thoughts drifted back to careful eyes and brown curls.

The dream came back.

Dread didn’t tug at the corners of your mind this time. Shame didn’t grab root and drag you into despair. But the darkness was welcome, a quiet, constant companion. This time, you didn’t fear what you couldn’t see. You stood, feet on solid ground, and started walking around in the vast bleakness. At first, your strides were careful. You didn’t know what you would run into. But there was nothing. In the dark, there was nothing. There was nothing to fear.

Silent steps turned brave. Brave strides turned to running, wanting to feel the burn in your lungs. And you ran until - until you couldn’t touch the floor anymore. That, too, was gone, and walking was meaningless. There was no point, no need to waste your stamina.

Were your eyes open? Closed? Did it matter?

You were suspended in nothing. You were nothing.

And…and it was okay. It was alright. There was a tugging feeling even, and you reached out, not expecting something to reach back.

But something did. Fingers entwining with your own, grasping firmly but not too tight. Your eyes searching, but not seeing. And finally, the fall of a breath. Low, quiet even in the dark. Golden eyes peering back at you.

You woke up with your face pressed against the page of the sketchbook. A piece of charcoal was loose in your grasp, your hand darkened with markings. And you felt…well, you felt like you were missing something.

The rasp of a soft knock at your door stole your attention. After a moment, you pulled yourself up, shuffling to the door with a yawn.

“H-hey.” Bob smiled as the door swung open. And a curious expression lingered on his face as he took you in. “Did you just get up?”

“Good morning,” you replied, a sleepy grin on your cheeks. He noted it, his lazy grin threatening to reel you in.

“I was gonna see if you wanted lunch. I making sandwiches. Didn’t know if you like bologna. Uh. Do you?”

You pulled the door open wider, leaning against the frame. Bob’s eyes moved away from you, tilting his head into view of your room.

“I don’t know the last time I’ve had bologna.” You thought, rubbing your eyes. Was it already lunchtime? You couldn’t remember the last time you slept in so late. It felt like you had been hit by a truck.

“Oh, it’s awful,” Bob warned, but it was with a smile. Charming. He was charming. “But I grew up with it, so it’s something of a comfort food…And I might have already made you one.” He admitted, sheepishly pulling one hand through his hair. The other, which had been cleverly hidden behind his back, pulled forward a plate with two sandwiches. “B-but I can come back later, you know. So it’s no big -”

“I’d love one.”

It was quick, more to yourself than to him, but he heard it all the same.

You were more embarrassed to think it was because Bob liked it. He liked it, and he thought of you while making it. Was it getting warm in here? Clearing your throat, you pulled back.

“Come on in,” you offered. “I’ll clean this up,” you put your palms up to show off the crime scene before pointing your thumb toward the bathroom. “And I’ll be right out.”

You stepped away and closer to the bathroom before you could embarrass yourself further. No, no. You were fine. Everything was fine.

But everything was not fine.

Because you couldn’t see the delicate way Bob stepped into your room, his heart fluttering. You didn’t see his hands clench up or watch his eyes scan over the open sketchbook on your bed. And you didn’t see the dark reflection staring back at him, practically jumping off the page. The subtle glow of gold in his eyes wasn’t so subtle now. Something was happening.

And Bob was…well, Bob did what he did best. He panicked.

He was long gone when you turned off the sink and left the bathroom. You let the towel in your hands drop. The only things that remained were the untouched sandwiches and a sketch smeared into nothing.

Little did you know it was the start of something much bigger.

Bob avoided you. Like the plague. He kept to himself and his books. He was talking to himself again.

He ignored you until the others returned, basking in their loud, abrasive attitudes. The ache in your belly only grew as you watched him walk by you, skirting around you while you tried to say hi.

Did you have the heart to confront him? Had you done something wrong?

“Give him time,” Yelena offered one night. “He is like a wet cat now. No use trying to capture him.”

Not that it made you feel any better.

It didn’t help that you knew that everyone else knew. How could they not with your rag-tag bunch? And no one felt qualified enough to intervene.

Bob…he didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t know what to do. He hung around Ava and John more, handling their snarky digs and half-assed attempts at including him because it was easier than admitting he felt something he shouldn’t. He felt something he couldn’t afford.

And you were the collateral damage.

He didn’t mean for it to cause you to throw yourself back into your work. And he didn’t mean for it to get you captured.

“Bob?” Yelena yelled, bursting into his room in the middle of the night. He jumped from a dead sleep, foggy as he came to. “Bob!”

“What’s - is there a fire?” He mumbled with those doe eyes.

Why else would she be so alarmed? He could hear the commotion outside his room, hear the shuffling of gear. What time was it?

“No fire. There’s no fire.” Yelena shushed him, but he was more distraught by the different voices talking over each other in the hall. Something was thrown. “Here, shush. Listen -” She persisted, pulling herself over to him to keep him calm.

But it was too late. Bob heard your name among the ruckus. Your recon mission with Ava fell apart; Ava was the only one who checked in. Something about being outnumbered. Something about being all alone. And that’s all he could hear.

You were all alone.

And he pulled himself up, only for Yelena to push him back down again.

“Hey, hey,” she snapped. “It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna find her.” Her voice was softer.

But Bob knew a lie when he heard one.

“W-where?” He panicked. Adrenaline spiked, his blood turning to ice. “Where are they?”

“What?” Yelena asked harshly.

“Where?”

“The check-in was somewhere outside Vegas-” And her words fell short, not realizing the change in his cadence.

His eyes were...well, she wasn’t looking at Bob anymore. And in a blink, she wasn’t looking at anything anymore.

And all that was left behind was the imprint of a shadow fading into the sheets.

You didn’t think twice about pushing Ghost outside when the sirens went off. Her powers would be useless if she got too close to the noise. But it meant she was locked outside the gated campus, and you were locked inside.

You could still hear the sirens as the door closed in front of you. But Ava had the data, and dammit, you were proud that she was able to collapse their network from the inside. She really was listening to your advice.

The smuggler’s den was crude, but they were tough.  They brought in all kinds of military-grade equipment and gear from outside the states. And you could hear footsteps closing in.

You were locked in. Trapped.

Time to get going.  Leveling your gun, you scoured the hallway for another exit strategy. There were so many rooms, a puzzle of pathways and ventilation tunnels if you could just -

“We’ll smoke her out.”

“No, we need her alive. Get the lights.”

No. Shit -  you took to the closest room when the building went dark. You bashed your thigh against a table and stopped. There were no emergency lights overhead and no red exit signs. This place was definitely not up to code.

But it was familiar to you in its way.

In the dark, you had found bitter solitude and unspeakable fear. You had felt an overwhelming peace and notion of comfort. It was calming, like the strokes of charcoal against the page. Filling in the empty space with shadows.

But now, all you felt was anger. This was different. The darkness was an adversary, and you could hear the clunk of footsteps coming down the hall. In the dark, you were trapped like a mouse in a cage, waiting for the cat - heavily armed smugglers - to strike you down.

Cowards.

You were out in the open. Feeling around blindly, you scowled at the obstacles. Chairs lined a long table, and there were cabinets against the walls. Nothing big enough to climb in. Nowhere to hide. But you kept searching, feeling around. And when you felt another door at your back, you turned the handle before hearing voices at the other end of the room.

“We have a visual -”

And stumbling through the door, you made a blind run for it. And you were frustrated, bashing into more chairs and tripping over your feet.

When footsteps rushed in, you blindly shot out in the direction of the noise before more shots echoed through the room. And your heart ached. You couldn’t go down without a fight, not now. Not against some brutes with shipping data. Not after everything you had done.

Not when this was your idea - when you needed to get as far away from the Watchtower as possible.

Not when - a renegade shot struck your shoulder, reeling you back. You were frantic, emptying your gun into the dark. The bastards.

But even with your aim and your anger, the thugs could see with their night vision goggles. And you couldn’t. You heard it over the roar of your own breathing; one man got too close. You lunged on instinct, rolling around and landing a punch to his throat, feral for escape, before being pulled off.

“No!” One man commanded. “Alive - we need her alive.”

But the man you hit was angry. In a cowardly display, the man charged, coughing and staggering, landing a hit to your stomach. You struggled for breath, clawing back and fighting for footing.

“Alive!” The other man ordered.

There were too many of them. There were too many of them, and a fear bubbled up your throat.

This was your idea. It was your idea to throw yourself into the mission and distract yourself from...Well, there was no use in denying it now.

Your belly ached. Your heart was in ribbons. You did this to try to forget how desperately you missed Bob. You missed the scrunch of his nose and the meticulous way he ate popcorn one kernel at a time. You missed his bad jokes and the clumsy way he filled the dishwasher. You missed the smell of his mahogany shampoo and the underlying ozone that wouldn’t wash away.

Goddammit.

You couldn’t die down here.

But your spiraling thoughts had to come to a messy halt. In this case, it was in the form of the building shaking all around you, like it had been struck by a meteor shower. The men called out with fright, then screamed.

You knew this part. The lights would come on, and Ava would come barreling in at any moment. So you waited. And waited.

But it never came. The screams stopped mid-breath. The handprints digging into your arms were gone in a flash. The heavy breaths and stomping steps disappeared. Perking up with a groan, you dragged your feet forward. What was this?

And then déjà vu jolted through you.

You were dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe been knocked out cold.

You were in the dark, but you weren’t alone.

“Where are you?” You called out bravely, squaring your shoulders. You knew what was lurking in the shadows. “Show yourself!”

But the emptiness stretched on. You stepped around in a circle. Your feet were still firmly planted on the ground. This was your dream. This was your attachment latching into the hooks of your subconscious. You were losing it.

“You’re reckless.”

It was a simple observation. One you dared laugh at.

“Reckless,” you mirrored with a snicker. “Hopeless. Delusional. Desperate. Isn't that why you're here? Isn't that what you feed on?”

Listing off your inner thoughts, feelings you wouldn’t admit when awake. You were comfortable, too comfortable. Engaging now wouldn’t make any difference.

“No.” It was a warning. “I feel it.”

The slow timber of words carried a weight all their own. Each syllable was intentional, pronounced. But feel it? Feel what? You turned in the dark.

“I’m not naïve to what he feels.” But this wasn’t Bob. It was the other closing in.

“Oh, Robert. He has hero dreams. Dreams of pushing me away. Thinking you could forget about me.”

His words were tormenting, chastising his counterpart.

In your dreams, this monster never spoke to you. You were used to quiet, lingering touches. You were used to watching from the rafters. And then there was a firm pause. Your fingers flexed. The reverberations of his words in your head were heavy.

“He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.” he continued.

He was riling you up, and the proximity was not lost on you.

“Your shame is harrowing. Ongoing. Buried, deep in your subconscious.” The swish of fabric behind you was intentional. He was urging you to tilt your head. He was close now, hovering right over your shoulder. And then a whisper. “It’s precious. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Goosebumps littered up your arms.

No.

“You do.” He coaxed.

No.

“You know. You already know why I can’t leave,” and feeling hot under the collar, uncomfortable at the bluntness, you gave in. Tilting your chin up, two pinpricks stared back. Unblinking. Unfazed.

He was frightening.

“You care for him,” he pressed. You couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. “All of him. And that means you care for -”

“Void.” Your call was a warning.

Raising your hand defensively, you turned to face him head-on. And where your hand should have caught nothing but air, it rested against the hard expanse of his abdomen. You took a sobering breath. It was too close, too human.

He closed his eyes briefly, satisfied, before finding yours again. There was no heartbeat. But there was a flex of movement, of his silhouette under your fingertips.

“And why wouldn’t you?” He tormented. “When my name is so sweet from your lips. You're reckless," he reminded. "You care.”

And shame zipped up your spine. That was it; he was your shame.

“You hurt him.” You deflected, thinking of Bob.

“We hurt each other.” Void acknowledged carefully, head tilting ever so slightly. Then, shifting closer, added, “But I am not the one who left you.”

And it felt like another jab. You were waiting for the pin to drop, for you to wake up from this dream. There was no other explanation for it. It wasn’t real.

You pulled your hand back, embarrassed and nervous, only to be stopped as his grip clasped over yours. He wasn’t warm, not like Bob. He wasn’t cold, like the ice in your veins. Your eyes looked where you could imagine his hands were before letting them drift up.

Gold light peered back. Where a face should be. Too human. And your free hand carefully reached up, grasping where you could imagine the curve of a jaw. Your breath caught in your throat when you found it. The touch was grounding.

“And he is not the one who found you.”

Silence.

“Then why are you here?” You challenged, prodding for an answer. “You could have left me in the dark.”

Pinhole eyes narrowed.

“You called for me. Not him,” The admission held a heavy weight. “You called. For me.”

Your cheeks were warm. He spoke it like it was a siren's call. And it was dangerous.

“You care.” You realized, whispering now. “You feel.”

“What I feel is irrelevant.”

But that wasn’t true. You were convinced he could see your smug expression even in the pitch-black room.

“You’re bleeding.”

Ah. Deflecting again. You knew that game but were through with the charade.

“Fine,” you conceded. “I do care. You win. I care about Bob. I care about his fucked up mind. So sure, I care about you - even if you destroy and create loathing and shame. Perhaps that’s my shame.” You admitted, pulling your hand away from his face.

It wasn’t real.

And it was time to wake up.

“This has been nice,” you admitted. “But if I’m going to die alone in the desert, I better face it.”

The Void offered no words of comfort. You weren’t expecting any. And as you stepped back and out of his hold, the cold seeped in.

Your breathing was uneasy, and the dull ache in your shoulder bloomed into hot pain. You were bleeding. The lights flickered on. The lights…

And he was still there, a dark figure in an empty room. Where there had been men, dark shadows cast along the ground. There was a tick in your jaw. You felt seasick.

And you realized then that it wasn’t a dream. Stoic and observant, the Void was still. His curled hair and the shape of his nose were too uncanny. Pinhole eyes stared back at you even then.

You hiccupped out an uneasy breath. Emotion pummeled into you. Fear. Abandonment. Solitude. Pain. Hope. No. NO.

He didn’t make a move, but observed. And then, at last, the low call of your name had you buckling at the knees.

He had been there all along, skirting around your mind. He met you in the dark, draping his cape around you and holding you in the quiet moments between sleep and wakefulness.

The Void was real. A tangible threat. Bob knew it. And then it clicked; that was why he pushed you away.

A hand reached out.

You had borne witness to the destruction and affliction it caused, and yet…

“You’re bleeding.”

And as you looked down from where his hand extended, red blossomed from the top of your shoulder down to your navel. Oh god.

“Let me,” He stopped, grounding the words. “Let me in.”

It was an offer of help, and you didn't think. You didn’t look up as you nodded. The movement was slow, slight, but deliberate. And he took action before you could blink.

A firm hand to the wound was all it took, the other wrapping around your hip to keep you planted. And in front of your eyes, inky tendrils replaced the bloodied stain. Where the Void’s touch lingered, it mimicked the charcoal smudges from your sketches.

He was your bad dreams and late nights. He was there the whole time, carving a hole for himself. And it left behind an imprint for you to remember.

He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.

But now you could read between the lines.

“You can’t keep me safe either.” You whispered. He was no hero. No savior - he said it himself.

The grip tightened at your hip, his hair clouding your peripheral vision. He was pulling closer, the hand at your shoulder moving to hook under your chin. He was forcing your attention on him. Bob might have put up a fight, but the Void was inevitable. He wasn’t going anywhere.

And as he drew closer, you smelled it.

Mahogany and ozone. Bob was there, too. The visage changed.

In front of your eyes, the Void flickered in and out of focus. You could see all of them like frames in a set of photos.

The Void. Bob Reynolds. Sentry. Powerful blue eyes, golden eyes, and pinhole eyes locked in. They were drawing closer still until you were a breath apart. And before you were swept under the current, the three of their voices overlapped in unison.

It was not a kiss, but just on the cusp. It was a promise.

“You don’t know what I am capable of.”

[brokenmenswhore]

a proposition: it’s getting serious | poly!marauders

#7

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, and sirius, featuring alecto, dorcas, evan, lily, and mary)

warnings: not proofread, smut (MDNI 18+), angst, fingering, rough sex

a/n: do you guys like the title of this one because i truly think im so fucking funny

a proposition: masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

He was avoiding you. It was obvious to everyone.

It wasn't like Sirius was your best friend in the world, but you were still close. Then he kissed you. You hadn't heard from him since.

After everything Remus had told you before you and Sirius had kissed, you knew that something was up. It was the only explanation. You knew you hadn't done anything wrong. Whatever this was, it was all Sirius. You didn't want to pry, so you decided to let him come to you whenever he was ready.

But it had been weeks.

In the meantime, you had your fair share of fun with Dorcas and Mary. You told them it was unfair that you had sex with a woman alone once and that it was Marlene, and they worked to rectify it.

Evan was still ravenous any time he was near you, and spent five full days seeking you out between every period, after class, and even sometimes first thing in the morning. You sometimes returned the favor, but only when he wanted it. He was happy to stay in between your legs for hours.

And of course, there was Remus. He hadn't been elaborate about pursuing you, but you oftentimes went to him first when you were feeling experimental or particularly needy. Remus was your first, and you were tethered to him in a way you couldn't explain.

But even he couldn't justify Sirius's avoidance. You could tell that something caused contention between the two of them, but they were best friends, and Sirius hadn't pulled away from him.

You felt like you ruined the group. Like you caused the drama- like you were the problem, no matter how many people told you that wasn't true.

What bothered you the most, other than Sirius avoiding you, was the fact that everyone acted as if they knew why, and just didn't want to tell you. You had interrogated Remus quite a few times, but he acted nonchalant every single time. Any time you asked someone how he was doing or why he was still not talking to you, they would just shrug and change the subject.

You had had enough.

You sat cross-legged on Sirius's bed, making sure your skirt still covered you. He took significantly longer than you anticipated to get back to his dorm, since he had last-minute Quidditch practice and you had no idea. But you knew that he had to come back to his dorm. Eventually.

The moment the door swung open, James spotted you on his bed, and immediately turned around. He pushed past Sirius as Sirius noticed you, and tried to do the same.

James, now behind him, pushed him into the dormitory and slammed the door shut.

Sirius tried to pry it open, but James was standing on the other side, pressing it shut. Sirius took a deep breath and dropped his head before walking over to his desk and dropping his Quidditch bag, completely ignoring you.

“Be back in like an hour!” James called, giggling as you heard his footsteps dissipate.

You waited for him to turn to you, but he never did. He just pretended to go through his bag for a frustratingly long time.

"Sirius?"

No response.

"Talk to me, Sirius."

No response.

You shot upward and got in his personal space.

"Sirius."

"What."

"The fuck do you mean what? You haven't spoken to me in weeks."

"Whoops."

"Siri, c'mon." You dropped the nickname, hoping it would help your case.

"Don't call me that."

"Why not, Siri?"

"Stop."

"Then talk to me, Siri."

Sirius took a deep breath and flared his nostrils, turning to you and looking at you for the first time. "What."

You threw your hands up. "You've been avoiding me, as you know."

"Mm.”

"Don't you think I deserve to know why?"

"I'm not avoiding you."

"Yeah, okay," you rolled your eyes.

"Okay," he repeated in the same tone you used.

You were frustrated, and annoyed, and your confidence faltered as your voice cracked in sadness that you ruined something as you asked, "did I do something wrong?"

Your vulnerability shone through, and it caused Sirius's features to soften. He watched your eyes soften as you nearly cried. You had spent weeks mulling over why Sirius was avoiding you, and you couldn't think if anything wrong that you did, unless maybe you really were that bad of a kisser. Yeah, you had gained a ton of confidence recently, but you weren't made of steel all of a sudden. Around Sirius, you were still that younger little girl who blushed whenever he looked in her direction.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong, shit," Sirius said, running his fingers through his hair.

You sniffled to hold back the tears. You were fighting with every cell in your body to appear strong. "Then what is it? Please tell me. Please."

Your voice completely broke on the final word, and tears spilled from your eyes, despite your refusal to acknowledge them.

Sirius immediately pulled you into his arms, holding your head against his chest. "You did nothing wrong," he assured you, "nothing at all. I did."

You pulled away to look up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I fucked up."

"No you didn't," you sniffled, "because we kissed? Why would that be bad?"

"It wasn't, it wasn't," he said, lightly stroking your hair, "that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" your anger was coming back a bit, "because I seem to be the only person you're avoiding, and that's the only thing that's happened between us."

Sirius let out a deep breath. "Y/N, please."

You stepped backward and pulled away from him. "Do you regret inviting me in? Is that what it is? Are you guys planning on kicking me out or something?"

"No, we would never-"

"Or maybe you're just upset about Remus. Is that it? You acted weird when I came to breakfast with bruises. Are you just jealous of Remus and taking it out on me? Huh?"

"I am jealous of Remus," he admitted.

"And you're punishing me for it?"

"I'm not jealous of Remus because he's Remus," Sirius said, "I'm jealous of Remus because of how you are with him."

You knew what he meant. You weren't stupid enough to not acknowledge or know that you had one hell of a connection with him. "So you're mad at me because you wish you had someone to give you what Remus and I have?"

Sirius stared you dead in the face. He was so tired of fighting it.

"I'm mad because I want what you and Remus have, with you."

"All you had to do was say so, and I would have fucked you. That's, like, the whole point of this."

"No-" Sirius threw his hands up and paced. He was trying to figure out how to say the words he'd never thought he would have to, or want to, say.

You watched him run his fingers through his hair again as he looked at you and forced himself to speak. "I don't mean I want you just to fuck you, Y/N, I want you."

You blinked rapidly as you stared at him. His eyes were almost pleading, hoping that he wouldn't be facing rejection.

"Oh," was all you could say. You were in shock.

"Yeah."

You both just stared at one another. Each moment felt like an eternity. Neither of you knew what to say or do.

"How long?"

"What?" Sirius asked.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" you asked, your voice small and quiet.

Sirius shrugged, "in sixth year, well, fifth year for you, James was trying to show us someone in Hufflepuff he hooked up with. It wasn't you, obviously, but we thought you were who he was pointing at, cus the actual girl was like two seats to your right. You looked up and caught me looking at you, and you turned bright red."

You nodded your head slightly and chuckled in disbelief. "Are you fucking with me?"

"No."

Your laugh of disbelief died there.

"You mean to tell me you've been noticing me this entire time?"

"Mhm."

"So- but you signed me up to fuck your friends?"

"I still wanna fuck you, don't get it twisted,” he chuckled. That was the Sirius you knew.

"But-"

"I noticed you before this, Y/N, but it's different actually knowing you. I didn't think you fucking Remus would make me feel like this until I actually met you and got to know you."

"So this is all because I'm fucking Remus?" your heart still couldn't process what your brain understood.

"No, Y/N, for fucks sake, this is all because I've never fallen for somebody before and I don't know how to fucking act. I don't even know how to fuckin' be around you."

Sirius seemed to immediately realize what he said, because his breathing hitched in his throat as he stared at you.

You couldn't breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, Sirius pleaded, "please say something," so quiet that you almost didn't hear it.

"I don't know what to say," you admitted.

Sirius sighed in disappointment, assuming he was getting rejected. "I'm sorry, forget I said anything-“

He turned to try to leave again, but you said "Sirius, wait," and ran up to him, grabbing his arm and trying to spin him back toward you.

He turned to face you, but kept his head up, looking forward instead of at you. He couldn't handle looking you in the eyes as you rejected him.

"Sirius, look at me."

He refused. You touched the side of his face, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb. "Please look at me."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No, Y/N, you don't get it, I can't just fuck you and leave it there, and that’s how this is supposed to work, but I just-“

Sirius sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands.

You knelt down in front of him. You gently moved his hands away from his face, and he looked at you, eyes glassy as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“There’s this tether between myself and Remus that I don’t think I can ignore,” you said. You knew it might hurt him, but it was better to be honest if things were hard already.

Sirius interpreted your words in his own way. “Is that what’s holding you back?”

You paused for a moment. “Holding me back from what?”

“Could I have you if I shared you with Remus?”

You were visibly taken aback by his question.

“I can see it in your eyes, Y/N, you can say whatever you want, but you can’t lie to me, not really. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You couldn’t.

He knew you couldn’t.

“I’ve liked you forever,” you admitted.

“You still blush when I look at you,” he smiled.

“You’ve never looked at me the way you are right now.”

“I have. You just didn’t know what it meant until now.”

Your breath hitched in a light gasp. “Sirius-“

“Please just tell me how you feel,” he said, “and if you say you feel nothing, even if I know it’s not true, I’ll shut the fuck up and leave it be.”

You had to be honest with yourself, and with what you’ve always known and always felt. “I have feelings for you.”

Before Sirius could smile too big, you said, “but I can’t ignore whatever this connection is with Remus.”

Sirius took a deep breath to contemplate his words. “I can share. Remus and I share everything anyway.”

“What about the rest of the group?”

“I really don’t care about the rest of the group.”

You took a second to contemplate your next move. Having Sirius Black to yourself seemed too good to be true. Sirius was always the one you assumed you wouldn’t have a shot with, but if your conversation with Remus taught you anything, it was that Sirius’s reputation wasn’t all too accurate.

Remus. What would he think? You wouldn’t be exclusive with him, but would he get bored of you? Would he be angry that you and Sirius broke the rules, and not want you anymore?

“We have to talk to Remus, obviously,” you said.

Sirius’s head shot up as he looked to your face, contemplating the weight of your words. We. His eyes flickered back and forth between yours desperately as he studied your face. “Are you saying yes?”

Your train of thought was going too far off the rails to even comprehend what he said. “Then we’d have to tell everyone else, but definitely Remus first. And-“

Sirius grabbed your face, his hands on either cheek as he shook your attention back to him. “Are you saying yes.”

You took a deep breath. You’d gotten the sexual experimentation you’d needed. You cared for the rest of the group, but definitely not the way you cared for Remus or Sirius. Sitting there, Sirius holding your face, eyes glassy thinking you didn’t want him, you knew you’d be a fucking idiot to deny him. This is all you’d ever daydreamed of when he would catch your eye from the corner of the room.

“Yes.”

Sirius took one quick moment to smile before he pressed his lips against yours, pulling you closer to him. Your knees shifted against the carpet as you held onto Sirius’s arms. He moved a hand to the back of your head, holding you even closer to him as his lips molded with your own.

You pushed yourself off of your knees, maintaining the kiss as you stood in front of him, his legs spreading apart as he moved to grip your waist.

He pulled away briefly. “I really, really want you to know how much you mean to me,” he said through static breaths, “but I don’t think I can be gentle with you right now.”

You pushed a piece of his hair behind his ear. In a near whisper, you said, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me. We have time.”

“We have time,” he repeated, more to himself than to you, so quiet that you almost didn’t catch it.

You waited for him to process before you made another move. He searched your eyes with his own.

Seemingly in an instant, Sirius realizes the emotional strife was out of his system, but the physical wasn’t. His demeanor shifted as he saidX “I wanna fuck you so hard that you forget Remus exists.”

You felt your core pulse at his words. He grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you onto his lap. He moved his lips close to yours, but instead of kissing you, he continued to whisper, “you wanna be mine? I’m gonna fucking make you mine.”

“Sirius-“

He didn’t let you speak. He pressed his lips to yours in the most intense kiss you’d experienced yet, his dominant hand gripping your jaw to hold you in place. His other hand grabbed your ass, pressing you down into his lap as he bucked his hips lightly.

Your skirt fanned out onto his stomach, meaning the bulge in his pants pressed directly against your underwear. You could feel yourself soaking through them as the lengthy bulge bucked between your folds.

Sirius’s fingers were so tangled in your hair that you didn’t think he would be able to ever let go. He groaned as he slapped your ass harshly, and you felt the intensity of the moment, taking a chance to gently catch his lower lip between your teeth.

You pulled away lightly, releasing his lip as he looked up at you with lust-blown eyes. “Now where did my innocent little Y/N learn to do that, hm? Remus?” he smirked.

“I’ve never done that to Remus,” you shrugged as if the conversation was casual.

“Oh really?” Sirius smiled, gripping your face with both hands and pushing you even harder onto his bulge, “savin’ some things just for me? Wish you saved yourself for me,” he admitted.

“You kinda scared me,” you admitted back.

Sirius tilted his head like a puppy. “I scared you?”

“Mhm.”

“How so?”

You flushed with embarrassment. “Thought you’d be too rough with me. Didn’t know how much I’d want that.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Too rough, huh? Is that what you want?” He slapped your ass again, moving your hips against him, causing you to gasp, “you want me to be rough with you, huh? Show you what I’ve been wantin’ to do to you this whole time?”

“Please,” you pleaded.

“Again,” he demanded.

“Please, Siri, be rough with me.”

Sirius harshly pulled your face down to his, kissing you again as he, without warning, ripped the fabric of your underwear to expose where he was grinding against.

You squealed and pulled away. “Sirius!”

“What?” he shrugged like nothing had happened.

You stood up, and he pouted, but you could see the concern in his eyes. You quickly pulled your skirt down and discarded the ripped fabric of your underclothes, taking residence on top of him again. You saw his breathing relax when you returned. “I had to get up and take my skirt off anyway!”

Sirius threw his hands up next to his head. “They were in my way.”

“You literally still have your pants and boxers on.”

Sirius smirked. “Y’know, you could help with that, babydoll.”

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, but you couldn’t deny him- he was just so charismatic. Even painfully horny and having just confessed his romantic love for someone for the first time, he laid there with his hands behind his head as you unbuttoned his pants as if he was the sexiest being alive. He kinda was.

You knelt in front of him, trying to unclothe him. You, of course, nervous from trying to maintain the intensity of the moment, could not get his pants fully unbuttoned. Your fingers fumbled with the final button.

“Fucks sake,” Sirius said, doing it for you and removing both his pants and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free directly in front of your face.

You choked on a gasp and coughed.

Sirius didn’t move, he just sat up on the edge of the bed and looked at you. Your eyes were transfixed on his leaking cock, your brain wondering how the fuck you were possibly supposed to suck him off without suffocating.

“Remus is bigger, hun, if you can fit him, you can fit me,” Sirius assures you, worried that you were panicking.

“Remus is… skinnier,” you said.

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

You looked up at Sirius, then back to his impressive length. You wrapped your hand around him, and he bit his lip to keep himself from losing control immediately. You began to stroke him, looking up at him through hooded lids as you licked his tip.

He threw his head back, but quickly reset, not wanting to miss a moment of watching you take him in your mouth.

You sank down onto him, doing your best to keep your cheeks hollow to accommodate for his girth. You gave yourself a few moments to adjust to his size and the feeling of a comfortable rhythm, before you began to move at a steady pace, using your hand to cover any ground thag your mouth couldn’t.

You gazed up to Sirius, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly, his eyes fixed directly on you. You fought to maintain eye contact, even though the angle he was sitting at made it difficult to look up so far.

“Fuck, dollface, just like that,” he moaned, using one hand to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He began to stroke your cheek with his thumb as you sucked him, the gesture so intimate and sweet during such a filthy act. You moaned in surprise at the contact, and Sirius growled in response.

“Shit, can I fuck your mouth?” he asked.

You pulled away, still stroking him with your hand as you said, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

The noise that came from Sirius’s throat was purely primal.

He gathered your hair into a ponytail, holding tightly as the other hand positioned himself in front of you.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth and he immediately pushed himself in as far as he could, his tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled back out, and said “easy, bunny, relax,” before pushing back in again.

You clenched the muscles in your throat as he did it again, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You coughed and moaned around him, but kept your composure the best you could.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, “that’s it, that’s it.”

With him stilled, you were able to adjust to the feeling of him at the back of your throat, and adjust to comfortably breathing through your nose. You slackened your jaw, hollowing out your cheeks. You got yourself in a position comfortable enough that you didn’t have to move- Sirius could just fuck your mouth as he pleased.

You looked up at him and moaned around him, signaling that you were okay and he could move.

He began to push your head down, your hands bracing yourself against the mattress as he moved your head via your ponytail.

You fought like hell to look up at him, having been told several times by everyone in the group that boys liked eye contact during head, and they were right. The moment your eyes met Sirius’s, he began to fuck your mouth even faster, his pupils blowing and growing darker at the sight.

“Fucking hell, fuck,” he moaned.

You were so ridiculously turned on by the sight and sounds of Sirius, and felt confidence build from your core upwards. You reached a hand up and gently cradled his balls, squeezing ever so slightly as he continued to fuck your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, extending the word as he finally gave in and his back slammed against the mattress. His hand never left your head, but it did loosen, and you took the opportunity to take control of the pace.

You didn’t let up, but rather tried to push yourself as much as you could, sinking yourself as deep as you possibly could on Sirius. You fought through the gags, and your nose grazed Sirius’s lower stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, don’t do that or I’m gonna fucking come down your throat,” he said.

So you did it again.

“Shit, please, I need to be in you to come,” he pleaded.

You liked hearing him whiny and desperate for you, so you held him in your throat and swallowed, constricting around him.

Sirius bucked his hips involuntarily, pushing himself to the absolute limit. It was too much for you, and you pulled away to catch your breath.

Despite his leaking cock and evident need, Sirius took the opportunity to hook his arms under yours, hoisting you up to a stand.

“But-“

“I am so not ready to be done with you yet,” he said.

Sirius stood and traded places with you, forcing you onto the mattress and standing between your legs.

He pulled your shirt upwards, and you raised your arms to allow for him to remove the garment and throw it off to the side. He skillfully unclasped your bra blindly, throwing it in the same direction he had your shirt, leaving you bare naked beneath him.

“Merlin’s fucking beard,” he said, his hands roaming the newly exposed skin.

You felt yourself stiffen underneath his touch, the direct attention on your exposed body causing you to be nervous.

“Oh, baby, you’re fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice full of adoration, like you were the most ethereal being he had ever seen, and he couldn’t comprehend that he got to see you like this.

“You called me baby.”

Sirius met your eyes in concern. “Is that okay?”

“I like it.”

Sirius smiled and resumed staring at you, studying every curve of your body like he would never get to see it again.

As much as you appreciated the adoration, you needed some part of him inside of you, and you needed it now. You knew of one surefire way to pull Sirius back into a rough, possessive headspace. It was playing with fire, but fuck you liked the heat.

“Only Remus calls me baby.”

Sirius’s hands stopped. He slowly looked up to your face, surprise at your confidence evident on his face.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, running a hand down your entire torso, not even bothering to prep you before he roughly inserted two fingers into you, “is that right?”

“Mhm,” you moaned as Sirius began to viciously scissor and pump his fingers in and out of you, your wetness enough that you didn’t need any extra preparation.

Your hips began to swirl beneath him, and Sirius pressed his palm to your clit, adding to the immediate intensity of the stimulation.

“Only Remus calls you baby, huh?” he said, his own anger working himself up to fuck his fingers into you rougher and rougher, faster and faster, “then I guess only Remus can make you come like this too, huh? If Remus is so fucking special.”

“Fuck,” was all you could cry out.

“You’re mine, you understand that? I can call you whatever the fuck I want, baby. What are you gonna do, go cry to Remus about it? Would you rather have his fingers inside of you? Huh?” Sirius was seething as he gripped your jaw and forced you to look at him with his unoccupied hand, “would you?”

“N-no,” you gasped out.

“Oh, but you seem to be so fucking obsessed with him, don’t you?” His pace was fucking ruthless, and your entire body was writhing and convulsing beneath him as you instinctively tried to escape the intensity, but he wasn’t letting up. His face was mere inches from yours, and he watched you come undone as he spoke, anger mixing with lust. “You only ever wanna have Remus make you come, huh? Don’t even know what you’re missing. You like this? Does it feel good? Because if he’s so great, I’ll just go get Remmy and he can bite you some more.”

Sirius was angry beyond the point of coming back. He needed you to disagree; he needed you to want him so bad and come so hard that you couldn’t even consider Remus.

“So good, please, I want you, just you-“

Sirius moved his hand to your throat, applying light pressure, mostly to hold you in place, rather than cut off air flow.

You knew Sirius’s anger was not only from a place of lust and longing, but a place of hurt. Sirius was never needed or wanted, and you knew he compared himself to Remus relentlessly.

“I only want you, Siri, please, wanted you for so long-“ you could barely get words out through the strangled moans and gasps, “it’s always been about you, fuck- fuck, I’m gonna- fuck, Siri, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah? Didn’t know you could come for anyone but Remus.”

Tears were threatening to spill from your eyes as you writhed uncontrollably under Sirius’s harsh grasp. He curled his fingers as he pumped, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Please, please, Siri, come- gonna come- please-“

“Should I just go get-“

You cut off Sirius’s sassiness before he could say the name again. “Fucks sake, Sirius, please,” you gasped, his grip on your throat loosening when he heard your tone, “I only want you, I don’t fucking care about Remus right now, please make me come, Merlin- fuck- I need you-“

Sirius pulled his fingers out of you entirely.

Your breath was erratic and quick as you looked up at him, almost in disbelief that he had just done that. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your core ached and clenched around nothing.

“W- wh- I-“

Sirius dipped his head into the crook of your neck, his body shaking slightly, and you heard his sniffles and gasps from beside your head. In an instant, the walls crashed down.

“Siri?” you asked, your voice gentle and calm.

Sirius lifted himself on his arms and looked down at you, a tear still falling down his cheek.

You wiped the tear away and tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek with your thumb, as he had done to you earlier. “You okay?”

“Just worked myself up a little too much, ‘m sorry,” he sniffled, “‘n you said you need me.”

“Mhm,” you smiled, “you can’t compare yourself to Remus all the time, Sirius. Two completely different relationships.”

“But you always went to him, and you never came to me, it was always him-“

“Sirius, you said it yourself, we can’t just fuck around and call it a day. It’s always been different with us, you know that,” you spoke.

“I’m just always second, and I just-“

“I shouldn’t have said only Remus calls me baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to work you up that much,” you said.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he took a deep breath, “‘m sorry. I’m good, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not second, Sirius. Who’s been making me blush all this time? Take it easy, breathe. Can you lay down?” you asked.

Sirius laid out on his back next to you, and you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him despite your aching core.

You toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “Can I?”

You could see that he was about to cry again.

“Sh, sh, easy,” you said, leaning down to kiss him sweetly, “you’re beautiful, Sirius, I just wanna see you.”

Sirius didn’t fight you as you unbuttoned his shirt, your lips attached to his neck so that he didn’t have the added nerves of knowing you were watching his chest and stomach become more and more exposed each second.

You pushed his shirt open, and slowly kissed down his collarbone, then his chest, and then his stomach, lifting just before where his cock was still hard and leaking onto his lower stomach.

You looked up at him, and realized his eyes never left you.

“Are you okay?” you checked in.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, wiping his eyes one final time before he was able to pull himself back to earth, “nothing ruins the mood like my insecurities.”

You kissed him again. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still in a mood. You stopped touching me at the worst fucking moment.”

Sirius snickered. “Next time, don’t be so fucking needy.” He was baiting you. You were happy to bite.

You ran your fingers across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. “Can’t help it,” you said, touching him softly and nonchalantly, “I need you bad.”

“Yeah?” he asked as you lifted your hips, positioning yourself directly above his aching cock.

“I need you so, so bad, Siri,” you said, slowly sinking down onto his length.

His hands gripped your hips violently, his knuckles nearly going white from the strength of his hold. He had been imagining what you would feel like around him for what felt like an eternity. As you sank fully down, Sirius couldn’t help but hold you there, barring you from movement.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your forehead pressing against his.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Sirius chanted like a mantra.

“Please let me move, Siri, I need to feel you so bad,” you spoke quietly in his ear.

“Fucking hell,” he said, releasing his grasp on your hips and allowing you to bounce up and down.

You still hadn’t nailed your riding technique, so it took you a few tries to get your balance right. You knew you had it when Sirius grabbed for your arm, a low moan escaping his lips as he pulled you to him.

He kissed you harshly, taking a moment to relish in the feeling of you fucking him. As good as it felt, Sirius was not okay with you servicing him and doing all the work, when all he wanted was to wreck you.

Sirius held the back of your head to maintain the kiss as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your torso to his as he began to snap his hips upward. You whined into the kiss at the sudden new angle.

“Heard you like being manhandled baby, is that right?” he spoke into your ear, your head falling into the crook of his neck, “you like it rough, huh?”

You moaned in response as Sirius snapped his hips even faster, holding your waist down so that you stayed in place for him.

“Liked you ‘cus you were so fuckin’ innocent,” he began, your entire body jolting with each thrust of his hips, “could tell from how easily I made you blush. Knew it’d be fun to wreck you. Never dreamed you’d like it so fucking much,” he slapped your ass hard, causing you to cry out into his shoulder.

“Been-“ you could barely speak, “thinking about this, you- so long.”

Sirius fucked into you faster. “Keep talkin’.”

“Siri, please, don’t make me.”

Sirius slapped your ass, not letting up on his pace at all. “Please, baby, keep fuckin’ talking.”

“Not fair,” you struggled out.

“What’s not fair,” he shot back, “is making me wait this long to feel you. Fuckin’ hell, angel, you feel so fucking good.”

Sirius slowed down, almost fully stilling before he flipped your two bodies over. He then grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips upward to meet his.

You went to hoist yourself up on your arms, but he grabbed your wrists, connecting them behind your back and holding them with one hand. “Down.”

“I’m not a dog,” you challenged, “unlike some people.”

Sirius smiled, a genuine smile. You were joking with him in the middle of intense sex. It just kept getting better and better.

“Oh, shut up,” he replied.

“Are you fluffy? Like what color are you? Do you know tricks?” you taunted.

Sirius growled, leaning over you and shoving a finger into your mouth. “I said shut up.”

You sucked on his finger obediently as he rolled his hips and entered you again.

“Good girl,” he said, breathy, “you’re taking me so well.”

You whimpered into the pillow as Sirius rutted your hips into the mattress, his thrusts not fast, but hard.

“I’m gonna-“

“Not yet.”

“But-“

“Don’t you fucking come yet, you understand?”

“I don’t know how to-“

Sirius gripped your jaw, holding you down as he leaned further and further onto you, “don’t fucking come until I say so. You’re mine, listening is the least you can fuckin’ do to show it. Unless you’re not mine.”

Hook, line, and sinker. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Siri, all yours, I need you, only you-“

“Fuck,” he cried out, the loudest he’d been yet.

You fought like hell not to come, but it was difficult when the boy you’d been fantasizing about forever was fucking you ruthlessly from behind and moaning your name.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

Your name sounded so sweet coming from his lips.

He smacked your ass again, watching the way the flesh moved when touched. He watched himself enter and almost exit you time and again, admiring how fell you fit together.

You felt his eyes travel up your back to your face again, where you lay wrecked, burying your face in the pillow to silence yourself.

“Uh uh uh,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hair so that your face was pressed sideways into the pillow, “let me hear you.”

“Siri-“

“Just like that, baby, sounds so pretty when you say it.”

“Please let me come, Siri,” you begged.

“Fuck, lay down,” he said, pulling out of you and tapping your hip to alert you to turn around.

You laid on your back and Sirius immediately re-entered you.

“Wanna look at your pretty face when you come for me,” he explained, leaning down to kiss you.

Despite the harsh snapping of his hips, Sirius kissed you gently, a reminder that he was still him, and you were still you, and this was still real and safe.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as your body fought, and was denied release a third time. “Siri, please, I’m gonna come, please-“

“Not until I say so, babydoll, you can do it,” he groaned, “need to come with you. Need it so bad.”

“Need you,” you said, “I need you to come in me, please.”

“You need me to come inside you? Hm? You need me?”

“I need all of you, please, Siri-“

Sirius moved a hand between your bodies, rubbing circles on your clit as he fucked you.

Your back arched as you whimpered, the sudden contact too much to hold back anymore.

“Wanna feel you, baby, come for me.”

That was all it took.

Your high crashed over you violently, your walls squeezing Sirius intensely as you, for lack of a more descriptive term, screamed.

The constriction of your walls sent Sirius over the edge. He could have come the second you touched him, but he wanted to wait for this moment, and it was sweeter than he could have imagined.

You pried your eyes open to watch Sirius as he came, but he was focused completely on you, his pleasure being achieved from seeing yours. He leaned down to kiss you as you both caught your breath.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as if he would leave without you holding on. After a few moments, he had to physically pry your arms apart.

“Gotta pull out sometime, babydoll.”

You stuck your lower lip out in a hyperbolic pout. “Why?”

“Merlin, you are everything,” he said, smiling and kissing you one more time before he pulled himself out of you. He gazed to where your bodies had just met, and watched as some of his come spilled out of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he said, so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

You pushed sweat-slicked hair away from your forehead, stretching out your sore legs and instinctively closing your legs.

“No, no, no,” Sirius said, pushing your legs apart again, “the show isn’t over.”

You giggled as you watched him, so consumed in the sight that he was trying to not even blink.

“It feels messy, let me clean up a bit,” you said.

“Sh, I’ll obviously clean you up,” he protested, “just let me make the moment last a little longer.”

When Sirius was satisfied, he looked at your sweaty, fucked-out frame, and decided normal aftercare wasn’t enough.

“We need a shower,” he laughed.

“I don’t-“ your cheeks flushed as you weighed what you were about to say, “I don’t think I can stand.”

Sirius grinned wide, leaning down to kiss you before scooping you up into his arms. “You don’t have to,” he said, carrying you toward the bathroom.

────── ☾ ──────

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[67bottles-of-milk]

Not Just Roommates

Finally, Jason lets you meet his family.

~5k words

Part 1

For weeks following Jason and Dick’s conversation, his family tried to convince Jason to let them meet you. They each had their own tactic.

—

Bruce tried invitations to family events and galas.

“You know, it would be really nice if you brought this girlfriend of yours to dinner this-” 

“Nice try old man. Not happening, you really think I’m gonna bring her here just so you can interrogate her? Absolutely not.” Jason didn’t even look up from his bike in the cave. Bruce was dejected at the harsh rejection before perking up, ready for another suggestion. “No, she’s not coming to the gala next week either. Don’t expect me to be there either; it’s date night.” He was quickly cut off with even more rejection. 

“Come on, Jaylad, why not? We just want to meet her, make sure she’ll treat you right,” Bruce tried to reason. That definitely caught Jason’s attention properly. 

“Look, Bruce, I’m twenty two years old and Red Hood. Tell me honestly, and to my face, that you think I would willingly stay with someone who doesn’t treat me right?” Jason’s voice was entirely flat, if a bit condescending. 

“Alright but at least introduce me before you decide to get married to her.”

—

Dick tried to invite himself to Jason’s through various scenarios.

“Hey, Little Wing. Mind if I swing by this weekend? I’d love to spend some quality bonding time together but I know the manor is a mess at the minute with all the preparations for the gala.” Dick had just landed on the roof next to his brother. Seeing Bruce’s direct attempts failing, he decided to take a more sly approach, disguising it as just coming over once or twice to spend time with him and hopefully, at some point be there at the same time you were. If the two of you even lived together. If it didn’t work, he would at least still be able to spend some time with Jason which was always a win in his books. 

“Sure.” Jason’s response made Dick absolutely light up with anticipation. Maybe he actually had a shot at being able to meet you. “ If you can figure out where I live.” Immediately, his hopes were dashed. The entire family had put in quite a bit of effort into finding out where Jason lived but so far, they couldn’t find a single trace of him. Not even a name on any leases or deeds to any place of residence in the entire city, likely under a fake name.

For a while, Bruce was worried Jason was just living somewhere on the street but that was put to rest from some defensive and highly indignant yelling from Jason about how he has an entire apartment that is clean and tidy and that he sleeps in every single night– well, morning. 

—

Tim just avoided going through Jason and decided to figure out who you were all on his own. 

It wasn’t like Jason would give him an answer anyway, might as well skip the trouble and go straight to internet sleuthing. Unfortunately, all he had so far was Jason’s phone number with no social media attached to it aside from an empty instagram profile that wasn’t following anyone and was only followed by family and Jason’s teammates.

He tried Damian’s to see if he followed anyone out of the ordinary. No luck there either. Damian only followed a handful of people. If only Tim had your name, he could do so much more. Although, he supposes, if he had your name then the entire family could have a much easier time meeting you. 

—

“I hate my family sometimes,” Jason sighed, laying beside you as you sat in bed. He pushed his face into your waist and curled into a ball as well as he could. Your hand rubbed his back, resting on the back of his neck after a moment. 

“What have they done this time?” 

“Won’t leave me the fuck alone. God, why can’t they just mind their own business?” You breathed a laugh at his whiny tone. 

“Well, maybe they’re just happy for you? I mean, come on, when was the last time you had a partner?” You teased, pushing his face away from you to look at him properly. 

“I don’t know. Didn’t really have the time for anything when I came back. All anger and revenge y’know? Not much time for love and care like I have with you.” He ended the sentence with a kiss on your hand. 

“Well aren’t you just a sweet talker? I love you, Jay.” 

“I love you more, sweetheart.” 

—

You and Damian were sitting on the sofa, so engrossed in your conversation and entirely ignoring the movie in the background. Meanwhile, Jason was pacing back and forth in the kitchen. He was chewing his thumbnail as he went around in circles in his head debating with himself whether it was a good idea or not. 

“Jaylove? Can you put the kettle on please?” He stopped and looked up at you, leaning over the sofa with a soft smile on your face. He felt his cheeks warm at the sight of you. You were absolutely gorgeous, the love of his life. He nodded resolutely, turning to fill the kettle up before turning to the bedroom. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, it’s cold as hell.” It was not. In all honesty, it was actually pretty cosy but he could get away with wearing a jumper for a bit. He watched as you got up behind him, mugs in hand to replenish drinks for all three of you. Jason took the chance to message Damian while you weren’t sitting directly next to the kid. Not that you would read his messages but he wasn’t risking it.

I’m doing it. Scram.

Actually can you record it? Wanna keep the memory.

If I must.

You’re far too sentimental.

With everything sorted, Jason pulled his jumper over his head and felt around in his pockets. Good, it was still there. As he made his way out to the kitchen where you were, he spotted Damian leaning over the back of the sofa, much like you were just moments ago except now with his phone in hand, clearly in sight with the camera pointing at you making hot chocolate. Real subtle. Thankfully you were too lost in your own world to notice.

“Hey sweetheart,” Jason spoke softly, spinning you by the waist. “Got a question for you.” 

“I’ve got an answer for you.” You put your hand over his where it rests on your hip before he pulled away again, both hands in his pockets. Jason pulled them back out again, just a moment later only to bend down to the floor on one knee. 

“You are my soulmate. The love of my life. My everything. I know we’re young and I know we talked about waiting until after we graduated but I want you now and forever and I don’t think I could wait to ask you any longer.” His words were heavy with nothing but adoration as he looked you in the eyes. “Will you marry me?” Immediately, you dropped to the floor with him and dragged him into a tight hug. It was short lived as you immediately pulled back, kissing every inch of his face.

“You know damn well I will. Absolutely I’ll marry you, Jason Todd.” His joy overwhelmed him completely, his eyes shining and crinkling in the corners, his smile stretching as far as it could. He took your hand, sliding a simple ring on your finger as the gemstone in the middle reflected the kitchen light. A bright laugh bubbled up as Jason lifted you in the air to spin around, kissing you deeply the moment your feet touched the floor once again. 

“Can we return to the movie now?” Damian piped up from his position in the living room, done recording and already in the process of sending the video to Alfred.

—

The next day, everyone had made it for the monthly family dinner, even Steph and Babs were in attendance. Jason was last in, running late as a result of the rush hour traffic. Nothing he could do when he had classes to attend still. Alfred was the first to greet him as he made his way to his seat at the table. 

“Congratulations on the excellent news, Master Jason.” It was just one sentence offered as the butler returned to the kitchen to finish bringing dishes to the table. A momentary pause rang through the room as everyone turned to look in curiosity. What news would Jason have that would be excellent?

“What’s new with you then?” Dick poked, hoping he wouldn’t be immediately brushed off. He was not very lucky.

“Nothing really, just finally managed to get something done I’ve been meaning to for a while now. Nothing that concerns you.” He was more focused on getting food on his plate. Despite not wanting to directly fuel his family’s incessant need to be in his business all the time, he was still excited to show off. And so, he was very deliberate in using his left hand to reach across the table for each platter. With a family full of detectives, it was not long before at least one of them caught on.

“Jason.” It was Bruce that caught it first, afterall he was really the only person sitting to the left of him. “Is that a ring on your hand?” It was a calculatingly calm tone. One that was almost perfect in hiding Bruce’s emotions.

“Yeah.” He didn’t want you to be the only one wearing a ring. Sure, it wasn’t the most traditional thing for him to be wearing a ring himself but he wanted everyone to know that he was a committed and taken man, even if you weren’t his wife just yet. 

“ Please do not tell me you got married and didn’t invite or even tell any of us.” Bruce had dropped the calmness and replaced it with tired exasperation.

“Of course not.” Jason spoke with faux offence. “Damian was there.” Dick slammed his hands on the table and stood up with such speed his chair would’ve fallen if not for Cass catching it as it tipped backwards. 

“Are you kidding me!? You got married and I wasn’t even invited? How could you, Little Wing, I thought we were brothers?” Dick was tearing up, the hurt evident in his voice as he sank back into his chair defeated. 

“Worry not Grayson, he has yet to marry, they are merely betrothed.” Damian spoke up. “They agreed that they would not get married until the two have achieved their degrees.” Without even thinking, he added more fuel to the fire. 

“Wait a minute, degrees? The two? Jason, you’re getting a degree?” Tim jumped into the conversation now, entirely baffled at the concept of Jason pursuing higher education. 

“Uh, yeah? I’m in my final year dude, been studying literature for a solid two years now. What do you think I’ve been doing all day?” Jason asked, acting as if he hasn’t kept almost every aspect of his life to himself since he came back. 

“To be honest? I assumed you were just sleeping all day.” Tim shrugged.

“I thought you were working a part time job somewhere.” Dick chimed in.

“I was under the impression you were continuing operations as Red Hood during the day with the other Outlaws.” Bruce’s conception was the most accurate considering he did still hang out with Roy some weekends.

“Well, you’re all wrong. I’ve been going to Gotham University to study literature. Don’t know if I’ll do anything with my degree since, y’know, but it’s always there for me to fall back on anyhow.” 

“So, now that you’re engaged, will we be meeting this fiancee of yours any time before the wedding?” Bruce pushed. 

“Maybe.” 

—

Maybe came just over two weeks later. 

Jason was out for the day, helping Roy with a case he was struggling with and so it was just you at home. Well, for the morning anyway; Damian had said he would be over in the afternoon to watch the next movie in the series. (How this boy had made it so far in life and had seen neither The Hobbit nor The Lord of the Rings was beyond you but you were rectifying that and so The Battle of the Five Armies was on the watchlist for this evening.) 

Taking a long look in the cupboards and through the fridge, you sighed and pulled your shoes and coat on. Grocery shopping was long overdue. Now that you had used the last of the milk in your coffee this morning, you took it as a sign that it was time for the bi-weekly shop. 

As you wandered around your usual grocery store, you turned a corner to be met with a familiar scowl. 

“Damian? This is an excellent coincidence, I was just about to call and see if you wanted any particular snacks for movie night tonight.” You smiled as you approached further only to come face to face with an older man you vaguely recognised. “Ah. Hello.” 

“Damian, you know this woman?” Dick asked, turning to look at the young man in question. Damian sighed with annoyance. 

“Todd will be most displeased. Grayson, this is Todd’s betrothed.” He then turned to you with an equally stern look on his face. “I would like that toffee popcorn you bought last time. It was pleasant.” Dick turned to look at you with utter surprise and unadulterated glee.

“Oh my God, you’re the fiancee!! It is so lovely to meet you finally, Little Wing has been so insistent on keeping us from meeting you. Besides Dami, here of course but they’ve got their own weird connection that I’m not even sure where it came from.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Richard.” You offered a smile. He grimaced at his own name. 

“Please, just Dick is fine.” He insisted, almost desperate. 

“Sure, Dick. Anyway, it has been lovely to meet you but I have shopping to bring home. Damian, I’ll see you later?” He nodded and waved goodbye as you headed for the tills to pay. 

—

Jason didn’t come home until the credits of the movie rolled and Damian was slouched over, snoring quietly. 

“Hey Love, how was your day?” Jason stooped over the backrest of the sofa to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Pretty alright, got some washing done, went grocery shopping. You will never guess who I came across today though.” You smiled, pushing off the sofa and gathering empty bowls and cups to take to the kitchen. 

“Who? Charlotte?” He guessed, settling a blanket over Damian and turning off the TV. 

“Better. Dick. Ran into him and Dami in the shop. Stopped to say hi and get acquainted. I mean, gotta meet the in-laws at some point, right?” You shrugged, stacking the dishes in the sink to be done at a later time. At least when Damian was awake and wouldn’t be disturbed by the rushing water. A muffled groan came from Jason as he slumped onto the sofa with his head in his hands. 

“Great. Just great. Now they’re not going to leave us alone. This is just what I needed.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it would be an issue. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually and it’s not like he’s Black Mask out to get you.” Jason sighed and reached for you to pull close.

“It’s not that. I just wanted to keep you to myself for a little longer. They can be really overbearing and they love nothing more than to be all up in my business as though it were their own. I hate it a lot. I just don’t want them to come and ruin the peace I have here with you.” You rubbed his hand before pressing a kiss to his knuckles as reassurance. 

“They don’t have to know where we live. I am more than okay with meeting them at the manor or even in a restaurant somewhere. It doesn’t have to be all in. them getting to know me doesn’t have to mean them getting to know every single aspect of our lives.” You tried to comfort Jason, convince him that meeting his family will not be the end all be all of your peaceful life together. 

“Yeah but I know that as soon as they have even something to go off of, they’re going to do their shitty detective work and find out as much as they can. Hell, I wouldn’t be shocked if either Tim or Bruce ran a background check on you the moment they learned your name.” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’ll think about it. I know they’ll have to meet you eventually, especially since we’re going to be getting married and then you will literally be part of the family. I just… I need some time to consider.” 

And so later that evening, once Damian had returned home, Jason surprised you by having a shower and coming back to the bedroom dressed in– not his usual nighttime outfit of leather and kevlar, but instead cotton and polyester. He was sporting the Hello Kitty pyjama pants you had gotten him as a joke one day. It wasn’t often Jason joined you so early in bed but tonight, he seemed to be having the night off. 

Wordlessly, you shifted to sit more upright and opened your arms in invitation. He crawled over the bed and settled his head on your chest and curled the rest of his body around you. Soothing circles were rubbed into his back as he closed his eyes in thought.

“You really want to meet my family?” Jason shifted to rest his chin on you and look directly into your eyes. You pushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. 

“Jaylove, you know I love you. I will not marry you before meeting your family and I refuse to meet them at our wedding. So yes, I really want to meet your family. I can tell, despite all your grumblings about them, that they’re important to you. So I would love to come to the next family dinner and finally have a meal made by Alfred that hasn’t been microwaved in tupperware.” He sighed and went back to pressing as much of his face against you as possible. 

“I love you more. Alright, next family dinner I’ll bring you along. Unluckily for you, that’s this Friday.” 

—

Friday rolled around and the manor was as it usually was for family dinner: loud, chaotic, and full of bickering and teasing. Most of all, it was warm and everyone was honestly just there to have a good time. Even when there are grudges being held and long term disagreements that have yet to be settled, everyone calls a truce for the monthly Friday night dinner. It was Alfred’s rule and no one wanted to cross Alfred. There were no exceptions. 

Naturally, Jason had only informed Alfred of your company for the night since he would need to set an extra place at the table. Not even Damian knew because he hadn’t been over since movie night for you to tell him and Jason certainly wouldn’t. So when Jason walked in with a woman holding his hand? Silence. 

“Oh my God. She’s way too pretty for you.” Steph was the first to snap out of it and was immediately on her feet, snatching your hand from Jason and holding both close to her chest as she leaned close to your face. Her face lit up with a mischief that Jason dreaded to see. “So what’s he like at home? His room here is always so messy with books and clothes like everywhere. He’s barely ever here nowadays so I don’t even know how he keeps it so messy.” 

“Honestly? I don’t mind the mess, it’s not like he’s dirty anyway. Jay’s got like the cleanest hygiene habits of anyone I know for the most part. My favourite evenings are definitely our self care spa nights.” You giggled behind your hand, leaning in as though you were telling her a secret.

“Wait, you guys have spa nights? That’s so cute. And it honestly makes so much sense now. No wonder his skin is practically porcelain despite wearing his goddamn helmet all the time!” You now shot her a confused look, head tilting in question.

“Helmet? What helmet?” Stephanie panicked as she looked to the other family, each also showing varying degrees of distress. So you didn’t know? They would have to be careful.

“Uh, well, his… his motorcycle helmet! Yeah, his motorcycle helmet. I mean, he rides around on his bike everywhere, it’s practically his kid y’know?” 

Jason was sat confused, there was no way you didn’t realise she meant his Red Hood helmet, right? As you came to sit next to him, you gave him a saccharine smile. “I didn’t know you rode a motorcycle, Jay! I guess even after being in a relationship for over two years, there are still things to learn about each other.” Oh. You were going to mess with his family. This is why he was going to marry you. 

“So, it’s nice to finally meet the woman my son has decided to commit his life to. Bruce Wayne, a pleasure to meet you.” Bruce nodded politely with an even expression, cutting into the conversation so dinner could finally begin.

“It’s lovely to be able to meet Jaylove’s family, he’s told me so much about you all. I mean, Tim! It’s so impressive that you’re running a company while still attending school. I bet you definitely sleep well at night.” The boy in question shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of his prominent eyebags and the red bull he’d poured into his glass for the meal. The fact he had barely slept more than ten consecutive minutes in the past few days also flashed to his forethoughts. 

“Yeah. Definitely eight hours every night.” He awkwardly shifted in his seat. 

“Of course, I’ve heard about you Dick and all the hard work you do as a police officer over in Bludhaven. Truly an admirable line of work.” Dick sat up straighter now that he had been directly included in the conversation. Finally, someone around that wouldn’t admonish him and berate him for his day job. 

“Thank you, it can be tough sometimes, especially considering the high level of crime around but growing up here in Gotham, it really isn’t much different working over there. Y’know? Besides, I have help.” You nodded along solemnly, a serious expression on his face as he talked about the struggles of his line of work. 

“Indeed. Incredibly honorable and very inspiring to see someone willing to follow protocols and the correct way to do things. Unlike those good for nothing ‘vigilantes’ that run around Gotham at night.” At that, everyone stiffened up and shot disbelieving glances across the table. The only ones seemingly unaffected were Jason, Damian, and Bruce. Jason was muffling his laugh with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, Damian was pretending he couldn’t hear anything as he pet Titus under the table. Bruce, commendably, didn’t even so much as twitch as he looked on thoughtfully. 

“Interesting. Care to elaborate?” It wasn’t often Bruce got to hear the honest and unfiltered opinions of Gotham citizens on his family’s nighttime operations. Sure, there were forums where people would discuss them but oftentimes, they were exaggerated or just trolls looking for entertainment by spouting hate. 

“Of course. I mean, there’s no way I would ever let my kids go out at night in kevlar speedos to beat people up. Granted, the robin costumes have gotten better over the years, the first two really should’ve had a bit more common sense. No. Actually, Batman really should’ve been more responsible. He’s the one who trained them to go out there in the first place, he couldn’t at least educate them on wearing safe and proper clothes on the job? Like, come on dude, so not a safe working environment.” That earned a few giggles around the table. 

“Is your grief with them just their costumes?” Barbara asked. Your answer came a brief moment later. 

“Honestly? Yeah, I think so. I mean, there have been some good choices made lately. The current Robin’s newest outfit is definitely my favourite. Red Robin’s cowl moment? Atrocious. Bowling ball. But like, straight into the gutter, you wouldn’t even hit a single pin. Definitely nothing to complain about with Spoiler though. The eggplant? I love it, and the transition from the full face cover to the half mask? It’s honestly everything.” Steph clapped from her seat, nodding fervently. 

“See? I’m not the only one that thinks I- she looks good in it. Can’t believe everyone keeps saying she should pick a different colour that isn’t as obvious to see. Like c’mon.” You pointed over at her with a grin. 

“NO SEE SHE GETS IT. Like, Red Hood? Dude that thing is fucking chrome, in the streetlights, I swear he’d be reflecting like one of those rainbow prisms. Like calm it down. Could never argue with a man whose thighs are the size of my head though.” You nodded and sat back in your chair. From the side of you, Jason looked at you incredulously. 

“How dare you. For one, you fucking love that helmet, I don’t want a word out of you on that front. Second, you and I know damn well my thighs are bigger than your head and you would absolutely argue with me. And you do. Just yesterday you were arguing with me when I said we should have peonies on the tables at our wedding because they’re your favourite but you said no because they would be out of season since you want a fall wedding.” He huffed and sat back in his chair. 

“Yeah well, I don’t want a fake flower bouquet. It’s just not the same.” Dick held up his hands as he processed the words Jason had said just a few moments ago. 

“Woah, wait a second. Can we backtrack just a second? You know he’s Red Hood?” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, yeah? This man cannot keep a secret from me to save his life. Proposing was the one thing he’s ever managed to surprise me with, like, ever.” You shrugged, like it was no big deal to know that your fiance was Gotham’s most infamous crime lord and one of the few people actively on the Justice League’s wanted list. “Also, back to the topic of suits, Dick, can you please tell me what possessed you to wear the Discowing suit? That in and of itself was probably the turning point for at least one Gotham rogue.” You went back giving him the side eye with your lips pursed and an eyebrow raised. 

“How dare you, that was the pinnacle of fashion at the time and I will not stand for this slander!” His chair fell from under him as he stood up, slamming his hands on the table. A sharp cough from the doorway caught everyone’s attention. 

“Master Richard, I think you will find you have just, in fact, stood for ‘this slander’ so if you would please return to your seat, that would be most obliged. And if we could refrain from slamming the table, thank you.” Alfred spared no more words as he turned and went back to wherever he had come from in the first place. Everyone was silent at the table for a moment before everyone broke out into raucous laughter at Dick’s expense as he sat with his head on the table. Even Bruce stifled a laugh behind his palm. 

—

The dinner, from that point on, had gone without incident. Jason was so happy to see you get along well with his family. Even if he didn’t get along with them all of the time, and they had more than their fair share of disagreements, they were still his family and he (not that he’d ever admit, even to himself) loved them as such. 

He didn’t realise how nervous he’d been until you were back home, getting ready for bed. You were sat in bed, watching as Jason pulled on his socks while getting ready to go out for the night. Without warning, you launched yourself at his back, tangling your arms around his neck and grappling your legs around his waist. Taken off guard, he let himself be dragged backwards onto the bed as you smothered the top of his head and forehead with kisses. 

“I love you so much. Thank you for letting me meet your family.” Jason breathed out and pressed kisses into your forearms resting over his shoulders. 

“I love you more, might as well meet them before they start causing problems about it. Now, sweetheart, as much as I love you and I love this, I have to get going. Big bad guys to catch and all.” You relented your hold and pulled his face in for one last kiss before the boots and helmet went on.

“Alright, but I’d better be meeting Roy soon.” You pointed at him and blew another kiss to where he stood by the window, hands braced on the frame with one foot already halfway out. 

“Whatever you want.”

[finelinevogue]

i’m happy

summary - the thought of bucky having a relationship with someone that’s not you is… horrible

pairing - bucky barnes x bff!reader

word count - ~1k

You slipped the straps of the red, satin, dress onto your shoulders, taking a breath as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Your hands ran over the front of your dress to check for any creases.

You wanted to look perfect tonight.

Tonight, Bucky was hosting a fancy party to celebrate retiring as a congressman. He enjoyed it - kind of - whilst he had it but now he’s back to being an Avenger he hasn’t got the tome.

You, being Bucky’s best friend, obviously had an invite and you wanted to look fabulous for him. If not to show his colleagues that you’re worth something, then to attempt to tease Bucky into wanting something more than friendship with you.

Bucky cleared his throat behind you.

You didn’t have to turn around to know that it had been him, but you were still taken away by his beauty when you did.

He was wearing a two-piece suit with a bow tie. He looked clean and so smart. His hair, although he’d clearly styles it, was starting to gain little curls throughout from the heat of summer.

His smile though.

“Hey.” You smiled.

“Hey.”

“How do I look?” You looked down at your dress sheepishly.

“Like you’d rather be in your pyjamas watching a movie.” He chuckled, letting show those dimples you adore. Your heart stopped beating for a moment at the sight of him.

You chuckled back, “Well…” You weren’t quite sure what to say, so you wandered over to your bed to collect your purse instead. “Let’s get going shall we?”

You flicked off the bathroom light and turned on your bedside lamp for later. Your heels clicked on the floor as you walked over to where Bucky was standing in the doorway.

“Hey.” Bucky said softly, making you stop in your tracks just before him, “You look…” He smiled with those soft eyes, “You look beautiful.”

You blushed and bowed your head to regroup yourself, before looking at him again, “Thank you, Buck.” You leant up to kiss his cheek, “So do you.”

🎇

You were standing to the side as you watched Bucky walk down the red carpet and have his photo taken.

He looked a little uncomfortable with all the attention and flashing lights. More than once he had looked back to find you, only for you to give him a little smile of encouragement for him to keep going. He would always smile back and look ready to return to the craze after seeing you.

Unfortunately you weren’t having the greatest time as you were left with Bucky’s new boss, Valentina, and her assistant, Mel.

Valentina nudged you to get your attention.

“Sorry?” You missed what she had said.

“It’s interesting the way you look at him.”

“It is?” You swallowed your nerves.

You thought you were subtle about the way you looked at him with adoration, but maybe you weren’t as careful as you thought.

“It’s even more interesting that I didn’t need to tell you who I was talking about.” She gave you a tight lipped smile.

Fuck.

You smiled to play it off, before returning your gaze to the carpet.

“Mel.” Valentina called. You watched Mel hand Valentina an iPad with a page open on something. “You are Bucky’s “best friend” are you not?”

You looked at Valentina to see she was speaking to you.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Good. Then you can help me decide who to have Bucky date next.” She smiled an evil smile, leaving you no time to decompress the information.

“I’m… s-sorry what?”

What?

Bucky… dating… Hm?

“Yeah. Bucky needs some arm candy now that he’s in the public eye. What do you think?”

Valentina showed you the iPad and the girl on the screen looked the opposite of you and she looked so beautiful. In fact she could be a goddess for all you know.

The thought of Bucky with some… goddess, though. You couldn’t fake a smile over that thought.

Bucky was your best friend but you wished he could be so much more than that. You craved something more with him. You craved him in a way you hadn’t yet known him. You wanted him in a way that meant he couldn’t be with anyone in the same way.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Would she be a good fit?”

“I.. I don’t know.”

“Oh. I thought you were supposed to be his beat friend?” Valentina taunted you.

You knew what game she was playing, because she must have seen the way you were looking at Bucky.

You gave her a tight lipped smile and nodded a goodbye.

Trying not to be upset about the thought of Bucky with another woman was the nail in the coffin to you accepting that you like like him.

As you walked away from the red carpet, Valentina and even Bucky you couldn’t help but feel very small in one of the largest cities.

🎇

“Hey, I didn’t see you at the end of the red carpet.” Bucky weaved his hand around your arm.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, honey.” He furrowed his eyebrows like you’d just said the silliest thing ever.

“Okay.” You gave him a pretend smile.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you.

“I’m okay.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You looked down at your feet, which were only a few centimetres apart from each other.

You felt Bucky’s hand slightly tighten in order to pull you into a small alcove that was out of sight from the rest of the room.

“Wha—.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, please.” He dipped his head to try and catch your eyes, because he knew that when he catches them he’ll have you hook, line and sinker.

You bravely looked up into his bluey eyes.

You bit your lip to keep you from spilling everything your heart wanted you to. Bucky’s eyes saddened at the sight of you struggling to talk to him.

“You can tell me anything.” He said quietly.

You nodded, not looking away from him.

“I’ll be worrying about you all night if you don’t tell me darling.” Bucky’s hand trails down your arm to your hand, never leaving your skin untouched. His hand clasped to yours and gave it a tight squeeze to silently let you know that he was right here.

“I… It’s…”

You groaned to yourself, turning away from his gaze only to feel the cool metal of Bucky’s fingers on your cheek pulling you back.

Ring.

Bucky’s phone decided to ring at that moment, but he didn’t pay it any attention. His whole gaze was on you and it wasn’t leaving until you told him you were okay or what was bothering you.

“C’mon honey.”

“It’s Valentina.” You sighed.

Bucky’s hand let go of your face but not your hand.

“Okay?”

“She is setting you up with a fake pr relationship going forward.”

“A fake… What?” Bucky let go of your hand to throw his arms in the air in protest. “Bullshit.”

“Bucky…” You sighed.

“No. This is… I mean… Relationship?” Bucky scoffed.

“You don’t even know who it might be yet. All you can do is give it a try.”

“I don’t want to try.”

“You don’t want to try and be in a relationship?” You tried to understand what he was saying.

“No! I don’t want to be in a relationship if it’s not with you!”

You gasped.

What?

Is your best friend saying what you think he’s saying?

“Buck…”

“Fuck… I didn’t mean to tell you like that..” He ran a stressed hand through his hair, looking less angry than he did moments before. “Y/N I…”

You crossed the distance between him and you within a second, cupping both of his cheeks with your hands and pulling him down until his lips met yours.

His lips were soft against yours but it was clear that he wasn’t at all prepared for you to pull that move.

Your lips left his after a couple seconds.

Fuck.

Did he not mean it?

You opened your lips to apologise profusely, but before you could speak Bucky’s lips were on yours. This time the kiss was much more. There was much more passion and lust pushed into every bit of it.

Bucky gripped your jaw on either side as if you might try and escape. He held you so close as he kissed you as if you were a mission he was dead set on completing.

He smelt intoxicating. He was wearing the perfume you’d bought him a few years ago and ever since then he’d restocked for himself.

His lips though…

The kiss was bruising and all-consuming. You couldn’t breathe but you didn’t care, especially when Bucky tilted your head to the side slightly to deepen his angle of the kiss.

You tried to pull back to gain a breath but Bucky whined and only pulled you closer. He breathed you in as his mouth encased yours once more, pressing his nose against yours and giving you everything he had.

Only then did he let you back an inch.

You breathed out a hearty laugh, making him laugh too and go back for another long kiss. Your lips smacked as they untouched.

You brought up a hand to touch his against your jaw, rubbing your thumbs carefully over his skin and metal. He moved to tilt his forehead against yours carefully.

“Tell Valentina to fuck herself, because I’m happy with my girl in front of me.” Bucky laughed.

“Okay.” You nodded acceptingly.

Bucky kissed you again just because he could.

“And for the record, I’m happy too.”

[quandaledlnglepink]

 ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 ̟ ⸻ ❝ I GAVE YOU A BONER, DON'T IGNORE ME. ❞

𝜗𝜚 synopsis; i'm gonna describe some of the bllk boys dick's and how they engage in sex because i have free will, just keep in mind i wrote this out of my pussy at like 11PM and i'm tired asf so sorry for any typo's or shit that doesn't make any sense xoxo. w.c; 1k. 𝜗𝜚 character's; isagi yoichi ; michael kaiser ; shidou ryusei ; nagi seishiro ; meguru bachira ; hyoma chigiri ; itoshi rin.

⸻ 潔 世一 ISAGI YOICHI ⨾ is about average, not skinny but not thick either, has an even girth. he doesn't shave, but he's not super hairy either, his pubic hairs more on the thinner side. his cum isn't thick or watery either, it's in the middle, and it doesn't really taste of anything. he's about 5.8 inches when hard. this doesn't mean at all that he's not good at the game, his technique makes up for it. after all, his greatest talent is his adaptability. he may not be able to bruise your cervix, but you'll still go dumb on his cock. his mouth is filthy, other than on the football field, the bedroom is the only place he'll let his degrading tone slip out in the heat of the moment. he's always embarrassed after, but you always reassure him you enjoy it too.

⸻ 蜂楽 廻 MEGURU BACHIRA ⨾ on the other hand, is packing an absolute monster. most people would assume he would be small, but they're so, so wrong. he's not grandly thick in girth, but he's not average sized either. he doesn't shave, his happy trail small. he's about 7.7 inches hard, two of your hands could fully stack on top of each other from base to tip. his cum has a more thick consistency, and it tastes a little on the sweet side. he's the only one, (besides shidou and nagi) who will leave your cervix bruised and battered, your legs wobbling like a fawn for the next few days. don't ever doubt his stamina, he'll have you cock–drunk for hours, and two–three measly rounds won't satisfy him. he likes cowgirl because he just ends up pulling you down, pinning you flush to his chest, fucking up into you until your stupid and drooling.

⸻ 凪 誠士郎 NAGI SEISHIRO ⨾ also packs an absolute monster, but it's expected for his looming height. he has the longest cock out of all the bllk boys, a good 8.3 inches, he's got an even, average girth. his pubic hair is a pure, snowy white, more thicker on his pelvis and looks like swirly waves. his cum is more on the watery side and a little salty. out of the big long dick bllk holders, he and barou are the only ones who aren't rabid animals when it comes to putting it to use. in fact, nagi's rather lazy and prefers eating you out or having handjobs. it's still work, but less then trying to fuck you. though, his favourite position would be cowgirl, and that speaks for itself. his sex drive is shockingly through the roof though, say, more than bachira's and shidou's.

⸻ ミヒャエル・カイザ MICHEAL KAISER ⨾ is longer than average, but more on the skinny side, with an even girth. his tip is a pale purple, a thick vein running along the underside. he doesn't shave, his hair light, fine enough where he kinda looks bare. his cum doesn't tastes of anything either, maybe a slight bitterness, and his constancy, like nagi's, is not that thick either. his length is around 6.5 inches, in all honesty, he doesn't use it much. he prefers to use his tongue and digits, that way he's in much more control, plus his sex drive isn't that high in terms of wanting to get himself off, it's more about you. if he's stressed, he prefers to be buried in between your thighs then you taking his length. doesn't mean he can't use his dick, on the rare occasion he uses it your cumming at least three times until he's satisfied.

⸻ 士道 龍聖 SHIDOU RYUSEI ⨾ longer, thick base that gets thinner when it reaches the tip, dark brown and plump. like bachira, he doesn't shave at all, he thinks the more natural the better; though his happy trail is purposely dyed pink, a gradual ombre to golden blonde the closer you get to his dick. his cum is fucking thick, like honey syrup, its taste a sweet, salty mix. he's always ends up either busting on your face, tits, tummy or back. he's a bit longer then kaiser, 6.8 inches, but it doesn't matter what length he had, your poor pussy is always weeping when he's done with you. he's a freak and a horn dog, and he's rather skilled at being able to hold his orgasm off. he's able to go for hours without getting tired, and you get overstimulated so quickly. you cum in like the first five minutes because your body reacts almost on his own when downright pornographic moans come from his mouth.

⸻ 糸師凛 ITOSHI RIN ⨾ is very long and very skinny, around 7.5 inches. his cum is of a normal taste and consistency, and he doesn't cum a lot. his tip is a light pink and he's super sensitive. i'm talking just wrapping your hands around it has him hissing through clenched teeth. he's twitchy and tends cum rather quick, which he gets rather sheepish about when he realises. he has a dark snail trail, he doesn't shave but he trims, his pubic hairs on the finer side. you get rather scared in an excited way, because he gets quite rough in the bedroom. he's a hair grabber when you go down on him, any harsh sucking from you results in your scalp stinging from how hard he fists your loc's of hair. like kaiser, he just prefers going down on you, he's a no.1 pussy eater.

⸻ 千切 豹馬 HYOMA CHIGIRI ⨾ has a pretty cock, any girl he's fucked says it to. he's about 6.6 inches, an average sized base that gets smaller more towards the tip, he has a few freckles speckled on the underside, his tip a perfectly pink mushroom. his pubic hairs a pretty pink swirl, he shaves his happy trail and trims his pubes. his cum doesn't taste of anything (hygienic king, he eats so healthy.) and the constancy is more thinner, his output of cum is rather normal as well. don't be fooled, when he puts it to use it takes you completely off guard. he'll have your knees to ears, pressing you into the mattress as if your body's like putty. he leaves you barley coherent, and yet he hadn't broken a sweat, a wicked smile would cross his face as he innocently asks you if you still think he can't fuck you right.

Quandaledlnglepink © 2025

[mistressofthemanor]

masterofthemanor

"And you wouldn't argue with that, right?" He peeved her further, seeing her smirk and knowing she had recognised the similarities between her and their daughter when it came to discipline and consistency, although, he'd have argued that Celeste was a tad bit stricter with Ariadnè than Narcissa used to be with her and Draco. Nevertheless, he didn't say that, for he didn't want Narcissa to get the wrong impression and think he'd considered her to be lacking in that department, which wasn't true, for in reality, he'd felt that while their daughter was a loving and a caring mother, she was a bit too hard on their granddaughter, enforcing more rules - even for food and dessert- than Narcissa had ever established for them. It was understandable though, if he really would have thought more about it from his wife's perspective when comparing them that way, he'd have quickly come to the conclusion that she was probably more lenient after some tears being shed by their children because of the difficulties they'd faced from conceiving the babies to her giving birth to them. Of course she couldn't punish them by sending them to their room without feeling guilty and sad when they were Ariadnè's age when all she wanted was to protect them from everyone, including her own wrath. They'd had different experiences, different circumstances and mindsets that resulted in differences in how they approached- and took up on the role. Letting out a half-relieved sigh when she'd confirmed that he had done the right thing and it was for the best he hadn't revealed to their daughter that it was Narcissa he'd rekindled his relationship with. At least she didn't blame him for being coward and further aggravate his guilt, which made it easier for him to listen to her and later to answer her. Nodding as she went on sharing her thoughts, he kept on staring at her with a careworn expression frozen on his features. As much as her declaration of him being a good example on preserving his patience in front of their children flattered him, he didn't say anything about it, for his mind was taken up by the rest of her words and he fully focused on them, hoping she might give an insight- a solution that hadn't occurred to him just yet. "She knows something is amiss, for sure... *sighs* She let me know that she's convinced she's onto something with more than words... I could see it in her eyes- hear the suspicion in her voice... *pauses for a moment before continuing his recollection of the events* For now, she's only said that she wasn't comfortable with me hiding someone... in fact, she said she didn't like it" He concluded, only for Narcissa to somewhat protect their daughter by excusing her behaviour with the fact that she wanted to protect him and that she was merely living by their teachings about loyalty. He wasn't happy about the fact that Narcissa assumed the same as him, that Celeste would release her wrath and aim it at her- as if he wasn't guilty as well, as if he didn't have a saying in them getting back together. It wasn't fair and he wanted to somehow prevent that. "No" He disapproved of her in a heartbeat, not even giving her suggestion a thought. "We are in this together, Narcissa. It's our decision we've made together... *he stated boldly, holding her gaze intently without moving his hand from beneath her touch* I don't want you to face her on your own and take the-" blame, he wanted to say, but quickly bit his tongue instead, realising that their relationship wasn't something he wanted to feel bad or guilty about. It wasn't a mistake and definitely not something they ought to be punished for. "We'll do it together. I owe this to the both of you" Shifting his hand away, but only so he could take hers into his properly, intertwining their fingers while doing so, he finished, his thought, making it clear that his decision was final and was non-negotiable.

She paused, brushing her thumb lightly over the back of his hand, grounding him as much as herself. “She’s not angry because it’s me. She’s angry because she knows something’s being hidden. That fear will be more prominent when she does find out that it is me. I am certain that if it was someone she didn't know and you professed your happiness for a stranger, Celeste would let her fear subside - maybe not immediately but she does want your happiness as much as I do but with me, there are concerns...worries." Narcissa let out a soft sigh, one of disappointment in herself for that being there in her daughter. However, there was something in Narcissa's eyes—measured, unwavering—that suggested she’d already made up her mind about who would speak to Celeste.

“Lucius,” she said softly, almost tenderly, “I hear you. And I love you for saying it. For refusing to let me shoulder the weight of this alone. But that’s exactly why I need to be the one to speak to her.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze—not to pull away, but to steady him, to prepare him for the shift in direction. “This isn’t about blame,” she continued, her voice calm and sure. “It’s not about taking the fall or protecting you. It’s about knowing her. I’m her mother. If I allow someone else to explain my return...," she trailed off and lowered her eyes, not sure if she knew how to best explain her feelings. She leaned forward slightly, still holding his hand, as her gaze sharpened with the clarity that only came from a lifetime of navigating delicate truths. “If you tell her, even with the best intentions, she’ll see it as a decision you didn't make with a clear head. That I swayed you. And you’ll become the buffer between her and me—again. That’s not what either of us needs. I broke her trust. I'm...I'm the one that left. I'm the one that has to regain what was lost between us, between the three of us. That’s a wound only I can speak to. And the only way to face her is to be honest." Before he could protest, she added with more gravity, “But I want you nearby. Not hidden, not quiet in the next room. Just… not at the centre of it. Not this time.” She shifted her hand slightly so their fingers laced again, more deliberate now. The thought of facing Celeste seemed terrifying to her but she also knew that it had to be this way. “Let me do this, Lucius. And after that… then we face her together.”

Bones of Contention

[crowsofdarkness]

pairings: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

You stumble upon a scene that awakens something inside of you so Bucky helps you unleash it.

18+ CW's below the cut: arranged marriage, dry humping, blood, mentions of torture, licking up dry blood, pussy spanking.

I shouldn’t have done what I did, sneaking into the hidden room at the mansion, but Bucky had been so quiet about some things lately. I couldn’t help but be curious about what he was doing in that room. Especially when I heard screams coming from it. So when I followed him inside, I nearly fainted at what I saw. 

Bucky laying a vibranium fist into a familiar face. 

My ex boyfriend, the one I’d been with before my arranged marriage to Bucky. I confronted him about the bloody scene in front of me which only ended with Bucky dragging me back up to our bedroom. It was clear that I wasn’t happy with this arranged marriage but I had no choice. I needed to do this to keep the war between our families at bay. I didn’t love Bucky but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, especially right now covered in my ex’s blood as he towered over me. 

“This marriage isn’t real! You can’t defend my honor just because you feel like it. And you can’t kill everyone I ever dated because they touched me,” I yelled at him, holding my chin up high. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared, his anger radiating off of him in droves, and he leaned farther over me causing my body to fall to the bed. His arms locked me in on both sides of my head and I felt his scorching breath fanning over my lips. We were so close that if I titled my head up just a tad, I would finally be able to figure out what he tasted like; a month into this marriage and we had barely touched, even though I couldn’t deny I wanted to know what it felt like. 

“Let’s make one thing clear here. You’re mine, solnyshka. Anyone who disrespects you will pay a price, regardless of who they are,” Bucky pressed his hips against mine. 

I sucked in a breath when his cock brushed along my pussy, over the silk fabric of my pajama shorts. My hands shook at my sides, unsure what to do with them, so Bucky grabbed them and pinned both of them above my head; both wrists fitting in one of his hands. 

“Wh-what did you call me?” I choked out, suddenly realizing what he said. 

His nose brushed along my jawline, breathing me in. 

“Solnyshka,” Bucky almost purred. 

I swallowed thickly, doing my best to keep my strong hold against him even though it was faltering with every brush of his cock against me. He was slowly dry humping me and I was giving back to him with even strokes. There was still dried blood across his bare chest painting him in crimson, and I could still smell the lingering copper scent. 

“What if I don’t like it?” I panted, nearly gone in bliss. 

He groaned while grazing his teeth along my jugular. “Too bad because it stays. Solnyshka.”

With one of his hands still keeping mine locked about my head, his other slipped underneath my nightshirt to graze over my blazed skin. We were like a couple of horny teenagers that found their first moment alone with each other with how frenzied our movements were against each other. My orgasm was building slowly, the familiar tingling sensation in the base of my spine. It was so close, I could taste it on the tip of my tongue and I wanted nothing more than to scream out his name as I came undone underneath Bucky. 

“How wet are you, solnyshka?” He flicked his tongue against my earlobe. “I bet you're soaked just from this.”

I nodded, too far gone now to try and fight against him. I needed this release more than oxygen and it was almost as if Bucky understood because his hand slipped between us to tease my folds over my shorts. 

“I fucking knew it,” he chuckled darkly. “How bad do you want my cock, Y/N?” 

I bit the inside of my cheek, not wanting to give away how bad I actually wanted this. Instead I raised my hips up towards his hands, a silent beg falling from my lips. 

“Use your words,” Bucky demanded before smacking my pussy. 

“Shit!” I cried out. “Fuck you!”

He wrapped one of my legs around his back so he could press his clothed cock over my pussy at a different angle and it was everything I needed for the coil to snap. 

“Oh god,” my body convulsed underneath Bucky as I let my orgasm overcome all of my senses. 

White hazy stars danced at the edges of my vision. 

I could taste the blood from Bucky’s chest as I lapped at it, unknowingly. 

All the noises around me seemed to fade away. The only thing I could hear was Bucky’s grunts as he continued to dry fuck me. 

At some point he let go of my hands and my nails scratched at Bucky’s back, working myself through the aftershocks. 

The scent of his cologne hung along the edge of my nose as I breathed him in. 

“That’s such a good girl, Y/N. You sound so pretty when you cum,” Bucky praised while dragging his teeth along the side of my neck. 

My jaw fell slack when I finally came down from my high and Bucky began raising the hem of my shirt up over my stomach. 

“You can lie all you want, Y/N. But what you saw downstairs turned you on,” he flicked his eyes up at me from his new position over my belly. 

“You’re crazy,” I breathed, letting my eyes flutter shut. 

“For you,” before dragging my shorts down my legs.