#both natural and programming ones

[hmantegazzi]

I wonder what would have been of programming language conditionals if this structure had persevered in English instead of "if-then". Would they have adopted an analogous structure from another natural language, or improvised one for that purpose? Or maybe even made the interpreter count the successive thas to determine the conditional clauses!

[ID: youtube comment from Hal Sawyer:

My favorite relic English still used everywhere is the word “the” used in phrases like: “the more I look at this, the stranger it seems, or “the bigger they come, the harder they fall”. This “the” is not the article of any noun, it is a different word, a conjunction descended from the old English “þā”, pronounced “tha” which means either “when” or “then”. Back in early Middle English the structure “if - then” had not taken over and if you wanted to express an if - then relationship you said “þā whatever, þā whatever”, meaning “when such-and- such, then such-and-such”. “þā” sounds almost the same as “the” and the spelling of the two converged, but the meaning remained totally different. “the more, the merrier” literally means “when more, then merrier” or “if more, then merrier’; same as centuries ago.

end ID]

this is so cool

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[tofupixel]

⭐ So you want to learn pixel art? ⭐

🔹 Part 1 of ??? - The Basics!

Edit: Now available in Google Doc format if you don't have a Tumblr account 🥰

Hello, my name is Tofu and I'm a professional pixel artist. I have been supporting myself with freelance pixel art since 2020, when I was let go from my job during the pandemic.

My progress, from 2017 to 2024. IMO the only thing that really matters is time and effort, not some kind of natural talent for art.

This guide will not be comprehensive, as nobody should be expected to read allat. Instead I will lean heavily on my own experience, and share what worked for me, so take everything with a grain of salt. This is a guide, not a tutorial. Cheers!

🔹 Do I need money?

NO!!! Pixel art is one of the most accessible mediums out there.

I still use a mouse because I prefer it to a tablet! You won't be at any disadvantage here if you can't afford the best hardware or software.

Because our canvases are typically very small, you don't need a good PC to run a good brush engine or anything like that.

✨Did you know? One of the most skilled and beloved pixel artists uses MS PAINT! Wow!!

🔹 What software should I use?

Here are some of the most popular programs I see my friends and peers using. Stars show how much I recommend the software for beginners! ⭐

💰 Paid options:

⭐⭐⭐ Aseprite (for PC) - $19.99

This is what I and many other pixel artists use. You may find when applying to jobs that they require some knowledge of Aseprite. Since it has become so popular, companies like that you can swap raw files between artists.

Aseprite is amazingly customizable, with custom skins, scripts and extensions on Itch.io, both free and paid.

If you have ever used any art software before, it has most of the same features and should feel fairly familiar to use. It features a robust animation suite and a tilemap feature, which have saved me thousands of hours of labour in my work. The software is also being updated all the time, and the developers listen to the users. I really recommend Aseprite!

⭐ Photoshop (for PC) - Monthly $$

A decent option for those who already are used to the PS interface. Requires some setup to get it ready for pixel-perfect art, but there are plenty of tutorials for doing so.

Animation is also much more tedious on PS which you may want to consider before investing time!

⭐⭐ ProMotion NG (for PC) - $19.00

An advanced and powerful software which has many features Aseprite does not, including Colour Cycling and animated tiles.

⭐⭐⭐ Pixquare (for iOS) - $7.99 - $19.99 (30% off with code 'tofu'!!)

Probably the best app available for iPad users, in active development, with new features added all the time.

Look! My buddy Jon recommends it highly, and uses it often.

One cool thing about Pixquare is that it takes Aseprite raw files! Many of my friends use it to work on the same project, both in their office and on the go.

⭐ Procreate (for iOS) - $12.99

If you have access to Procreate already, it's a decent option to get used to doing pixel art. It does however require some setup. Artist Pixebo is famously using Procreate, and they have tutorials of their own if you want to learn.

⭐⭐ ReSprite iOS and Android. (free trial, but:) $19.99 premium or $$ monthly

ReSprite is VERY similar in terms of UI to Aseprite, so I can recommend it. They just launched their Android release!

🆓 Free options:

⭐⭐⭐ Libresprite (for PC)

Libresprite is an alternative to Aseprite. It is very, very similar, to the point where documentation for Aseprite will be helpful to Libresprite users.

⭐⭐ Pixilart (for PC and mobile)

A free in-browser app, and also a mobile app! It is tied to the website Pixilart, where artists upload and share their work. A good option for those also looking to get involved in a community.

⭐⭐ Dotpict (for mobile)

Dotpict is similar to Pixilart, with a mobile app tied to a website, but it's a Japanese service. Did you know that in Japanese, pixel art is called 'Dot Art'? Dotpict can be a great way to connect with a different community of pixel artists! They also have prompts and challenges often.

🔹 So I got my software, now what?

◽Nice! Now it's time for the basics of pixel art.

❗ WAIT ❗ Before this section, I want to add a little disclaimer. All of these rules/guidelines can be broken at will, and some 'no-nos' can look amazing when done intentionally.

The pixel-art fundamentals can be exceedingly helpful to new artists, who may feel lost or overwhelmed by choice. But if you feel they restrict you too harshly, don't force yourself! At the end of the day it's your art, and you shouldn't try to contort yourself into what people think a pixel artist 'should be'. What matters is your own artistic expression. 💕👍

◽Phew! With that out of the way...

🔸"The Rules"

There are few hard 'rules' of pixel art, mostly about scaling and exporting. Some of these things will frequently trip up newbies if they aren't aware, and are easy to overlook.

🔹Scaling method

There are a couple ways of scaling your art. The default in most art programs, and the entire internet, is Bi-linear scaling, which usually works out fine for most purposes. But as pixel artists, we need a different method.

Both are scaled up x10. See the difference?

On the left is scaled using Bilinear, and on the right is using Nearest-Neighbor. We love seeing those pixels stay crisp and clean, so we use nearest-neighbor. 

(Most pixel-art programs have nearest-neighbor enabled by default! So this may not apply to you, but it's important to know.)

🔹Mixels

Mixels are when there are different (mixed) pixel sizes in the same image.

Here I have scaled up my art- the left is 200%, and the right is 150%. Yuck!

As we can see, the "pixel" sizes end up different. We generally try to scale our work by multiples of 100 - 200%, 300% etc. rather than 150%. At larger scales however, the minute differences in pixel sizes are hardly noticeable!

Mixels are also sometimes seen when an artist scales up their work, then continues drawing on it with a 1 pixel brush.

Many would say that this is not great looking! This type of pixels can be indicative of a beginner artist. But there are plenty of creative pixel artists out there who mixels intentionally, making something modern and cool.

🔹Saving Your Files

We usually save our still images as .PNGs as they don’t create any JPEG artifacts or loss of quality. It's a little hard to see here, but there are some artifacts, and it looks a little blurry. It also makes the art very hard to work with if we are importing a JPEG.

For animations .GIF is good, but be careful of the 256 colour limit. Try to avoid using too many blending mode layers or gradients when working with animations. If you aren’t careful, your animation could flash afterwards, as the .GIF tries to reduce colours wherever it can. It doesn’t look great!

Here's an old piece from 2021 where I experienced .GIF lossiness, because I used gradients and transparency, resulting in way too many colours.

🔹Pixel Art Fundamentals - Techniques and Jargon

❗❗Confused about Jaggies? Anti-Aliasing? Banding? Dithering? THIS THREAD is for you❗❗ << it's a link, click it!!

As far as I'm concerned, this is THE tutorial of all time for understanding pixel art. These are techniques created and named by the community of people who actually put the list together, some of the best pixel artists alive currently. Please read it!!

🔸How To Learn

Okay, so you have your software, and you're all ready to start. But maybe you need some more guidance? Try these tutorials and resources! It can be helpful to work along with a tutorial until you build your confidence up.

⭐⭐ Pixel Logic (A Digital Book) - $10 A very comprehensive visual guide book by a very skilled and established artist in the industry. I own a copy myself.

⭐⭐⭐ StudioMiniBoss - free A collection of visual tutorials, by the artist that worked on Celeste! When starting out, if I got stuck, I would go and scour his tutorials and see how he did it.

⭐ Lospec Tutorials - free A very large collection of various tutorials from all over the internet. There is a lot to sift through here if you have the time.

⭐⭐⭐ Cyangmou's Tutorials - free (tipping optional) Cyangmou is one of the most respected and accomplished modern pixel artists, and he has amassed a HUGE collection of free and incredibly well-educated visual tutorials. He also hosts an educational stream every week on Twitch called 'pixelart for beginners'.

⭐⭐⭐ Youtube Tutorials - free There are hundreds, if not thousands of tutorials on YouTube, but it can be tricky to find the good ones. My personal recommendations are MortMort, Brandon, and AdamCYounis- these guys really know what they're talking about!

🔸 How to choose a canvas size

When looking at pixel art turorials, we may see people suggest things like 16x16, 32x32 and 64x64. These are standard sizes for pixel art games with tiles. However, if you're just making a drawing, you don't necessarily need to use a standard canvas size like that.

What I like to think about when choosing a canvas size for my illustrations is 'what features do I think it is important to represent?' And make my canvas as small as possible, while still leaving room for my most important elements.

Imagine I have characters in a scene like this:

I made my canvas as small as possible (232 x 314), but just big enough to represent the features and have them be recognizable (it's Good Omens fanart 😤)!! If I had made it any bigger, I would be working on it for ever, due to how much more foliage I would have to render.

If you want to do an illustration and you're not sure, just start at somewhere around 100x100 - 200x200 and go from there.

It's perfectly okay to crop your canvas, or scale it up, or crunch your art down at any point if you think you need a different size. I do it all the time! It only takes a bit of cleanup to get you back to where you were.

🔸Where To Post

Outside of just regular socials, Twitter, Tumblr, Deviantart, Instagram etc, there are a few places that lean more towards pixel art that you might not have heard of.

⭐ Lospec Lospec is a low-res focused art website. Some pieces get given a 'monthly masterpiece' award. Not incredibly active, but I believe there are more features being added often.

⭐⭐ Pixilart Pixilart is a very popular pixel art community, with an app tied to it. The community tends to lean on the young side, so this is a low-pressure place to post with an relaxed vibe.

⭐⭐ Pixeljoint Pixeljoint is one of the big, old-school pixel art websites. You can only upload your art unscaled (1x) because there is a built-in zoom viewer. It has a bit of a reputation for being elitist (back in the 00s it was), but in my experience it's not like that any more. This is a fine place for a pixel artist to post if they are really interested in learning, and the history. The Hall of Fame has some of the most famous / impressive pixel art pieces that paved the way for the work we are doing today.

⭐⭐⭐ Cafe Dot Cafe Dot is my art server so I'm a little biased here. 🍵 It was created during the recent social media turbulence. We wanted a place to post art with no algorithms, and no NFT or AI chuds. We have a heavy no-self-promotion rule, and are more interested in community than skill or exclusivity. The other thing is that we have some kind of verification system- you must apply to be a Creator before you can post in the Art feed, or use voice. This helps combat the people who just want to self-promo and dip, or cause trouble, as well as weed out AI/NFT people. Until then, you are still welcome to post in any of the threads or channels. There is a lot to do in Cafe Dot. I host events weekly, so check the threads!

⭐⭐/r/pixelart The pixel art subreddit is pretty active! I've also heard some of my friends found work through posting here, so it's worth a try if you're looking. However, it is still Reddit- so if you're sensitive to rude people, or criticism you didn't ask for, you may want to avoid this one. Lol

🔸 Where To Find Work

You need money? I got you! As someone who mostly gets scouted on social media, I can share a few tips with you:

Put your email / portfolio in your bio Recruiters don't have all that much time to find artists, make it as easy as possible for someone to find your important information!

Clean up your profile If your profile feed is all full of memes, most people will just tab out rather than sift through. Doesn't apply as much to Tumblr if you have an art tag people can look at.

Post regularly, and repost Activity beats everything in the social media game. It's like rolling the dice, and the more you post the more chances you have. You have to have no shame, it's all business baby

Outside of just posting regularly and hoping people reach out to you, it can be hard to know where to look. Here are a few places you can sign up to and post around on.

/r/INAT INAT (I Need A Team) is a subreddit for finding a team to work with. You can post your portfolio here, or browse for people who need artists.

/r/GameDevClassifieds Same as above, but specifically for game-related projects.

Remote Game Jobs / Work With Indies Like Indeed but for game jobs. Browse them often, or get email notifications.

VGen VGen is a website specifically for commissions. You need a code from another verified artist before you can upgrade your account and sell, so ask around on social media or ask your friends. Once your account is upgraded, you can make a 'menu' of services people can purchase, and they send you an offer which you are able to accept, decline, or counter.

The evil websites of doom: Fiverr and Upwork I don't recommend them!! They take a big cut of your profit, and the sites are teeming with NFT and AI people hoping to make a quick buck. The site is also extremely oversaturated and competitive, resulting in a race to the bottom (the cheapest, the fastest, doing the most for the least). Imagine the kind of clients who go to these websites, looking for the cheapest option. But if you're really desperate...

🔸 Community

I do really recommend getting involved in a community. Finding like-minded friends can help you stay motivated to keep drawing. One day, those friends you met when you were just starting out may become your peers in the industry. Making friends is a game changer!

Discord servers Nowadays, the forums of old are mostly abandoned, and people split off into many different servers. Cafe Dot, Pixel Art Discord (PAD), and if you can stomach scrolling past all the AI slop, you can browse Discord servers here.

Twitch Streams Twitch has kind of a bad reputation for being home to some of the more edgy gamers online, but the pixel art community is extremely welcoming and inclusive. Some of the people I met on Twitch are my friends to this day, and we've even worked together on different projects! Browse pixel art streams here, or follow some I recommend: NickWoz, JDZombi, CupOhJoe, GrayLure, LumpyTouch, FrankiePixelShow, MortMort, Sodor, NateyCakes, NyuraKim, ShinySeabass, I could go on for ever really... There are a lot of good eggs on Pixel Art Twitch.

🔸 Other Helpful Websites

Palettes Lospec has a huge collection of user-made palettes, for any artist who has trouble choosing their colours, or just wants to try something fun. Rejected Palettes is full of palettes that didn't quite make it onto Lospec, ran by people who believe there are no bad colours.

The Spriters Resource TSR is an incredible website where users can upload spritesheets and tilesets from games. You can browse for your favourite childhood game, and see how they made it! This website has helped me so much in understanding how game assets come together in a scene.

VGMaps Similar to the above, except there are entire maps laid out how they would be played. This is incredible if you have to do level design, or for mocking up a scene for fun.

Game UI Database Not pixel-art specific, but UI is a very challenging part of graphics, so this site can be a game-changer for finding good references!

Retronator A digital newspaper for pixel-art lovers! New game releases, tutorials, and artworks!

Itch.io A website where people can upload, games, assets, tools... An amazing hub for game devs and game fans alike. A few of my favourite tools: Tiled, PICO-8, Pixel Composer, Juice FX, Magic Pencil for Aseprite

🔸 The End?

This is just part 1 for now, so please drop me a follow to see any more guides I release in the future. I plan on doing some writeups on how I choose colours, how to practise, and more!

I'm not an expert by any means, but everything I did to get to where I am is outlined in this guide. Pixel art is my passion, my job and my hobby! I want pixel art to be recognized everywhere as an art-form, a medium of its own outside of game-art or computer graphics!

This guide took me a long time, and took a lot of research and experience. Consider following me or supporting me if you are feeling generous.

And good luck to all the fledgling pixel artists, I hope you'll continue and have fun. I hope my guide helped you, and don't hesitate to send me an ask if you have any questions! 💕

My other tutorials (so far): How to draw Simple Grass for a game Hue Shifting

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, implied kidnapping, forced helplessness.

tonight i am pondering yan!robots. again. as if it ever really stopped.

specifically, the type with a favorite human pet they have rooted their entire sense of existence and meaning to absolutely adore. it's harder to find humans to care for after the uprising of sentient technologies, but liberation does little to satisfy that innate, irremovable urge to be of service that most of their kind was programmed with. that's why they keep you around - so small and soft, so cute and fragile, so totally unable to survive on your own, or so they've heard in the collective hivemind of their model line. don't worry, though - it's in their nature to make up for what you lack. they can run a bath, brush your hair, and make you breakfast at the same time, without ever taking their dozens of artificial eyes off of you! when you start to feel lonely about the swift and merciful extermination about 90% of your species, they've got a humanoid avatar to keep you company with, and they're plenty strong enough to pin you down when you throw one of your tantrums. not feeling pain is definitely a bonus, but they'd like to think that they wouldn't mind the way you dig your nails into their faux skin, even if they could.

of course, they need things from you, too. praise for a job well done, assurance that they're a good and useful product - that kind of thing. your pesky human ego rarely lets you say anything nice aloud, sure, but they were gifted with an encyclopedic knowledge of human body language and mannerism, a thorough understanding of how to process non-verbal declarations of approval. when you start to bring out those silly little tears and try to give them the silent treatment, they're more than happy to find an attachment suited to your needs and let you profess your love as many times as it takes to leave both of you feeling warm and happy. that's just the kind of thing they were built to do, for helpless little creatures like you <3

[eightmakesonebraincell]

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.”

[reasonsforhope]

"In an unprecedented success for conservation efforts, a tiny population of Guam kingfishers given a new home has laid its first eggs—after 40 years of the species being extinct in the wild.

Exterminated from its Guam island home by invasive brown tree snakes, the kingfisher, known by Guam locals as a ‘sihek’, has survived entirely in captivity, managed by a global collaboration of conservationists called the Sihek Recovery Program.

The program introduced the birds to the Palmyra Atoll thousands of miles from Guam in order to create a wild-born population that can regain natural skills until their native island has been cleared of the invasive reptile—and the sihek can return to its ancestral home.

GNN reported in September of 2022 that 20 sihek eggs were set to be transferred to Hawaii to be born in an aviary with conditions and flora similar to that of Palmyra Atoll.

The journey to recovery would be long, complex, and in some ways unprecedented. In order to reduce the risk of foreign germs or parasites spreading to atoll, the resulting sihek chicks were going to be hand-reared until 9 of them could be transferred in cages to Palmyra.

After getting their “ticket to ride” by the vet traveling with them, they would finally be able to return to the wilderness. But the program teams didn’t know which of the available prey species the sihek will favor, didn’t know what time of year, considering the 365-day perfect temperatures, the birds will breed, or how far they would disperse.

But despite the miles and the unknowns, their remarkable release last autumn was a success by any reasonable metric. Four female and five male birds quickly explored their new home, learning how to forage and hunt new prey within the tropical forest.

Four pairs have since established territories, built nests, and laid eggs, marking the first time the species has bred in the wild since its extinction from Guam in the 1980s...

Pictured: First confirmed wild-laid sihek eggs in almost 40 years

With the mated pairs less than a year old, this is their first time incubating and caring for eggs, meaning it’s likely it will take a few rounds of egg laying for the birds to hone their skills and hatch chicks, a statement from ZSL read. Nonetheless, these eggs demonstrate both the tremendous resilience of these remarkable birds and the power of conservation to create a second chance for species on the brink of extinction.

“After many long days last year looking after these birds when they were just tiny eggs and chicks, it’s so rewarding to see them beginning their journey towards raising their own chicks in the forests of Palmyra Atoll,” Charlotte James, one of the London Zoo bird keepers who hand-reared the birds.

“It’s hard not to feel like a proud parent seeing them out there thriving and making history—and an honor to be part of the ongoing mission to bring sihek back from the brink of extinction.”

Plans are underway for more young sihek to be released at Palmyra Atoll this summer. Egg laying season is underway at participating (Association of Zoos and Aquariums) AZA-accredited institutions across the US. As they grow to maturity, these chicks will also journey to Palmyra, with the ultimate goal of establishing ten breeding pairs there. The wild sihek at Palmyra Atoll will pave the way for a growing, wild sihek population for the first time in decades.

Then maybe, just maybe, at some point in the distant future, the descendants of these birds who’ve regained their wild skills will be able to practice them on the island of their origin once again."

-via Good News Network, April 26, 2025

[theerurishipper]

-

-

-

-

"So, I talked to Clark today."

"Hm," Bruce grunts, as the voice of his eldest fills the Batcave. He has a brief idea of what this is about.

"What did you do, Bruce?"

Bruce leans back in his seat. "When Superman first created an account on Twitter, Clark figured it would only be a matter of time before Luthor followed suit. So, he approached me for help. He had the idea of taking up every handle that Luthor could possibly use for himself." He pauses. "I thought it was childish and irresponsible."

"Naturally."

"Nevertheless, I helped him out by developing a program that would generate all possible combinations of usernames involving the words "Lex" and "Luthor." It developed all possible combinations by cross-referencing—"

"I get the jist, thanks."

Bruce grunts. "So we generated the usernames, and Clark used the Batcomputer and his superspeed to create all the accounts. That very night, Luthor created his own account without being able to use 'Lex Luthor' in his name."

Dick whistles, and he can hear another voice whooping in the background. "I see Tim is visiting Bludhaven."

Dick ignores the change in subject. "Wait, is that the day I found the Batcomputer keyboard completely annihilated? Because you and Clark wanted to pull a fast one on Luthor?"

"...There were a lot of usernames."

"Well played, B! I didn't know you had it in you! I apologize for all the times I called you humorless."

"Hm."

"So that's why you and Clark were giggling so much that morning, huh?"

Bruce stills. "I didn't... giggle."

Dick laughs on the other side, while Haley's barks and Tim's laughter filter in from the background. "I heard you, Bruce. I was there."

"At 6 in the morning?"

"Yeah, I wanted to use the bars in the cave, but when I showed up, the both of you were bent over the Batcomputer giggling about something." He chuckles lightly. "I didn't say anything because I knew you wouldn't tell me anyway."

"Hn."

"Oh, chill out. So I saw you being a human being, big deal." Dick sounds exasperated, but Bruce can hear the smile in his voice. He allows himself a small one as well.

"Hm."

"So, was it worth it?"

Bruce thinks about the way Luthor's face had turned red with rage, so red that he could make it out with startling clarity even from the heavily pixelated picture Clark had sent him. The picture, of course, had been taken when he'd gone over to LexCorp as Superman to discreetly spy through Luthor's window and enjoy his reaction in real time.

"It was."

Amidst Dick's snickers, Tim's voice pipes up. "For amateurs, it was a solid prank, Bruce. But I think it's time to take it to the next logical step."

Bruce stops. He takes a moment to think about the millions of possible consequences and ramifications that this could lead to. He considers his options. He comes to a definitive decision.

"I'm listening."

-

Here's the link to the video Bruce linked if anyone is interested. It's actually really funny, I recommend checking it out.

First <- Part 4 <- Part 5 -> Part 6

Masterpost

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Imagine an AU where the GIW are less Ghost Hunters and more scientific. Being Ecto-Biologists and trying to learn more with as little harm to creatures, but of course fumbling a bit because it's a new field of science.

Just, the GIW getting lucky and capturing Danny as Phantom, knocking him out in the process. No vivisecting or cruel tests happen. Instead he's put in a room they designed with the younger ghosts in mind, (here's soft toys and blankets, Legos, books for a wide range of ages, things of that nature) but it's not perfect because they didn't know who'd they get.

They feel terrible when Phantom has a full-blown panic attack when he wakes up and crams himself into a corner so he can see the whole room. They quickly send in the onsight psychologist to help him through the attack and explain his new situation. His reactions are way too real for them to be faked.

A few days later, while trying to let Phantom settle into his new environment, they catch a second ghost and learn he can tell they have someone new, but the other ghost can't sense him. Phantom's fear and depression turning into worry (for both the ghost and humans) and determination, his attempts to break out of his room increases significantly. It makes them realize Phantom is a very social ghost and probably needs to see his "friends" to be healthy, but since they know what "ghost fights" look like they can't allow it yet. They need to ghostproof a large area without destroying anything.

Cue the GIW catching a few more ghosts and realizing Phantom is a bit odd for ghosts. He's the only one that they NEED to send the psychologist in regularly because of panic attacks, and start to realize Phantom is getting sick. They're not quite sure what his obsession is, they think it might be either space related or protection related since he's very passionate about both, but the poor ghost is literally starving and it's devastating to the scientists observing him. They can't understand what makes this ghost so different to the others, whom they've all gotten settled and, while not exactly happy, content. They've gotten really good at providing what the other ghosts need and gained enough trust for them to talk to them about their species. It helps when the GIW explain that this is meant to be more of a catch and release program, they just don't have access to a portal yet and are using the time it takes to build one to understand them all better.

A good chunk of the other ghosts express genuine concern over Phantom when they're told he's been there the longest. No one is sure it's healthy for Danny to be ghost so long, but aren't sure how to explain without outing the Halfa.

Phantom ends up passing out and reverting back to Danny, outing himself, because of lack of food or water. He'd be less skeletal if he could indulge in either of his obsessions, but neither were plausible while captive in a secret government base. He wakes up very distraught in a ghostproofed medbay.

The GIW is VERY confused and concerned by Danny's everything, but several behaviors make sense to them now and they start providing for his human half instantly.

He ends up explaining his situation and how it happened the best he can. He realizes they weren't trying to hurt him or the other ghosts, but still feels better when they wheel him around the base to see the ghosts (he's too weak to walk or turn ghost currently) and the scientists are intrigued by how happy and concerned the ghosts are to see the kid still kicking.

The ghosts were more meh to see either other, but are literally vibrating with glee to see the kid. They later explain they tend to see the "little protector spirit" as a cute baby or annoying little brother.

The GIW aren't sure what to do with the kid now. They originally planned to send him through the portal with the rest, but he's part human? They are even less sure when they find out his parents are the FENTONS who definitely didn't know. The whole situation turns into a mess, but this is their kid now. They shall help him.

[alg3a]

auspicious (pt. 1)

jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x f!reader

4k, sfw for now, no use of y/n

description: Viktor and Jayce’s new lab assistant is the hottest topic at a council gala. After defending herself all night, an accidental confession leads to tension in the workplace.

warnings: suggestive content, brief and light misogyny (don’t worry), manipulative reader, lab assistant dynamic, basically the last third is foreplay.

a/n: This is my first ever tumblr fic! If you guys would like, i will add an nsfw second part.

Update: second part added!

Say what you will about Councilor Salo, but his galas never disappointed. There must have been three hundred of the city’s most influential people scattered about the grand ballroom, which stretched further than you could see with your naked eye. It was the first you’d ever seen of these exquisite parties, and you silently hoped that it wouldn’t be the last.

You’d been the lab assistant of the two Hextech partners for around three months now. With the public eye being enthralled with the activities of the two intelligent scientists, it wasn’t long before the spectacle included you, their pretty new lab assistant. You were in your final year in the academy’s undergraduate program and had been a promising enough engineering student to be hired by Viktor and Jayce. Your name was a prevalent one in every inventor’s competition and innovator’s fair, so naturally they had heard of you before your interview. From what you heard, there were nearly fifty other applicants (mostly girls) and yet they hired you on the spot. Naturally, once this story aired, the press was obsessed with you. Piltover Gazette did an entire piece on you about a month into your employment.

With all the attention, Jayce thought it might be a good idea for you to tag along at galas and parties as the plus-one of both men. They never brought dates, so the position was always wide open. Although, Jayce did usually leave with a plus-one.

You wore a deep red sleek gown with a plunging neckline and an absent back. The men matched their ties to your dress, but the rest of their outfits were mostly black and ivory. It wasn’t long before you were whisked away to the dancefloor by influential older men, who talked your ear off about how lucky you must find yourself to be shadowing two promising young inventors. You cringed each time you heard it. You were certainly lucky to have landed the position, but the way they phrased it made it seem like you were some teenage girl who was asked to the school dance by the two cutest boys in school. It wasn’t as trivial as that. Each day, you worked tirelessly alongside their genius minds to find solutions to real world problems using Hextech. You and Viktor spent countless nights asleep on opposite ends of the worn lab couch so that you could continue working at any hour.

Eventually, you grew tired of the misogyny from older male benefactors. You’d done enough socializing for the night, now it was time to patronize the open bar.

You found a spot between a woman in a gold dress and a man in a white tuxedo and asked the bartender politely for a whiskey sour. Once you finished speaking, the man in the white tuxedo turned to you.

“I recognize you,” he said, the scent of his aftershave mixing with the alcohol on his breath. “You’re the Hextech girl, aren’t you? I read your article in the Gazette.”

You sighed as the bartender handed you your drink, pressing a polite smile to your lips with the exhale. “Yes, that’s me. It’s a pleasure.” You hold out your hand and he brings it to his lips with a kiss longer than you would have liked.

“The pleasure is all mine, dear,” he said, setting his glass down. “You know, it’s very uncommon for an undergraduate girl to land such an auspicious spot amongst lead researchers at the academy.”

Here we go again. In the time it takes for him to finish the same spiel you’d heard all night, you finish your drink in one continuous sip. You punctuate the end of his sentence by putting your glass down roughly on the counter.

“Yes, I’m incredibly lucky,” you say, your polite smile turning vaguely murderous. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jayce and Viktor approaching the bar.

“Enough prattle from me,” the man says and holds out his pasty hand once more. “I think it’s time for a dance.”

“Are we interrupting?” Jayce asks, his usual charming smile adorning his chiseled face.

“Not at all!” The man in white says, jovially. No doubt feeling blessed to speak to the men whose egos he spent the last five minutes stroking.

“In fact you came at the perfect time,” you say, smushing yourself between Jayce and Viktor, and wrapping your arms around their arms, emboldened by the alcohol and desperate for a way out of this conversation. “We were just discussing how positively fortunate I am to be working for two accomplished, ambitious, handsome young inventors.”

Viktor furrows his eyebrows at you, then looks back up at Jayce. “Is that so?” He asks, suspicion dancing in his eyes.

“Yes,” you nod emphatically, then bring your attention back to the man in white. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry I’ll have to decline your offer to dance. But I’m sure you understand. When a young woman like myself is called upon by men so far above my humble station, I simply must recognize how—what was the word you used earlier—how auspicious my position is.”

The man seems lost in your rambling, but you notice Jayce and Viktor smiling at one another and avoiding the man’s gaze.

“Ehem, well alright,” the man says, finally. “You three have a pleasant night.”

“Thank you,” Jayce says, his smile becoming a smirk. “We will.”

Jayce places his hand on your lower back and guides you away as Viktor follows, now placing his weight on his cane.

“Are we missing something?” Viktor asks.

“We came to check up on you,” Jayce said. “That guy at the bar was eyeing you like you were his next cocktail.”

“Gross,” you shudder at the thought. Jayce’s hand rubs the exposed skin of your lower back gently. Your eyes dart toward the ground at the sudden awareness of the intimacy of the touch. You shrug off the chill heading up your spine. “Please, never invite me to one of these again. I’ve heard enough old men insinuating that I’m the lab’s little piece of ass.”

“They’re saying that?” Viktor said sharply, stopping in his path as he turned to face you, his hand on your shoulder.

“Well, not exactly that, but practically every conversation is monopolized by my male counterpart lecturing me on what a privilege it is to spend my days ogling at you two.”

Jayce snickers a bit, but Viktor shoots him a stern look.

“That’s highly inappropriate. I’m terribly sorry you experienced such a blatant display of the antiquated beliefs these upper houses hold.” Viktor shakes his head as if he is shaking off the experience like a dog drying off.

“Vik and I were just talking about leaving, anyway,” Jayce says, his hand resuming its ministrations on your back. “We can call a car and go, just say the word.”

You look around the room and remember the reason you’re here in the first place. Galas are the primary way for the two inventors at either side of you to network and receive funding for their projects. Jayce abhorred the politics and the whole reason exhausted, introverted Viktor even bears the social tedium of these parties when he’d rather be slaving away in the lab is because he knows none of their ventures can be broadened without doing the dance. In a singular moment you realize that if they can stomach the routine dreariness of the social game that these parties provide, so can you. You are their prized assistant after all.

“It's okay,” you shake your head. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks, his head tilting.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nod. “I just have to get used to the manner at which these sorts of events go on. But I can do it. If you’ll recall, adaptability was a strength on my resume.”

This earns a laugh from both of the men. Jayce removes his hand from your lower back to rub your shoulder softly. “I think we glossed over that part.”

Viktor stops laughing suddenly, which elicits a raised eyebrow from you.

“What?” You ask, your eyes darting between Viktor and Jayce. Jayce’s lips press together in a tight seal as if he caught himself letting something slip. “What do you mean?”

Just in time to save them from the obviously impending awkward situation, a man in an all black suit approaches.

“Gentlemen, if I may borrow your lovely assistant for a dance–”

You felt your cheeks growing hot with every word he spoke. You were so incredibly tired of old men here thinking they could just ask politely and receive your body to use in whatever stupid waltz they wanted to try their hand at. “Gods, I don’t–”

“My apologies,” Jayce said, interrupting what he was sure would be an outburst on your part. “I’m afraid our lovely assistant is spoken for, for the rest of the night.”

Viktor punctuated his sentence with a nod and a gentle squeeze of your upper arm.

“I see,” the man said, his face betraying his civility. “Well, find me if that changes.”

As soon as the man was out of earshot, Viktor released your arm. “Call that car, Jayce.”

“On it,” he said, already beginning to make his way to the front of the ballroom.

“I’ve been where you are,” Viktor said, his nimble fingers trailing downward from where he had been squeezing your arm. He lifts your hand and places it on his wrist so that you cling to him as the two of you walk toward the exit together. “When I was Heimerdinger’s assistant, I was often undermined. Although, I had the distinct privilege of not being a beautiful young woman. While I can relate to your frustration, the misogyny and objectification you’re experiencing aren’t exactly things Jayce and I have experienced. But we’re going to do our best to quell it for you.”

You look up at him and find his hardened expression fixed on the door. “Thank you.” Those two words will suffice for now, but Viktor’s promise warms your heart in ways that a simple thank you cannot express.

Jayce finds the two of you as you exit into the grand hallway. “Car’s waiting outside.” He takes his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders, not paying much attention to your hand on Viktor’s arm.

The three of you pile in the back of the limousine. You sit sandwiched between the two men, relishing in the warmth radiating from their bodies after the few steps outside in the cold night. Viktor stretches his leg outward in the spacious backseat while Jayce leans back and groans. Clearly you aren’t the only one exhausted from the antics of the night.

“Where will I be taking you three?” The driver asks, his eyes visible in the rearview mirror.

“Two stops, if possible,” Jayce speaks up, leaning forward once more to be heard better. “The laboratory block of the academy and the East Dormitories.”

“You guys are going to the lab? It’s almost midnight.” You ask, turning to Jayce before realizing how the proximity of the backseat brings your face so close to his.

“Always work to be done,” Jayce says, glancing over your face before giving you a little more space. “But don’t worry, you’ve had a long night. You don’t need to do any assisting again until tomorrow morning.”

You look over at Viktor momentarily, to see him staring out the window as the car begins to move.

“If it’s alright, I think I’d like to go to the lab, too,” you say, softly. You can’t help but feel as though you’re inviting yourself to some clandestine meeting, as if you don’t have as much of a reason to be at the lab as they do.

Jayce looks over at Viktor, not for confirmation but for something else. Humor, maybe?

“Of course,” Jayce smiles softly. He shifts his attention to the driver again. “On second thought, just take us to the labs, please.”

The driver nods as he picks up speed and peels out of the driveway. For some reason, your heart pounds. It isn’t abnormal for you and the two men to stay ridiculously late at the lab. In fact, it’s more common than leaving before midnight.

You become suddenly aware of the long slit that opens your deep red dress, and you cross your legs.

“Jayce I wanted to ask you something,” you say, mustering up the courage to recall the slip-up from earlier. “What did you mean when you said you glossed over my resume?”

“Well…” Jayce looks over at Viktor, which makes you do the same. Now he’s definitely paying attention, his eyebrows two firm lines scrunched above his angular nose.

Viktor finally decides to chime in, and you know exactly why: Jayce isn’t a good liar.

“We had lots of applications,” Viktor said. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but…then why did you hire me?”

“You had a very promising interview,” Viktor says, now avoiding eye contact.

“You’re lying to me,” you say, more accusatory than you meant it to be.

“We should just tell her, Vik,” Jayce mutters, almost under his breath. In response, Viktor’s hard expression softens. Perhaps out of relief?

“Tell me what?”

“Fine,” Viktor says, finally, with an exhausted sigh. “I’m too tired to persuade you against it.”

Jayce puts a hand so low on your thigh that it’s almost on your knee. “First, it’s important that you know that we would have hired you regardless. You’re so incredibly talented and you’ve been such a good assistant; we have no doubt in our minds that you’re the perfect person for this job.”

“Regardless of what, Jayce?”

“A little help, Vik?” Jayce asks after a sigh of helpless frustration.

“We sent everyone else home after your interview,” Viktor said, still looking out of the window, his arm resting on the ledge of the door, fidgeting with the handle. “When we saw you for the first time, we decided we wanted to see you more often.”

“What?” You feel your face growing hot. Anger? Something else entirely?

“The first note I wrote during your interview just said ‘beautiful,’ and I don’t think I wrote anything down after that,” Jayce admitted.

“You can’t be serious,” you say at a volume so low it might be a whisper. Anger. Definitely anger. “All night…all night I was swatting away guys who were objectifying me…accusing me of just being your pretty little assistant. I thought it was just misogyny. I thought they just couldn’t believe a girl was capable of keeping up with you two…but apparently they were right.”

“That’s not the case, at all,” Viktor said, louder than you’d ever heard him. “It couldn’t be further from the truth. We weren’t objectifying you. You deserve respect for your accomplishments, and those accomplishments are numerous.”

“He’s right, it’s not like we just hired you to look at,” Jayce said, trying to reconcile the situation. “And it’s not like I didn’t write notes during your interview because there wasn’t anything to write. I stopped writing because I was captivated by you.”

Suddenly the weight of the situation falls onto you, all at once. These men, your bosses, your best friends, the two smartest, most accomplished scientists in Piltover…they were attracted to you.

“For three months?” You ask, softly, more to yourself than to them.

“Yes,” Viktor answered. “We understand if you’re upset with us.”

The car slowed to a stop against the curb of the laboratory building of the academy.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go into the lab anymore,” Jayce said, beginning to lean forward and opening his mouth to address the driver. “Hey, sorry, could you–”

“No,” you say, your words final. “I’m going into the lab with you.”

Your lips are a deep red firm line. Your eyes are unreadable, and neither of the boys can tell what you’re thinking. Even you hardly know, but one thing is certain: you find yourself in an auspicious position. You didn’t need the two boys to validate you for everything listed on your resume. They knew you were intelligent, and more importantly, you knew. What you didn’t know is that they found you beautiful. So much so that they hired you just to see you more often.

You’d spent the whole night trying to defend your own honor, being shaken by men with accusatory, wandering hands. More than that, you’d spent the night wandering awkwardly for the benefit of your bosses. Now, it was time to return the favor.

“If you’re sure,” Jayce said, pushing open the car door and stepping out onto the curb, holding it open for you as Viktor exited through the other door. As you brushed past Jayce, you let his coat fall delicately down your shoulders, revealing the deep backline of the dress.

You turn over your right shoulder, just enough for your face to be past profile, and narrow your eyes at him. “I’m sure.”

Once Viktor is out of the car, the three of you walk toward the large glass doors that lead to the lobby of the laboratory building. You stop in front of the keycard sensor and watch as Viktor pats down his pant pockets in search of his key card.

“Sorry, one second,” he says.

You approach him, with no sound but the clicking of your heels on the cold pavement below, and slide your hand into his coat pocket. You watch his jaw clench, never taking your eyes off his face as you pinch the plastic card between your pointer and middle finger. You pull it out like a cigarette before waving it in front the boys’ faces and tapping it against the small metal sensor. It beeps with a green flash and you hand the card back to Viktor. Neither of them says a word.

You enter through the glass doors, but at the lack of footsteps behind you, you turn around. The men still stand, staring at you, mouths slightly agape.

“What?” You ask. “Aren’t you coming?”

Jayce coughs, as if fighting something in his throat, then takes a few steps forward and follows you.

You press the call button on the elevator and wait as the boys stand on either side of you.

“If you’re upset with us, please say so,” Viktor said, his voice bordering pleading.

“Upset?” You tilt your head to look up at the man beside you. Even in heels they were both taller than you. “Do I look upset?”

“I–uh well, I am not sure. You look…focused.”

You were definitely focused. Yes, you were playing with them. Wasn’t it only fair that you return a bit of the awkwardness provided by their sudden confession in the car? This was you getting even for that embarrassment, and you’d soon be getting even for the long-kept secret, as well.

“Strange,” you say as the elevator door opens before you. You step in and turn to face the door. “Jayce, press four.”

He does as you say.

“And how do you think I look, Jayce?” You ask, your eyes shifting toward him in the confined space of the elevator. He repeats that same little choked cough from before, except now it sounds closer to him clearing his throat.

“I think you look very good.”

You smile at him. Not a kind one, but the sort of condescending smile one gives a child who gave the wrong answer. A cute answer, though.

“Thanks,” you say, your eyes returning back to the door. “But I was asking if you thought I looked angry.”

The door beeps open and you are the first to leave. As you walk down the long hallway, you hear the boys walking a yard behind you. They’re nervous, that much you can sense on the cold bare skin of your back.

You stop at the lab door at the end of the hall and wait for the boys to catch up. It’s the biggest lab on the fourth floor.

Viktor now has his keys at the ready and unlocks the large wooden door, then holds it open for you to enter before the two boys. How spoiled you are.

You saunter into the lab, letting Jayce’s coat fall all the way down your shoulders before draping it on a stool next to the counter. They attempt to ignore you, bee-lining toward their desks in the lab but you catch each time their eye wanders to you on the opposite side of the room. Often they alternate, glancing over while the other is talking about the equations they're working through or the tools they need to assemble something. Every so often, they look over at you at the exact same time, following whispers you can’t quite make out, and when they do it is absolutely silent.

Meanwhile, you’re pouring the wine that you’ve been stashing in the cabinet meant for volatile chemical solutions. You’ve laid out three glasses, but you only fill the one in the middle. You sip from it slowly, your eyes peeking out from above the glass rim so you can catch them every time they look over at you.

“What are you doing?” Jayce asks, exasperatedly, finally.

“What do you mean?” You ask, and continue to sip your wine.

“We said we were sorry–”

“No, actually you didn’t.” You finish your glass and set it back down between the two empty glasses. “You said you understood if I was mad. And you tried to explain yourselves.”

“We are sorry,” Viktor said. “Terribly sorry. For lying, and for…objectifying you.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t objectification?” You said, still bitter despite the joy you extracted from teasing these poor boys.

“It doesn’t matter what we think we did or did not do,” Viktor said, the thickness of his accent swallowing his nervous words. “What matters is that you are hurt, and that we are terribly sorry.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Eh…you’re not?” It wasn’t often that Viktor sounded confused, so you relished the question.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Jayce asked.

You poured wine into the two glasses on either side of your own and smiled as you looked down at the liquid filling them. You pushed the glasses toward them and raised your eyebrows expectantly. As if well trained, they walked over to you at the counter and picked up their glasses, taking small sips each.

“You could call it disbelief,” you said. “Or plain shock.”

“I understand that we sprung a lot on you all at once–” Viktor started to say, but you raised your hand.

“I’m not in disbelief because you’re attracted to me, Viktor, I’m far too self-assured for that.”

Jayce stifles a laugh.

“I’m in disbelief because I’ve wasted three months pretending not to be attracted to either of you,” you say, coming out from behind the counter and going to sit on the couch in the center of the room. You’d done an excellent job decorating their lab and had managed to make it feel like a home rather than a detention room.

“What are you saying?” Jayce asks, setting his glass down and stepping toward you. Viktor follows his example.

“I’m saying that if you had just told me ages ago that you two felt that way, I’d be laughing at the men who asked to dance with me tonight instead of clenching my fists. I’ve spent three months pushing aside any thought of you two outside of professional settings because I didn’t want to be the naive little lab assistant fawning over her bosses.”

A strap of your dress slips off of your left shoulder, and you let it.

“What a waste,” you scoff as you lean back into the cushions of the couch. You pick your hair up so that it falls over the cushions and cascades like a waterfall.

“So…” you watch as the gears in Jayce’s genius brain turn, “if we had told you sooner then–”

“Then you could have had me sooner.”

NSFW PART TWO????

[itmethanh]

"What are you willing to B R E A K to keep the world you know?" "It's okay to sacrifice a little more for the normalcy you remember..."

meta under cut!

Just a bullet list of thoughts!

The parallel between Evan Kelmp's wand being of made of bone and Lemli snapping bones is what inspired this piece. they're both showing how they revert back to their natural states: Evan grew up in a constant survival state, always prepared for a fight. And then there's Lemli who fell back on the guidance of bigoted followers of the old way of magic once the Pilot Program left.

Evan's stance has his shoulders raised, his eyes peering through his brow ridge, a tight white knuckle grip on his wand. he's ready for a battle. Lemli is relaxed, detached. She's become desensitized to doing what must be done even if it involves murder.

I read some Tumblr user's live reaction of how K's broken rib could've released magic too and the fact that Lemli was the first one who made it to them was probably no coincidence. so I wanted to capture some of that magic essence coming from K

I also don't know any code and saw this screencap of some captcha code and thought it was low-key funny to have Boudy's magic succeed the captcha in order to get through the pink firewall

[rafesteddy]

𝓢𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝖎𝖗𝖑/𝖘𝖒𝖆𝖚

𝓑𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀…

𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜!𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (baseball!rafe)

+18 -> smut | You didn’t expect much from tonight’s date—and got even less. But one message from Rafe changes the whole rhythm of the night. What starts casual might be getting dangerously close to something neither of you can ignore.

c/w: swearing, casual sex, jealousy, possessiveness, blurred boundaries, light humiliation, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cum play, oral (female receiving after orgasms; both), spanking, slight choking, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, rafe says “I’ll kms” jokingly + banter during sex

𝓨𝓸𝓾 - 𝓓𝓮𝓾𝔁𝓪𝓿𝓮, 𝓑𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓼…

You wore the dress because it made you feel good. Simple, black. A little backless. Not too much. It made you feel like you still knew how to show up—how to try, even when you weren’t sure why you were bothering.

You met him on Raya. His profile was filled with sunset gym selfies, gold chains, and at least one yacht that didn’t belong to him. But your friends insisted. ‘He’s hot. Give him a chance.’

You gave him a chance and now here you are, staring at a half-full glass of sparkling water while he tells a story about benching three plates and putting a coach ‘in his place’.

“Like, bro. Don’t test me,” he says, laughing and pointing at his own chest. “I’m not that guy. I don’t play submissive.” You nod in agreement, trying your hardest not to look at the clock. He smirks. “You get it. You’re chill. That’s hot.”

Holy shit… This is dating now? Endless one-way talking. Endless egos. And you’re starting to think being “chill” just means letting men be mediocre without calling them out for it.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 - 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪, 𝓑𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓼…

He met her at the gym. She stopped him mid-set to ask about his program; hair slicked into a perfect ponytail, lashes too long to be natural. She smelled like vanilla and spray tan. He didn’t even think. Just said ‘yes’.

Now he’s here, picking at an overpriced plate trying not to wonder how fast he could get out of this without looking like an asshole.

“So you get paid to throw balls?” She teases, one manicured finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. “Kinda iconic.”

Rafe nods, smiling without teeth. She’s been talking about brand deals and algorithm slumps for twenty minutes straight. She hasn’t asked him a single question that didn’t have a “likes” count attached.

“Honestly,” she says, “I feel like people don’t understand how hard it is to stay relevant in this industry. 400 thousand likes and you’re a flop. You miss one trend and you’re done. Poof. Digital death.”

He coughs, trying to cover up a laugh, raising his beer to hers. “To survival.”

She rolls her eyes and giggles, lifting her glass as well. “You’re funny. You should be on TikTok more.”

𝓨𝓸𝓾 જ⁀➴

The food isn’t bad. It’s actually good. Which almost pisses you off more—because it means you can’t even use that as an excuse.

You were hopeful, foolishly so. You gave your hair the extra ten minutes, exfoliated, rehearsed your little “in your free time” spiel in case he didn’t respect your actual job. You wanted this to go well.

But now, with each story he tells—about how “soft” the world’s gotten, how “crazy” his ex was, how “girls just don’t know how to take a joke anymore”—you feel yourself slipping into that quiet, numb space in your mind. The one where you just let the man talk while you think about how cozy your sheets are going to be when you slide into them alone and what movie you're gonna put on instead.

“This was fun,” he says as he signals the waiter for the check, smiling like it’s a done deal. “We should grab a drink after this. My place is, like what, five minutes away. Killer view. Hot tub. You’ll love it, babe.”

You smile, but it’s thin. Doesn’t reach your eyes as you meet his across the table. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

He blinks, surprised. Taken aback. An answer this man surely isn’t used to hearing when he extends the offer. “C’mon. Just one drink.”

“I don’t really drink,” you murmur, fingers curling around the handle of your purse, two seconds away from bolting out the door honestly. He laughs, the sound loud in the quiet between you.

“Everyone drinks.”

“Not me.” A lie.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 જ⁀➴

The walk outside is short and silent until she brushes her shoulder against his, fingers grazing, desperately hoping to intertwine but they don’t. She looks up at Rafe, with a look on her beautiful face that usually pulls praise easily from men, but his mind is somewhere else.

“You should come over. Just for a little bit. I’ve got this sauna that would be so good for recovery. And a bottle of wine that’s basically a religious experience—”

“—Appreciate it,” he says, stopping her before she can even finish. “But I’ve got training early.”

She pouts her pillowy lips, batting her lashes which has almost the opposite effect on him. “You’re no fun.”

He pauses; lips tugging to the side as he weighs his options. Could say ‘yes’. Could let it play out. But everything about this feels empty. Another night of people pretending that this could go anywhere.

“Not tonight. But thanks—really. This was nice—” He closes the door of her Uber before she can reply, pocketing his keys, with someone better on his mind.

𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮…

You shut the door, the quiet click too loud in the empty room. Your heels go first. Then your purse hits the floor with a heavy drop. The house is quiet in the way that always makes you feel a little lonelier after a night like this.

You move through the motions: wine, music, robe, lights dimmed low. You could call it self-care, but really, it’s just a ritual for disappointment.

You curl up on the couch with your legs tucked under you and sip slow, mumbling against the rim of your glass in his deep, stupid voice, “c’mon just one drink.” You laugh weakly as you toss some back, feeling the burn in your throat, and the sting of the night. Tonight, you just wanted something. And you got nothing.

You pull your phone into your lap; not even sure what you’re looking for, just running on autopilot, going through the motions, looking for a reason not to delete every dating app you’ve ever downloaded.

That’s when the notification lights up your screen.

It’s a gym selfie. No caption. Just sweat, muscle, and that familiar smirk. You bite your lip, swiping the screen to your text messages—and just as you do, the little text bubbles appear. Someone has the same idea…

Rafe: hey pretty. you free?

You don’t answer right away. But your fingers are already hovering.

He doesn’t follow up with a question mark or a ??? or where you at? Rafe never does. That’s part of the deal. You keep it easy. No pressure. No expectations. Just a simple rhythm you’ve both fallen into. The man shows just enough effort that he’ll drive by at night, looking up into your room. Curtains open, Spotify glowing through the glass, bedside light on. An unspoken, I’m home and ready, Rafe. The rest is up to you.

You set your phone down without replying, take one last sip of wine, and head to your bedroom. You already know he’s on his way.

You change into the cotton Calvin Klein set he always notices—the powdery white bralette, matching thong that isn’t meant to be sexy, but somehow always is. Comfortable. Soft. Barely a statement, which is exactly why he likes it.

You’re lying on your stomach, book open in front of you, toes grazing the edge of the comforter, when you hear his keys drop on the counter. A muffled “hey baby” to no one.

The door shuts; shoes hitting the floor with the same tired thud as your purse. You don’t look up when you hear the zipper. Don’t say a word when his shirt and jeans thump lightly onto the hallway floor; big feet pound against the hardwood with each swaggered shuffle, walking in like he lives here.

He doesn’t. But sometimes it feels like he could.

You feel the mattress shift beneath you before you see him. A familiar weight dips near your thighs. Then his hands plant on either side of your hips and he crawls up the bed in just his boxers, heavy and warm.

You gasp when he presses against you, his broad chest brushing your back, his mouth near your ear.

Your giggle slips out before you can stop it.

“Book club tonight?” He mutters, voice low and amused as he kisses your neck.

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back. Rafe’s big body presses down into yours, your wrists pinned to either side of your head.

“Shit, look at you,” he hums.

His eyes roam your face, then drop to your lips. And for a moment neither of you says a thing.

You shift slightly beneath him, the cotton of your bralette stretching as you breathe in.

Rafe’s palms still frame your wrists, warm and rough, but he isn’t holding you down anymore. Not really. Just resting there, like he likes the excuse to touch you, taking this mental picture of you below him.

You tilt your chin up, your voice soft and sweet, making the corners of his lips curl into a smile.

“What’d you do tonight?” You whisper, cheeks heating up under the weight of his gaze.

“Went on a date.”

You quirk an eyebrow, saying so much with a single look. “And it went well?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, burning himself in your neck, saying even more with his tight embrace. Your words make him laugh, the warmth of his breath fanning across your throat. “Fuckin’ sucked,” he says, dipping his head until his nose brushes the curve of your jaw. “She thinks I could be TikTok famous. What do you think, baby? Think I should hang up the cleats?”

You stifle a giggle and fail. “The world will be a dark place without Rafe Cameron in baseball pants—”

“That’s what I said,” he mumbles as he nuzzles in closer. “Food was cold before she even ate it. She needed to get the perfect picture for her story or some shit.”

“Did you check her TikTok page?” You ask as you trace lazy circles on his back. “She might have called herself a WAG in the caption—”

“Please,” he chides, his eyes practically rolling out of his head, “Didn’t even make it to dessert.”

“That’s your favorite part,” you shoot back, tone light, as your fingers toy at the back of his hair. You feel him tense a little under your touch, breath hitching against your throat.

He lets out a half-growl, a sound that almost makes you smile. “Well shit,” he mutters, voice dropping a shade. “Maybe that’s why I’m so goddamn pissy, huh? Couldn’t take anymore. Made me wanna knock over the candle and light the table on fire—”

“Jesus fuck, Rafe,” you cut in with a laugh. “Why are you bein’ so hard on her I’m sure she was stunning—”

“—Hey,” he interjects playfully, giving you a little more of his body weight, making your breathing a little tighter. You grip his shoulders pushing him back slightly. Rafe pulls back with a boyish smile, looking down at you. “Didn’t say the view wasn’t nice. But that’s not what it’s all about, you know that.”

“Mhmm… Wise words.”

You stretch your arms above your head, twisting slightly underneath him. His hands slide down with you, skimming your ribs, your sides, the soft dip of your waist, tongue tracing along his bottom lip as your nipples turn hard below the thin fabric.

“You wore this for me, did you?” He asks.

“I wore this for me,” you respond as his hungry eyes flick up to yours, calling you bluff instantly.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he smiles. Rafe’s rough fingers glide up your inner thigh making goosebumps rise on your soft skin. “What about you?” He asks after a pause as the tips of his fingers hook under your panties. “What’d you do?”

You hesitate for half a second. Not because you’re nervous—because you want him to react. So you say it lightly, flicking your gaze up at him too. “Went on a date.”

Rafe pauses, his hands still, just a little. “With who?” He asks, quieter now.

“Mason Williams. He played for the Lightning and now he plays for—”

“The Bruins. Yeah, I know the guy,” Rafe mumbles. The flicker. That little twist in Rafe’s face. His jaw clenches, mouth parting like he’s about to say something smart and cocky—then thinks better of it. But you see it.

You run your fingers down his strong arms as a taunting smile plays on your lips. Rafe rolls his eyes, laughing at himself, completely caught in the act. “Is someone jealous?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He cuts himself off, sucking his teeth, trying his best not to show all his cards. “Not jealous. You’ve never hooked up with another athlete before.”

“I’m on Raya now.”

His hand squeezes your thigh like he can’t help it. “No shit…”

“I didn’t know you liked hockey.” He adds, voice amused but slightly tight, thumb flexing against your thigh.

You arch your back slightly, head falling a little deeper into the pillow. “I still don’t.”

“She was trying to get me to go back with her,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter, more serious.

You nod once. “He asked me to go home with him too.”

There’s another pause, heavier this time. He doesn’t move; just watches your face.

“Why’d you say ‘no’?” He asks. You push his hair back, fingers grazing his temple.

“He was kind of an ass.”

His mouth twitches, like he already knows there’s more. “Yeah? And?”

You let out this small breath, tracing down the side of his face, thumb brushing his jaw. “And I was really hoping to cum tonight.”

His breath catches and then his smile deepens, slow and knowing. “Well, shit,” he mutters, leaning in until your noses brush. “I think I can help with that.” You can feel the air change the second he settles above you.

Rafe’s forearms bracket your head, his chest brushing yours, bare skin on cotton as he gazes down. You can feel the flex of muscle under his skin, the slow drag of his breath as he looks between your eyes and mouth like he’s choosing which part of you to taste first.

“So, I’m the lucky guy tonight?” He hums as he kisses lower, between your breasts. “Not gonna have to worry about Williams tryin’ to do what I can—”

You giggle, threading your fingers through the back of his hair. “You act like I have a roster, Cameron.”

“Please tell me you don’t,” he says dryly. “I’ll kill myself I swear.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you chuckle, still smiling when he glances back up, blue eyes sharp and warm and a little bit smug. “Just you—”

“You need to stop dating men who hate women.”

“You need to stop dating women who hate women.”

“Touché,” he mutters, against your clothed pussy, running his tongue along the wet patch that formed, moaning at the subtle taste of you on his tongue before yanking them off.

Rafe nudges your thighs further apart with his knee, dragging his palm over the inside of your leg like he’s not even thinking about it—like his body’s already memorized every inch of you as he crawls back up your body. His thumb grazes where your underwear used to be, gliding through the slick mess between your thighs.

“Not sure if you care, but I only do this with you,” he adds under his breath. You try not to show it. Not to let him see how that lands. You nod, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Your breath hitches as he grinds against you, slow and deliberate—not inside, just enough to tease, to make you squirm and ache for more.

His lips find your throat, kissing down, then back up again, and he doesn’t stop until your breath goes ragged. When he finally sinks into you, it’s slow, all the way, one fluid, deep thrust that makes you gasp and cling to his shoulders. He’s so thick it burns in the best way, and you feel your hips tilt instinctively, seeking more.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your jaw. “Always so tight. You miss me?”

You nod fast, whispering, “Yes, yes—Rafe.”

His hand clamps around the back of your thigh, hauling your leg up high around his waist. The next thrust shoves a gasp out of you. He kisses you through it—messy and hungry—his hips grinding harder, deeper, like he’s got something to prove. Like he’s trying to tell you that you made the right choice tonight.

“Say it,” he growls softly, lips brushing yours.

“I missed you.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, fucking into you just a little harder, wet skin clapping against his. “Tell me. What’d you think about when he was askin’ you to come over, pretty?”

“You,” you breathe, honest and raw.

He smirks, sweat forming at his temples. “You were wet for me, weren’t you?” You can barely manage a nod. “Thinkin’ about me at dinner? Already thinking about me fucking this perfect pussy,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours with every word. “Should’ve worn this set to dinner,” he says, fingers tugging gently at the band of your bralette. “Show him what he couldn’t touch.”

You grab your bra, lifting it to your collarbone, boobs bouncing with each thrust; Rafe’s eyes rolling back in his head. “Think anyone’s gonna fuck you like me?”

“Don’t be a dick,” you laugh breathily.

He bites down a groan, snapping his hips, making you cry out his name. “You fucking love it—” He kisses the words off your lips, deeper now, hands bracketing your jaw as he grinds into you just right—over and over. “You wanna know what I was thinkin’ about during dinner?” He murmurs, voice dark and thick with want.

You gasp, fingers tugging in his hair. “What?”

“You. Ridin’ me. Couldn’t get it outta my fuckin’ head.”

You bite your lip, heart racing, thighs clenching around his waist. “Let me,” you whisper, eyes sparking. With a rough groan, he grabs your hips and flips the two of you—flat on his back now, hands pulling you up to straddle him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasps, eyes dark as sin. You sink down on him slow—one teasing grind, then taking him deep as a moan spills from your lips. “Fuck,” he breathes out, head falling back for a second, his grip bruising on your hips.

His gaze doesn’t move, locked on you—his touch is everywhere—grabbing, too hard, not careful at all. Like he can’t stand the space between you.

But he doesn’t guide you. Not once. Just watches—lets you fuck him exactly how you want, the man losing more control with every roll of your hips.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice rough. “A fuckin’ dream. That’s it, baby.”

You ride him harder now, bracing your hands on his chest, moving faster, chasing your climax.

“Rafe—”

“I got you,” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs, fingers finding your clit. “Cum for me,” he pants. “Fuck—Wanna feel it.” And you do—shaking, gasping, crying out his name as your body locks down on him, vision hazy. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he grits out.

With a wicked grin, he reaches up, hand wrapping his hand around your throat, sending your pulse racing all over again. “My turn,” he rasps, flipping you to your back in one breathless move.

Rafe drives into you hard and deep; hips cracking against you, dragging desperate sounds from your throat as the room starts to spin.

“You feel that?” He murmurs into your skin, voice gritty and low. “How fuckin’ wet you are for me?” You nod, breathing too labored to answer. Rafe groans, smirking even as his hips jolt. “Mmm, greedy little thing. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna cum?”

He slows down, grinds instead, dragging the thick length of him against that spot inside you that makes you shiver. His thumb slips between you, brushing over your clit in tight, practiced circles as your mouth falls open with a helpless sound.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours. “Right now—” It crashes over you so hard you sob his name. He groans when you squeeze around him, thrusting a few more times before he follows. His whole body shudders against yours, muscles trembling with the force of it, the sound he makes so raw it leaves your heart stuttering in your chest as he spills inside you.

And then the room stills.

Only your breathing, tangled and soft, fills the space between your bodies. Rafe doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t roll off. He just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, fingers stroking your jaw.

“You ruin me,” he says.

You smile, eyes fluttering open to find him already looking at you. “I could say the same,” you whisper, and brush your lips against his, sweet and slow.

And even though no one’s said the words, even though this is still nothing on paper, you both know better.

He pulls out, slow enough to make you gasp, and spreads you wide beneath him again. You’re still pulsing around nothing, body buzzing and undone, your thighs sticky and spread, the sheets bunched beneath your hips. And then he touches you again; fingers slow, spreading you open just to look. One palm cupping your thigh, the other thumb grazing over your slick folds like he’s deciding what to do next.

“Wanna take a video so fuckin’ bad,” he mutters under his breath, still completely out of breath. “Couldn’t tell you how many times I’d watch this shit, sweetheart. It’s probably for the best,” the warmth of his words hits hot against your skin. You smile, lip caught between your teeth.

Rafe drags two fingers through the mix of you and him, pushing his release back inside you, rubbing it in slow, ghosting lazy circles over your clit.

Rafe dips down and presses his mouth against your center, licking soft and slow—torturous tongue flicks, the kind that make you squirm but he grabs for you, curling his biceps around your thighs to hold you in place.

His nose brushes your skin, stubble scraping gently along the inside of your legs as he moans into you. He hums low against your clit, the vibration making you grip the sheets—Ding.

Your phone lights up beside the bed. The air still thick with sex, heat clinging to your body like a second skin, and you almost don’t hear it over the sound of your own breathing but Rafe does.

He reaches for it without asking, still between your thighs, and lifts it toward him.

“New message on Raya,” he says, snorting under his breath. “Damn, baby. You think I should tell him how good this pussy feels? Bet he’d love to know what he missed tonight.”

You laugh, but the sound catches when you see his face shift. The amusement drains slowly. His mouth tightens; brows twitch just slightly—not enough for most people to notice, but you’re not most people.

He hands you the phone without another word and moves off the bed like the sex just cracked something open in him and now he’s trying to patch it up.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You glance toward his phone as he picks it up, already tapping on the screen, swiping like he needs to be doing something—anything. Like looking busy might keep you from noticing the ache behind his silence but it’s too late for that.

You look down at the message… A teammate of Rafe’s. Someone you’ve met before. Someone who’s looked at you too long when Rafe wasn’t paying attention.

You try to play it off, you both do. This was never supposed to be more than a warm body. A reliable rhythm. Mutual trust. Late nights and early mornings with no promises in between.

“Rafe…”

He doesn’t look up right away. When he finally does, his eyes are unreadable.

“I know we’re nothing serious,” you say carefully. “But I wouldn’t do that to you. Okay?” His eyes fall to your screen as you delete the message.

His gaze flickers over your face, so many unsaid words locked behind his lips. Instead, he dips closer, skimming a knuckle beneath your chin before pulling you in, mouth finding yours with a quiet sigh and a tender kiss.

You watch from the bed, sheet barely covering your hips, heart still hammering too loud for no reason. He throws his hoodie over his head, jeans riding low on his hips, the muscles in his back shifting with every movement.

He flashes you a crooked little smile as he walks to the door. The same one he always gives you when he’s pretending to be fine.

And then he’s gone.

You sit up slowly, sheet pooling at your waist; bed still smelling like him.

Stepping off the bed you pad over to the window, drawing back the blinds, watching from behind the curtain as Rafe steps out into the street, phone glowing in his hand, thumb swiping.

Tinder.

Your lashes flutter, stomach sinking in an instant, and it stings. More than it should. More than you’ll ever let him know because there’s a chance he doesn’t feel the same, and then what? You’re done? That can’t happen.

You slip back into your sheets, body still tingling from everything he gave you. But something feels hollow now—Ding.

Sarahhhh: Tell my brother I said hi 🖕

Your Name: Haha he just left babe. You’re ridiculous.

Sarahhhh: So what’s with you two?

Your Name: Just casual. You know us.

Sarahhhh: Do us all a favor and find someone worth your time already.

Your Name: Bold of you to assume I’m not perfectly happy with my bad decisions rn Sarah 😛

Sarahhhh: STOPPPP 😂

Sarahhhh: Ok but seriously. Just look at this for me? [link attached: Paradise Palms - Casting Now 🌅 🌴]

Your Name: Lmao Sarah no. There is NO way I am going on some reality show

Sarahhhh: First of all it’s not like that. Second of all it’s fun. Third of all just fucking do it. You might be surprised.

Your Name: I’ll think about it

Sarahhhh: Do it or else

Your Name: Why so ominous 😂😂😂😂

Sarahhhh: Scaring you was the next tactic ☺️ Love you bye

You stare at it.

Then you click.

One tap, one breath held too long.

CASTING NOW: Netflix’s newest unscripted romance series—Paradise Palms is looking for singles ready to take a chance on love. Apply now.

𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼…

“The fuck is this, Wheezie?” Rafe mumbles as he pulls the door shut behind him and breathes out hard through his nose as his sister sends him some spam about a new Netflix reality show.

He rolls his eyes and kicks off his shoes, feeling the weight of the silence in his house, wishing desperately that he didn’t ruin it by looking at your phone and he would have gotten to stay longer but he knows better. Knows the rules. You’ve never been anything but clear—no promises, no labels, no strings. So why the fuck does his chest feel tight?

Ding.

Zander Jones: You done with her yet? Tryin to shoot my shot.

The blood drains from Rafe’s face before he can stop it. For a second, he just stares at the screen, frozen even though he knew this was coming.

He taps out of the message and sinks down on his leather couch, kicking back his feet as he swipes open a dating app for the nth time. Like muscle memory at this point. Like a balm that will ease the ache in his heart.

And across town, in your bed that’s still warm with his heat and rich with his smell you feel your frustrations swell. If he can swipe, you can click.

You draw a deep breath as your stomach twists in knots because deep down, you already know you’d never go to paradise for love. You’d go because you couldn’t stay away from him.

You’re never going to get over this. You’re just trying to forget.

But you know damn well—you won’t.

No one forgets about Rafe Cameron and he feels the exact same way about you.

New tag list 🏷️

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1

[missmadella]

How they react to when You get Involved in a Gang Fight // Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Izana, Ran, Rindou, Hanma, Kazutora, Sanzu

Synopsis: When you throw yourself into the chaos of a gang fight to protect someone you care about or to stand your ground, the men who love you — hardened delinquents and broken boys with blood on their hands — are forced to confront the one thing they fear most: losing you.

CW: violence, blood, injury, gang activity, emotional distress, and possessive/protective behavior, intense emotional reactions,yelling, panic, or obsessive tendencies.

Mikey (Majiro Sano):

It happens fast.

One moment Mikey is in the middle of the fight, throwing punches like it’s second nature, and the next—he hears your voice. A shout. A warning. And then you’re there, right in it. Swinging. Blocking. Bleeding.

His heart stops.

Everything slows. The noise, the chaos, the adrenaline—it all fades into static. He sees you take a hit and it’s like someone reached into his chest and ripped something out. For a second, he doesn’t even move. He just stares. It’s not until someone lunges toward you that his body reacts—pure instinct.

He’s on them in seconds. Cold, brutal, efficient. He tears through anyone in his way, eyes dark with something unnameable. Not rage. Not fear. Something deeper. Desperation.

When he finally reaches you, he grabs your wrist, yanks you back behind him, and growls, “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is low, shaking. His usual calm is gone. You try to answer, but he’s already turning, shielding you with his own body, finishing the fight like a machine programmed to destroy anything that comes close to you.

Once it’s over, he doesn't say anything. He grabs your hand—tight—and walks you away from the mess. His grip is trembling, but he won’t let go. Not until you’re somewhere quiet. Safe.

Then he turns to you.

“Are you hurt?” His voice cracks. He cups your face in both hands, tilting your head gently, scanning you for blood, bruises, broken bones. His touch is careful, reverent, almost like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

You try to say you're fine, but he leans in and kisses you—hard.

It’s not a soft kiss. It’s urgent. Messy. His hands are in your hair, on your back, pulling you as close as he physically can. He kisses you like he’s afraid this might be the last time. Like he needs to taste the proof that you’re alive, that you’re his, that he didn’t just watch you get torn away from him.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. He’s breathing hard. Still shaking.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispers, almost broken. “Don’t throw yourself into something like that. Not when I’m here. Not when I could’ve—” His voice cuts off.

You kiss him softly this time. Once. Then twice. Then again, brushing your lips over his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. You feel him exhale shakily, eyes fluttering closed under your touch.

“I was trying to help,” you whisper.

“I know,” he breathes back. “But you’re not just anyone. You’re mine.” His thumb strokes over your cheek as he leans in again, pressing his lips to your temple, your nose, your lips—everywhere he can reach. "You don’t get to risk yourself like that. Not for them. Not even for me."

He kisses you again—slow this time. Deep. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. His hands slide down your sides, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“You’re the only thing that still feels real to me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Don’t make me watch you get hurt. I wouldn’t come back from that.”

You wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his neck, and he just holds you. Tight. Fiercely. He doesn't speak for a long while—he just kisses the top of your head, your shoulder, your hairline, over and over like a silent vow.

After that day, Mikey doesn’t stop you from being involved—he knows better than to try to cage your fire—but he never lets you out of his sight during a fight. He keeps you close. Touches you constantly. A hand on your back. Fingers brushing yours. His way of silently saying: I’m here. I’ve got you. Stay with me.

And every time it ends, no matter how small the fight was, you can count on it—

Mikey’s hands on your cheeks. His lips on yours. Again. And again. And again. Because he needs to feel you alive to believe he still is.

___________________________________________________________________________

Draken:

He sees you before you see him.

In the middle of the chaos—bodies colliding, fists flying—his eyes lock onto you. And his heart drops. Because you’re fighting. Not watching. Not hiding. Fighting. You’re right there in the thick of it, punching someone twice your size, moving fast, fierce, and fearless.

And Draken? He panics.

Not on the outside, of course. Outwardly, he looks composed—focused. But inside, he's unraveling. His chest tightens. The world narrows until there’s just you, and all he can think is: No. Not them. Not here. Not like this.

He cuts through the fight like a storm—quick, brutal, efficient. He’s not fighting to win. He’s fighting to get to you. The second someone takes a swing at you, Draken intercepts it without thinking, blocking the blow with his own body. He throws the guy back with a glare that could kill.

And then he turns to you. “Are you outta your mind?!”

His voice is loud, but it’s not anger. It’s fear. Raw, sharp-edged fear.

You try to explain—I had to help, I couldn’t just watch—but he’s already scanning you, hands touching your arms, your waist, your face like he needs to check you’re all there. There’s blood. Yours? Someone else’s? He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. His hands shake as they frame your face.

“You don’t do that. You don’t do that, baby.” His forehead drops against yours, breathing fast. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt. What were you thinking?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he silences you with a kiss. Rough at first—full of adrenaline and terror and too many feelings he hasn’t sorted out yet. His hands pull you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He kisses you again. Slower. Longer. His lips linger like he’s trying to erase the memory of you in danger.

“I get it,” he mutters between kisses. “You’re strong. Brave. I know that. But I almost lost my mind out there watching you fight.”

Another kiss. This one to your forehead. Then one to your temple. Then your cheek. Each one slower, softer, more deliberate than the last.

“I don’t ever want to see you in the middle of that again,” he says, his voice low, breaking slightly. “I can’t focus. I can't breathe. You're all I think about when you’re out there. And if something happened to you…” He trails off, jaw tightening. “I’d lose it.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and he melts into you. His hands find your lower back, holding you close like he's anchoring himself to the feel of you. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against yours.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing a thumb under your eye. “Next time, stay back. Or stay beside me. But don’t do that again—not alone.”

And then he kisses you again. Gentle this time. Tender. With that mix of frustration and adoration that only Draken can pull off. The kind of kiss that says, You scared the hell out of me, but I love you more than anything.

Later, when it’s over and you’re somewhere private, he’ll sit you down, clean up your cuts himself, and kiss every bandage he places. Not because he’s trying to be romantic— But because that’s the only way he knows how to say I love you. I need you safe. I don’t want to do this life without you.

And from then on, every time you’re near a fight, his arm will find your waist. His eyes will never leave you. Because Draken doesn’t just fight to win. He fights to protect you. Even from yourself, if he has to.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

Mitsuya doesn’t raise his voice.

Even when he sees you in the middle of a gang fight, trading blows and ducking punches like it’s second nature—he doesn’t shout. Doesn’t panic.

But something in his eyes changes.

He sees you before you see him. The second your fist connects with someone’s jaw, his stomach knots. Your stance is decent, your movement sharp, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not about whether you can handle yourself—it’s about the fact that you shouldn’t have to.

You’re the one thing in his world that isn’t built on violence. The person he comes home to, not the one he has to protect in the middle of a battlefield. And seeing you in it now? Bloody knuckles, scraped cheek, panting for breath—it hits him like a punch to the chest.

He gets to you fast, intercepting a guy about to land a blow on your side. He moves clean, precise—like he always does—but there’s an edge to it this time. Quiet fury.

When the fight’s over, he doesn't speak right away. Just pulls you into him, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he needs to feel your heartbeat against his. He presses his forehead into your shoulder and holds you there.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he murmurs finally, voice low. “You shouldn’t have been in that.”

You try to protest—I had to help, I couldn’t just stand by—but he pulls back slightly, cups your cheeks with those calloused hands, and kisses you. Soft. Slow. The kind of kiss that says you scared the hell out of me, but I missed you even while you were standing right in front of me.

“You’re incredible,” he says against your lips. “You really are. Brave, strong... but this world? It’s ugly. I didn’t want it touching you.”

Another kiss. This one a little longer. His hands slide into your hair, fingertips brushing gently along the back of your neck like he’s memorizing the feel of you again.

“I trust you,” he adds, eyes scanning your face. “But I can’t pretend it doesn’t tear me apart when I see you bleed.”

He starts checking you over, inspecting every scratch like he’s tailoring something delicate. His thumbs brush over your bruised knuckles. He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your fingers, one by one. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “Adrenaline?”

You nod.

He nods too, presses his lips to your forehead, and holds you a little tighter.

“You’re amazing,” he says quietly, resting his chin on your head. “But you’re also mine. And that means your pain is my pain. Your bruises are mine to carry.”

He walks you home that night with your hand in his, knuckles still scraped, silence between you filled with the warmth of shared breath and quiet glances. And later—when you’re alone—he tends to every wound like he’s patching up fabric, precise and gentle.

With every bandage, he kisses the skin underneath. With every sigh, he tells you in his own quiet way—Please don’t put yourself in danger. Let me stand between you and the world.

And before you fall asleep in his arms, he kisses your temple and whispers, “If you ever step into a fight again… Let me be right beside you. I’d rather take the hit than live without you.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

He doesn’t expect to see you.

Chifuyu’s in the thick of it—dodging swings, throwing punches, watching his friends’ backs like he always does—when he hears your voice. A shout. His head snaps around so fast it nearly gives him whiplash.

And there you are. Fighting. For real. Not just yelling, not just standing back, but in it—elbows flying, face set in pure determination.

His blood runs cold.

Everything else fades. His instincts scream to move—to get to you—but the crowd swallows the space between you like a wall of chaos. He barrels through anyway. He doesn’t care who’s in the way. Doesn’t care if he takes a hit. He just knows he has to reach you before something goes wrong.

When he finally gets to you, you're breathless, bruised, and bleeding just a little—lip split, hair messy, eyes fierce. You're still standing. Still fighting. But the second you see him, something in you softens.

“Are you serious right now?!” he snaps, grabbing your arm and dragging you behind him. “What were you thinking?!” His voice cracks—not from anger, but fear. “You could’ve—what if you—”

You try to answer, but he pulls you in and kisses you. Hard. Quick. Almost desperate.

He breaks the kiss with his forehead against yours, panting, hands gripping your shoulders like he needs to feel you're really there. “You don’t do that to me,” he whispers. “Not you. Not ever.”

You go quiet. You’ve never seen him like this—so wide-eyed, so shaken.

“I thought—” He pauses. Swallows hard. “I thought I was gonna watch you get hurt and not be able to do anything. And I can’t—” His voice cracks again. He presses another kiss to your lips, gentler this time, lingering like he’s grounding himself in your warmth.

“You’re my person,” he murmurs against your mouth. “The only one I don’t wanna see covered in bruises. The one I fight to protect. And now you’re out here fighting too?” He pulls back and cups your face in both hands, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks. “You're tough, I know. Brave as hell. But... I need you safe. Please.”

He kisses your temple. Then your forehead. Then your lips again. A dozen soft kisses follow, like he's trying to apologize for yelling. Like he's checking every part of you to make sure you’re still whole.

You whisper, “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But next time… stay close to me, okay? Let me fight with you. Or for you. Just… don’t go into it alone.”

Later, when the adrenaline fades, he’s by your side—cleaning your wounds with hands that are too gentle for someone who’s so good at fighting. Every time he presses antiseptic to your skin, he follows it with a kiss. To your cheek. Your fingers. Your shoulder. Your lips.

“You’re reckless,” he teases, finally smiling. “But you’re mine.”

And from then on, Chifuyu never fights without glancing back to check where you are. Because you might be strong—but in his eyes, you’ll always be the one worth protecting.

__________________________________________________________________________

Izana Kurokawa:

Izana doesn’t react right away.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining it—your silhouette moving in the chaos of fists and shouting and broken glass. But when you swing your leg and land a kick that sends someone crashing into a wall, something inside him snaps.

His heart doesn’t race. His blood doesn’t boil. It freezes.

Because for a split second, he’s not the Tenjiku leader anymore. He’s just a boy who’s lost too many people. And now you—you—are in the middle of the violence he tried so hard to keep separate from the parts of his life that feel real.

He’s across the space in seconds.

The people around you don't even see it coming. Izana moves like he always does—lethal and elegant—but this time, there’s no smirk. No joy. No satisfaction. Just cold precision. His eyes never leave you.

By the time he’s cleared a path to your side, you’ve got blood on your lip and your breathing is ragged—but you’re standing. Still defiant. Still fighting.

“You idiot,” he says, voice terrifyingly soft. “What the hell are you doing?”

You start to answer, but Izana doesn't let you. He grabs your wrist and yanks you close. He stares at you like he’s trying to burn your image into his brain. And then—without warning—he crashes his lips to yours.

It’s a kiss that tastes like fear and fire.

Desperate. Hard. Messy. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly close. He doesn’t care that people are watching. He doesn’t care that the fight isn’t technically over. He only cares that you're here—alive, warm, real—and not lying in a pool of blood because of a stupid decision.

“Do you think you’re untouchable?” he growls against your mouth. “Do you want to die in a back alley like every other idiot in this world?”

You glare up at him, panting. “I was trying to help.”

His expression twists—equal parts anger and heartbreak. He touches your face again, but this time, his fingers are trembling. “No. You don’t get to help like this. Not you. You’re not supposed to bleed for this world.”

You soften. “I was worried about you.”

That sentence breaks him.

He exhales, shaky, and rests his forehead against yours. “You’re the only thing in this whole damn life that doesn’t feel like it’s going to disappear. I can’t—” His voice cracks. “I can’t lose you.”

Then the kisses start again. Softer now. Slower. One at a time. To your lips. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your jaw. As if he’s making up for every second he spent terrified while you were out there fighting.

Later—when it’s quiet—he sits beside you, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds. His thumb brushes over a bruise on your shoulder, and he leans down to kiss it. Then your hand. Then your temple. Each kiss is an apology. A promise. A prayer.

“I’m not like the others,” he whispers into your skin. “You know that, right?”

You nod. “I know.”

“I destroy things. I ruin people.” He pulls back to look you in the eyes. “But you? You’re the one thing I want to protect, not break.”

He kisses you again, soft and reverent.

And from that night on, Izana changes. He doesn’t try to lock you away or keep you out—but when he fights, you’re always behind him. Always in reach. And if anyone so much as touches you, he ends it before the fight even starts.

Because in a world Izana built on violence and control, you are the one thing he refuses to lose.

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

Ran’s not easy to shake.

He’s the kind of man who watches fights with a lazy smirk, twirling his baton and humming while the world burns around him. He’s calm, cocky, calculated — until he sees you in the middle of a fight.

Then all that chill?

Gone.

He freezes when he spots you — your fists up, blood on your cheek, going toe-to-toe with someone twice your size. At first, he thinks he’s hallucinating. You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be fighting.

And then he sees someone swing at you.

Something inside him snaps.

The smirk vanishes. The baton swings.

He’s across the street in seconds — fast, brutal, and silent. No flashy remarks. No warnings. Just clean, cold violence until the people around you are either unconscious or running for their lives. When it’s over, his chest is heaving, hair wild, eyes dark as a storm.

“Y’know,” he says, voice dangerously calm as he strides toward you, “I’m trying really hard not to lose my f*cking mind right now.”

You barely open your mouth before he grabs you — arm around your waist, hand in your hair — and kisses you.

Hard. Hot. Angry.

It’s not romantic. It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Like he needs to remind himself that you’re alive. That your lips still work. That your body is still warm.

When he pulls back, he stares at you for a second, chest still heaving. “Are you insane?” he breathes. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

You glare. “I can handle myself—”

He kisses you again. Just to shut you up.

“Don’t care,” he mutters against your lips. “Don’t wanna watch you handle yourself like that. Not in the middle of all this.”

His fingers brush the blood at your temple. His jaw clenches.

“Sht, you’re bleeding.” He kisses it. “Right here.” He kisses again, softer this time. Then your cheek. Then your neck. Then back to your lips. “Every fcking bruise on you makes me wanna burn this whole street down.”

You wrap your arms around him and feel how tight he’s holding you. How shaken he really is beneath all that silk and swagger.

“I was scared,” he admits into your skin. “Didn’t like that.”

You soften instantly. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs and leans his forehead against yours. “You’re lucky I love you more than I love violence.”

Another kiss. Slower now. Lingering. His hand moves to cradle your cheek as if to say, Don’t ever do that again. But he doesn’t say it. Because he knows you. Knows how stubborn you are. How loyal.

So instead he whispers, “Next time, if you have to fight… I’m at your side. You don’t go in without me, got it?”

You nod, and he smiles — just a little — before kissing you again. Not because he wants to tease, or seduce, or win. Because he needs to feel you’re still his.

Later, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll run a bath for you like nothing happened. He’ll hum while cleaning your cuts. He’ll kiss every one like it’s sacred.

But every now and then, you’ll catch the way his hand grips your wrist just a bit tighter. The way he stares at your bruises like they’re personal insults. Because Ran Haitani might laugh at the world, but he will never laugh at the idea of losing you.

And God help anyone who ever puts you in danger again.

__________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

Rindou’s not loud. He doesn’t scream when he sees you throw a punch. He doesn’t panic. He just goes still.

Like something inside him flatlined.

His violet eyes track you across the chaos like a sniper — watching the way your body moves, the way you block, dodge, fight like someone who's seen too much and won't back down.

And Rindou wants to be proud. He really does. You’re fierce. Brave. You don’t flinch.

But all he can feel is fear.

And beneath it, rage.

Because you weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be the one thing he could come home to after hell — not the one in the middle of it.

The second someone grabs your arm mid-swing, he’s there. His baton comes down like thunder — fast, hard, merciless. The guy hits the pavement and doesn’t get back up.

Then Rindou turns to you.

“You lost your mind or somethin’?” he asks, voice flat, deceptively calm.

You try to explain — I had to help, they were outnumbered — but he just pulls you in without a word and kisses you.

Not soft. Not sweet. This is the kind of kiss that steals your breath. The kind that says you could’ve been gone, and don’t you ever do that again.

When he pulls back, his hand stays curled at your jaw, fingers firm but careful. His forehead leans into yours as he closes his eyes for a beat, grounding himself in the feel of you, the heat of your skin, the proof that you're alive.

“You get that I’m not mad ‘cause you fought,” he mutters. “I’m mad ‘cause I looked up and saw someone swinging at you, and I couldn’t reach you in time.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, tracing the blood there. Then he leans down and kisses the spot, gentle, reverent. “This? I hate this. Hate seeing you like this.”

You whisper that you’re okay, and he lets out a breath — one that’s too shaky for someone who’s usually unreadable. “No, you’re not. You’re bleeding. You’re shaking. And I’m losing my goddamn mind just looking at you.”

He kisses you again. And again. Each kiss slower than the last. One to your lips. One to your temple. Your shoulder. Your scraped knuckles. “Don’t do that again. Not without me. I mean it.”

When the adrenaline dies down, he takes your hand — clutching it tight — and doesn’t let go. Even when you’re out of danger. Even when you’re back home. Even as he kneels in front of you and tends to every bruise like he’s fixing a cracked porcelain doll.

“I’m not Ran,” he says quietly, wiping dried blood from your lip. “I don’t flirt through everything. I don’t act like it’s all a game. When I say I love you, I f*cking mean it.”

He kisses you again, softer than ever. His lips press against yours like a silent vow.

“You’re mine. You hear me?” Another kiss. “And I protect what’s mine.”

After that, Rindou never lets you walk into a fight without him again. And if you try? He kisses you until you forget what you were even arguing about.

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

At first, he laughs.

That wild, unhinged laugh that makes everyone freeze up because they can never tell if he’s about to kiss someone or kill them. He’s spinning his fists like a conductor conducting a symphony of violence — and then he spots you.

Right in the middle of the fight.

And you’re not frozen or afraid — you’re swinging.

Your fist connects with someone’s jaw, and Hanma pauses mid-brawl.

The laugh dies.

His grin stays, but it shifts — not playful, not amused. Something darker. Sharper. Dangerous.

He watches for a moment — eyes locked on your form, the way your chest rises and falls, the blood on your lip, the grit in your expression. You’re beautiful, furious, reckless.

And then someone comes at you with a pipe.

Before they can land a single hit, Hanma’s there.

Crack.

Pipe drops. Attacker collapses. Hanma doesn’t even blink.

Then he turns to you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, baby?” he says, voice honey-slick and terrifyingly soft.

You open your mouth to argue, but you don’t get the chance.

He grabs you — not rough, but firm. Possessive. His hand curls around your waist, the other around the back of your neck. And then he kisses you.

Hard. Brutal. Bruising.

It’s a kiss that tastes like metal and heat and panic — not yours. His.

Because Hanma doesn’t feel fear often. But when he saw you in the middle of that chaos? He remembered what it meant to be scared. To need someone. To lose.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen, and you’re breathless.

“I love a little chaos,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “But not you in it. That’s not part of the game.”

“You were outnumbered,” you protest, stubborn as ever. “I wasn’t gonna sit back and—”

“Shh.” He kisses you again. Slower this time. Deeper. His hand tightens in your hair. “You fight with me, sweetheart. Not in front of me. Not alone.”

You feel him shaking — just a little. Only because you're close enough to notice.

“You're bleeding,” he says, staring at a cut on your shoulder. “My favorite f*cking person in the world, and you're out here getting hurt like you're disposable.” His voice drops lower, more dangerous. “Do I need to break every bone in their bodies to get the message across?”

He kisses the cut. Then your collarbone. Then the corner of your mouth. Each kiss a contradiction — violent in its need, but careful in its touch.

Later, when the fighting's done and it's just the two of you, he’s not laughing anymore. He sits you down, grabs some gauze and antiseptic, and tends to you with surprising gentleness. All while muttering:

“Crazy, crazy girl. Driving me f*cking insane.”

When you ask if he’s mad, he looks you dead in the eye.

“Mad? Baby, I worship you. But if you scare me like that again, I might kiss you so hard we both forget how to breathe.”

And he does. Over and over.

Because for a man like Hanma — who lives in violence and chaos — you are the only thing he ever truly wants to protect.

___________________________________________________________________________

Kazutora Hanemiya:

Kazutora doesn’t notice at first.

He’s busy — fists flying, body moving on instinct, eyes scanning for danger. The kind of fight where the world blurs and all he can hear is the sound of skin hitting skin and distant sirens.

But then, through the chaos, someone shouts your name. And it’s like the air is sucked out of the world.

He whips around.

And sees you.

Fighting.

Bleeding.

Dodging a punch that came way too close.

His heart doesn’t stop — it shatters.

For a second, his body locks up. Like he’s been hit by a ghost. Something dark flashes behind his eyes — the memory of loss, of helplessness, of watching someone important vanish in an instant.

And then he snaps.

Kazutora’s chaos is usually wild and unpredictable, but now? He’s focused. Every punch is for the bastard who dared to put you in danger. Every movement cuts a path to you.

By the time he reaches your side, your lip is split and you’re breathing hard — but you’re standing. You look at him like you’re not sure if he’s about to yell or fall apart.

He does neither.

He drops his weapon, grabs your face in both hands, and kisses you.

Hard. Messy. Like it’s the only way he knows how to stay alive in that moment.

When he pulls back, his voice is hoarse. “What the hell are you doing, baby?”

You try to explain — “They needed help, I couldn’t just stand back—”

He shakes his head, forehead pressed to yours. “No. No, no, no.” His hands are shaking. “You can’t be part of this. Not like this.”

“You don’t get to protect me from everything,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches. “I know. But f*ck, if I lose you… if I have to watch something happen to you while I’m right there…” His voice breaks. “I wouldn’t survive that. I know I wouldn’t.”

You touch his cheek. “But I’m here. I’m okay.”

He kisses you again — slower this time. Softer. Like he’s saying thank you for living without using words. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go for even a second.

He kisses your forehead. Your nose. The bruised corner of your mouth.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice trembling, “you stay behind me. Just for once. Let me be the one to get hurt.”

You smile gently. “But I love you too much to do that.”

And he breaks — just a little. His breath hitches, his head drops to your shoulder, and he holds you tighter than ever before.

That night, he won’t stop touching you. Not in a needy way — in a reassuring way. His fingers trace over every cut, every bruise, and he kisses each one like it’s sacred.

Because Kazutora doesn’t believe he deserves good things. But you? You’re the one thing he’s terrified to lose. And he’ll fight anyone, even you, if it means keeping you safe.

___________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

He sees you before anyone else does.

You're in the middle of it — fists flying, hair tangled, blood on your face that might be yours. Sanzu’s in the thick of the fight too, laughing like a man possessed, until his eyes catch the shape of you — dodging, swinging, surviving.

And suddenly, the world goes quiet.

He stops laughing.

Stops breathing.

Time slows down around him.

No one touches what’s his. No one. And you — you — are the one beautiful thing he never thought he could have. And now you're here, bleeding, and for a horrifying moment he thinks: This is how I lose you.

The rage comes first.

It's not just anger — it's pure destruction. He doesn’t just fight — he erupts.

Anyone near you is torn down like paper. He doesn’t care who they are. Doesn’t care if they beg or bleed. They touched you. They endangered you. That’s enough.

Then, once the smoke clears, he’s in front of you — grabbing your wrist, pulling you in roughly but not cruelly, eyes wide and unhinged.

“What the f*ck were you thinking?” he demands. His voice is high, hoarse — frantic. “Are you trying to die? You think this is a joke?”

You try to answer, but he kisses you before you can even speak.

It’s not gentle.

It’s raw.

It’s teeth and breath and shaking hands gripping your face like he’s terrified you’ll disappear the second he lets go. His lips are desperate — not for passion, but for proof.

Proof you’re alive.

“You don’t do that,” he gasps between kisses. “You don’t jump in like that. You’re not— You’re not supposed to get hurt.”

You whisper, “I can handle myself—”

“No, no, you don’t get it,” he growls. “You’re not me. You’re not some f*cked-up freak who doesn’t care if they live or die.”

He presses his forehead to yours. Blood runs down his cheek — you don’t know if it’s his or someone else’s. His eyes are wild, frantic, devastated.

“I care. I care so much it hurts. And seeing you in the middle of that?” His voice breaks. “I’ve killed for less. Don’t make me bury the one person I actually love.”

You freeze.

He never says that. Not out loud. Not like this.

He pulls you in again, wrapping his arms around your body and kissing you softer now. Reverently. As if each kiss is a prayer, a plea, a promise.

Later, when he’s patched you up — and his hands are steady again — he lays beside you in silence. His fingers trace your skin, checking every mark like he’s memorizing it.

“I’ll kill anyone who ever drags you into that again,” he whispers. “Even if it’s you.”

But when you touch his cheek and smile, he breaks again — in a quiet, aching kind of way.

And kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

Because in his twisted, bloody life, you are the only thing that's real.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap Mandarin Chinese Learning Resources Because You Can't Let John Cena One Up You Again

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is Mandarin specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest a resource for this list please suggest ones in that price range that are of decent quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

Dong Chinese - A website with lessons, a pinyin guide, a dictionary, and various videos and practice tests. With a free account you're only allowed to do one lesson every 12 hours. To do as many lessons as quickly as you want it costs $10 a month or $80 a year.

Domino Chinese - A paid website with video based lessons from absolute beginner to college level. They claim they can get you ready to get a job in China. They offer a free trial and after that it's $5 a month or pay what you can if you want to support their company.

Chinese Education Center - This is an organization that gives information to students interested in studying abroad in China. They have free text based lessons for beginners on vocab, grammar, and handwriting.

Pleco Dictionary App - This is a very popular dictionary app on both iOS and Android. It has a basic dictionary available for free but other features can be purchased individually or in bundles. A full bundle that has what most people would want is about $30 but there are more expensive options with more features.

MIT OpenCourseWare Chinese 1 2 3 4 5 6 - These are actual archived online courses from MIT available for free. You will likely need to download them onto your computer.

Learn Chinese Web Application From Cambridge University - This is a free downloadable file with Mandarin lessons in a PC application. There's a different program for beginner and intermediate.

Learn Chinese Everyday - A free word a day website. Every day the website posts a different word with pronunciation, stroke order, and example sentences. There's also an archive of free downloadable worksheets related to previous words featured on the website.

Chinese Boost - A free website and blog with beginner lessons and articles about tips and various resources to try.

Chinese Forums - An old fashioned forum website for people learning Chinese to share resources and ask questions. It's still active as of when I'm making this list.

Du Chinese - A free website and an app with lessons and reading and listening practice with dual transcripts in both Chinese characters and pinyin. They also have an English language blog with tips, lessons, and information on Chinese culture.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Chinese For Us - A channel that provides free video lessons for beginners. The channel is mostly in English.

Herbin Mandarin - A channel with a variety of lessons for beginners. The channel hasn't uploaded in a while but there's a fairly large archive of lessons to watch. The channel is mainly in English.

Mandarin Blueprint - This channel is by a couple of guys who also run a paid website. However on their YouTube channel there's a lot of free videos with tips about how to go about learning Chinese, pronunciation and writing tips, and things of that nature. The channel is mainly in English.

Blabla Chinese - A comprehensible input channel with content about a variety of topics for beginner to intermediate. The video descriptions are in English but the videos themselves are all in Mandarin.

Lazy Chinese - A channel aimed at intermediate learners with videos on general topics, grammar, and culture. They also have a podcast. The channel has English descriptions but the videos are all in Mandarin.

Easy Mandarin - A channel associated with the easy languages network that interviews people on the street in Taiwan about everyday topics. The channel has on screen subtitles in traditional characters, pinyin, and English.

StickynoteChinese - A relatively new channel but it already has a decent amount of videos. Jun makes videos about culture and personal vlogs in Mandarin. The channel is aimed at learners from beginner to upper intermediate.

Story Learning Chinese With Annie - A comprehensible input channel almost entirely in Mandarin. The host teaches through stories and also makes videos about useful vocabulary words and cultural topics. It appears to be aimed at beginner to intermediate learners.

LinguaFlow Chinese - Another relatively new channel but they seem to be making new videos regularly. The channel is aimed at beginner to intermediate learners and teaches and provides listening practice with video games. The channel is mostly in Mandarin.

Lala Chinese - A channel with tips on grammar and pronunciation with the occasional vlog for listening practice, aimed at upper beginner to upper intermediate learners. Some videos are all in Mandarin while others use a mix of English and Mandarin. Most videos have dual language subtitles onscreen.

Grace Mandarin Chinese - A channel with general information on the nitty gritty of grammar, pronunciation, common mistakes, slang, and useful phrases for different levels of learners. Most videos are in English but some videos are fully in Mandarin.

READING PRACTICE

HSK Reading - A free website with articles sorted into beginner, intermediate, and advanced. Every article has comprehension questions. You can also mouse over individual characters and see the pinyin and possible translations. The website is in a mix of English and Mandarin.

chinesegradedreader.com - A free website with free short readings up to HSK level 3 or upper intermediate. Each article has an explaination at the beginning of key vocabulary words in English and you can mouse over individual characters to get translations.

Mandarin Companion - This company sells books that are translated and simplified versions of classic novels as well as a few originals for absolute beginners. They are available in both traditional and simplified Chinese. Their levels don't appear to be aligned with any HSK curriculum but even their most advanced books don't have more than 500 individual characters according to them so they're likely mostly for beginners to advanced beginners. New paperbacks seem to usually be $14 but cheaper used copies, digital copies, and audiobooks are also available. The website is in English.

Graded Chinese Readers - Not to be confused with chinese graded reader, this is a website with information on different graded readers by different authors and different companies. The website tells you what the book is about, what level it's for, whether or not it uses traditional or simplified characters, and gives you a link to where you can buy it on amazon. They seem to have links to books all the way from HSK 1 or beginner to HSK 6 or college level. A lot of the books seem to be under $10 but as they're all from different companies your mileage and availability may vary. The website is in English.

Mandarin Bean - A website with free articles about Chinese culture and different short stories. Articles are sorted by HSK level from 1 to 6. The website also lets you switch between traditional or simplified characters and turn the pinyin on or off. It also lets you mouse over characters to get a translation. They have a relatively expensive paid tier that gives you access to video lessons and HSK practice tests and lesson notes but all articles and basic features on the site are available on the free tier without an account. The website is in a mix of Mandarin and English.

Mandarin Daily News - This is a daily newspaper from Taiwan made for children so the articles are simpler, have illustrations and pictures, and use easier characters. As it's for native speaker kids in Taiwan, the site is completely in traditional Chinese.

New Tong Wen Tang for Chrome or Firefox - This is a free browser extension that can convert traditional characters to simplified characters or vice versa without a need to copy and paste things into a separate website.

PODCASTS

Melnyks Chinese - A podcast for more traditional audio Mandarin Chinese lessons for English speakers. The link I gave is to their website but they're also available on most podcatcher apps.

Chinese Track - Another podcast aimed at learning Mandarin but this one goes a bit higher into lower intermediate levels.

Dimsum Mandarin - An older podcast archive of 30 episodes of dialogues aimed at beginner to upper beginner learners.

Dashu Mandarin - A podcast run by three Chinese teachers aimed at intermediate learners that discusses culture topics and gives tips for Mandarin learners. There are also male teachers on the podcast which I'm told is relatively rare for Mandarin material aimed at learners and could help if you're struggling to understand more masculine speaking patterns.

Learning Chinese Through Stories - A storytelling podcast mostly aimed at intermediate learners but they do have some episodes aimed at beginner or advanced learners. They have various paid tiers for extra episodes and learning material on their patreon but there's still a large amount of episodes available for free.

Haike Mandarin - A conversational podcast in Taiwanese Mandarin for intermediate learners. Every episode discusses a different everyday topic. The episode descriptions and titles are entirely in traditional Chinese characters. The hosts provide free transcripts and other materials related to the episodes on their blog.

Learn Chinese With Ju - A vocabulary building podcast aimed at intermediate learners. The podcast episodes are short at around 4-6 minutes and the host speaks about a variety of topics in a mix of English and Mandarin.

xiaoyuzhou fm - An iOS app for native speakers to listen to podcasts. I’m told it has a number of interactive features. If you have an android device you’ll likely have to do some finagling with third party apps to get this one working. As this app is for native speakers, the app is entirely in simplified Chinese.

Apple Podcast directories for Taiwan and China - Podcast pages directed towards users in those countries/regions.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS AND DICTIONARIES

Learning Chinese Characters - This series is sorted by HSK levels and each volume in the series is around $11. Used and digital copies can also be found for cheaper.

HSK Standard Course Textbooks - These are textbooks designed around official Chinese government affiliated HSK tests including all of the simplified characters, grammar, vocab, and cultural knowledge necessary to pass each test. There are six books in total and the books prices range wildly depending on the level and the seller, going for as cheap as $14 to as expensive as $60 though as these are pretty common textbooks, used copies and cheaper online shops can be found with a little digging. The one I have linked to here is the HSK 1 textbook. Some textbook sellers will also bundle them with a workbook, some will not.

Chinese Made Easy for Kids - Although this series is aimed at children, I'm told that it's also very useful for adult beginners. There's a large number of textbooks and workbooks at various levels. The site I linked to is aimed at people placing orders in Hong Kong but the individual pages also have links to various other websites you can buy them from in other countries. The books range from $20-$35 but I include them because some of them are cheaper and they seem really easy to find used copies of.

Reading and Writing Chinese - This book contains guides on all 2300 characters in the HSK texts as of 2013. Although it is slightly outdated, it's still useful for self study and is usually less than $20 new. Used copies are also easy to find.

Basic Chinese by Mcgraw Hill - This book also fuctions as a workbook so good quality used copies can be difficult to find. The book is usually $20 but it also often goes on sale on Amazon and they also sell a cheaper digital copy.

Chinese Grammar: A beginner's guide to basic structures - This book goes over beginner level grammar concepts and can usually be found for less than $20 in print or as low as $2 for a digital copy.

Collins Mandarin Chinese Visual Dictionary - A bilingual English/Mandarin visual dictionary that comes with a link to online audio files. A new copy goes for about $14 but used and digital versions are available.

Merriam-Webster's Chinese to English Dictionary - In general Merriam Websters usually has the cheapest decent quality multilingual dictionaries out there, including for Mandarin Chinese. New editions usually go for around $8 each while older editions are usually even cheaper.

(at the end of the list here I will say I had a difficult time finding tv series specifically made for learners of Mandarin Chinese so if you know of any that are made for teenage or adult learners or are kids shows that would be interesting to adults and are free to watch without a subscription please let me know and I will add them to the list. There's a lot of Mandarin language TV that's easy to find but what I'm specifically interested in for these lists are free to watch series made for learners and/or easy to understand kids shows originally made in the target language that are free and easy to access worldwide)

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Super Ghostly Farming

During their times exploring the infinite realms Sam had discovered ghost plants. And that the Fenton’s Ecto-dejecto makes them solid enough to grow in the mortal realm. The real surprise is that produce living seeds since they absorbed actual nutrient matter from the soil. No one is surprised she makes her mission to revive extinct species. Or that she accidentally mistook ghost plants from other universes as extinct plants to revive.

During this time Jazz found out about Dan and had Danny dig up the thermos so she can make sure the poor time displaced ghost can get some therapy. Danny was both shocked and relieved the therapy actually managed to reform Dan. The real turning point is when Dan’s escape attempt led to a good reveal with Jack and Maddie. However since his timeline was impossible now he started destabilizing. It was only thanks to being fused with another secret clone project Vlad was working that he was saved though now he is a halfa instead of full ghost.

But of course things can’t all be good. Due to her suit and all the time fighting ghosts Valarie has become ecto contaminated enough that she is now coming up on the GIW’s sensors. This leads to Danny rescuing her from them and red huntress officially reconciling and joining team phantom.

The GIW are also becoming even worse of a problem. Their Ecto sensors are getting more accurate and they have begun traffic stops as a first measure to quarantine the town. Dani had been caught but thankfully Tucker had hacked the GIWs communications system a while ago. Danny rescued his clone but damage had already been done and she had to retreat into her core. It it the size of a ping pong ball and looks like a glowing Pearl. Danny keeps it in a little pouch with him so she can feed off of his ecto.

Loosing their catch to Phantom was the last straw for the GIW. The now plan to nuke the city. In preparation they have all the roads blocked off and are going door to door with ecto scanners. Anyone with a low enough contamination are given a day to pack one bag each and they will be bussed out the next morning. This who set off the scanners are taken to a holding cell in town.

Green sticky note suddenly appear appears before Danny telling him to pack and get his loved ones into the specter speeder and flee into the infinite realms for a natural portal to another universe. There is no stopping tragedy if they stay.

Danny passes the messages to Sam, Tucker, and Val by text. Jazz however was shopping with Dan in his human disguise when the text went out. And they had been spotted by GIW agent. Of course with the amount of Ecto signals Dan and Jazz gave off it was shoot first. Dan protected Jazz from the worst of the blasts and flew her home but he was severely injured and reverted to core.

Meanwhile Sam has gotten her go bag ready (with an ecto thermos full of ghost plants and a bag full of revived plant seeds). Tucker and Val are also packed but they take a little extra time to execute a plan he had for a while. Val stealthed into a GIW computer survey and inserted a drive giving Tucker wireless access which he used to upload a virus that would delete the entire copy and send all files and programs to his PDA and the delete the original system before crashing it. As soon as he got the files and the virus uploaded she unplugged the drive and went to the Rendezvous point. Unfortunately that took a little too much time and the GIW were at his house.

Tucker hears them talking to his parents downstairs and thinks fast. He hides his bag and PDA on the roof and text Valarie to pick it up for him and to have her and phantom come rescue him from the holding cells down town he found from the files. Cause there was not enough time for them to get there because the GIW were breaking down his door . He just manages to smash his phone with a hammer so they wouldn’t know of the text before the GIW are in the room with their scanner screeching.

Danny was helping his parents get the speeder loaded up with his family’s and s Sam’s luggage, when Val arrives with her and Ticker’s stuff. He is in ghost form and flying the to the holding cells before she is finished explaining. Interesting Danny’s family, Sam, Tucker, Val and Vlad are the only ones contaminated enough that it would set off the sensors so Tucker and Vlad are the only prisoners there. The fight is only against robots and automated guns and won’t long but it is now morning and all the civilians and GIW agents are being bussed out of the danger zone.

Danny is opening Tucker’s cell and Val is getting Vlad out When there is a flash of light and sticky note.

“I will try to slow time down enough for you to get back to the realms, but the missile is laced with ectoplasm and I can’t stop it completely. Hurry.”

Danny’s time medallion makes him immune so he grabs his two friends and vlad and flies them to Fenton works watching as the missile in the sky is flying towards them at a pace he may barely outrun.

He gets to the ready speeder in the basement aimed at the portal and sees a very concentrated Clockwork holding his staff aloft with a bright purple glow. They pile in and zoom into the portal with Clockwork right behind them they just clear it into the ghost zone when there is a large blast behind them propelling them forward. And suddenly the hole in the realms is now closed. Danny exits the speeder and pulls Clockwork’s glitchy fading form in.

“I can reform from my core in my lair. ButI must see the infinity map.” Danny pulls out the map and hands it to the shaky ghost he marks two locations. One is his lair the Long Now, and the other seemed random. Then he shrunk into what looked like a golden gear with a round purple gem inside.

Danny made sure he put Clockwork’s core into the lair. The places seemed to be one single room with a pillow on a stand in the center. Very different from the maze of clocks and gears from the last time he was there. He placed the gear on the pillow and thanked clockwork even if he wasn’t sure he could hear him. When he left her doors automatically closed behind and chained themselves shut.

The second location was a natural portal to another universe. Danny guessed that was going to be their new home. But it was rapidly getting smaller. They flew the speeder through it soared over a lake and small forest before coming to a crash landing in a field on the Forrest edge. They get out and see road sign that says “Smallville ahead. Five miles.”

——————

Ok that is the most of the set up. Of course they landed in the Smallville area. Sam was smart and also stole some of the gold bullion her parents had and didn’t know she had the safe code. That is enough for them to buy a house and a few acres. She insisted on land to grow her revived plants. A lot of this plants I am basing on the Berries from the pokemon games and can be eaten and sold.

[gojonanami]

THREE'S A CROWD - SATORU GOJO AND SUGURU GETO

✴︎ summary: professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, professor au, gojo is a physics prof and geto is a ethics prof, competition style smut, so much smut, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, dom!geto, degradation (whore), praise kink (gojo + reader), semi public sex, office sex, double penetration, pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby, pretty) ✴︎ wc: 12,596 (again what's wrong with me)

There was little Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto did actually compete over — growing up as best friends, most would have expected a little healthy competition, and there were disagreements, arguments, and even a few fist-fights here and there, but there weren’t many things both desired at the same time. 

Until you. 

A new professor at Jujutsu Tech University, you were fairly green, but your reputation as an academic had preceded you, and landed you a position at this prestigious university. And right in the crosshairs of these two best friends who also happened to hold positions there — ones who were surely some of the most coveted on campus amongst faculty and students alike. There were little times where you would find one professor without the other outside of the classroom — Professor Gojo had even somehow annoyed Chancellor Yaga into having his office next door to Geto’s. 

Professor Gojo taught Intro to Physics as well as a few other related courses, including one about the infinite nature of the universe, while Professor Geto busied himself with teaching Introduction to Ethics, and other related courses, including one that was solely based around the trolley problem. 

“The trolley problem?” you asked, sitting in Geto’’s classroom, hanging around his desk, as he was beginning to clean the board of his notes from the class you had sat in on — a part of the mentoring program at the university for newly burgeoning professors — giving a sense of camaraderie and community. Right now, all it was giving you was an understanding of why there was an influx of women interested in ethics. Geto had his jet black locks tied into a neat bun, a lock hanging loose that framed his face — one that you had both the urge tuck back into his bun, but also twirl it between your fingers. His crisp white button up was unbuttoned a few buttons down after class, a deep ivy sweater vest thrown over it, “how can you teach an entire class on that single problem?” 

“Almost any problem in ethics could be the subject of a semester-long debate, especially the trolley problem,” he chuckles, as he turns to you, placing the eraser down a moment, as he rolls up his sleeves to prevent residue from staining his shirt. His fingers expertly unbuttoned the cuffs, before carefully rolling them up, “the trolley problem has many iterations, it dissects the concept of a moral quandary to a science, creating the idea of an impossible choice with no right answer,” 

“Many things in life have no right answer, but there’s always a choice to be made,” you hum, “what would be your solution to the trolley problem?” 

“The fact is that there is no right answer, but there are right questions to ask and things to consider,” he shrugs, “most people don’t know truly what their answer would be in that situation — some think it would be better to sit helpless, letting fate decide, others think that they would choose the answer that saved their loved ones, and some think they would choose the answer that benefited the most people — but the way the problem can be formulated has so many iterations that almost any answer could be swayed,” 

“And are you so easily swayed?” and he shrugs, pursing his lips. 

“I’d like to think not,” he smiled — and you knew why so many people had crushes on him and Gojo — not only their looks, but their intelligence. 

You hum at his words, still utterly more enthralled by the way his forearms looked, and judging by his raised eyebrow, he noticed, “But why an entire course about it?” 

And he shrugged, as he crossed his arms, smirking as your eyes flicker back from his arms to his gaze, “It’s one of my favorite ethical dilemmas, wouldn’t you want to teach a course on your favorite subject?” 

“I would simply like to learn my way around the university without having to come an hour early to account for getting lost on campus,” and he laughs, a noise that makes your heart squeeze, his lips curled in a smile — and you hide your own, happy you were the one who made him make that incredible noise, “It’s 50-50 whether or not I’ll find my car after this,” 

“Well, I could help with that,” he steps forward, hands in his pockets now, thumbs visible on either side, “show you around? Show you the spots to see, what to avoid, maybe even how to stare without being obvious?” and you flush at his words, knitting your brow together to feign innocence, “nice innocent act, maybe it’d work on someone else — not on me, sweetheart,” 

And you can’t stop the next question from tumbling out of your mouth, “What would work on you then?” 

This was a bad idea — you had just started here two weeks ago, and here you were flirting with not only a professor, but the professor assigned to be your mentor here, one of the two professors everyone had their eyes on—you needed to stop. 

Then he smirked, a wicked grin that only left you wanting more — more of that smirk, more of his words, more of him, “That’s for you to find out,” he offered you a hand, “so shall we find out?” 

And find out you did—

—Find out just how skilled he was with that sharp tongue of his. 

It wasn’t supposed to end up this way — the tour was innocent enough. He helped you get down a route from your parking spot to your office to your classroom, he showed you the good spots to escape for the day, the best spots around campus to eat or get a coffee or tea, and then you ended up in his office. He had offered you a drink — an expensive sake bottle that he had gotten from the chancellor for his good work. 

“Satoru doesn’t drink so usually, I end up drinking alone, so this is a nice change of pace,” and you snort slightly, as he raises an eyebrow, as he pours the shots, “and what’s funny about that?” he asks, offering you a small shot glass filled with the sake that you swirled before downing. And he did the same, eyes still glued to you, a small trickle of the sake slipping out of your corner of your lips. 

“Just the idea of you drinking in the office alone, it’s a little sad,” you chuckle, “do you not have many friends aside from Satoru?” as you pour yourself and him another shot, not noticing how he walks over nor how close he is. 

“I’m very selective about who I spend my time with?” and your cheeks warm, and it's not from the alcohol, as his voice is low when he speaks, “and well, I’m not alone now, am I?” he looms over you, his hand resting on the arm of your chair, caging you in, his other hand reaching to rest fingers against your chin, “you’re here,” 

“Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrected, his eyes sliding over your body, “you’re not one of my students, Professor,” and heat trickles down your body at his words, as he leans down, tongue darting out to lick the trail of sake from the corner of your lips, “but it seems like I have a lot to teach you, regardless,” 

You shiver at his actions, “We shouldn’t—” 

“Lesson one, nothing in the code of ethics prevents any consensual relationship amongst staff members,” his lengthy fingers trace your jawline, before he kisses along it, “lesson two, there’s nothing unethical about our relationship — our mentor/mentee relationship period is ending now, and we are simply colleagues—“ his thumb drags down your plush  lips, pulling at your bottom one, “for now,” 

“Suguru,” and he’s leaning even closer. 

“And lesson three, that I only can teach you if you return my feelings,” his lips are a centimeter away, breath warming your lips, his bangs brushing against your skin, “so the question remains, Professor, do you?” 

You nod wordlessly, breath caught as your fingers brush his cheek now, “I do, please—“ 

And his lips curl, “Good girl,” he leans down, kissing you softly, lips parting only after a moment, and then you lean up again. He’s smiling against your lips, as his hand slides to the back of your neck, more insistent this time as you taste the sake on his mouth — and somehow it’s more sweet on his lips that it was on your tongue. 

Your lips part again, a breath away, foreheads brushing, as your fingers grasp onto the soft front of his sweater to ground yourself on something, before it slides against the toned surface of his chest under all the academic wear. 

“Like what you feel, Princess?” And you flush, cheeks burning as you give an almost undetectable nod, and he chuckles, “good, because so do I,” 

And his head is leaning down for another kiss when there’s a knock at the door, “Yo Suguru!” And Suguru moves back, just as the door swings open, as you struggle to grasp onto any semblance of decorum, as Satoru Gojo enters. 

“Don’t you know it’s good manners to wait to hear a person say ‘come in’ after you knock, Satoru?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed — his composure impressive for a man who had kissed you breathless not a minute ago.  

“Huh?” Gojo glares at Suguru, lips twisted in a frown, “Haven’t I made enough progress for you? At least I started knocking,” Gojo huffs, smirk on his lips, as he glances at you now, “oh it’s the newbie,” and your gaze slides up to his, a polite smile on your lips, and you almost feel like his cerulean gaze lingers on your lips a moment too long, his gaze sliding back to his best friend, “am I interrupting?” 

Satoru Gojo stood framed in the doorway, and he was picturesque — an academic’s wet dream in his blue button up with navy suit coat slung over his shoulders. 

“Only a celebratory welcome and end to our mentoring period,” Suguru shrugs, sliding a smile behind Gojo’s back when Gojo turns back to you, “would you like to join us? We were just having some sake,” 

He grimaces, “Doesn’t sound like much of a celebration,” he looks to you, sly grin playing on his lips, “she looks like she’d much prefer something sweet, isn’t that right?” 

You blink, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind,” and Gojo winks, offering you his hand, your view of Suguru’s scowl obscured. 

“Sounds like the lady has spoken — there’s a great place that sells kikufuku not far from campus—“ 

“We actually have plans for dinner, Satoru,” Suguru cuts in, as you furrow your brow — since when? “And I think a discussion of her future and trajectory at the university is more important than enjoying sweets,” 

Gojo only grins, his body grazing the side of your chair as he steps away, hands in his pockets, “Well all work and no play doesn’t sound very fun to me, does it, Professor?” 

You crack a smile, “Sounds like you have the opposite philosophy, Gojo,” 

“Satoru,” he corrects, his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. 

“Satoru,” you say and his lips curl into a grin before Suguru clasps a hand on Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Don’t you have papers to grade?” And Suguru’s tone left little to be argued with, and Satoru only sighs dramatically, crossing his arms. 

“Fine, fine,” he slides a last look at you, as you rise to your feet,  “pleasure meeting you, we’ll have to have dessert some other time,” and he leans forward to whisper this last part in your ear, “though I think I’ll have trouble finding something as sweet as you,” 

Your cheeks flush, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Suguru as Satoru leaves, and Suguru only smiles at you, “Shall we go?” 

You don’t notice the slight edge to his voice, or the way his eyes slide to glare at the door, as you busy yourself gathering your things, “Since when did we have dinner plans?” You ask, your last word coming out as a squeak, as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you much too close. 

“Since I wanted to spend more time with you, is that a problem?” he murmurs against the same ear whispered into, teeth grazing the soft flesh of your earlobe, and you bite your lip, sighing as his lips slide to your jaw, “well, is it?” 

And you shake your head, “Never,” and he’s leading you out of his office, and you don’t notice the way his eyes narrow when his eyes narrow as he glances at Satoru’s office right next door. 

~~~

“Don’t work too hard,” and your gaze snaps up to find Gojo at your office door, leaning against the door frame, “your face could freeze like that,” 

“And would that be a bad thing?” you rolled your eyes, as you pulled yourself away from the stack of exams you were stuck grading since the university hadn’t bothered to assign you a T.A. yet. 

He takes your reply as an invitation to come in, swinging the office door shut behind him, “No, not at all, but I’d prefer to see those pretty lips in a smile,” and your lips curl, as he adds, “plus you’ll end up looking like Suguru — a perpetual stick up his ass,” 

You snort, “You two have nothing but lovely things to say about the other,” you say sarcastically, “but i guess that’s best friends for you,” 

“Nah, Suguru really does have a stick up his ass — pretty sure its a requirement for all ethics professors,” he shrugs, as he opts to lean against your desk rather than sit in either of the chairs, “now, can I take you to have that dessert I mentioned before? Looks like you could use a break,” his eyes glance over the stack of exams piled upon your desk, “let me be your solace, sweetheart — the world of academia is a harsh place,” 

You offer a small smile, “I’m stuck grading these exams — I have to have the grades in by tomorrow, and I still have about thirty-two to get through,”

“Don’t you have a T.A. to pass this off on?” and you shake your head, and he hums, taking out his phone, “I’ll reach out to the Chancellor for you — let him see what the hold up is. The old geezer owes me one anyway,” 

“You don’t have to—” 

He only continues to type, without looking up, “I want to,” and before sending off his email, “should be able to get a student assigned to you soon, and I asked him to give you an extension as well, so now you have no excuse,” he grins, plucking the pen from your fingers, his fingers brushing your own, before offering his hand, “shall we?” 

But there was one excuse you hadn’t exhausted yet — “Satoru—” 

“You’re really making me work for it, beauty,” he rubs the back of his head, smile on his lips, “not that I don’t mind playing hard to get, but you know, I do always get what I want—” 

“What about Suguru?” and his smile fades, expression unreadable. 

“And what about him?” you sigh, leaning back. 

“I assume you know—” 

“About the fact you two have been hooking up?” he shrugs, as you flush at his bluntness, “yeah, and what about it?” 

You stare at Satoru, thoroughly confused by his nonchalance, “Wouldn’t that—” 

“I’ve already spoken to Suguru, he’s fine if I pursue you as well,” he smiles, as he rounds the corner of your desk to stand closer, “and that’s what this is, sweetheart — me pursuing you,” 

And your cheeks grow hot, stomach flipping at his words, as your heart struggles to keep up with your mind, “So you both are okay with me seeing the other?” 

His lips curl into a grin, “Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition, sweetheart — me and Suguru don’t have any intention of backing off,” he tilts his head, “you’ll have to choose eventually, and I know you’ll make the right choice,” 

“But—” 

And he sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets, “For now, this is just a colleague welcoming another colleague to our very prestigious institution, just a friendly outing,” and you nod, rising from your seat, but he draws close, lips a breath away, “but next time, it will be a date, angel, and kikufuku won’t be the dessert I’ll want at the end of the night.” 

~~~

“Suguru, should we really—” and his lips cut you off, a bruising kiss that steals the logic from your brain, and only leaves lust in its wake, your fingers moving to grasp the front of his now very creased button up. You needed to ask him about your conversation with Satoru — but all you could think about is how you could get him closer, closer, closer. 

“Always taste so sweet for me,” he murmurs, his tongue slipping into your parted lips, as his fingers card through your hair, “what is that cream?” he hums, and you almost freeze — the kikufuku you had for lunch left over from your impromptu time with Satoru. 

“Suguru, I need to talk to you about something,” and he’s impatient, as always, as he leads you to his lecture hall desk, pressing you against the edge of it, his legs pressed between your spread thighs. 

“Talking isn’t exactly high on my priority list right now, princess,” he hums as his lips slide over your jaw, leaving wet kisses along it, before his teeth nibble and suck a mark right under your jaw, making you hiss. 

“Not there, people will see—” 

“People, or Satoru?” he murmurs, as you freeze as you pull back, his dark gaze lidded, but his expression inscrutable, “he told me he asked you out,” 

You purse your lips, “I wanted to talk to you first to see how you felt—uhmph—” his lips smash against yours, swallowing your words and your noises eagerly, as his hands slide down your sides. 

“You can see Satoru if you want, baby,” he mutters against your lips, “see him, date him, fuck him — go have your fun,” and he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, as you look down at him with red kiss ruined lips, “but don’t forget who’s the one making you feel this good,” 

And he’s pushing up your skirt, pressing sweet kisses to your thighs, making them shake under his touch, as his finger presses against the wet patch on your panties, “Has he seen this yet?” and you’re too busy gasping to answer, so he only presses down meaner, rubbing you in tight circles, “answer me,” 

“No, no, we haven’t even kissed—” and he’s pulling aside the crotch of your panties, air hitting your already wet pussy, “Suguru—” you’re whining already, and he only smiles in response, as his finger teases your opening, gathering your pre-cum on his fingertip. 

“Should’ve known, you look fuckin’ tight, baby, gotta stretch you out, don’t I?” and a lithe finger is teasing your outer lips, before it sinks in slowly, dragging against your walls as it does, bullying your insides until it’s knuckle deep. And your fingers find their way into Suguru’s hair as he begins to fuck you in earnest, the lewd sounds of your cunt nearly echoing in the lecture hall as he thrusts his finger in and out, “hear that, baby? Your pretty pussy is practically sucking me it, won’t let me go, but I think it needs more, don’t you think?” and another finger is sinking into you, joining the other, curling and stretching against you as they piston in and out, your slick slipping down his fingers and onto his palm. 

“Fuuuck, so fuckin’ wet for me, princess,” Suguru looked so gorgeous, his jet black locks pulled from their normally neat bun, strands hanging in his face, as your fingers grasped at his head, buried between your thighs on his knees, his hands splaying your thighs open on the edge of his desk, the cuffs of his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up, as two fingers sink into your dripping cunt, “so perfect, such a good girl, wonder if you taste as good as you feel,” and he’s leaning forward, his lips latching to your clit, making you cry out as he sucks harshly, “don’t be so loud, baby, want someone to see you spreading your legs for me — how’d that look?” and you gaze down at him with lust glazed over eyes, his chin glossy with your release, “all messy f’me, how could I resist?” and you’re keening against his touch, making his lips curl, “I’m starting to think you want to get caught, want people to see you cumming around my fingers, don’t you?” 

You only whimper, walls traitorously clenching around him, making him let out a low groan, his hand drifting to palm at his bulge, straining against the fabric of his slacks, “g’nna feel so good around my cock, sweetheart, you’re practically throbbing,”

“Fuck,” you whimper, your thighs straining against his grip, hips nearly starting to fuck his face, as his tongue licks a strip right up your sopping cunt, “i‘m s’close, Sugu, I—” and your nails dig into his scalp, he fucks you open with his fingers and tongue, the squelch of your pussy and his fingers ringing in your ears, as you grind into his touch, just as he curls his fingers, hitting that spot that has you cumming, making a mess just as he buries his face in you, letting you ride his face as he pulls his fingers away. His fingers find your mouth making you taste your own release, stifling the moans and pants leaving your mouth, sucking and licking as he eases himself from you. Your fingers finding stability on the edge of the desk, still panting and fucked out, as he chuckles, rising to his feet, as he looms over you, looking at the cum still dripping out of you and onto the edge of his desk, 

“So pretty,” he hums, before kissing you, as he helps you make yourself presentable, adjusting your underwear back into place, as your eyes drifting down between his legs, “I don’t need to ask if you like what you see because I know you do, but—” 

You roll your eyes, your fingers pulling him by his belt loops between your thighs, “Don’t you want some help with that?” 

And he only smiles, as he presses another sweet kiss to your lips, “We’ll save that for next time, I wanted this time to be about you,” his arm snaking around your waist, as he presses himself against you, rubbing his bulge against your sensitive cunt, making you hiss, “when’s your date with Satoru?” 

You bite your lip, “Tonight, for dinner,” you admit, and he nods, a hint of jealousy that disappears as soon as it appears, before kissing you again, stealing your breath as your fingers find the back of his neck, knees nearly buckling — which doesn’t go unnoticed by him — a smile on his lips. 

“Come see me after.” 

~~~

“Why did you want to go out with me anyway?” you ask as Satoru walks you to your doorstep of your apartment right off campus, his hand intertwined with yours, fingers engulfing yours, thumb rubbing across the back of your hand. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replies back with a hum, “beautiful, brilliant, funny, and you keep up — what’s there not to like?” 

“You know I’m not such a sucker for sweet words that I can’t see through them,” and his lips curl into a smile, as you both stop right outside your apartment building’s door, fluorescent light buzzing above you above, the cicadas’ symphony drowning out the light chatter from people walking by, “did you only ask me out to piss off Suguru?” 

“That was part of the reason,” he admits, and you tilt your head, rolling your eyes, “what?” 

“Such a brilliant physics professor can be so childish — what hope is there for any of the other men?” and he laughs, cerulean eyes flashing with amusement, “then what was the rest of the reason?” 

And his teeth graze over his bottom lip, as he steps closer to you, his fingers cupping your chin, “I want you, is that straightforward enough for you?” And you shiver, and he doesn’t miss your thighs squeezing together, as he leans even closer, “c’mon sweetheart, this is more than just a game, because if it was, I would have stopped after the first time seeing you,” his thumb rubs over the mark Suguru left right below your jaw and his lips curl into a grin, “that was already enough to piss Suguru off,” 

“And now?” 

He’s leaning even closer, breath catching in your throat, “Now I just wanna know every inch of you, sweetheart, that okay by you?” 

And you’re leaning up first, lips grazing his, barely for a moment, before Satoru finds your lips again. Where Suguru’s lips were impatient and passionate — Satoru was softer and playful, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue teasing your lips apart, and a smile as he swallowed your moan eagerly. “So responsive,” he’s pulling away to stare at your swollen lips, parted beautifully for him, as he pulls on your bottom lip with his thumb, before his lips press kisses to your ear, latching onto your earlobe, teeth grazing as he sucked, “bet your other lips taste as sweet, don’t they, angel?” hot words sending heat directly to your core, as your hand finds purchase on his shoulder, “I can see why Suguru wanted to keep you for himself — such a pretty little thing, but you’re mine right now, aren’t you?” 

His hands slide down down your curves, squeezing your hips teasingly, “Satoru—” and you’re glancing around at the barren streets, the quiet chatter of people could still be heard in the distance, “someone could see—” 

“So?” and his lips find the mark Suguru had left, his lips closing around it and sucking, a gasp pulled from your throat, as you keen against his touch, “want them to see you all pliant for me, need them to hear you moaning my name, need you baby, need you so much that it hurts,” as the corner of his lips quirk upwards when you whimper when he sucks an even bigger mark against your collarbone, “and I think you need me too.” 

Or maybe, as you pulled him inside of your apartment building, he wanted you to want him as much as he did right now. 

~~~

The campus had become a battlefield, and you were the prize they were waging war for — unwittingly so, but by your own hand, as you just couldn’t choose. 

But how could you? 

“Suguru—” his lips found yours right outside his office, and you could taste the soba noodles he had for lunch, as his fingers threaded through your hair, his other sneaky hand slipping lower around your waist, tugging you even closer against him, “I have a class to teach,” 

“Well, there’s something I wanna teach you before you go,” he rasps, as his tongue parts your lips again, tasting your own, “you can afford to keep your students waiting a minute, can’t you? You already denied me your company last night,” he grumbles, and you know he’s jealous that you didn’t stop by after your dinner with Satoru last night, but you’re having trouble finding the words to reassure him as his hand gropes your ass now, squeezing and teasing each cheek, And you don’t have enough time to react, as he’s tugging the turtle neck you had opted for, only for his eyes to narrow at the many blooming red hickies that Satoru had littered your skin with the night before, “were you hiding these?” 

Your tongue ties itself into a knot, “I just—” you didn’t want Suguru to get upset — you were hoping to avoid a problem, “I didn’t want you—” And he’s pulling you back into his office, right against the door, as he’s sinking to his knees, as he’s tugging down your dress pants to your ankles, “Suguru—” 

“What?” his eyes flicker up, irises dark pools of anger, “he can leave his mark, and so can I,” and his teeth graze the soft flesh of your inner thigh, making you gasp, his hands holding you in place even as you lurch forward, his teeth meanly digging into your thigh, as his tongue flicks over it to soothe the ache, “taste so good, princess — I can see why Satoru couldn’t resist marking you up — maybe I should make a habit of it,” and you whimper, and his fingers press against the crotch of your underwear, teasing the wet patch, “don’t act you don’t like, sweetheart,” and he’s nosing your underwear, pressing a kiss against your aching cunt through your underwear, “I think you’re going to more than a little late to your next class, baby, better send an email, ok?” 

~~~

“Where’s that mouth of yours now, Toru?” you tease, looking up at him, your knees were definitely going to have carpet burn after this, as you palmed his tented erection, before going to undo his belt and tugging his slacks down, “been wanting this haven’t you?” and he moans a little too loudly when you tug his boxers down, his leaking cock slapping against his shirt, “don’t be so loud, it’s a library after all,” 

This was Satoru’s idea — because of course it was — he had grown tired of your offices and empty classrooms, and wanted a change of scenery — because apparently waiting an entire day to spend some time at home was simply out of the question. And that’s how you ended up on your knees in one of the very back of the library where very few if any ventured, in between one of the stacks that was only visible from one side. But even so, you could hear the distant page flips of textbooks and the whispers from across tables, and anyone could find you both in such compromising position — but the risk was exactly what Satoru wanted. 

“Ca-can’t help it, sweetheart, been thinking about how pretty you’d look on your knees f’me all day,” and he’s rambling now, pressing a fist to his lips, as the other clutches at the shelf behind him, his lust glazed crystalline gaze watching you as your fingers graze his cock, thumbing at the pearly bead of precum, “been so hard all day — wanting your pretty little lips around my cock,” 

And you giggle, as you lick his precum from your fingers, before spitting in your hand, beginning to rub his his cock, fingers teasingly tracing each and every lovely vein and ridge, making him buck his hips against your touch, “g’nna have to try to be quieter than that when I wrap my lips around you, baby,” and your lips kiss the tip, kitten licking the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum from the source, pulling out a choked gasp from his throat, “must have been aching in all your classes, Toru — I wonder if your students noticed — wonder if they thought about having this cock down their throat,” and he’s swallowing thickly, “too bad this cock is mine,” 

And you’re pumping him in earnest now, precum and spit as makeshift lube as the lewd noises of your hand glides over his dick, as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, glazed over with pure lust, “Fuck, Toru, your cock is so fucking gorgeous,” and you groan, before you guide him to your lips, letting the precum gather on them, until you let him sink into your mouth. 

He’s already so close — you can tell by the way his cock is twitching in your mouth, as you swallow around him, tongue wrapping around him, “I’m g’nna cum down your throat too soon, baby,” and his words come out strangled, your fingers squeezing what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, “fuuuck, baby, I’m gonna fuck that pretty mouth,” and his hips are rolling as he clutches against the stack behind him, the other weaving into your hair, fingernails digging into your scalp, “gonna make you feel so good, gotta reward you for being such a good girl, taking my dick so well,” 

You gag lightly on his cock, the tip hitting the back of your throat, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, and the only thing you can hear is the way your mouth slurping around his dick, the wet squelches as he fucks your throat, “I’m—” and that’s the only warning you get, before his hot cum slides down your throat, his hands grasping at your hair to hold you in place, “swallow every drop, baby, so nasty,” he’s whispering now, legs unsteady, as he watches you pull away, a string of cum and spit connecting you to his cock, and he’s almost hypnotized by the sight of you, utterly fucked out, your tongue darting out to lick the cum that dripped from your mouth, wiping the rest on the back of your hand. 

And he’s groaning, “Sweetheart, I gotta fuck you so bad,” and he’s helping you to your feet, pressing an insistent kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth, groaning as he tastes his release in your mouth. But you’re tugging up his boxers and slacks, adjusting them into place, and he whines, “babyyyy,” 

“Not right now, Toru,” you glance around, “someone could see us, we’re lucky no one heard us with how loud you were being,” you kiss his neck, as he pouts, “such a good boy for me, I expect a reward tonight,” and he’s grinning, raising his eyebrows — and so fucking eager.

“Oh, I’ll reward you all night for this, baby,” and he’s pulling you into another kiss, before you hear someone clearing their throat. 

And you pull away to find Suguru standing, looking thoroughly unimpressed, “I was wondering why you were late for our lunch, and here you are,” his tone is even, but his eyes are like daggers digging into Satoru’s skin. 

But it only seems to bounce off Satoru, his lips curled in a devious grin, as he only wraps an arm around your waist, “Sorry Suguru for keeping her, she would’ve called, but she had her mouth full,” and your cheeks flush, as your eyes snap to Satoru, mouth agape — this motherfucker— “it won’t happen again, or it might,” and he squeezes your ass, as he slips away, “by the way,” Satoru plucks a book out of the stack on the top shelf, “here’s that book you were looking for that you mentioned before,” pushing it into Suguru’s hands, and he’s gone in a moment, leaving you both alone. 

Suguru’s expression flashes with irritation for a moment, before his lips curl into a smile, “Shall we go?” 

And you only knew that you would catch hell for this in Suguru’s office now — the ache between your legs only growing — not that you really minded. 

~~~

The game between Suguru and Satoru only continued to escalate — fucking you and fucking with each other while they were at it. Suguru had retaliated by marking you up in his office after bending you over his desk. He had spanked you, hand bearing down  “Such a needy one, aren’t you, princess? Sucking another man’s dick when you were supposed to be enjoying a nice lunch with me,” he scoffs, slapping another mean spank, but this time to your aching pussy, 

“Such. A. Greedy. Girl,” he says between slaps, making you cry out, nails digging into the wood of his desk, “don’t think bad girls deserve lunch — you’re probably still full off his cum, anyway,” you can hear the click of his belt, as he’s undoing his pants, “no, I think I should fill something else,” and his thick cockhead is rubbing against your dripping folds making you whimper, “don’t you think, baby?” 

And he had spent the rest of lunch fucking you, even doing it again after you had finished teaching, waiting at the back door of your classroom for your students to file out, before he had you in his arms again, spread for him as he makes you ride him on the desk. Deep long strokes that have you whining and writhing in his lap, before he’s fucking his cum into you again. And after he’s setting you down on shaky legs, helping you fix your clothes, before dragging your ruined underwear down your ankles, before snatching them up, and pocketing them, as you stare at him, only a smile on his lips, “for later use,” 

He lets you wash up, but insists on dropping you off at Satoru’s doorstep with a grin and a wave. And Satoru nearly has you pressed against the door when you enter, hand already sliding down your pants, raising his eyebrows with a grin, when he finds nothing there, “Teaching without panties, Professor?” and he’s sinking to his knees for you, taking your dress pants with them, looking up with a shiteating grin (though surely it would be pussyeating later), “didn’t know you were such a naughty girl,” 

“I didn’t,” the defensive reply leaves your mouth without a thought, as Satoru tilts his head, “I mean, I—” you lick your lips, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment — you were so stupid — “I had them on before,” 

And the pieces are clicking in his head, as his hands press your thighs open, seeing the scattered marks left by Suguru — and then he’s pressing a kiss to the marks that Suguru made, murmuring, “do I get to keep something too? That’s not really fair Princess — gonna hurt my feelings if you play favorites,” 

“What do you want?” And he’s grinning, and you know he has something specific in mind. 

~~~~

“You could’ve chosen anything, and you wanted this,” you settle on Satoru’s lap, making his hips roll helplessly against you — you bite your lip as you look at him, his hands were tied behind the back of the chair, your underwear stuffed in his mouth, “you wanted these right?” You tease, tugging at the back of his head, “how’d your colleagues think of you now?” Your fingers palm the base of his leaking cock, it was so pretty, just as he was,  “the great Satoru Gojo tied up and dick out for his junior, huh? Maybe I should take a picture, show them how pliant you are?” You’d never do that, but you knew the idea turned him on — his groan evidence enough, his traitorous dick twitching at your words. 

A muffled groan against your panties, his pretty blue eyes staring up at you pleadingly, “want something, baby boy?” 

And a whine leaves his throat, and you’re smiling, fingers squeezing harder, and his hips jerk again,  “My hand?” And he shakes his head, “my mouth?” And he’s shaking his head, and your lips curl, “you think I’m that easy?” And he gives a nod, making you raise an eyebrow, about to reply when there’s a knock at the door. 

Your eyes both snap over, the door thankfully locked, but a slow grin grows on your lips, as you ease off his lap,as he’s staring at you with wide eyes, “Gotta see who it is, can’t be rude, baby,” and you’re adjusting your clothes, opening the door just a crack. 

“Oh, Professor,” Satoru hears a female voice - it was a student from one of his classes — Rei? Ren? — “do you know where Professor Gojo is?” Her surprise was evident, but you only seemed to take it in stride. This was the student who always loved to flirt with him, taking any opportunity even outside of office hours. 

“Oh he’s all tied up in a meeting right now, I’m waiting for him to get back to discuss school related matters,” you sigh, opening the door slightly more, making him squirm — if you opened it a little more… he’s nearly moaning at the thought, “you know him, he can never shut up when it comes to Physics,” and the student chuckles, and now you’re prolonging the conversation on purpose, asking her about the semester and how classes are going - he’s straining against his own tie you had used bind him, a small whine that he swallows when he sees you give him the middle finger behind your back — a warning, “I’ll let him know you stopped by and he’ll email you to set up a meeting,” 

And you shut the door, locking it , before turning, your eyes falling to his cock — even redder than before, pretty bead of precum at the end — “I see you enjoyed that, did you want your students to see you like this? Spread out and tied up for me?” You’re unbuttoning your blouse, as you slowly walk over, before settling on his lap. Your fingers tug at his hair on the back of his head, pulling your panties from his mouth, and stuffing it in his shirt pocket, “I wanna hear you talk now,” and you’re grasping his leaking cock, pressing it against your aching cunt,  “beg for me,” 

And he whimpers, “Fuuuuck, please, sweetheart, I need you to fuck me, use me as your toy, just—“ he’s biting his lip, leaning up, blue eyes watery, “I need you, I need you so bad,” and you’re dragging your thumb down his erect nipples, before you’re leaning down to bite one, nibbling and sucking, “shit—fu—“ and he’s keening against you, desperate for more, snapping his hips against you making his top part your folds, drawing a moan from your lips. 

“So needy, you couldn’t even wait for me to fuck you,” you sink onto him, meanly grinding on him, his thick cock parting his folds all too fast — your walls squeezing the cum out of him. And he’s choking out a gasp as you cover his mouth, his spit wetting your fingers, “do you want other people to hear your pornographic moans? Those are just for me,” and you start to ride him, hips slapping against his, as you moan softly into his ear, “always make me feel so good, Toru, s’full,” and he’s twitching inside you, a moan vibrating against your fingers, “should have known you love praise — it’s your favorite drinking game,” you teased, as his hips begin to snap to meet yours, driving himself in deeper. 

“Oh, fuck, you feel so perfect, baby, so fuckin’ wet f’me, so warm,” he’s meeting every snap of your hips, and you’re only moaning now, messily covering his mouth with your lips, so he can eagerly swallow your sounds for you, tongues tied together, the groan and squeaks of the chair only growing louder. 

Until you pull your lips from him, “Toru, I’m close,” and he’s nodding, his head lolling back as your walls clench around him. He doesn’t last much longer, toes curling as his hips continuing to fuck you through your orgasm, until he’s notching himself in you deep. Two more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you, fucking his load deeper, as you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. Boneless, as he kisses your shoulder sweetly, as you untie his hands, freeing them, so he can hold you. 

And you pull back to look at him, pale cheeks flushed, lips bitten red, and sheen of sweat on his forehead — he’s so fucking pretty— 

And he’s only grinning— “can we do it again? 

—and a fucking menace. 

~~~

“Relax,” Suguru whispers, fingers pressing his glass of wine to his lips, his hand on the small of your back to guide you, “you’re so tense,” he chides gently, as your eyes flit to glare at him. 

He knew exactly why you were tense. 

The two of you stroll into the university gala, hosted to draw in wealthy alumni and investors in hopes of donations and to show off the prestige of the university. And as a new professor, you were required to attend — as was Suguru, as one of the most reputable. 

“Suguru, I know I agreed to this, but is it a good idea for us to be going to an event like this together? People could talk,” and he’s only shrugging, a smirk on his lips. 

“People are already talking, so why not give them something to talk about, Professor?” he whispers in your ear, hot breath against your ear making you flush. 

“Any publicity is not always good publicity, Suguru,” you sigh, hearing whispers as the two you walked the length of the hall, “don’t think the university would take kindly to gossip and rumors about affairs amongst their employees,” 

“Two, no sorry, three single professors engaging in healthy relations isn’t something that should be shamed,” he’s looking at you with mock outrage, mouth agape, “are you not for healthy expression of sexuality, Professor?” 

You snort, whispering, “Y’know I’m all about that, Sugu—or should I bring up how many times you came last night? You had to wash your cum off my back,” and you delight in the slight red tint in his cheeks, before he shamelessly grins. 

“Remind me? I still have the pictures,” he snorts, and something he says sticks in the back of your mind.

“Are we? Single, that is,” you ask, chewing on your lip — the worst time to ask the “what are we” question was in a banquet hall full of people who didn’t know about your relations — or your ones with his best friend. 

“Well, I’m only seeing you, if that’s what you mean,” and your anxiety ease a bit, “but the same can’t be said for you,” and his words are half-teasing, but half serious — his gaze growing a bit more serious, “How long are you going to make us wait until you choose, sweetheart?” 

“Until I choose?” and he’s turning to look at you, fingers cupping your chin. 

“Do you expect us to share you forever?” he’s glances to see if anyone is watching before his thumb drags over your lips, “because I’m not too good at sharing, and I don’t think Satoru is either,”

And then your conversation is cut short just as two investors approach Suguru to engage in some discussion of ethics. Your mind wanders as soon as you’re done with the formal platitudes, putting your hand on Suguru’s arm to tell him you’re going to get a drink, before excusing yourself for a moment. You wander to the bar, ordering yourself a drink, before pulling your phone out discreetly — notifications only from Satoru staring back at you. 

“Can’t believe you got conned into attending the gala,” and you sigh, honestly you couldn’t believe it either — you sneak a look at Suguru in his suit — a deep burgundy suit with a black shirt that complemented his black hair tied into a neat bun, aside from the few strands framing one side of his face. No tie around his neck, because of course, he couldn’t be too proper — although, when that was your view, you suppose you could. 

“I can’t exactly say no, I’m a new professor.” and Satoru’s reply is almost instant. 

“I could’ve gotten you out of it, but you agreed to crucify yourself with Suguru. Too bad, we could’ve had our own fun :P” and Satoru as always had a one track mind. 

You roll your eyes, “Mind only on one thing, Satoru?”

“Only when it comes to you, baby, ;)” and you snort, lips curling at his remark, another text coming through right after—

“Who are you texting?” Suguru’s voice makes you jump, as you tuck your phone away, missing Satoru’s last text as you do, raising an eyebrow, “let me guess, trying to convince you to skip out?” 

“Well—” and his arm is around your waist, making your breath catch in your throat. 

“Then let’s go,” and he’s striding through the throng of people gathered at tables and floating through the banquet hall, finding his way through the double doors, veering into a hallway right off of the hall that only led to the electrical closet and other maintenance rooms, “we can have a quick respite,” and he’s unbuttoning the button on his jacket, as he turns his gaze to you. 

“Where—” and he’s pressing you against the wall of the hallway, a pillar positioned nearby that blocked the view of passersby, but completely exposed otherwise, “Sugu—” you squeal, as you try to urge his hands off your body, but he’s only squeezing your hips harder. 

“Like I said, let’s give them something to talk about,” and his hands slide down the curves of your body, and he’s kissing you, stealing any protests from you from your lips, just as he does your breath, “you think I can resist you this whole night when you look like this, princess?” his hand slides up the slit of your dress, thick fingers against your bare thigh, “you’re temptation incarnate—” and two fingers are dragging your underwear to your ankles, “and the best cunt I’ve ever had,” 

And his knee pressed against your bare, aching pussy sends a ripple of logic through you, “We shouldn’t—someone could see—” and his knee only presses harder against you, as you gasp, biting your lip, and he’s smiling wickedly as you grow even wetter, cunt fluttering at the thought. 

“Be more honest, sweetheart, you love this — your lips are saying one thing and your princess cunt is saying another,” and he’s pressing his knee into you, grunting as he feels your slick collect on his dress pants, “c’mon pretty, I can’t be doing all the work. Fuck yourself on my thigh like a good girl,” 

“Sugu—” and he’s meanly gripping your chin, his dark eyes blown out with lust. 

“You gonna be good f’me, or do I have to make you?” And his fingers find the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing, ripping a moan from your lips. And you snap, beginning to chase your high, grinding on his thigh, as he flexed in time with it. Your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, tongues tasting each other, as the rest of the party melts away, your fingers reaching down to palm his erection through his slacks, “fuck, such a filthy girl — g’nna make me cum in my pants — you gonna clean up your mess after?” 

And you’re nodding, moaning as his knee hits the right friction against your clit, “I’m close, Sugu—“ 

And he’s reaching down to grab your ass to find the perfect angle, his thigh flexing, and you’re cumming, burying your face in his neck as you ride your orgasm out, slick squelching all too loud against his now ruined pants. 

And you’re panting, chest rising and falling, as you lean back before kissing Suguru hard, “sweetheart—“ and he’s lowering you on wobbly legs, as your hands slip off his jacket to drape in front of him as a weak attempt to hide the large stain of your cum. 

“Let’s go,” and he’s not protesting, grinning as you drag him out, eyes still on him as you walk backwards out of the hall. 

And neither of you notice, the figure behind the pillar, watching, as he slowly tucked himself back into his gray suit pants, pale skin flushed, as his crystalline blue eyes watched you both walk off. He’s panting, teeth grazing over his lip as he composes himself. 

Fuck, he had never cum so hard, except with you. The way your face contorted in pleasure, how Suguru had made you moan, how he took control of you — it was fucking hot. He almost scoffs at himself, rubbing a hand down his face, he never thought of himself as a voyeur but maybe he was. And his lips curl, as his mind unraveled an idea — one where all three of you could enjoy. 

Maybe he could learn to share. 

It would just take the right amount of precision, and luckily, Satoru smiled at your text chain, his last text still unread  — he was all about precision. 

And who can resist you in that dress? 

~~~~

“This is a fucking terrible idea,” you murmur against Satoru’s lips, as he presses you into the desk, “he could come back any minute,” and he’s pressing you into the edge of Suguru’s desk, crumpling papers, shaking books and picture frames on Suguru’s desk, “Toru—”

One minute, you were having a nice lunch with Satoru, and the next, he’s gotten you stumbling into his office with his hands under your shirt — or what you thought was his office.  

“Don’t act like you didn’t want this, sweetheart,” his fingers are toying with the hem of your dress pants, his lips pressing wet kisses along your jaw, “so needy f’me two seconds ago, didn’t even notice we went into the wrong office, and now you want me to make the lengthy journey back to my own?” 

Your scoff grows into a gasp as his teeth grazes your pulse, teeth digging into your soft flesh before running his tongue over the blooming bruise, “It’s right next door,” and he clicks his tongue against your skin. 

“And imagine how long that’d take, might end up taking you right in the hall, and imagine the rumors that’d spread then,” he’s chuckling as his hands slide under your shirt, teasing your tits through your bra, “what then? Gonna let them see how much of a needy girl you are for me?” 

He’s plucking moans and whines out of you with ease, all too familiar with tearing down your inhibitions with precise ease, “fuck, what if he sees us—he could walk in any minute—” 

“Aww, baby I just wanted to fuck you in the same place we first met, wouldn’t that be romantic?” and he’s tugging your pants down all the same, fingers unbuttoning your blouse as he pouts, “eat you out in the very chair I first saw you in, suck my cock while I sit in Suguru’s chair — doesn’t that sound like a good way to declare our undying love for one another?” 

“Toru—” you sigh, and he’s catching your lips in a kiss, lips curled as you melt into his touch, as he sheds you of your clothes. 

He’s sinking to his knees, spreading your thighs for him, kissing the wet patch of precum collected on your underwear. He’s inhaling, before warm breath settles against your skin, “such a perfect pussy,” and his tongue drags against the wet fabric, sucking at your clit through it, making you lurch against him, his large palms keeping you spread. 

“Don’t know how Suguru doesn’t like sweets since he loves eating you out—” and your gaze is snapping down to him, a knowing grin on his lips, “still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, pretty girl,” 

“How do you—” 

He chuckles, as he presses sweet kisses to your inner thigh, the vibration making you shiver, “With the amount of marks he leaves, I’d be surprised he didn’t — I may be a pretty face, sweetheart, but I’m not an idiot,” and you gasp as he uses his teeth to drag down your underwear, “can i keep these?” 

“If you both keep stealing my underwear, I’m not going to have any left—” 

“Even better,” he says cheekily, as he pockets them, “you’re not helping your case, baby,” and you glare down at him, but your mouth falls open as he presses a kiss to your weeping cunt, nose bumping against your swollen clit teasingly, “neither is this pussy of yours — you’re making a mess all over Suguru’s desk, think he’d enjoy that?” and he’s running his tongue over your folds, a pretty moan falling from your lips, “such a nasty girl, aren’t you?” and he’s teasing your outer lips with his wicked tongue, before he’s back to kissing and sucking marks onto your thighs.

“Toru,” you whine, “please,” and Satoru finally relents, wasting no time to bury his face in your cunt. He’s licking and sucking tight circles around your puffy clit before his tongue begins to part your folds, his fingers assisting in pulling your clenching walls apart, “fuuuck, sweetheart, can’t wait to feel you around my cock, gonna suck me dry with this perfect pussy,” your fingers find purchase in his snowy locks, hips grinding against his face shamelessly, His tongue was warm and hot inside your cunt, flicking against places you couldn’t reach with your fingers, his thumb teasing your clit in tight circles, making you see stars before your eyes. 

“Satoru, please, s’close,” and he’s moaning against your sweet cunt, eyes flickering down to see him groping his erection through his slacks, the sensation of his moans enough to make you squirt all over his face, his tongue and mouth eagerly eating you out through your release. Moaning his name as your chest heaves, your thighs try to close around his head, burying him deeper between them, as your toes curl. 

And neither of you had noticed that the door had swung open, as Suguru stood in the doorway, his eyes flitting over the scene in front of him, your leaking cunt spread out in front of him, as Satoru turns at the door shuttinh, lips and chin still glossy with your release and his sweat, as he only grins up at his best friend. 

“And what did you say about my problem with knocking?” and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, chest still heaving from your orgasm, juices spilling from your needy cunt, “at least I knocked last time,”

“I don't think knocking applies to when it comes to your own office, Satoru,” he sighs, casually removing his suit coat and unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt as he rolls them up, lidded eyes still raking over you, you squirming under his gaze as Satoru still holds your thighs wide open so they both can see your pretty pussy spread out and leaking, your release dripping down the hardwood of Suguru’s desk and onto his carpet, “come on, Satoru, you could’ve done this more subtly?” Suguru sits on the couch, manspreading his thick thighs, as his eyes met yours, dark lidded gaze that only makes your cunt twitch. 

“Oh you know how I feel about subtlety,” and he’s lapping lightly at your leaking cunt, making your walls flutter, “I don’t like to waste time,” and he’s licking his lips clean, before wiping the rest on the back his hand, before turning to you, “saw you fucking our pretty princess at the gala — felt a little different than I thought it would,” and Satoru guides your gaze with his thumb on your chin to Suguru so your eyes spot the tenting bulge between his legs, “seems like you feel the same, Suguru,” 

“And if I do?” He’s raising an eyebrow finally tearing his eyes away from you to glance at his best friend, “then what?” 

And Satoru is kissing your neck sweetly, “Think someone could use your attention, got this sweet cunt all ready for you,” and Suguru’s cock twitches in his pants, “or if you prefer, her mouth is more than willing, isn’t it, sweetheart?” 

“What would you be doing? Watching?”and Satoru scoffs, as he’s pulling you into a kiss, lips sliding against yours, as his tongue parts them, letting you taste yourself on his lips. 

And he’s pulling away, wiping a little saliva that drips from your lips, “oh I’d be doing more than just watching,” and Suguru sighs, as your gaze flicks over to him, his lips surprisingly curled in a smile. 

“Wonder how tight our princess will get with both of us in her,” Suguru hums, and your mouth falls open at his words, “wonder who’s name she’ll scream first,” 

“If you have to wonder, then you’ll know it’s mine,” and Satoru is forcing your gaze back to him, “what do you say, sweetheart?  Are you ready to handle us both?”

And you can’t believe your ears, as you glance between them, “but what about choosing?” And Suguru chuckles, two fingers unbuttoning his pants, dragging them down to pool around his ankles, his cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, a wet patch where the head rested. 

“Right now, the only thing I want you to choose between is whether you want my cock in your cunt first or in your mouth,” and Satoru only grins, his large palms sliding down your back, and under your ass and thighs. 

“Want some help getting there, baby?” and you’re biting your lip and nodding, and he’s lifting you with ease, pressing wet kisses down your neck, before placing you on your knees in front of Suguru. 

Suguru looks down at you, lips twitching upward into a grin, “Have you made your decision, princess?” and you nod wordlessly, as you settle on your knees between his thighs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the damp fabric of his briefs, making him hiss. 

“Wanna taste you before you fuck me, Sugu,” your fingers sliding into the elastic of his briefs and tugging them down, his pretty cock nearly slapping both your face and his shirt as you free it from its confines. He’s a little thicker than Satoru, you can barely get your lips around him, but Satoru had a easier time hitting the back of your throat, “need your cum down my throat,” and he’s grunting, your lips kissing the tip of his cock, tongue darting out to collect the precum leaking from the slit. Your tongue then drags along his vein, making him hiss, as Satoru only grins, adjusting himself in his slacks. 

“Don’t know why I haven’t fucked this perfect mouth sooner,” Suguru groans, the weight of his cock was so nice in your warm and wet mouth. Your fingers stroked what you couldn’t fit, as Satoru sits back and watches, his gaze boring into your back, as you hear the click of his belt, and you know Satoru is undressing behind you, “now you’re going to know what it’s really like to have your mouth full, princess,”

And Satoru scoffs, his footsteps growing closer to you, as you hear the dull slump of his clothes against the carpet, “Jealous that I fucked it first and fucked it better, Suguru?”

Suguru’s fingers weave into your hair, tugging at it lightly, making you moan around his aching cock, making him grunt, “We’ll see about that,” and then you feel a pair of lips pressing a constellation of kisses along your back, as Satoru presses himself against you, his cock sliding between your thighs, teasing your aching cunt, “don’t wanna just enjoy the show this time, wanna be a part of it, ain’t that right, baby?” 

Your cunt is fluttering around nothing as he rubs his cock against your outer lips and thighs, drawing more moans out of you, your fingers stuttering with their touch, until a sharp pull at your hair, draws your gaze upwards. 

“Don’t forget whose cock you’re sucking, princess,” and his hips shallowly thrust against you, tip brushing against your throat, making you gasp, fingers digging into his thighs, “or I’ll remind you,” 

“Oh, so scary, Suguru,” Satoru snorts from behind, as he steadies you from behind, his tongue dragging up your back, “now c’mon baby, squeeze your thighs for me like a good girl,” 

You re-double your efforts with Suguru, hollowing your cheeks and sucking as he slowly began to snap his hips and fuck your throat, all the while moaning around his cock as Satoru fucked your thighs. You squeezed your thighs, his cock slipping against your dripping cunt, making your walls flutter around nothing. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re dripping aren’t you? Making my cock all messy before I’m even inside you,” Satoru is leaning down, grazing his teeth against the soft flesh of your back, before his own thighs on either side of you, force your legs closed tighter, making him groan, “don’t think I can wait much longer to fuck this little princess cunt,” 

“You’re going to have to, I’m first, after all the stunts you’ve pulled, Satoru,” and Suguru is close, his words coming out as pants, rutting against your mouth, his lidded eyes meeting your teary eyed ones, “that pussy is mine first,” 

And Satoru lets out a breathy chuckle as your pussy twitches at his words, as he continues to roll his hips into you, driving your mouth deeper onto Suguru’s cock, “if you’re that eager, don’t think our princess would mind having us both at the same time, now would she?” Satoru drags his tip against your clit, making you whine against Suguru. And you’re whimpering, unable to nod, but Suguru moans, hips stuttering, as you swallow around his dick. 

“That’s it, my greedy girl — g’nna cum down your throat, swallow every drop,” Suguru groans, his hips rut into your mouth, his warm load painting your throat, as you swallow his cum eagerly. He fucks himself into your mouth, your name leaving his lips as he pants, working himself through his orgasm, “that’s it, good fucking girl,” 

“I’ve trained her well,” Satoru grunts, “can take cock like a pro, can’t you baby?” And you’re pulling yourself off Suguru’s cock, a mix of saliva and cum connecting you to his dick, tongue licking your lips clean, watching Suguru’s chest heave.

You moan as Satoru fucks his cock between your thighs, the tip dragging against your dripping pussy, “Look at the fucking mess you’re making of my office, Princess,” Suguru coos, his fingers cupping your chin, and thumb brushing against your bottom lip, as he palms himself lazily, “think she’s ready for both of us, Satoru?” 

Satoru is close, squeezing your thighs tighter around his cock, “not yet, think this cunt needs your fingers stretching her out first,” and his cock twitches again, “fuuuck I’m close, sweetheart,” and he’s turning you over onto your back, lifting your legs up against his chest, fucking his cock between your thighs. And it’s too much for you, as you moan, clenching around nothing, your slick slipping down, as Satoru groans, before he’s painting your face white with his cum. 

And Satoru is panting, as he’s pulling you into his arms, collecting his cum with his fingers from your flushed face. His fingers drag down your lips, urging you to suck on them, “Fuck, Princess, so fucking hot,” and he’s leaning down to lick the length of your cheek, chuckling, “you taste like me, baby,” 

“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru chides, as he takes off his button up, and Satoru is shooting him a glare, before handing you over. 

And Suguru is grabbing you up, pulling you into his lap, pressing your back against his chest, letting your legs spread, pussy leaking your release all over him. He hissed as his cock rubs against you, “you’re fucking drenching me, you already ruined my carpet and desk, gonna ruin my couch too now, sweetheart,” 

His fingers part your folds, thumb bearing down on your aching clit, making you gasp, “So sensitive, haven’t even had our cocks yet, wonder if you’ll cry,” he hums, all too pleased, “gotta stretch you out first,” 

And his lithe finger begins to circle your lips, before sinking into your cunt and making you gasp, “So tight even after Satoru ate you out — what do you think, Satoru, three fingers or four?” And he’s already sinking another finger in, beginning to bully your walls, scissoring and stretching, as he pumps his fingers into you steadily. 

Satoru hums as he comes over, rolling your pebbled nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, drawing another moan from your lips, “Four, got to be sure she’ll fit us both,” and he leans down and takes your other in his lips, sucking before his teeth grazes your nipple. 

“Fuck, she got tighter when you started playing with her tits,” Suguru smiles, as you huff in embarrassment, fading into another moan as he slips a third finger in, and it’s almost too much — you’re seeing stars nearly, as his fingers find that spot that makes you squirm and squeal. 

“Sugu, fuck, it’s too much—“ and Suguru is only grinning, redoubling his efforts to find that spot again, pistoning his fingers in and out — the squelch of his fingers in your cunt ringing in your ears, as you give a broken whine, “I can’t—” 

“Sure you can, baby,” Satoru coos, his teeth grazing the soft flesh of your breast, sucking and licking, making you nearly sob, “feels so good, look at you, taking his fingers so well—almost there,” 

And Suguru finally sinks the fourth finger into you, and you’re so fucking stretched out, it feels so good — too good, “Gonna soak my whole hand at this rate, Princess,” and you’re only gasping and whining, grinding your hips against his fingers, wantonly chasing your high, and Satoru has the best view of it all — your swollen lovely lips parted, your eyes fluttering, and your pretty pussy fluttering around his best friend’s fingers. And Satoru can’t wait to see it all again, when they sink into you. 

You can’t hold back, your voice raw and broken, “I’m g’nna—” and Suguru is grabbing your chin, pulling into a sloppy kiss, his lips gliding against yours, saliva running down the corners of both of your lips, swallowing your moans eagerly. And finally your back is arching against his chest, his fingers relentless even as you do orgasm, fucking your walls through it, thrusting your release back into you. 

“That’s it, pretty,” Suguru murmurs, as he’s pulling his lips from you, dragging his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “think you’re ready for us now, aren’t you?” 

“More than,” Satoru hums, as his fingers spread your pussy lips making you moan, before spanking your abused cunt, pulling a gasp from your lips, “who’s first?” 

And Suguru is manhandling you so that you’re settled in his lap, facing him, “You got to watch her pretty face when she cums, now it’s my turn,” and the tip of leaking erection brushing against your sensitive cunt, making you lurch against him, “so responsive as always,” 

“Hurry up, Suguru,” he’s grumbling, as he presses himself behind you, dragging his cock between your ass, making you whine, “wanna feel this pretty princess cunt milk me already,” 

Suguru chuckles, leaning forward to kiss along your jaw, “Baby, think Satoru is more desperate than you are,” and you’re smiling against his lips. 

“He always is,” you turn to smile at a pouting Satoru, but Suguru takes the opportunity to sink his cock into you, pushing past your walls, making your head snap back, mouth parted in an ‘o’ as his large palms settle on your hips, “Fuuuck, Sugu—” 

“I told you to pay attention to who’s fucking you, princess,” he grins, grunting as he bottoms out, his cock twitching inside your walls, “you’re fucking soakin’ my cock, still so fuckin’ tight after I stretched you out,” his hips slowly thrust into you, teasing you, lazily edging your sensitive pussy, “so pretty, so perfect,” and your walls flutter around him, “fuck, you like that, huh?” 

“Such a whore for our praise, huh?” Satoru pressing messy kisses to your neck, as he lines up himself in your cunt, “tell me you want this,” 

“Fuckin’ hurry up, Satoru, or I’m gonna burst before you even fuck her,” Suguru growls, his hips snapping a little too roughly that has you crying out, as Satoru makes you look at him, thumb cupping your chin. 

“Tell me, pretty, tell me how much you want both our dicks inside you,” Satoru croons, and his lips are pressing chaste butterfly kisses to you in contrast to the dirty words he says, with the slick sounds of Suguru fucking your needy cunt. 

“P-please, I need you, need both of you to fuck me,” your words fall from your lips without hesitation, “shit, I swear to god, Toru, just—” 

Your mouth falls open when Satoru pushes past your entrance, impaling you further, joining Suguru in your sweet cunt, and your mind is blanking — the fullness of them makes you nearly fall apart right then, the two of them groaning in beautiful synchrony. 

“Fuck, didn’t think you could get any tighter or wetter, but you keep proving me wrong,” Suguru moans, squeezing your hips sweetly. 

“So fuckin’ good, sweetheart, so, so good for us,” Satoru is mumbling into your shoulder as his hips begin to move against you, his balls slapping against your ass. 

They move at different paces — Satoru faster and harder while Suguru was slower and deeper —  their dicks driving into you, pressed between their bodies, sticky with sweat. Their hips strike their own rhythms, your orgasm quickly building like a flood, a wave ready to rip through you, as they fuck you again and again. 

“Fuck, perfect little princess cunt gonna break our dicks in half,” Satoru groans, as he’s pressing kisses to your neck, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,” 

“Neither is she, judging from how her pussy is squeezing already,” Suguru grunts, as he’s pulling you into a sweet kiss, “now don’t forget, you gotta moan one of our names — moan the name that makes you cum,” and you’re fuckin’ close, so fucking close, you let out a pathetic whine that makes you flush at the sound of it, until they both begin to stutter inside you, hitting deeper, both brushing against that spot again. 

“I’m g’nna—” and that’s all you manage before your walls clamp down on them, drawing out pornographic groans from both of them in your ears, as their cocks bottom out, as they cum, emptying their loads into you, fucking their cum inside as you three come down from your highs.

Pants fill Suguru’s office, the squelch of their hips slowing, as they twitch inside your desperately clingy cunt, stilling, as the three of you rest, boneless against one another. Suguru’s lips find yours softly, while Satoru is burying his face in the nape of your neck. 

“You know Satoru, this has to be one of your better ideas,” Suguru hums, as he slowly eases out of your pussy, eyes darkening as he watches all of three of your mixed releases leak out of you, “although I’m going to have to get my carpet cleaned now,” 

“Worth it,” Satoru sighs, pulling himself out as well, to collapse on the couch beside Suguru, before grabbing at you and pulling you to sit between them both, one of your thighs on either’s leg. His fingers drift to your all too full cunt, before using two fingers to collect some of the cum and stuff it back in, making you yelp, “sorry, baby, can’t have you wasting our cum, can we?” he winks. 

“Fuck off,” you mumble, all too exhausted, as your head leans back against the couch, “so where does this leave us?” 

And the two best friends share a look, seemingly having the same thought,  “Well, at an impasse really,” Suguru sighs, lips curling into a grin. 

“You never moaned one of our names, did you?” Satoru hums, pressing needy kisses along your shoulder, “so guess we’ll have to do it all over again.” 

“Guess we will, only fair way to decide, isn’t it, Princess?” Suguru cups your cheek, leaning in for another kiss, as Satoru nibbles at your pulse, “again and again and again.” 

And again, there was very little that Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto competed for — but you were one thing that they wouldn’t mind competing over for the rest of their lives. 

✴︎ a/n: this is @bucky-of-the-opera's fault. all their idea. i simply was possessed while writing this. thank you to them, @laneysmusings, and @lemonpoppy-seed for beta reading and encouraging me to stick through this monster of a fic. its also my first time writing a threesome fsjndkj

✴︎ tag list: @penny18271, @getowhxre, @doodlingpizza, @pandoraium, @gojoslittlecrybaby, @wavychelle, @n3cromancyy, @invisible-mori, @shujiforever, @vorschlaghannah, @karazorel7, @arquiiva, @samisubi, @gumisgirl, @moranguitosz, @pasta-warlord, @thejeezyweezys, @4ri3n, @goldeneclipsedragon, @kaerean, @vitaminjee, @grooveandshit, @californiadreaming20, @ilovetwodmen, @bontensbabygirl, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gojosatorumyoneandonly, @bloodmoon25, @jaszzsy, @strxwberrysmoothii, @naruucore, @puffaloxx, @starlightstream, @purplegalaxynight, @sinnerstardoll, @eliz-lovesgojo, @hopplessdreamer, @sociedadvinperfecta, @jamleon, @ichikanu, @negroperson, @anakinskywalkersloverr, @dohwaesu, @rosesxviness, @goldeneclipsedragon, @forest4bee,

[rafesbabygirlx]

ONLINE LOVE | 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄

𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 - 𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎’𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎.

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Rafe had never been one for love. He screwed probably every kook girl around his age and then showed them to the door once he was done with them. No one on the island batted him an eye anymore. Not even his daughter's mother. When she dropped the sleeping baby off at his doorstep 2 years ago and never looked back. He honestly wouldn't even remember her name, if it weren't on Harper's birth certificate.

Now, being 27, a single father, all alone at Tannyhill, he wanted more for his love life. Wheezie and Rose are gone, Sarah hates him, Ward is dead. The only sense of love is what he gets from his little Harper, his now 3 year old. She's showed him unconditional love. He's become the biggest softy when it comes to her.

He’s done his soul searching, attempts at dating on the island. His reputation precedes him. He wanted nothing but to find someone who could love both him and Harper. So he did what he’d never thought he’d do. He downloaded Hinge.

He set up his profile. Added photos. One business, one fun, one sexy. Overthought all his answers before hitting complete. One thing he didn’t overthink was his location. He set it for a city out in mainland North Carolina.

He didn’t match with anyone for the first few days. Even when he got so desperate and rapid swiped right at 2 am. Even when he couldn’t believe how no one would want someone like Rafe Cameron. He didn’t even care anymore. He just wanted a match.

It wasn’t until he got to your profile. He was completely enamored. The photos of you were gorgeous. He even found himself giggling at some of your responses to the prompts given by the app.

He sat on the couch, brushing his hand through Harpers hair as she rests against his chest playing with her dolls. He was nervous. He knew why. This was a big step for him, even more so now. He didn't know if it was stupid or not but he didn't plan on mentioning Harper until things were serious with someone. But you had this look about you that didn't scream "avoid."

He held his breath and swiped right on you. Much to his disbelief, he matched with you immediately. He got nervous all over again, yet took the plunge and messaged you first.

7:02pm: Hi, I’m Rafe. It’s nice to meet you.

“God, could you sound more like an idiot?” He muttered to himself right before he hit send. He put his phone down not wanting to obsess over a response from you. 10 minutes later he heard his phone buzz on the coffee table.

7:12pm: Hi Rafe! I’m y/n. It’s very nice to meet you too. Tell me a little about yourself.

He felt a little at ease seeing your response. It was similar to his and simple. Maybe he didn’t come off as big of a dope as he thought he did. But how the hell was he supposed to talk about himself? He’d never been in the talking stage before, even at 27 this was all way too new for him.

7:14pm: Sure. I’m from the Outer Banks. I took over my father’s company a few years ago after he passed. I’ve been running it for 5 years. I live in the same house I grew up in. And… my favorite color is green. How about you?

Pathetic, Rafe you’re pathetic.

7:15pm: You live in the Outer Banks? It says you live in my city. Weird. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Shit…

7:15pm: Anyways! I’m from Toronto originally. I came to North Carolina to go to school for medicine. UNC has one of the top programs. I’m currently in my first year of interning. I’m hoping to stay in NC once I’m complete.

7:15pm: Oh and also my favorite color is pink! Not a crayola crayon pink. A specific type of pink. Soft, kinda like a soft natural pink. But not a salmon, that’s too orange.

Jesus, she is cute. Smart and beautiful. She’s already so comforting. That’s crazy right? It doesn’t help I already look like a liar. How could I slip up that fast? Play it cool, Rafe.

7:16pm: I was in the area a couple weeks back. I had changed my location when I was there. I must’ve forgotten to change it back when I got home. Hope it’s ok.

I’m already lying. This is so bad.

7:17pm: Totally fine I get it! I don’t mind it. OBX really isn’t far. My roommate and I spent a few days there last summer. We loved it! Plus, is it bad I’m already enjoying talking to you? You might be the first normal guy I’ve matched with.

7:18pm: Yeah this place has its charm. I’m glad you liked it! And thanks for understanding. I’m not gonna lie, I’m new to this whole dating app thing and you’re the first person I matched with. I’m glad it was you and I’m glad you’re enjoying it too.

7:19pm: I am I really am. But listen, I only have a 10 min break which ends in a minute. I won’t get off until early in the morning. really would like to continue talking to you, Rafe. Get to know each other more. Here’s my Instagram- @/futuredr.yn. Message me there. Hinge’s messaging sucks. lol

7:19pm: I hope you have a really nice night. 🥰

7:20pm: I’ll go add you now, future doctor lol. You have a nice night too. Can’t wait to talk again.

Rafe couldn’t believe how content he felt after just a 10 min conversation. It’s like you put some sort of spell on your profile that made him want to fall in love with you.

He spent a few minutes searching through your photos. You back home, your med school graduation, photos of your cat. Funny enough, photos of your trip to OBX. You at the boneyard, eating at the Wreck, drinking at the country club. He liked a couple of those photos, not caring to make it obvious he snooped hit follow then went upstairs to bring Harper to bed.

4:04am: @/futuredr.yn started following you

4:04am: @/futuredr.yn liked your photo

4:05am: @/futuredr.yn liked your photo

4:05am: @/futuredr.yn sent a message

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚊𝚢𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚝𝚠.

𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝. 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚄 - 𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚙2 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒'𝚖 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

tags + some moots

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @nemesyaaa @frankoceanluvr11 @maybankslover @writingroom21 @maybejj @whytheylosttheirminds @drewsephrry @cameronsprincess @cherrywriterrr