#it just... i just can`t end thinking about it...
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kissesofluv · 2 days ago
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Laundry? It can wait!!
a/n: i was folding my laundry today and was thinking about Kento, that's how this idea came. only if he was real.. sigh.. T^T
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Kento never looked sexier (he always looks sexy) than when he was doing mundane things—like folding laundry in just grey sweatpants and a white undershirt that clung to him like sin. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, silently watching the way his forearms flexed as he smoothed out one of your shirts, the careful way he aligned each corner. Of course he folded with precision.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.
You grinned. “Can you blame me?”
He spared you a glance, eyes trailing down your oversized hoodie—his, actually—bare legs peeking out beneath. “You’re not exactly helping my focus.”
You stepped into the room, fingers skimming the waistband of his sweatpants. “Maybe I don’t want to help your focus.”
His hands stilled. “That so?”
“Mm-hmm.” You leaned up to kiss his jaw. “You’ve been so responsible all morning. Laundry. Dishes. Grocery list. I think you’ve earned a reward.”
Nanami exhaled through his nose, his control already fraying under your touch. “This is how the hamper ends up full again, you know.”
You pressed your body against his, your lips brushing his ear. “Then you’ll just have to fold my clothes again later.”
The shirt he’d been holding fell to the floor.
In a second, his hands were back on your waist, firm and sure, lifting you onto the warm pile of clean laundry on the bed. He hovered over you, golden hair tousled, eyes dark with want.
“You’re insatiable,” he muttered again, kissing down your throat.
“And yet,” you whispered, tugging at his shirt, “you never seem to complain.”
He didn’t. Not when you looked up at him like that. Not when your thighs opened just a little to welcome him in. Not when the quiet morning turned into something heated and breathless, your shared domestic rhythm melting into something much messier.
And the laundry? It could wait. (⁠◔⁠‿⁠◔⁠)
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likes and reblogs are very much appreciated<33
©kissesofluv2025 - please don't steal my works.
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captainpriceslilwife · 18 hours ago
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uuuhhhhhh ruminating on nikolai again and im hormonal and I stalked @quarterlifekitty 's nikolai tag about a hundred times so uhhhhhhh...gross daddy kink with nik 🤗 yay! (18+ nsfw below the cut)
CW: daddy kink (nik brings it out of me....like nasty, so im so sorry), overstimulation, could be perceived as non-con ish but it isn't I promise (he loves you, you love this behavior, everyone is happy) aannnd no aftercare written (only bc i didn't feel like writing it :) but he did take care of you afterwards, i promise) also first time writing smut so bad writing TW
Curled up at Nik's side, your cheek squished up against the dense hair that coats his chest as his fingers work their way into your tight, clenching heat. The little whimpers and mewls that escape from your mouth only serve to spur him on, but when your hips begin to wriggle, he brings his large paw to grip your ass and hold you in place on his fingers.
He chuckles softly at the quiet keen you let out, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head to soothe you as he scissors his fingers inside of you. "Shhh, kotenok...you need to sit still for your papochka, hm? So tight...I wouldn't want to hurt my sweet girl just because she can't be patient."
"I am being patient..." You murmur breathlessly, your tone turning slightly petulant as you tilt your head up to press tiny, pleading kisses to his jaw. "I want more, please, daddy. I can take it, I promise."
You feel his voice rather than hear it - his deep, rumbling voice reverberating through his chest and straight to your core as he coos quietly at you. "I know you think you can handle it, but papochka knows what you need, baby. Just be a good little girl for me and take what I give you."
But you just can't listen. You're always so good for him, but you had a really hard day :(, so after a couple more minutes (thirty seconds) you can't help it when you start to grind down on his fingers, groaning softly as you finally get him to punch against that spongey spot inside of you that has you sighing in relief.
He tuts quietly at your disobedience, but he can't help but huff in amusement at the way you bounce yourself on his thick fingers, barely even giving him a thought as you pant against his neck. He's always loved that you felt comfortable enough to push against him and his rules, especially since you were a jumpy little thing when he first got his hands on you - always asking him for directions and doing everything he said to a T. He's finally gotten you to relax enough to take what you need from him, even if it means you end up acting like a brat sometimes. But he's never been the type of man to punish bratty behavior...no, no, no. He loves spoiling his sweet malyshka! So if you want more? He'll give it to you.
No matter what.
And now that you've got your knees pressed next to your ears, feet dangling over his shoulders as he rams his cock into you, your little fists are weakly pushing against his chest as you whine about it being 'too much'.
"Oh, but isn't this what you wanted, malyshka? I thought you could take it, big girl. You promised me." He croons in a condescending tone, pulling one of your hands away from his chest to press a gentle kiss to it as you continue to whimper pathetically. When a tear begins to slip down your cheek, he swoops in and licks it right up, causing you to let out a little whine of discontent and a soft little 'gross' - but he can feel how tightly you clench around him at the action. "Mmh...so sweet, milaya."
And when he's made you cum more times than you can count - battering your poor, squelching cunt to its limit - you try to wriggle away from him. He just lets out a deep, rumbling laugh at your weak attempt to get away, eying you like you're an unruly kitten who doesn't know any better.
"Ah, ah, ah..." He tuts gently at you, tugging your hips back to slam you down on the bed so he can work his cock back inside of you. "No running, kotenok. You don't go anywhere until I say so. Come on, listen to your daddy."
You're nearly blacked out by the time he finally stops. Your trembling hands reach down between your legs to guard your throbbing pussy even though you know he's done - he's already rolled over to reach for his cigarettes and lighter, pulling you tight to his side as he flicks his thumb until the end of his stick glows orange.
He tosses the lighter off to the side before taking a deep drag and tilting your chin up to look at him. He blows his smoke out of the corner of his mouth to 'not ruin your pretty lungs', as he always says - but you're not sure how much good it does when he uses the same hand that holds the cigarette to trace his thumb over your cheek, catching the tears that still slip from your eyes.
"Say 'thank you, papochka' " He grunts in that sweet, patronizing voice that always turns you on more than you care to admit. When you stay silent, too fucked-out to even bring yourself to think, he brings one of his hands up to squeeze the fat of your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout and pulling a soft gasp out of you. "Go on. Say it, little girl."
You choke out something between a moan and a sob, and it takes you a second to form the words "th-thank you, papochka" before your resigned back to a panting, sweaty mess as he pats your cheek affectionately.
"Ah, good. So you can listen."
nsfw (p!link) visual for the first position he's got you in (full cred to @codnasties for the vid even though its for price)
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aellesira · 2 days ago
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Hello!! Can I request pre-relationship Mydei x reader with Phainon kinda being like “if you don’t make a move on reader then I will” if that makes sense. Thank youuu.
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彡 love he feels, love you reciprocate twice over.
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pairings, mydei x gn!reader.
ᯓ ᯓ' summary, one time, mydei recalls a sentence that left phainon's lips that made him feel inexplicably jealous. [ 1.0k word count. ] content, rushed ending, mydei getting a little jealous, crushes + hi anon! i hope this is okay (≧∇≦)ノ
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“So, who is that radiant person over there you keep staring at?” 
Mydei had known forever that you had high standards, but no one could deny that you were not at fault — anyone who’d ever asked you out was softly rejected by you (or harshly, if they were annoyingly persistent). You didn’t want to date someone who, for all you knew, only saw your beauty and nothing else. An essential reason for accepting would be that you’ve known them forever, which did not come from men and women taking time out of your day who you’ve never met.
Even then, he fell for you too, just as everyone else did. And now? Phainon had caught on. And Mydei knew that Phainon won’t let it go anytime soon.
He’d like to shut him up right about then. Especially since you were right there. Out of earshot but close enough to hear Phainon’s teasing.  “I’m not staring at them.” He mumbled, looking away. But he was. And Phainon wasn’t stupid. Phainon acted as though he just found out about everything, Mydei’s crush or whatever, and about you too. Although, it was blatantly obvious from the start… and perhaps there was something else that Phainon would never elaborate on. Yet.
Phainon, wanting to get something out of him, pressed on. “Yeah? They are rather lovely. I wouldn’t blame you if—”
“I’m not looking at them. I’m not.” When you looked over at the pair, hearing them bicker over something, although you couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying to each other, Mydei could swear he saw a flicker of uncertainty swim through your eyes before it passed. He stood up and dragged his friend out of there, missing the look you gave Phainon.
Phainon couldn’t believe how easy it was! To get him to admit he harbored feelings for you was like getting a cat to swim, yes, but his job was only to get him to think of you — who knew he already did? The snow-haired man looked on as he watched Mydei consider his advice — not that Phainon was some love expert — or was he? 
All the same, everything was in motion. Until…
“No.” Mydei said abruptly. Though it seemed on the outside that Mydei had half-heartedly taken his advice, the advice to make the first move on her and see what she’d do, he was thoroughly considering your dislike for people coming up to you and asking for a date first thing. Although… he and you weren’t that reserved, were you? Not really. As Phainon suggested, the two of you were closer than most.
Still, he didn’t know what to do. Whether to make a move on you, or not? “They would reject me, and even if they didn’t, I know they’d be irritated. They always are, right?” Mydei didn’t know where this apprehension came from; he wasn’t like this usually, so…
“Yeah, but then it’s you! They reject people they don’t know, not someone like you — they’re close with you. I'm sure they’d think about it.” Phainon tried hard not to sound too desperate, but he had a job to do. He smirked inwards as he thought about how they were sounding like schoolgirls with a crush. But he had to try harder…
“You should, it’s better to try.” He grinned. “Otherwise, if you don’t make a move on them, I will.” 
Mydei’s thoughts stopped in their tracks, disappearing like a snowflake on snow, ceasing altogether to try to register his friend’s words. I will? Did Phainon just admit to something? His eyebrows creased as he took in his words, trying and failing to mask his annoyance. Phainon wouldn’t do that to him.
Phainon, sensing the change in atmosphere, considered relenting — but he’d already said what he’d said — time to salvage this. Sheepishly, he continued. “What? If you won’t take them, I can. They’re certainly lovely to be around.” He went on. Oh boy, Phainon should’ve kept his mouth shut.
Mydei still didn’t know what to make of Phainon’s words, and after giving him a harsh beating (spoiler: Phainon’s not okay) he decided to give it a shot. One time, he decided to spend time with you, and you uncharacteristically accepted. He took you out to dinner, romantic as he could make it… and ended it horribly… not in Mydei’s eyes, though.
“Thank you for letting me take you out; you’re a good friend of mine.” Which he thought came out as very sweet, but Phainon was crashing out at him when he spoke to him the night after your little ‘date’.
“Good friend? Good friend?! You’re trying to take her out, not friendzone her!” 
Sometimes, Mydei’s thoughts traced back to the time Phainon said what he’d said. About you. Maybe, Phainon harboured feelings for you too? He wouldn’t blame him — still… he’d seen you and him interact. The two of you were close friends, something he found out after Mydei admitted his crush. Maybe…
“I like you too.” You mumble, cheeks dusted pink and looking away from the broad man standing before you, although he looked more like a schoolboy asking out his crush. But he was, in a way.
Phainon was hiding behind a tree, silently snickering to himself. Now he remembered how you reacted when he first clocked that you liked Mydei, a long time before Mydei admitted his own crush.
“Yeah? You’ll help me? Thanks, Phainon! You’re the best! Can you like, ask him if he likes anyone?” Your eyes twinkled.
“Even better, I’ll make him jealous.” 
That was where the line came from, although he never meant to make Mydei think that he liked the person he loved. The jealousy he evoked from his was quite satisfying though, and you seemed to like it too.
He came out of his hiding place, patting Mydei on his shoulder. “Well, my mission is complete.” You smiled at your friend. Mydei looked quizzically between the two of you, and his question was clear.
“Oh, Phainon has been trying to set us up for months! I told him—” Oh. My God. 
At least he got the fine shyte—
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bro it's actually a mood idk what kind of slump it is but i've also had no motivation to touch or look at anything with more than like 20 words LOL i appreciate you still giving me a long-ass reblog though man 👊
lowkey already feels like eons ago since i wrote doctors but MAN did it take me aggeesss to finish. and you're right why am i only getting the workload and not the eight boyfies??? i don't want you i want hot guys HAHAHAHA yes man i remember randomly asking you medical questions bc you're a doctor's kid so like surely you would know?? why don't you know?? go ask your mum ???
was defs a strange experience to start the fic off with established relos and everything is already happy no angst (yet) OATH we both need an 8XL bed just for me myself and i we ain't sharing it with anybody ✋ i would literally never get out of bed
AHAHAHA yeah i think like 95% of readers predicted that seolhee would not make it esp since i put warning tags but also i like to think that even though they knew it would happen, the scene was still A N G S T Y enough hohoho istg any writer who makes a kid character really loveable and cute has *other* plans for that character
yess writing about a female doctor gave the liberty of exploring the misogynistic side of the medical field bc it's not a loren fic if i'm not trying to simultaneously touch on a million different themes 😌☝️
LMAO not the parallels with dr nam and the extra intern with my own workplace 💀 the more you say the more i realise i projected my entire life into this fic :D AND O F C jongho and yunho are canon dad joke and pun lovers
it makes such a world of a difference having someone you enjoy seeing at work (even if just like platonically) (i wish i could see the wizard at work but alas 🤧)
having a lil kid honestly makes these conversations so much easier bc why does it hit so much harder when they ask all the simple questions that you would never think about, and why do they always make everything sound so simple too? we love a character who makes the plot flow LOL
oof yes all the angst starting to go down where they make jokes about being absent romantically but also it means that it's something they've noticed and have at least somewhat thought about 👀
time vs emotional capacity >>>> this is literally me with everything LOL like time vs social capacity LIKE YEAH I HAVE TIME BUT IT'S NOT FOR SOCIALISING OR ANYTHING i don't have the capacity to do anything but be alone tyvm 🤺🤺🤺
omg you bringing up dr nam again and how the misogyny was tackled suddenly reminded me of a detail i was gonna include at the end of the fic but didn't end up including. (or maybe i did and i've just completely forgotten) but mc starts to document and keep a written record of everything so she has evidence and damn don't we just love ✨character growth✨ in every aspect of life
NOT YOU FINDING IT SATISFYING THAT MC SNAPS AT YUNHO HAHAHA but honestly mc's across all written fics need to have more moments where they snap when they should. boo to perfect mc's we need flawed and imperfect mc's
OOP YKNOW WHAT I DIDN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT poor seonghwa who has literally done no wrong being the one to take the brunt of mc's explosion 🫢 tbh though i think it means a lot for the future plot bc even though she blew up at him, he was the one who took the brunt of her grief after seolhee passes <3 no but this monologue about the last time you did xx you deserve credit too bc you helped cook this part up, especially the iconic part when the last time mc used conditioner was :'))
STRAIGHT UP THIS MINGI SCENE WILL FOREVER BE THE MINGI SCENE this is my peak periodt i don't think i can ever write a more heartfelt and comforting scene than this.
AND THE MEMES STILL TAKE ME OUT LOOKING AT THEM NOW HAHAHAH IT TOOK ME OUT SO HARD THE FIRST TIME YOU SHOWED ME AND IT STILL DOES LIKE WHAT A MONTH LATER?
ooh yes i did end up editing this part (you're right it was meant to lead to a huge argument) but highkey it just didn't feel right? it felt more fitting to their character growth and the overall plot for them to understand where mc was coming from, and they all took the break to reflect on themselves. also like ngl atp i was so sick of writing doctors i didn't want to give myself more arguments to solve HAHAHAHAH ALSO considering surfers and hockey had huge arguments it's nice to do something a little different for doctors
you put it so nicely bro yeah there's the contrast between the chaos the boys experience without you around, but there's also the chaos you experience without the boys around. gotta make sure ALL characters get that character growth going on 🤪
YES. IT'S SEOLHEE 🙈 was probably one of the most mentally exhausting scenes to write bc i remember iMMERsING myself as mc so that i could write the emotions/actions/conversation realistically but heyyyyyyyyyy at least seolhee is happy up there in the sky now 🥹🫶
i think all the readers (and myself) (and mc and the boys) definitely deserve a time skip to the next christmas just to heal everybody's hearts that all worked out and all is okay. relationships are never smooth sailing and sometimes it's a near-breakup that is actually what solidifies the relationship and makes it unbreakable :')) defs was aiming for the hallmark-esque christmas for the full FLUFFY effects and i'm glad it came across as such :')) straight up don't think i can ever top this fic's title and motif and repeated lines of the snow/stars
big boots for both myself aND YOU to fill bc god knows i'll be needing your help when i actually get into the flow of writing spring XD
and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky
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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 :)
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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.
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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.
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“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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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“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.”
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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gatorbites-imagines · 19 hours ago
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I know I'm a freak. I know 😔. BUT hear me out PLEASE🙏
Powerful superhero male reader right? But he's an omega, and he doesn't know it. So like, when he first goes into heat he's confused, hormonal, territorial, and angry. Just generally aggressive. And Mark has kinda corraled him away from the city so he doesn't destroy it any further.
Like, imagine this naked angry man dripping all types of fluid that you already had a crush on is glaring at you like you're his next meal.
Next thing Mark knows he's on the floor being torn up by bites and being ridden till he can't even think. Crying a snotting cus he really can't take it anymore.
- the freakiest
Mark Grayson x Homelander!male reader 
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I went on a bit of a tangent soooo,,,, more under the cut 
I had like... Homelander!Reader in my head for this, except hes like, stronger than normal Homelander and able to keep up with viltrumites. The GDA or government seem like the kinda people to grow a whole person to keep as a weapon. And it all worked out, in the beginning, when you were a young child or teen trying to please the adults in your life. 
Maybe you're on a more... normal overpowered level, so the suppressors the government and GDA pumps you full of work perfectly, even when you start becoming more unstable and show less regard for life and humanity, outside of need for fame and attention. 
Homelander!Reader would hate Mark when he first shows up. Hed have hated Nolan too, but with Mark it's even worse cuz Nolan has been around for so long, and here Mark is showing up. Homelander!Reader does his whole, very fake acting, it's so obvious he wishes Mark would explode on the spot. 
Perhaps Homelander!Reader grows stronger with age, which starts making the GDA and government antsy, because he's becoming harder to control. And they are finally realizing, that huh, raising a child in a lab with no family or contact, kinda makes an unstable and unpredictable killing machine. 
It also means Readers body is growing stronger and resistant, and it ends up with him burning through the suppressors, probably during a fight with Mark. The suppressors would have been slowly wearing off with time, making Homelander!Reader even more unstable and snappy, until his full-blown heat comes through. 
His scent would be questionable at best, not very omega in flavor. All those years of straight up torture under the GDA and government will do that, along with all the killing and hate in his body. Its sour, metallic like blood and gore, but also too sweet, like artificial candy, the kind that makes you dizzy from how strong it is, but it makes Mark salivate. 
At least Homelander!Reader is easy to corral because he's so angry and controlled by his secondary gender and biology, stuff he's never felt before. Mark, being a genius, would try to use his scent to calm the very powerful feral omega down, only works to mark Homelander!Reader start drooling and frothing at the mouth. 
All that hate Homelander!Reader has leads to the wildest hate- and lust fueled heat. Reader obviously doesn't have a nest, and doesn't even have an apartment that's his own, so the two end up holing up in some hole somewhere, far away from everything. 
Mark would think he just needs to calm Homelander!Reader down, until he starts huffing Marks scent and rubbing on him. And Mark? Well, he's a freak by nature you know, so Reader staring down at him with glowing red eyes and gushing slick? Mark would never have survived. 
Poor Mark assuming he can keep up with Homelander!Reader cuz he's a viltrumite, only for Mark to be sucked dry like a caprisun, panting and seeing double from dehydration. Mark ends up with scratches and bites all over his body, unlike Reader who doesn't bruise. Only reason Reader doesn't mark our dear Mark is because he's just too obsessed with his knot to do so, and cuz he's never really thought about it. 
Now I got the mental image of Mark trying to cover himself cuz his knot just aches from being used so many times, and Homelander!Reader, still halfway feral, feels bad, like instinctively. So, he shuffles down and does his best attempt at an omega purr, something that sounds kinda like rocks in a tumbler because he's never purred before. And as he purrs Reader nuzzles and kisses Marks knot and stomach. 
Something about this feral rut/heat makes them realize feelings, and the relationship wouldn't be perfect in the beginning, probably wouldn't for a long time, but they get better with time. 
Reader is the worst omega in the world, even after his heat passes. Hes selfish, mean, still could not give a shit about those he sees as beneath him, but... he likes Mark now. Mark scents him and nibbles on his scent gland when they're alone. His teeth can't actually pierce it (Yet, emperor Mark could, trust), but it always gets that choppy ugly purr going. 
Imagine Homelander!Reader trying to nest and it's like a pigeon nest... its so ugly and uncomfortable, but Mark is supportive. Like, he will lay in the pile of hay, knitting needles and tarps and be all “omg babeee, such a pretty nest, thank youuu”, even if hes laying on the floor. It makes him chuff when Homelander!Reader lets out his own little shy omega noises at the praise. 
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captain-huggy-bear · 23 hours ago
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Congratulations, well deserved!! Can we pls have Quinn Hughes with “Every morning I fall in love with you all over again."
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1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist
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Quinn's not sure how he managed it, but at some point, most likely season after season of early wake ups, he'd managed to turn himself into an insufferable morning person. Gone were the days where he could lie in and sleep till noon, now he naturally woke up at 5am, unable to go back to sleep.
The biggest benefit to this was you. Each morning he'd wake at 5am and each morning you'd still be sound asleep next to him...and each morning Quinn would take the time to just watch you, to fall a little bit more in love with you.
This morning was no different, he woke to the sun streaming in through a slit in the curtains, your cat's tail swishing into his face and tickling his nose, and most importantly, you. You laid across his chest, cheek smushed against his pectoral, mouth slightly open, drool forming at the corner of your lips. Quinn knew that you'd be embarrassed by it. By the drool, the way your hair stood up on it's ends, random strands all over the place, by the heavy mouth breathing you were doing deep in sleep. But to him? To him it was nothing but endearing.
He wanted to wake up every single morning for the rest of his life at 5am to the sight of you drooling on him, your sleep shorts riding up your thighs, wearing one of his old t-shirts, toes digging into his leg.
Quinn can't really help himself but press a kiss to the top of your head, leaning forward slightly, shifting you gently as he sits somewhat upright. You grumble as he moves but don't wake, just burrow closer to his chest like you can get inside his skin. He'd let you if he could.
One of his hands reaches for your arm, tracing circles into your skin, tracing over each finger on his chest and back down again, each knuckle is traced, every bone in your wrist, every mark on your skin. He gets too careless though, fingers trailing up to your cheek, over the tip of your nose, the ticklish sensation causing you to start to wake, nose twitching, grumbles leaving you as you blink up at him sleepily.
He's blurry in the early morning hours and you just about comprehend that it's his finger tickling your skin and not some sort of insect.
"...Quinn?" Your voice is hoarse from sleep, dehydrated from a long night and you can already tell it's far too early for you to be awake.
"'m sorry, baby, go back to sleep..." Quinn keeps his voice quiet, a low rumble that you feel under your ear more than you hear. You ignore him, your typical sort of stubbornness coming through that has you trying to force yourself to stay awake.
"What're you doin'?"
"Just admiring you 's all, go back to sleep, baby." his fingers fall into your hair, massaging at your scalp and the back of your neck in a way that has your eyes blinking slower and slower like you're resisting falling asleep in place.
"Okay..." Your voice is sweet, sleepy and cosy as you nuzzle back down against him, eyes closing finally.
Quinn waits until your breath has evened out, till he's certain you're asleep again before he even dares to whisper the thoughts in his head.
“Every morning I fall in love with you all over again...fuck, think i'm gonna marry you, baby." Truth is though, he doesn't think, he knows. Quinn is absolutely certain that you're it for him. From the way you drool on him in your sleep to the way you squint when it's too sunny out and how you always seem to find him in a crowd no matter how many people are in the way.
You're 100%, absolutely it for him.
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miaoua3 · 23 hours ago
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can you pleaseee do seventeen when they get jealous seeing you with another guy then finding out it’s your brother? I LOVE YOUR WORKS
sure i can! this is such a good and funny idea haha, hope you enjoy it!
••••••••••••••••••••••••
SVT-Getting Jealous Not Knowing It’s Your Brother
scoups-frowning and passive aggressive the entire time, you lowkey have to smack his thigh under the table. he’s sooo sulky the entire time you are talking to the man in front of you. also, unusually clingy, tries to literally pull you on his lap and hug you with all his limbs, almost like he wants you to hide you from the man. when you reveal to him that it’s your brother, his brain malfunctions for second before he starts blushing like crazy. immediately apologises and tries sucking up as a way to compensate for being a jerk lmao
jeonghan-oh this one. he’s all sarcastic smiles and fake politeness, you’re literally side-eyeing him the entire time. mumbling light insults into his chin so neither of you can hear it. has to look out of the window and scoff lightly any time you two make an inside joke. the reality is-he’s fuming inside, feeling mildly homicidle any time the man tries to playfully run your head. but once you reveal its your brother he’s just kind of “….oh.” and stays quiet the entire time out of the embarrassment😭
joshua-tries his hardest to be polite for your sake but he’s on his last gram of self control as he looks at you two interact. fists clenched under the table as he��s nodding along to whatever the man is saying, eye lightly twitching the longer you keep on laughing at the man’s jokes. tries to casual wrap an arm around you but it just ends up looking like a guard dog trying to protect his food. the moment you reveal that it’s your brother, he visibly exhales in relief and finally starts being actually nice towards your brother
jun-lost, sad, and acting like a kicked puppy. the entire time he’s just quietly watching you two, visibly upset. what you don’t know is that in this drama queen’s mind, the scenarios of you leaving him for the man in front of you, finding you in the bed with the man, all sorts of things. when you finally quietly ask him what’s wrong, he asks you with a visibly upset face “who is he to you?” when you reveal it to him, he’s like “oh. well anyway-“ and back to normal he goes
hoshi-dead. died in a ditch. hand across his forehead, clutching to his invisible injury on his heart and all that. in reality, he’s just a dramatic gemini. sulking, pouting, and outright ignoring everything the man says. literally hugs you close to himself while staring at the man just like 😠. when your brother finally introduces himself, hoshi is all sheepish and trying to awkwardly laugh it all like usual, but just know that once you get home, he’s going to be wailing in despair, asking “WHY DIDNT YOU SAY ANYTHING TO ME, HOW COULD YOU LET ME EMBARRASS MYSELF LIKE THAT- IN FRONT OF YOUR BROTHER NONETHELESS”
wonwoo- quietly fuming as he watches you two interact. he usually trusts you, but he’s totally confused by your behaviour. why are you allowing this man to talk to you so casually? why are you allowing him to high five you-and to keep your hands clasped together after it? why are you breaking his heart like this? quiet the entire time, thinking of all the ways to hide his body. once your brother introduces himself, he’s like “oh. nice to meet you. im SO glad to meet you, you have no idea actually” (classic emotional cancer)
woozi-oh you better hide all the knivey and forks from him because he WILL attack the man if he dares touch you one more time. actually smacks his hand away when he goes to rub your hair for the third time. is genuinely 3 seconds away from getting into a fight. you have to physically push him away and angrily whisper “what are you doing, that’s my brother!” proceeds to hide in the bathroom, texts you “tell me when he’s gone so i can jump in front of the first moving car”
minghao-probably the most normal about the whole situation😭 even if he’s jealous on the inside, he tries his best to stay calm and collected, to treat the man with respect. now, just because he’s respectful doesn’t mean he’s overly friendly. his hand twitches every time he tries to touch you, but relaxes when he sees you smacking his hand away. when your brother properly introduces himself, he immediately relaxes and tries to be friendlier. you however noticed his mild jealousy and don’t miss the chance to tease him once you get home, all of which he will try to deny while blushing like crazy
mingyu-sulky, pouty kicked puppy part…whichever. genuinely has his whole bottom lip jutted out, eyes shiny from either unshed tears or…about to be shedded tears. in his mind, the whole situation feels like a whole divorce. is so upset, even your brother gives his a look that is embodiment of “???” clinging to you, tries to nuzzle his head into your neck which you are so embarrassed about like not in front of my brother bro😭 once your brother finally reveals his identity, ggyu immediately perks up, an invisible tail starts wagging, trying his hardest to get into your brothers good graces, immediately starts calling him “brother in law”😭
dk-another kicked puppy energy. is sitting there beside you, quietly looking down at his hands that are fussing with his jeans, unusually quiet. gently redirects all your attempts at trying to include him in your conversations. actually lets a tear or two quietly slip down his face because he genuinely thinks this is it for the two of you. it takes your brother “having to go to the bathroom” and you asking him what’s wrong for him to admit his fears and cry freely, and for you to reveal that that’s your brother. once your brother returns, dk is all over him, making your brother think that your new boyfriend might be bipolar
seungkwan-oh this sassy diva? he’s going allll out for it. snide remarks, sneaky jabs about the looks of your brother, intentionally calling you “HIS partner”-all in all, he’s unknowingly embarrassing himself so much, your brother ends up having a great kick out of it. tries to be all cool and wrap his arm around you but he accidentally bumps his elbow into your neck😭 your brother has a full-on crying-while-laughing session when he ever so casually reveals that he’s your brother and seungkwan loses his absolute shit. literally bangs his head against the table in embarrassment
vernon-probably the only one who doesn’t get jealous at all, he’s just kind of…confused. he’s wondering “oh, who is this? it seems that they know each other very well….well, i guess im about to find out soon enough.” patiently waits for you two to finish talking, looking at you lovingly as you laugh loudly, his eyes literally shaped as heart as he watches you interact with the other man. once he gets introduced to your brother, he firmly shakes his hand, trying to seem as cool as possible but his eyes are open so wide as he does so it looks a bit…creepy ngl😭 like its okay bro you can relax
dino-somebody save this dinosaur from the despair and suffering that is being in love with the prettiest person ever so men continue talking and flirting with you. eyes furrowed, answers short, eyes rolling anytime you two laugh at an inside jokes. he’s over it all, he just wants to go home and spend time with the love of his life already. but once your brother lightly scolds him for “speaking so rudely to his future brother in law” dino’s eyes almost fall out of his sockets. almost gets down on his knees to beg for forgiveness, trying to quickly explain that his stupid brain just thought that he was another man trying to flirt with you. luckily, your brother just laughs it ofd and spares dino the little dignity he has left
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bunnipuffs · 2 days ago
Text
୨୧ cw. cnc, mean! ellie, toxic relationship, degrading language, choking, strap use, no prep
match my freak !
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it started out with those stupid little arguments you'd always have with ellie, petty behavior that you never grew out of. ellie was a busy woman—being a leader of an infamous mafia group, she usually had business to attend to everyday, some activities ending late into the night. you were spoiled, and ellie only has herself to blame. she spent thousands of dollars on you and gave her undivided attention when you first married, working from home and forced her subordinates to complete her dirty work. things were different now. ellie's patience wears thinner, and you're only getting snappier.
"i just don't understand why you can't get home early for once. your little minions can do shit for you, can't they?" you're following ellie as she shrugs off her bloodied jacket, something you're used to seeing by now, watching as she tosses it onto your bedroom floor. you're huffing out a frustrated breath before picking it up and throwing it into your laundry basket. "and you can't even fuckin' pick up after yourself, seriously, ellie?" you're walking towards her with a scowl on your face, your hand coming to meet ellie's cheek, a loud plap! at the impact. "look at me when i talk to you!"
you can see ellie swallow before she speaks, eyes completely dark with anger. "you're a fuckin' brat, you know that?" you're walking backwards, ellie walking towards you now the same way you approached her—but she was scarier, much more menacing, and you knew what she was capable of. "you have the nerve to slap me?" ellie laughs, your bottom lip trembles slightly at her expression, but you harden your stare as your back presses up against the wall. was your room always this small? "i pay for our food, paid for this house, paid for that fancy fucking lingerie you're wearing, and you still bitch and whine about shit out of my control?" you're gulping, saliva thick in your throat, almost messing up your next words. "yeah and? you chose to."
ellie scoffs, a mean smile on her face. "i guess i did," she's looking you up and down, her gaze heavy on your skin. the way she's staring at you makes you want to hide somewhere, anywhere. "but you like it huh? letting me dress you up like a slut?" you flinch at her words, suddenly too aware that you're dressed like this while ellie is dressed normally, her usual t-shirt and jeans. you weakly push at her chest, "fuck you, ellie, you're the one who bought it for me!" ellie lets out a cruel laugh, the sound of it pissing you off even more, a sweet sounding hum from her throat after. "since it was my idea or whatever bullshit you think, i can do this right?"
ellie's aggressively lifting up your lacy bra, a startled noise spilling from your lips. "what the fuck ellie?—" you can't get another word out before she's toying with your nipples, harshly tugging at them before rubbing at it with the pads of her fingertips. you're biting at your lips, so hard you're almost breaking skin, desperately trying to keep your moans inside of you—you didn't want ellie to know she was making you feel good, she didn't deserve it, but your self control dissolves when you feel her lips wrap around your bud, warm and wet, her tongue circling around your nipple. she's grazing her teeth over them, sensitive from her fingers, a whimper dragged out of you. "ellie..."
“what? gonna complain about somethin’ else now?” her voice is muffled from how close she is to your body, her eyes never leaving yours. she pulls always from your tits, “this is mine. this,” she takes a finger, lifting up the strap of your bra before letting go, the strap snapping against your skin—you wince at the impact, harsh and merciless, eyes glossy from the pain. “and this,” her hand is trailing down to your cunt, slender fingers grazing over the fabric. “all mine, got it?” you’re moaning at the stimulation, a sadistic chuckle from ellie, “you’re soaked, babe. does arguing with daddy make you all wet?” you’re shaking your head no, but ellie knows your body better than you do. she can feel it. the way you’re ruining your panties, the way she can feel you grinding down on her hands, you don’t even notice. “fuck you.” you spit, legs shaky from her teasing. “aw, fuck me?”
ellie leans in next to your ear, the hot puff of her breath against your skin, it makes you shiver. “go lay down and take off your panties.” you challenge her gaze, unrelenting and stubborn. maybe that was why ellie loved you so much, you kept things so interesting. she thrived in chaos. “and if i don’t?” her hands come up to wrap around your neck almost instantly, not tight, but a grip that has you stuttering. a reminder of what your wife was capable of. “you wanna find out?”
you bite back a rebuttal, something that was second nature to you, to fight back even when the battle was lost. but you decide to be gracious to yourself, shoving ellie away before walking over to your shared bed, pulling off your panties. you feel embarrassed when you see the wet patch—your underwear basically translucent at ellie’s toying. you toss them onto your floor the same way ellie had earlier, sitting on the edge of your bed like you were told. your thighs are tightly pressed together. the weight of ellie’s stare is impossible to ignore, you can feel the stickiness sitting down, and she isn’t helping at all. “actin’ all shy now?” she’s walking over to your closet, picking up her strap. the one she always used when you got bratty, long and thick. it got you to shut up real fast. ellie smiles when she sees you staring at it, like it was a gun. “scared?”
“i’m not.” you huff, stubborn as always. watching as ellie walks over to you. she’s sitting right next to you, picking you up with ease—you’re hovering right above her strap, the tip poking at your pussy, it already feels huge against you. you’re gulping, eyebrows furrowing at the feeling. ellie’s grinning at the worried look on your face before you can even register it, “you should be.”
you don’t have time to breathe before she’s slamming you down onto her strap, in one thrust, the painful stretch sending shivers down your spine. it’s big, and you’re completely filled in a matter of seconds. you’re screaming out a strangled, “ellie!” voice shaky and unstable, clenching around the toy—ellie can barely move, the tightness of your cunt gripping onto the strap like you needed it. “hm? what is it, huh?” ellie groans when she looks down where you’re both connected, your slick glistening on the silicone. “thought i should teach you a lesson,” she’s holding your hips, both hands keeping you together, sliding you up and down. “since you think i choose to come home late..” you’re moaning too loud, the sweet noise echoing in your bedroom. your insides hurt, but it hurts so good—and ellie knows just the way you like it. “you should work for it. you should know how hard it is to fuckin’ work, provide for some bitchy wife who doesn’t appreciate it.”
ellie’s hands stay on your hips, squeezing at the plush skin. you hadn’t noticed your eyes were closed the whole time until you open them, fluttering, locking gazes with ellie. she’s not moving you anymore. you’re cock warming her, her strap buried all the way to the hilt. the adjustment is easier now that you can breathe properly. you twitch around her, your cunt pulsing. “what?” ellie rolls her eyes, adjusting her hips—the tip rubs against your sweet spot for a second, a whimper slipping out of you. “fuck yourself, work for it for once, since i always do. i always have.” you almost tell her to fuck off, again, but you don’t. ellie wants to see you beg, see you weak and pathetic. so you slowly drag yourself up her strap, slick dripping out of you and down your toy. you can see the mess you’ve made on it when you look down.
you’re building a steady pace, moans of ellie’s name and blabbering, a mean smile on your wife’s lips. the slide is easier now, her strap thrusting in and out of you so effortless without prep. ellie can feel her heart swell a little bit, the fact that you take it—taking it until you’re sore and swollen, eyes teary and a dumb look on your face afterwards. she loves you, and this was her way of showing it. “yeah c’mon, it’s hard right? having to work for something?” you’re shaking your head, fucking yourself faster and rougher at her words. she smiles, a genuine one, “tryin’ to prove me wrong, babe?” you’re whimpering when her tip hits that spot again, an electrifying feeling rushing through your body, your cunt feels so warm and wet. “you’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna c—“
you’re wrapping your hands around ellie’s throat, your chest filled with annoyance. it wasn’t how she held you, you tightened your grip—fingers digging into the sides of her neck, you’re leaning in close to her face. you hold back a grin when you see her eyes widen. “shut the f-fuck up, ellie.” you’re grinding down on her now, moving your hips in small circles. you’re close, abusing that spot inside of you. you can feel slick dribble out of your cunt at your own movement. “you told me to work for it, so i’m working. shut up and let me use you.” ellie laughs, strangled, her throat restricted. your eyes aren’t shut anymore, staring right back at her while you move up and down her strap. “think you can just.. hah, f-fuck, do whatever you want?” you’re bouncing on it now, the tip of her strap slamming against you—your thighs are shaking from how roughly you’re fucking yourself, your bottom half almost numb. “fuck you, ellie. you’re mine.”
plap! plap! plap! you’re whimpering uncontrollably now, your grip on ellie’s throat loosening. you slide down one more time before you’re cumming violently, pussy tightening around her, hard to slide back up with how you’re clenched around her strap. your entire body is shaking. you rock yourself back and forth, fucking yourself through your high. your breath is so shaky, coming out in fast pants, chest thrumming with how hard your heart is beating against your chest. ellie doesn’t say anything, a pink flush to her cheeks, her mouth slightly open with quiet moans falling out. your head falls into the crook of ellie’s neck, biting at her skin. “i think you complain a lot more than i do, els.”
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tag list ♡
@whisperingcherub @hyperbabes
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thelikesofus · 10 hours ago
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Buddie Fic Recs
Welcome to another 9-1-1 Hiatus! Here is Buddie Rec List Number 8 to keep you all fed during the break. I’ve been compiling these fics for a whileee, so this is going to be kind of long. Find my other Buddie Rec Lists HERE REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS
i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car by @crazygirleddie | T | 4k
Buck gets sloppy drunk with Hen and decides this is the perfect time to go to Eddie and tell him he loves him. This fic is so wholesome and hilarious, and I love the way the author writes Buck and Eddie in this. 
you will get a sentimental feeling when you hear voices singin by @sergeantchenford | T | 2k
A short and sweet fic where Buck mopes about Eddie moving to El Paso, has a conversation with Bobby, and goes to a charity event. I think we all need some Bobby and Buck interactions right now, and obviously, Eddie isn’t leaving, and Chris is coming home!
my heart wants to come home by @sergeantchenford | T | 5.8k
Another fic by the very talented Jules, but this one is about Buck and Eddie catnapping an old lady's cat and talking about dying alone. Very sweet ending <3
The Bunkroom Fic by exvichan | T | 11k
This is the bunk room bottle fic we deserve! Incredible, absolutely amazing fic! 
emails i can't send by @drmellking | T | 5.9k
Another wonderful fic by my beloved friend April <3 Buck leaves his email account open on his laptop while looking after Jee, and she accidentally presses send on all the emails Buck wrote but never meant for Eddie to see. 
(we tried) we said we'd keep in touch by @chronicowboy | T | 6.8k
With Eddie in El Paso, Buck isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit this year, so he agrees to cover someone else’s shift rather than go to the FireFam Christmas party. Eddie has other plans. And I am rocking in a corner and crying over how perfect and cozy this fic is, literally all the feels xx
Songbird by @colonoscopys | E | 71k
Country Singer Eddie AU that is so horrendously heartbreakingly horrifically incredible. My heart was literally in my throat the whole time, and honestl,y this fic is so beautiful, you just have to read it!
Snickerdoodles of Longing by @elvensorceress | E | 52k
Would this really be a Meegs rec list without a Jenwyn fic?? This is the Eddie moves to Texas fic we all deserved as he makes the decision to leave and then slowly unravels as he realizes what he really wants and what he's losing. There’s also a part two of this that I have yet to read, but I can guarantee it will also be incredible because everything Jenwyn writes is just *chefs kiss*. 
A Place For You, Next to Me by @spotsandsocks | M | 23k
I have very talented mutuals, okay, so here’s a beautiful fic from the wonderful Spotty. Buck decides to do something special for Eddie’s birthday, but his plans are about to be thwarted because oh my goodness THERE’S ONLY ONE BED *cheers and screams from the fandom* 
Five Years by aubrey_writes | M | 8k
Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence. 
A Hole in the World by @thatdisasterauthor | T | 61k 
Buck tries to help someone having what he thinks is a medical emergency while he’s at the grocery store, but his kindness is taken for granted when he is KIDNAPPED AND TAKEN CAPTIVE IN A DOOMSDAY BUNKER. This fic had me on the edge of my seat the whole way through, it is such an incredibly captivating read!
Fears and Assurances in Equal Measure by @thatdisasterauthor | M | 15k
It should've been a simple call. But when the "small fire in an apartment kitchen" turns into a collapse that traps Eddie as the fire continues to burn, Buck is forced to make an impossible choice to save the man he loves. The emotional and physical hurt/comfort in this is to die for <3
it hit me in the kitchen by @bugsongs | G | 13k
Eddie leaves for Texas, and everybody copes with food in one way or another. There’s so much good Eddie and Christopher communication in this fic, it really healed me. 
forever is the sweetest con by @becausebuckley | E | 37k
Buck is invited to a family reunion and realises that there's a good chunk of money waiting for him. There’s one issue, though: he has to be married to claim it, and right now, he’s painfully single. It’s a good thing he has such a great best friend in eddie, right? MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE! EVERYONE LIKES THAT!
like a river runs by @nymika-arts | T | 56k
Buck and Maddie’s flight goes missing, and they are presumed dead. Five years later, their flight lands unscathed, but the world has moved on without them. This fic is so heartbreaking. I had my heart in my throat the whole time, but it is also so beautiful. 
a straight guy and an ally walk into a bar… by @songbvrd | M | 23k
After Buck gets dumped, he remembers he agreed to go to Abby's wedding with a date. Eddie steps up and pretends to be his boyfriend. All hell breaks loose.
Batting a Buck & Change by @cal-daisies-and-briars | T | 15k
Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip. EddieChim Bestism my beloved. Honestly, this fic is so much fun, and I am obsessed with all of it!
In a Moment of Clarity by @thekristen999 | T | 14k
As the jeep rounded a sharp bend, its tires suddenly lost traction, sending it careening off the winding road's edge. THE CRASH FIC! SO SO GOOD! Hurt Buck and Hurt Eddie, what more could you want? Delicious.
Exhibit B by @cal-daisies-and-briars | T | 10k
Seven years in the future, an adult Christopher has a chance to see his grandparents - and subsequently, his father - in a new light, on a family trip to El Paso. Oh, this fic is so good! A very much needed reflection on Eddie’s relationship with his parents, and done through Christopher’s eyes, this fic really hits you in the solar plexus in the best way possible. 
in pursuit of good health by @bisexualbellamyblake | M | 6.7k
I am a sucker for tactile idiots-to-lovers and so when I find a fic about Buck and Eddie ‘platonically kissing for the health benefits’ you best believe I devoured it!
down every road by @young-waverer | T | 4.5k
Buck realizes he needs to be with Eddie and Chris. Unfortunately for the miles on his truck, Eddie and Chris had the same idea. THIS is what happens when idiots in love who cannot commniucate try to surprise eachother but share the same braincell. 
seeing him in a new light by @tizniz | G | 1.2k
Eddie Diaz is all of us fawning over how Buck is Big and Large and BIG.
featherlight by @coldbam | G | 7k
Eddie takes up a new hobby while in Texas, identifying the birds that visit his new porch and realizes he’s in love with Buck from 800 miles away. AKA The Birding Fic and honestly I’m obsessed this is so beautiful. Also the artwork in this is STUNNING! So special shout out to @betanoiz for that. 
the bigger they are (the harder they fall) by @chronicowboy | T | 6k
This is how 8x18 should have gone. Buck and Eddie get trapped in the rubble together and finally confess a few things to eachother. 
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monolotus · 2 days ago
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Why Seventeen would stop an argument
So, arguments in a relationship are healthy, and the members know how to handle discussions after so many years with their members. But, why would they stop their anger or end their bickering?
SCOUPS: To cuddle aggressively
“You can´t go to sleep angry at eachother" Most people could, your boyfriend tho? He would rather die.
It really doesn’t matter what you two fought about. It doesn´t matter if you two were in the edge or just discussing an online debate- he will make you cuddle him at night.
“Seungcheol, i´m still mad about you killing me in LOL and laughing it off with Wonwoo" Oh, too bad, because he will make you the little spoon and kiss your face multiple times.
One time he didn’t cuddle you after a small fight, and when he turned to look at you, he saw your puppy eyes. "are you that mad?" you asked, and his heart broke. "i thought you didn´t like cuddling after a fight"
After that, he never lets you go to sleep without his arms around your middle.
JEONGHAN: He is just too soft for the atmosphere
You know how he doesn´t fight with Scoups because he just doesn´t create the atmosphere to create a fight?
It´s the very same thing with you.
Yes, maybe he did arrive two nights in a row too late to your house. But he is quick to apologize, promising to spend the whole weekend glued to your side (and actually doing so)
Yes, maybe he did reschedule your date to go hang out with his friends, but he shows up in your favorite outfit of his, handing in a bag of clothing for you for the night.
But, when the fight does eventually break out, he doesn’t yell nor raise his voice. He tries to understand where you’re coming from, and explains his situation.
He will do his best to meet you in the middle of the solution.
JOSHUA: To offer a sarcastic apology and instantly regret it.
That big mouth of his…
You were craving fried chicken, and you had told him.
And, he knew that in his way to your house after his schedule he would pass a restaurant that sells fried chicken… it’s self explanatory, right?
“I’m sooo sorry I didn’t read your mind, M'lady… wait come back.”
So, when that big mouth of his tries to be sarcastic about your cravings, and he sees you rolling your eyes and going on your phone, he knows he talked too much.
He rushes towards you, ready to order the whole chicken store for you.
You really tried to hold in your laughter, but it’s so hard when he is being sarcastic towards himself.
And, oh well, that big mouth of his does say really cute things to make it up to you.
JUN: Because he suddenly feels bad for the neighbors hearing all the tea with no context.
It was a stupid online debate thing.
It really, really was.
But your boyfriend is a hot headed, and you are too witty with your words.
And you two end up raising your voices to make yourself heard over the other´s voice.
The problem? your apartment has apartments walls.
And when you two hear a loud laugh after your boyfriend makes a really bad point, he remembers how thin the walls are.
“wait, are they going to think i’m in the wrong?”
“i need to calm down. i can’t have your neighbors thinking you’re dating a dumb ass”
HOSHI: Because he got too passionate and forgot to breathe properly
he’s rushing trying to find the right words.
he’s rushing as his brain works faster than his tongue.
the problem? he only has two lungs.
“𝑤ℎ𝑦 ᶜᵃⁿ´ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿˀ"
you couldn’t breath properly, he really ran out of breath… from just talking
he became red, laughing it off before hiding his face behind his hands.
Good to say, you won that one round.
in the next one, this was obviously brought up. And also at the next get togheter with his friends
WONWOO: Because he can’t multitask and the microwave just beeped
He really wants to win this argument, he does.
But, the microwave keeps beating, and his attention keeps on going to the little rectangle.
“That was the most passive-aggressive BEEP I’ve ever heard. I have to check on it.”
He was so frustrated as he walked to the kitchten, especially after listening to your loud laugh.
is not his fault tho? He has to put his whole brain to win this argument, but he keeps being distracted by the microwave.
WOOZI: Because your sad face made him laugh by accident
It was a serious conversation.
Jihoon was trying his best to not sound too serious or mean.
He even kept a guide on his notes app to not loose track
But then, he looked up.
“Stop. Why do you look like a guilty cartoon dog?”
Your eyes were bigger than usual, and they weren´t really filled with tears, but the light was hitting enough for them to shine
Ah, the winning writer can´t follow the guide when it comes to you.
MINGHAO: To tell you that your outfit is lacking, even if you’re being annoying
He had had a rough morning, rushed to the afternoon where he was supposed to take you to dinner with his friends.
The thing is, you totally forgot (to your defense, he had told you a week before, and he forgot to remind you!)
So, being rushed to get ready in thirty minutes was putting you on the edge.
You grabbed the first thing you saw that could make a decent outfit.
Your boyfriend was still going off about your lateness, and you could tell he was having a blast by getting to not be the one being late.
“You’re wrong, but also... god, you´re wearing that shirt?”
As much as he would love to see your face when you step out and realise the dumb graphic tshirt you´re wearing, he likes you too much to let you do that.
And, also, he wanted to get nice pictures of you that night.
MINGYU: To take a “sad but hot” selfie.
You had said some pretty... serious? things about the relationship last night
What you wanted and what you needed to change in the way you two communicate, and spent time. Just to name a few.
After that, you left Mingyu´s apartment, leaving him alone to think about what he had said, and what you said.
So, imagine your surprise when you went to check his finsta... and saw a thirst trap?
Sending a "why do you look like you cried?" with the picture to his chat, he was quick to explain himself
“I’m not crying, I’m creating content" was his explaination.
SEOKMIN: To dramatically fake faint and make it your problem
He hates arguments.
For real, he would take all the blame just to not have any bad tension between you two.
Yes, he does understand that healthy relations come from awkard conversations.
Yes, he also hates seeing you upset mid-conversation.
He learned to give you space after a pretty ugly talk, not without letting you know "subtly" that he is not mad.
This time, you had asked him to leave you alone. Just for a couple of minutes, to put your thoughts back in order.
Scrolling on your phone, you could see your boyfriend hestitating to enter the room. Once he did, he tried to be as quick as possible
“I’m leaving. But first I need my charger."
You smiled, how could you not love him?
SEUNGKWAN: To dramatically walk away but come back for their charger
"Oh, so you hate me now?" is the most common phrase to hear whenever you and Seungkwan start bickering.
And, when he hits that line, you got two options: yes or no.
With the "No", he is going to pout, saying he feels hated.
It´s so weird whenever the bickering ends up in "Yes, i do hate you"
But Seungkwan is so quick with his answer-
“I can’t take this anymore...” Followed by collapsing on your direction.
VERNON: To send a meme that proves his point
Dating somebody that just apologizes as soon as the fight breaks in, is so boring.
You two were playing fight, and when an awkard elbow hitted you on the ribs, you were quick to pretend to be mad.
So, you two ended on differents sides of the couch, trying oh so hard to pretend to be mad.
You could see his fingers texting somebody, and as you looked down on your phone, you saw it:
“Check your phone. That meme? That’s you.”
DINO: Because he forgot if he had already moisturized and now needs to restart his whole skincare routine
You were railed-up. going off about what had happened at class that day. Your boyfriend listened attentively, while starting to clean his face.
As you were explaining how childish your classmate was being, he reminded you you were also not taking the high way.
So, when you become red in the face and start going on him having to take your side, he nods. The thing is, you can see in his face he is trying really hard to think about something, you could even see the gears turn in his head.
" Babe, what are you thinking about? Is not that hard to take the side of the love of your life!"
“I can’t argue dry-faced. Give me a sec.”
more / asks & requests are open!
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eightmakesonebraincell · 24 hours ago
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can i get a name for your drink? yeah, peter parker
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genre: delinquent!ateez x bubble tea worker!reader, meet-cute, high school au, fluff, crack
length: 6.6k
c/w: cliche depictions of high school delinquents, mentions of smoking, drugs and clubs, boys trying to act tough, everybody has bad humour, swearing is their mother tongue
synopsis: a bubble tea shop is one of the last places you would expect for a high school delinquent to walk into during the dead of night. yet here you are, forming an unlikely friendship with not one but eight of them. they may be kind of stupid, but they also kind of grow on you.
a/n: a fic with no angst? a fic without a 40k wc?? new writer who dis. just a short and sweet fic @sorryimananti-romantic helped prod me to write
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you know that you are probably shaving a couple months off your lifespan each time you work a night shift at the bubble tea shop and subsequently fuck up your entire sleep routine for the next couple of days, but it gives you a bit of extra money, there are hardly any customers, and it is quiet enough that you can squeeze in some studying at the same time.
the shop probably averages about two couples and a few odd individuals here and there per night. why a small business would even decide to stay open during ghost hours in the first place, likely making negative profit, you have no idea. but you digress–you are just here to bum around for money.
so when your average customer number suddenly spikes not just by one, two or three people, but by an entire group of eight, it is safe to say you are more than confused. they are obviously your age because you can recognise the school crest embroidered onto the front pocket of their uniform shirts; it is one of the nearby high schools in the area. except, that is where the similarity ends.
only half of them are wearing their uniform, and even then they layer it unbuttoned over bold statement t-shirts like it is a mere accessory. the others wear black tracksuits and there is not a single pair of proper school shoes to be seen. your eyes cannot help but scan their pierced ears and obviously-styled hairstyles–you are pretty sure the shortest boy has dyed his hair a lighter shade of brown too.
it is hard to take your attention off of him as he takes one last drag of the cigarette in his hand, lazily blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before he flicks the butt onto the floor outside and steps in through the door along with the others. you idly wonder how he got his hands on a fake id to purchase cigarettes in the first place, but at least he is polite about not smoking inside your store.
the group saunters up and you startle slightly as the boy at the front slaps his hand against the counter with the matching confidence to his glorified 6 foot height to demand, “give me a double shot of espresso.” he pulls away his hand to reveal a mismatched assortment of sad coins and crumpled notes.
“we, uh–” you glance not so subtly at the wall-sized menu behind you and the LED lighting decor sprawled across the other three walls with the phrases, ‘you’re a cu-tea’, ‘you’re pearl-fect’, and ‘you’re my bo-bae’, and wonder what gave these boys the impression they could order coffee. “we don’t sell coffee,” you state.
he does not seem fazed by your words at all. “can’t you just, like, charge me for your most expensive drink and make me a coffee?” he asks his absurd question with practiced ease, which makes you think that this is not his first rodeo.
unfortunately for him though, you deadpan, “i physically can’t. we don’t have a coffee machine.”
the boy’s expression finally cracks a little and you can literally see the cogs slowing down to a stop inside his brain. “aw, fuck,” he swears, “this worked last time.”
one his friends shrugs callously and snickers, “what did i say, mingi. told you they wouldn’t have one.”
“shut up, jongho,” he gripes in response.
you gesture vaguely at the laminated menu on the counter beside the cash register. “would you like something else to drink?” you offer.
the tall boy–mingi–takes all but one look at the barrage of words before his eyes flicker back up towards you. “recommend something.”
“depends on what you’re feeling,” you hum your scripted question, pointing to the different sections of the menu. “do you want something fruity or milky?”
he looks constipated as he weighs the two options. “fruity?” he eventually settles, still sounding unsure. “what’s good?”
at the question, all of their eyes turn to look at you intently and you feel yourself wilting internally at the thought of explaining the drinks to a group of boys that look like outright delinquents, because if there is one downside to working here apart from the crippling health impacts, it is the loss of your dignity each time you have to say the stupid names of the drinks.
“well,” you clear your throat and steel yourself, “we’ve got the bubbly butterfly blues, a purple grape and blueberry fruit ade, or the mysterious mermaid magic, a mango and passionfruit green tea with rainbow pearls.” you forge on with your explanations despite the furrowed brows and open mouths of judgement on their faces, deciding to give them a recommendation for a milky drink too just in case. “the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles is also pretty popular. it’s a strawberry milk tea with whipped cream, sprinkles and marshm–”
“i’ll take that one,” mingi interrupts, unable to stand the onslaught of words that make the world around him explode into pink glitter. he drops an additional crinkled note onto the counter for good measure and then strides away to take a seat at the table in the furthest corner of the store to wait for his cutesy drink.
half a snort escapes the back of your throat at the sight. mingi may as well hold a megaphone to his mouth and shout “i am a manly man!” to make himself feel better. what an idiot.
you shift your attention to the rest of the group. “anything i can get for you guys?” you ask.
“fuck it, why not,” the one who had been smoking shrugs immediately. “get me the same thing he’s getting.”
most of the others pass and step away to join mingi at the table as you sort out the payment for delinquent number two’s cutesy drink. when you close the cash register–you are tempted to ask them why they have so many loose coins–the last two of the boys sidle up to the other side of the counter, peering down carefully at the menu.
you frown.
these two are actually wearing their uniform properly, only the first buttons of their shirt undone, no brightly-coloured tee peeking out from underneath, ties still around their neck and shirts tucked into their pants. they are even wearing their name tags; kang yeosang and park seonghwa. also, apart from the fact that the two appear prim and proper enough to be part of the student council, they are also very pretty.
said two look up at you, catch the frown across your face, fumble a little, then give you a small smile as a peace offering. “hi,” seonghwa greets softly, “can we get two regular pearl milk teas, please? thank you.”
you physically recoil.
“blink twice if you’re being threatened,” you blurt out, the words tumbling unwisely out of your mouth before you can stop them and definitely loud enough that all eight of the boys can hear you.
blink twice seonghwa and yeosang do, but not as a confirmation that the stark difference in their appearance and demeanour to the others is a sign they are being bullied into hanging out. they blink to ask–very respectfully–what the fuck you are on about.
they blink at you. you blink at them. the other boys blink at the three of you.
“sure thing!” you vocally sweep your own words under the rug. “two regular pearl milk teas coming right up!”
you swipe yeosang’s payment out of his hands–notes and coins carefully counted out to the exact amount–and punch the number into the cashier before swiftly turning your back to them to make their drinks. if you ignore something hard enough then it never happened. and it works, because they retreat to join the rest of their friends at the furthest table without further comment.
it does not take long to make all four of their drinks, but you do take a few extra minutes to carefully swirl the whipped cream on top of the strawberry milk tea orders and artistically shower them with sprinkles and marshmallows. you want to make them as cute as you fucking possibly can just for mingi.
“two rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles and two regular pearl milk teas,” you call out.
they all stand up, likely ready to leave once they grab their drinks. mingi leads the group with his long strides and he picks up his drink with one hand. he holds it up to eye level to study it like an unknown specimen and the moment he picks it up, one of his friends–you think you overheard the others call him wooyoung–cannot help but blurt out with distaste, “that shit looks sweet as fuck.”
mingi holds his drink closer to his body with a light glare because hey, it does look sweet as fuck but it also actually looks really good. and kind of cute, he will admit. he takes a tentative sip through the straw then a small lick of the whipped cream on top, the scattered toppings simultaneously crunching and melting in his mouth to spread sweet diabetes across his tongue.
it tastes like drugs in sugar form.
and it must show on his face because the tallest of his friends leans over to do the same, taking a sip from the same straw and a lick of the whipped cream from the other side, only far more generous and daring than the drink’s owner.
“bro,” comes the tall boy’s immediate reaction, “i’d get one of these every day.”
wooyoung suddenly looks less dubious and asks, curiosity now piqued, “give me a sip of that rainbow shit.”
“no,” mingi instantly responds, still keeping his drink close to his body and literally turning away to keep it protected and out of wooyoung’s reach. “you insulted my drink. get your own.”
the latter whines and you physically jerk backwards for the second time that night at their complete disregard for following stereotypical delinquent traits. you are starting to think that they are not delinquents so much as delinquent-wannabes and they seem increasingly harmless the more they simply exist.
“hongjoong,” wooyoung suddenly sings out, appearing to change targets to his other friend who had ordered the same drink. he is determined to try a sip tonight without having to spend his own money, but alas–
hongjoong flips him off and cradles his drink out of sight too. “you insulted my drink by extension.”
–determination can only get him so far.
this time, you cannot help the proper snort of amusement that leaves your mouth. you dare to hold your gaze with a lightly teasing lilt of your lips when wooyoung whips his head around with narrowed eyes. the boy cogs turn in his head as he deduces how far he can push the boundaries with you and he must come to some sort of conclusion that you are a newfound stranger-friend because he jokes with a straight face, “i’ll rob you.”
“sure,” you answer easily, tapping in a fake order onto the register’s screen to eject the cash drawer with a comedic ding! emphasising your words.
a few of them guffaw and wooyoung’s expression lights up to actually reach over the counter to help himself to a ten dollar bill. that is, until his hand is slapped away by somebody else with quite possibly the most perfect eyebrows you have ever seen. and no. you are most definitely not jealous.
“i’ll pay for your drink,” the friend chides, digging into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.
seonghwa shakes his head and advises, “don’t enable him, san,” at the same time that wooyoung brattily decides, “nah, don’t want one.”
“god, that’s it,” jongho mutters, starting to usher the group away from the counter towards the direction of the doors. “we’re leaving. mingi’s waiting outside already.”
they let themselves be herded and a few of them even turn to wave goodbye to you at the doors, cheerfully leaving behind the words ‘we’ll be back!’ in their wake as they exit the shop. your hand remains suspended in the air mid-wave even after they have disappeared and you blink blankly at the bizarreness of your entire encounter with the group of boys.
you do not know if they truly mean it when they say they will be back, but you do know one thing; you kind of hope that they do.
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“can i get that thing i got last week.”
the tone of mingi’s voice ends his sentence more like it is a demand than it is a question, but the nuance of his words is still a request and already an improvement in comparison to your first encounter with him. if you are completely honest, you are also somewhat happy to see him and the others come back, so you will take the wins where you can. baby steps.
“which one?” you clarify. “i don’t remember.”
you do remember because their group of eight is pretty hard to forget, and they are some of the only customers you ever get. plus, you have made it somewhat of a personal challenge to hear mingi say something as stupid as ‘rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles’, which means that you are going to pretend for as long as you need to.
he scratches the side of his neck. “y’know, that drink you said is good.”
“we have a couple of those. was it the, uh, mysterious mermaid magic?” your head tilts with exaggerated thoughtfulness and from behind mingi, hongjoong and wooyoung cackle while the others look on with smirks, having caught on to exactly what you are doing.
“no, the rainbow unic…” he mumbles, voice growing increasingly softer with each syllable until his mouth is simply opening and closing.
you look at him with faux apologeticness and furrow your brows, “sorry? i didn’t quite catch that.”
“say it louder, dude,” his tall friend nudges him playfully. you are going to need to find out his name somehow because his is the only one you have yet to figure out, and you have a feeling you and him would get along real good.
“the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles,” mingi finally gets out. if he were a cartoon character, you would see the rising colour of bright red creep up from under his uniform to the tip of his ears and then to the very roots of his hair.
god forbid a manly man purchase a cutesy pick-me-up drink on a friday night.
you smile brightly and use your cheeriest customer service voice to announce, “one rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles for princess mingi coming right up.”
the boy in front of you is flattered to learn that you know and remember his name but is also twice as horrified by the nickname you have crowned him with. his brain short circuits and his eyes widen at you in panicked masculinity and he shoves his payment across the counter before retreating to the same table in the corner of the store where seonghwa is already seated. if you look closely enough, there is a little wisp of smoke coming out from the top of mingi’s head too as he malfunctions. heh.
the boy whose name you still do not know comes up to the counter next. he jerks his head backwards in the direction of mingi and orders, “could i get the same? that rainbow fairy sparkling unicorn or whatever.” the name is wrong but he gets an a+ for trying so you do not correct him, simply nodding and putting his order into the cash register instead.
then you ask for your own personal gain, “can i get a name for your drink?”
he does not appear to question your intentions nor realise he is the only one you have asked because he is too occupied grinning widely at you, unable to curb his cheeky excitement at the thought of what he is about to say. “yeah, peter parker,” comes his proud answer, quite literally naming his drink.
and that is how you find out that he has the best (read: worst) humour out of all of the boys.
it is frankly right up your alley but you refuse to let him one-up you. instead, you use it to your advantage. you nod, “p.p. for short,” dragging the abbreviated initials out for longer so that it sounds intentionally crude.
“peepee,” wooyoung repeats with unrestrained laughter, high-pitched shrieking that sets off the others as well.
and that is also how you find out that wooyoung has the easiest funny bone to tickle out of all the boys.
p.p.’s eyes glint with delight at the fact that you can both take and dish out your own freak. he leans against the countertop on his elbow, which is a sight to behold with how far he has to stoop down because of his height, and exposes you with no qualms, “it’s yunho, by the way, since you wanted to know my name so badly.” he adds a flirty wink for good measure as his friends ooh like the true teenage boys that they are.
you mirror his mannerisms and bat your eyelashes at him to say, “okay, whatever you say, peepee.”
hongjoong intervenes and shoves yunho aside before the latter can fall in love with you and your wack-ass humour or something. he shoos him away, “go sit at the table,” as if he is sending the taller into the naughty corner.
yunho concedes with his hands raised in mock surrender, walking backwards as he reassures his friend, “don’t worry. you won’t hear a peep-ee out of me.”
your facade cracks and you let out a laugh, which only grows louder when jongho takes the liberty to grab a wrapped straw from the container on your countertop to peg it at yunho’s face. it bounces perfectly off the middle of his forehead and lands on the floor, where seonghwa–bless him–bends down to pick it up. you think he might just be your favourite.
“didn’t know you were into that kind of humour,” hongjoong notes with a tone of amusement.
“oh, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” you respond, a hint of flirtatiousness in your words.
fuck being professional. these boys would probably be the last people on earth to ever report you for something like a coquettish comment, and god forbid you want to flirt with a couple of really hot guys. the image of hongjoong taking a lazy drag from his cigarette burns at the forefront of your mind as he stares intently into your eyes, and his seeming nonchalance to his own charm only makes him that much more attractive.
he raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”
“only if you’re up for it,” you respond coyly.
san coughs and interrupts, “not to be a cockblock, but can you flirt after we order our drinks.”
the boy in front of you rolls his eyes, pairing it with a loving middle finger at his friend. however, he moves over anyway, half mumbling that he is not going to get a drink. his spot at the counter is immediately snagged by san who mimics yunho’s earlier pose leaning against the surface. “so,” he gives you an overly-smouldering gaze, “tell me something about yourself that i don’t know.”
a bubble of mirth rises from out of your chest and san drops the act utterly pleased with himself. you humour him, though only partially, by revealing, “the desserts here are actually really good. i love the cookies.”
“which one’s your favourite?”
you point to one of the cookies in the second row of the display counter. “the biscoff and peanut butter fudge.”
one of his beautiful brows raises upwards as if to ask why the cookie name is so normal. you give him a miniscule shrug. beats me. he shakes his head with a slight chuckle then requests, “i’ll have one of each cookie and one of each donut that you’ve got.” your eyes bug out of your head because that is a fuckton of cookies and donuts, but san reassures you they all have caves for stomachs.
you get started on their drinks then slide the glass doors open to pull their desserts out, only to realise that yeosang has lingered close by to watch you. he is not wearing his uniform today, instead in a tracksuit like the others but in white. he looks good in that colour and you tell him such, “your tracksuit looks good.”
“thanks,” he replies easily, “wooyoung shoplifted it for me.”
your jaw drops at his sudden confession, too taken aback to appropriately school your expression in time even if you should not really be too surprised by their shenanigans. at your obvious stupor, yeosang’s stoic face breaks immediately and he reveals, “just kidding, hehe.” despite his joke, he blushes to the very tip of his ears like rudolph but elf style and rushes away.
you are left dumbfounded in a good way. one day, you are going to teach yeosang a thing or two about confidence because his uncanny ability to keep a straight face whilst saying the most out-of-left-field thing when it is least expected then leaving the other person wondering whether he is being genuine or only joking is top-tier humour–he just needs to learn how to own it.
you are also left wondering whether there is a single sane soul in this friendship group. you still hold some hope for seonghwa and maybe san, but who knows.
when their drinks and spread of desserts are ready, you expect them all to leave like they did last week. except this time they drag two circular tables closer together in the far corner of the store that they seem hellbent on claiming as their spot, where they then lay out all of the desserts across the joint surface. you watch from behind the counter. there is both a sense of systematic order and chaotic mess to the way they take a bite out of a cookie or donut, nod enthusiastically at how good it tastes whilst shoving it into the face of somebody else, who will in turn take a bite and join in on the enthusiastic nodding and moan an affirmative that it is good.
“wait, this donut is fucking fire,” you hear, and, “this cookie is The Shit, bro.”
they are sort of really fucking cute; boys you would expect to see loitering in alleyways with cigs in their mouths and sneaking into clubs with fakes to pop pills, instead sitting hunched over on cute plastic stools around rickety circular tables sharing sweet desserts like they are at a tea party.
wooyoung catches your gaze over the top of jongho’s head and he gets up instantly to drag you out from behind your counter. all of your warbled protests go unheard as he pulls you by one of your loose apron ties–his strangely endearing way of being respectful not to actually touch you–towards their tables whilst refuting, “there’s nobody else in here but us.”
that is how you find yourself squashed between seonghwa and jongho, your shoulders and thighs touching from close proximity.
“try this blueberry lemon cookie,” seonghwa offers from beside you the moment you sit down, extending the treat for you to take a bite from.
mingi so helpfully reminds, “she literally works here.”
seonghwa shushes him, “yeah, but she probably hasn’t tried everything on the menu.”
he is not wrong. you may have the appetite, but you do not have the physical stomach to try an entire serving of each dessert available in the shop, even if you were to try one per shift. now that the opportunity has handed itself to you on a silver platter, you are not going to refuse. plus, you do not think that you could ever bring yourself to say no when seonghwa is holding the cookie out with both hands so eagerly.
he is definitely your favourite.
you take a tentative bite out of the cookie and eight pairs of shiny eyes do not leave yours until you give them an affirmative and enthusiastic nod at its taste. all flurry of activity starts up again as they continue to trade desserts with those sitting beside them and across the circle. it feels like you are suddenly back in primary school, sharing your snacks out of your lunch box and trading sandwiches with your friends. they include you easily in both taste-testing and conversation, filling your usually quiet shift with antics and laughter.
it has always been a perk that you do not get many customers, but now more so than ever, you hope that nobody comes in for the remainder of your shift–or at the very least, not until the boys leave. in just two meetings, they have all grown on you in their own ways and you kind of want this to become a regular thing. you could definitely get used to this.
despite their appearances and rough-around-the-edges personalities, they are really just a bunch of boys living their life to the fullest in the diabetic form of bubble tea, loaded cookies and glazed donut runs in the middle of a random night.
and honestly? if you had a group of friends like them, you would too.
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yunho’s eyes narrow fiercely at the couple who are walking along the footpath outside the perimeter of your shop, daring them to step in through the doors. his glare is not needed though–the very sight of what is going down inside is more than enough for their eyes to widen and for the man to hastily pull his girlfriend away.
“oh look, there goes another two potential customers,” hongjoong notes with sarcastic dismay. “i wonder why people are always in such a hurry to leave.”
yunho blinks his murderous intent away and faces you with round, innocent eyes as you roll your own and cross your arms. your insides wilt at the loss of potential revenue but only by a tad, because whatever business they boys scare off, they make up for several times over. you state as a matter-of-factly, “maybe it has something to do with jongho.”
said boy currently stands about three feet away from you, his arms raised and fists clenched threateningly as the rest of the boys surround the both of you in a circle of sorts as if they are about to witness a bloody fistfight. you suppose it does not look too far from the truth–you are about to get punched in the face.
jongho shrugs dismissively, “it’s not my fault other people aren’t interested in learning how to get knocked out by a sucker punch safely.”
“i don’t think any of those words should go together in a single sentence,” you tell him honestly, unimpressed.
“they normally don’t,” jongho’s mouth ticks up, “which is exactly why you’re learning.”
you cannot win against him or any of them. last week it had been learning how to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place, the week before it had been how to dislocate a shoulder, and then the week before that it had been how to reverse-jump a person if they were chasing you into an alleyway.
it has become an ingrained part of your weekly routine for the boys to rock up during your friday night shift, order half the menu, hang around for hours where you usually join them, then leave until the next week rolls around again. but these random tutorials have only just recently become a new routine within your pre-existing routine.
it all started when wooyoung snuck behind your counter one night while your back was turned to make their drinks and decided it would be hilarious to scream in your face as you turned around. you had jerked backwards so hard that you knocked over the entire stack of blender jars, which toppled over into the dirty sink one after the other like noisy dominoes. seonghwa had made wooyoung personally clean and stack them all again as punishment, but the damage had been done and hongjoong had declared that you would not survive in the real world if a little fright like that could make your butthole pucker right back up into your own intestinal system.
and so had begun your weekly crash courses on survival instincts because according to them, you had none. you had refused to submit to their antics at first, but then yeosang had pointed out, “it’s true. wooyoung was standing behind you like a creep for a full five minutes and you didn’t even notice.” san had also threatened that they would not order anything until you complied each week.
“that’s not fair,” you had complained petulantly. “i just won’t serve you guys at all then.”
san had given you a cheshire grin. “you wouldn’t. we’re like, eighty percent of the total revenue you make during your shift.”
that shuts you up real quick and san knows, so you have no choice but to give in to whatever tomfoolery they choose to teach you for that week. if it is learning to ‘get knocked out by a sucker punch safely’, then so be it.
“okay, i’m all set to be punched in the future,” you declare dryly as jongho reigns in his fist after a pretend swing at your temple, “are you guys going to order now?”
hongjoong nods like he is the little leader of this delinquent gang, but jokes on him because they follow behind you to gather in front of the counter in a single file of sorts with practiced ease, an endearingly crooked line of ducklings. you know right off the bat that it means they already know what they want to order because other times they will come together as pairs or even triplets so that they can umm and ahh over the menu together.
you do not think you can ever take them seriously as proper delinquents–if they even count as such.
as if to prove your point even further, mingi throws up double gang signs and makes a poor attempt to rap, “i want an emineminem,” and when seonghwa not-so-subtly pinches his elbow, he adds on, “please.”
you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as your hands automatically move to input his order into the register, long past familiar with what his order truly means; mysterious mermaid magic, because the alliteration of the name ‘m and m and m’ sounds the same as the rapper’s name twice. go figure. you do not know if ‘emineminem’ is worse, or, as san calls it whilst flexing his biceps, ‘the merman’.
the boys have a shockingly terrible incapacity to remember the names on the menu correctly, but it is also partially due to the fact that they could give less than zero fucks about them. they will either say what they think the name is, or what they think the name should be.
they make the rules. you simply follow.
the first time it happened was during their third time at the store. “yo, give me a triple b,” jongho had confidently ordered.
“a fuckin’ what?” you were positive you were having a stroke.
“a triple b,” he had tried again, frowning at how you did not automatically understand him. “the big butterfly bus or somethin’.”
you could not take him seriously. “big butterfly bus? what are they gonna do after hopping on? go to fucking school?” you had jested. “also, you can’t just make up your own name and expect me to–you know what, sure.”
it sort of becomes a game. you will roll over in your grave before admitting it, but it is sort of fun to hear an absolutely rubbish string of words–or letters–come out of their mouths for you to then follow their ridiculous train of thought backwards to work out what the actual drink is. the silly boys with their silly names kind of grow on you.
and you may or may not indulge them a little too much. they are the first to try any new items on the menu, even when they are still technically not meant to be available to the general public. but when they pounce on whatever you present to them on the table like puppies and fresh kibble, it is very hard not to keep doing so. which is exactly why you bring out the batch of cupcakes you had made earlier specifically for them to taste.
they look like normal vanilla-frosted cupcakes, except when you bite into them, there is a dark chocolate cookie inside the base. it is the perfect mix of soft and chewy, and when the gooeyness is maximised by slightly warming the dessert up, it is–
“fucking fire, bro,” yunho says around a mouthful, blatantly ignoring the dirty look that seonghwa shoots him for talking with food in his mouth.
yeosang inspects the cookie at the core. “have you named it yet?”
you do not get a say in what the menu items are named and they always do in fact already have a name by the time the boys get to try them. regardless, you answer, “not yet,” because they love the power trip they get when they have creative liberty over your store’s products.
“i have an idea,” wooyoung pipes up immediately. “the frosted ultimate cookie cupcake.” then in a falsetto voice, he role-plays by himself, “hi, could i get a fucc please?”
mingi snorts himself silly and continues, “actually, could you give me two fucks?”
you oblige, “fuck you, and double fuck you,” flashing your middle finger at wooyoung first then mingi second to punctuate the fucks you are gifting them.
the boys snicker at your crudeness, absolutely delighted. not the type to let any opportunity to swear go by, the rest of them join in as san yanks you down to sit at the table with them before you can roll your eyes and walk away.
and out of all moments, it is this exact moment, when you are surrounded by the eight of them throwing out colourful words left and right with the giddy enthusiasm of toddlers, each holding a half-eaten vanilla-frosted cookie cupcake in their hands, that you realise you may actually give a few too many fucks about them…and not just in a friendly way.
well. fuck.
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when you get a call on friday morning from your branch manager the following week, your immediate thought is that somebody finally chanced upon watching the store’s security footage and you have been caught making friends with delinquent customers and literally feeding them with business secrets. except when you pick up and tentatively greet him, he starts to say something that is arguably just as bad.
“i need you to swap shifts with gayoung. she can’t work this tuesday night so i need you to cover that day ‘cause there’s nobody else available,” he informs. “gayoung will cover your shift tonight instead.”
you are still trying to process his words as you repeat, “tonight?”
“yes, so you won’t need to go into work tonight.”
your heart skips a beat. for the first time in your life, you find yourself asking, “can’t i take both shifts?”
“no, you can’t. sorry,” your manager apologises but he does not sound sorry at all.
you have never voluntarily taken up extra night shifts, much less asked to take up additional shifts. yet, there is a heavy sense of disappointment that simultaneously settles itself deep inside your stomach and lodges itself in your throat, because it is friday today and friday night is for your boys. you do not even have a way of letting them know that you will not be in tonight.
you wonder if they will notice your absence and whether they will care. after all, you may just be somebody who happens to work at the bubble tea shop they frequent. but it turns out that they do and turns out you are not.
“where were you?”
those are the first words that are thrown at you the moment the boys walk through the door during your friday shift the week after you swapped nights with gayoung. they stomp up to your counter sporting furrowed brows and pressed lips, and if it were not for seonghwa’s soft smile and warm, “we missed seeing you,” you would have thought that they were angry at you.
you can only imagine how terrifying their demeanours would be if they were actually to be angry.
“my manager made me swap shifts with another coworker,” you explain and their expressions soften immediately.
jongho breaks out into a triumphant smirk as he turns to hongjoong with an upturned palm. “i told you. pay up.”
the latter sheepishly pulls out some crumpled notes as you gawk, “you bet on why i wasn’t at work?”
“don’t mind them,” wooyoung waves his hand dismissively. “hongjoong has trust issues–said that you were avoiding us.”
“i would never!” you refute at the same time that hongjoong exclaims, “i did not!”
“either way, fuck your manager. the fucking audacity to take you off our shift?” wooyoung complains.
you try to keep a straight face at the fact that wooyoung has just very casually claimed your shift–and by extension, you–as theirs. you babble the first thing that comes to mind, “the drinks are all made using the same recipe. it doesn’t matter who makes them.”
yunho’s eyes narrow with offense that you would even suggest a thing. “it’s nowhere near the same.” he is not the only one who wants to tell you that as long as it is not you it will never be the same.
their collective thoughts come out instead through mingi, “nobody understands when we order a triple b or an emineminem or a ‘horse drink’.”
“yeah, no shit sherlock,” you fire back, because apparently sarcasm is your automatic defense mechanism when you are flustered, “might help if you call them by their proper names.”
“or maybe the problem is that nobody knows us well enough like you do,” san insists with a wink and in response, yeosang reveals, “we don’t let just anybody get close to us.”
you joke before you can truly think your words through, “sounds like a you problem then.”
“you’re right,” hongjoong banters easily with smugness.
your nervous fidgeting as you tap useless buttons on the screen of your register gives you away despite your attempts to stay collected. they chuckle and it is difficult not to crumble under their unwavering gazes because it is obvious they can see right through your facade. but can anybody really blame you when you had not been expecting them to reciprocate your feelings of interest, much less admit to it so easily and straightforwardly?
in a last ditch attempt to regain some control over the conversation, you ask, “so, what do you guys want to order?”
from day one, the boys have surprised you in the most unpredictable ways–eight not-quite-delinquent delinquents with simultaneously calloused fists, pottied mouths and insatiable sweet tooth. today is no exception, and you have a feeling that you should start becoming accustomed to their antics because they are here to stay, especially after today.
“what we want to order?” they look at you with confident flirtatiousness. “your phone number and a date.”
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hedwig221b · 1 day ago
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Hi! Can you please recommend age gap sterek fics? 🙏🙏❤️❤️
and @dauntlesslypinkterror asked:
Hii. Can you recommend age difference fics? ❤️❤️
You may notice by the length of this rec list that I love age diff... This was very delightful to put together. Featuring older Derek as well as some older Stiles
Older Derek
serve me lemonade by endversed
"Do not hit on our professor,” Lydia says. “Technically,” Stiles starts to point out, “he’s just our professor’s friend.” “Technically,” she purses her mouth primly around the retort, “he’s old enough to be your father.” Instantly, Stiles catches his tongue between his teeth. He can feel his nose scrunching up with the utter glee of his smile. “I know,” he breathes. “Isn’t it awesome?” Stiles is a law student with a thing for older men. Derek is the middle-aged divorcee he wants to climb like a tree.
DNCE (Desperate Need for Care and Ecstasy) by LillianDeLooney
Gentle lumberjack Derek takes care of Stiles in a new and exciting way.
Hunger by SinQueen69
Anon on tumblr: Are prompts open? feel free to ignore. 40 year old werewolf Derek/ Succubus Stiles. Derek is a hot experienced werewolf who can keep up with Stiles hunger, Stiles can takes whatever Derek can dish out and looks like all his shameful jailbait fantasies. Rough sex, knotting, come inflation, and Derek using Stile' little demon horns as a hold to pull him back on his dick. + Anon on tumblr wanted: Hey can you write a story where Derek has to train Stiles to take his very BIG cock and then after taking it for the first time Stiles becomes addicted to Dereks dick and he wants to have it in him all the time?
Put Down in Words by paintedrecs
"Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.” “I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning. “This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it. * When Stiles signed up for Dr. Hale’s intro to history class, he had two goals: knock out the credits his advisor was bugging him to complete before he graduated, and spend a few hours a week daydreaming about his sexy professor’s salt and pepper beard. Derek, a few months away from turning forty and not sure when his life had started feeling so damn lonely, had never encountered someone like Stiles before. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, determined to throw Derek’s carefully cultivated world into disarray…and absolutely the last person Derek should be falling in love with.
Impatient by SinQueen69
2024 Suggestion Form Anon: Older biker/criminal Derek loves corrupting 16 year old sheriff's son Stiles. Stiles makes a joke about how it's good he can't get preggo but Derek instantly develops a new kink. The thought of knocking Stiles up so everyone in town knows that Stiles let Derek breed him, that it was Derek that stole Stiles out from under the sheriff's overprotective grip is almost too much. Any Fandom Dark Bingo Square: Forbidden Relationship
i've been pushing for this (for so long) by marinbel
"I’m too old for you,” Derek says. “Peter’s too old for me, and he still wants to fuck me,” Stiles says. He smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth—and spares a glance in Derek’s direction. “I think you’re just fine.”
Hitchhiking and Propositions by halcyon1993
Stiles hitchhikes and gets picked up by an older man.
One life stand by Vendelin
Stiles is used to selling himself to make ends meet. But it's getting harder to keep those ends meeting, and there's only so much of Stiles to go around. Until a too-fancy car shows up in his neighborhood, and he meets Derek Hale. All Derek wants is Stiles's time, someone to stay on his arm for events and smile for the cameras. It's the easiest job Stiles has ever had, the best-paying one he's ever had, and he's more than happy to sign up. Derek is everything and nothing Stiles expects him to be, with his tailored suits, sharp mind and his quiet way of caring. But it's just a job and Stiles never meant to fall in love.
Put In His Place bySinQueen69
Tumblr Anon: aggressive underage omega Stiles pursuing older alpha Derek who is reluctant because he's married or he feels guilty about the age difference
One Door Closes by KouriArashi
Derek knows that Stiles is too young for him, but Stiles doesn't agree. Eight years after Derek rejects him due to the age gap, they meet again where Derek has settled in Wyoming as a ranch hand, and Stiles is the new deputy, and still pissed as hell about the way Derek turned him down. Things don't go as either of them planned. (I'm sure a million fics have been written about older Stiles and Derek, but this one has cowboy Derek, does that help?)
With or Without You by SinQueen69
Anon on Tumblr wanted: Could you write Alpha stepdad Derek finally gives in to barely legal omega Stiles' seduction. & Anon from my feedback form wanted: bottom stiles. belly bulge, nipple play, a/b/o, so much dirty talk
Off Limits by halcyon1993
A story in two parts: When Stiles tags along to one of his dad's basketball games, he's instantly drawn to one of his dad's friends, a man named Derek Hale. Derek is over twice his age, but Stiles can't stop himself from wanting him. Jackson has hidden his sexuality and obeyed his parents' orders for years, but when the pressure finally becomes too much, he can't do either of those things anymore. As his best friend Danny helps him to pick up the pieces of his life and discover who he truly is, Jackson realises there might be more between them than he thought.
His Father's Friend by SinQueen69
Tumblr Anon: Derek is John’s friend from high school coming to stay with him while he manages a messy divorce. John’s happy to have an extra set of hands around the house and someone to makes sure 16 yo Stiles is home by curfew. He wouldn’t be so happy if he knew what went on while he’s at work. Kinks-size and age difference, bottom Stiles, hung Derek, taboo kink, possessive Derek, forbidden love. + Stiles has very puffy sensitive nipples and Derek just can’t leave them alone. He gropes and pinches them whenever he can, he shoves Stiles into dark corners and makes Stiles pull up his shirt so he can suck on them in public, he pulls out of Stiles’ mouth half way through a blow job to rub his wet cock on them. Kinks- Stiles with sensitive puffy nipples, hung uncut Derek, possible surprise lactation.
Oh, Teach
Stiles is Derek’s mate, and Derek is Stiles’ professor. So Derek does the only logical thing he can think of: he repels him.
Alway's Hungry by SinQueen69
Chapter 1-Anonymous prompt fill: Teen Stiles starts hooking up with or is in a sugar daddy/baby relationship with an older bear with a big, hairy gut. He loves parading Stiles around in crop tops, tiny shorts, choker collars, covered in hickies. They fuck in public bathrooms, or Stiles sits on his cock every opportunity he gets. Stiles with zero shame loving his daddy's coke can thick cock. Barebacking/toys/creampies/voyeurism all great! Chapter 2: Anon on Tumblr wanted: Can I prompt sterek + spanking + daddy kink + exhibitionism Chapter 3: request from moodyprincess00 for Fisting
How Derek Got His Groove Back by WhoNatural
Cora kicks him under the table. “Do you have the hots for the baby lawyer?” she hisses urgently, and Derek blinks at her, feeling his face heat. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s young enough to be my--” “Younger brother,” she cuts in, and shakes her head. “Age difference excuses do not fly with me. Are you gonna ask him out? Derek, you need to do something about that.” “About what?” he says, frowning, watching as Stiles sits down at a table with a group of older, lawyer-types. “The fact that you’re both about one drink away from sex in some janitor’s closet.”
Sharp and Sweet, Soft and Sound by astrugglingstoic
After spending the last six years together, Stiles thought it was time to expand their family.
A New Toy by SinQueen69
Derek has a new toy for his baby to try out.
Housekeeping by lvmehtme
Derek is a busy novelist with no time to care about or clean up his house. When he's made aware of the condition of his house he turns to a housekeeping agency for help. Stiles is having financial troubles and takes on a load of jobs to help him and his father get by.
The Long Way Home by MonsieurBlueSky (MyChemicalRachel)
Stiles didn’t plan to sleep with his best friend’s dad. It just kind of happened. And then it happened again. And again. And again…
Later, mate! by Smowkie
Derek looked at the time and sighed. One more hour until he could go pick up Alex and go home. It was Friday, and Fridays were their nights, so they were going to eat Chinese food and watch Beauty and the Beast for the thousand time and probably play a game together, and he couldn’t wait. Someone knocked on his open door and he startled a little as he was pulled out of his head. Stiles smiled at him from the doorway. ”Hey, professor Hale,” he said. ”Mr Stilinski,” Derek said and tried to keep his smile professionally polite. Every time he talked to Stiles he had to remind himself that he was his student, that while he was 18, and legal in that aspect, he was still ten years younger than Derek, Sheriff Stilinski’s son, and again, his student.
Knotty Professor by CharWright5
It wasn't the first time Stiles had totally lost focus while working on an essay, writing a topic that most definitely wasn't the assigned one. It was, however, the first time a teacher—or professor, in this case—decided that his paper was so inaccurate he would have to give the student a first hand lesson in order to right his wrongs. Which, this time, meant teaching Stiles exactly what it was like to be knotted.
Take Your Breath Away by thecheekydragon
Stiles didn’t need Scott to tell him who their new English Lit teacher was. He knew it was Derek Hale. He also knew Derek Hale was hot.
The Land of Milk and Honey by MereLoup
Derek had followed Peter to many a business dinner. When Peter was trying to woo a client, he pulled out all of the stops. He would spend however much money was necessary to ensure that the client was impressed and felt like the most important person in the world. Peter Hale had a gift when it came to client relations. Derek had been to just about every five star restaurant in Manhattan, so much so that the shine of expensive business lunches and dinners at exclusive restaurants had begun to wear off just a bit. All of the safety precautions were a little strange, and they were definitely atypical from the normal places they had attended. Derek wasn’t exactly sure why, but he didn’t really care. Every place had their niche. But once they passed through those doors, everything made complete sense. This wasn’t a restaurant at all. It was a bar. An omega milk bar.
Mixing Business with Pleasure by halcyon1993
To get away from the stress of his job in NYC, Derek rents a house in the Beacon Hills preserve and quickly picks up a not-so-secret admirer in Stiles Stilinski.
Only Me
He held Stiles’ face like it was the most precious thing and licked Stiles’ neck like he owned it. A kiss was the first thing to greet Stiles in the mornings they spent together, and at nights, it was the last thing he felt on his face. Each time was more desperate than the last. Derek told him he was made to be kissed. It was a reward, a pleasure, a relief. And then, after all of this, he would disappear. For two days, three, or for a week. Stiles would choke from the thought that this time he definitely ruined it (how? god, how?), and then, in a click of a light, Derek would come back as if he were always there. Calling from a hidden number, cupping his chin, tugging Stiles closer with his hand splayed on his back, so big and insistent. Kissing, loving, refusing to let go. But only in a closed room, in the darkest corner of a restaurant, in a black sports car with its windows thick and tinted. Stiles dreaded saying goodbye.
Desperate
Derek understood perfectly well how young Stiles was. Just how many times did he stop himself from digging his teeth into that lovely neck to claim him? Maybe, next time he shouldn’t. The thought, wild and sudden, came to him, and once it did, there was nothing he could do to get rid of it. If he got Stiles pregnant, then the omega would be his. Fully his. They would be bound for life. Stiles wouldn’t refuse the mating bite, then. Stiles was his omega. Derek would do anything to keep him. Anything.
Older Stiles
Risking It by dbeaux
A chance meeting changes everything. Stiles and his band, Rogue, are currently on hiatus, and he's in the process of turning things on their end. He's not looking for love. He can't. The band and his daughter have to come first. Add in that he's not out to anyone other than his best friend and his dad, he's resigned to the fact that love is just not in his future. He's not even sure how to be in a relationship, much less where to begin. Derek is Rogue's self-proclaimed biggest fan. He's had posters of Stiles Stilinski on his walls for years and went to loads of concerts, but he never got a chance to meet him before the band went on hiatus. Little did he know that he wouldn't even recognize him if given a chance. Will Stiles be able to figure out how to let someone in? Can Derek trust that he's enough for someone like Stiles?
Multidisciplinary Studies by DevilDoll
Stiles is a slightly-older-and-very-sexy librarian and Derek has a thirst for knowledge.
Becoming Yours by dbeaux
As a dom and owner of Stockholm Syndrome, Stiles takes pride in providing a safe place for people to scene. After a bad breakup, he's not looking for a sub, isn't sure he wants a full time sub again. College student and curious sub Derek needs a full time dom but hasn't found anyone willing to take him on so he spends as much time at Stockholm Syndrome as he can, pairing up with various doms willing to take him on for an evening. When their worlds collide, can they find what they need in each other?
Knot So Typical by KnottheWolf
Sure, Derek has a boyfriend. But he keeps it a secret, not because he's embarrassed he's dating an older Alpha man, but because he knows the moment his sisters find out it'll be hell.
Duly (K)noted by KnottheWolf
"Interesting little show you’ve got their, Derek.” The Alpha comments, his voice is so cold with an edge of harshness it has Derek’s stomach rolling with anxiety. “H-How much did you see?” Derek twist his head a little so he’s not staring up at Stiles face. He wants to hide somewhere dark and cry, Stiles saw him. He saw him showing off to a bunch of strangers like a whore. God, what if he tells his mother, what would she think of him? “Enough.” Stiles clips, pushing off from the wall to stand in front of Derek, “Enough, that I could see you fingering yourself open before fucking yourself on some silicon cock just to show off to a bunch of nobodies.” It’s like a slap to his face and Derek’s head is dipping low in regret.
Coach Stiles by DirtyKnots
Stiles shouldn't be doing this, any of this. Shouldn't feel like this about a student. But he does.
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spinningwebsandtales · 13 hours ago
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Imagine Babysitting Little Nero With Dante
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Dante X FemReader
Rating: T+
Warnings: Suggestive themes, steam, cuteness overload, fluff
Word Count: 2.4k
(A/N:) Finally got time to write today! Life has been so busy that it has been hard to sit down and write. But I made time today cause this needed to see the light of day! It's been swimming around my brain for like two weeks now and it was just too cute not to write! I'm still on my DMC/Dante kick! So enjoy this imagine that turned into this monster! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess
Naps in his chair at his desk were special to Dante. His office was his home and it was the place he could be himself more than anywhere else. So when jobs were few and far between you could find him in the Devil May Cry office napping, playing pool, or jamming to his favorite tunes. At this very moment with his feet kicked up and a magazine covering his face, Dante was sleeping his life away. Well he was until the phone started ringing startling him from sleep. Dante sat up with a snort, the magazine falling to the floor before he reached for the handset and rubbing at his sleep filled eye.
"Devil may cry," he mumbled with a yawn.
"Caught you napping didn't I," you teased from the other end. "What kind of business you running Dante."
"Babe," Dante yawned again, "I thought you were still here with me. Why are you calling?"
"Can't a girl go out on the town and have some fun while her lazy husband sleeps his life away," you giggled.
"You could have woken me up if you wanted to go somewhere," Dante replied.
"It's okay. You do have a tough job and you looked so cute sleeping in your chair I couldn't bear to wake you up. But I called you to tell you that I'm bringing home a surprise."
"Strawberry ice cream?"
You had to laugh at Dante's hopeful tone and you hated to disappoint him, "No not ice cream and not pizza either."
Dante deflated in his chair and pout pulling at his lips as he continued to press the receiver to his ear. "Then what's the point of you coming home?"
"Okay now that was just rude," you scolded. "No I wanted to let you know that I have a guest coming back with me. So I need you to put all your pointy and shooty things away. It's too dangerous leaving them in reach of our guest. So if you would be a dear, anything that can kill or maim needs to be put away. I won't be long so I'll see you in a little bit Dante."
"Babe wait," Dante scrambled to get you to answer him. "What are you...."
The other line went dead and Dante was left with the dial tone buzzing in his ear. He set the handset back in the cradle and rubbed a hand down his face. Everyone thought that he was the spontaneous one (which he was) but you had your moments, leaving Dante stunned. He rose to go do as you ask but he couldn't help but run around in circles trying to figure out what you had cooked up while he had been sleeping. Removing Rebellion from it's spot on the wall and strapping Ebony and Ivory to his back Dante set them in the bedroom before going back for the Sparda sword. He was just closing the bedroom door when he heard the office door open.
"Dante I'm home," you called as you removed your coat.
Dante couldn't help but feel a little nervous as he rounded the corner and what he saw was the last thing he ever expected. You were bent over trying to help Nero out of his coat, the little boy pouting a little bit as he took in the drabby surroundings.
"So this is the surprise," Dante asked as he stood before you before turning his gaze down to his brother's son.
"Surprise," you took Nero's hand and pressed a kiss to Dante's cheek. "Vergil called while you were asleep. I answered and he asked for help watching Nero. I agreed immediately cause Vergil sounded like he was in a little distress."
"You mean to tell me that my brother doesn't have a babysitter for his only spawn?"
You glared and Dante knew immediately that he messed up, "Excuse me? He is our nephew and I know how you feel about your brother but think for one second if we needed help with any of your kids would Vergil help."
"No," Dante retorted, "and I wouldn't ask him in the first place!"
You sighed tightening your grip on Nero's little hand. His blue eyes going back and forth as you and Dante argued.
"It's okay Nero your uncle loves you. He's just stupid," you yelled behind your shoulder and Dante replied by sticking his tongue out at you. Which you returned the gesture but you added a disappointed glare to the mix. Dante stood there for a moment interlacing his fingers together behind his head as he contemplated what just happened. Guilt began to gnaw at him as he thought back to the confused look Nero had given him. Sure Dante's relationship with Vergil was rocky at best but he shouldn't compare the kid to his father. Dante sighed and rubbed at this neck before walking where you had disappeared with Nero.
He hadn't seen Nero in awhile and Dante knew that in this moment of life was crucial for them to have a good bond later. And he didn't want to make you mad either and he could tell that you had been disappointed in him when he had said such things. So he knew that he had to do the right thing and that was apologize to both you and Nero. Stepping through the kitchen Dante noticed that you had made an improvised booster seat out of old phone books for Nero at the small kitchen table. You sat right beside him as you had laid out different coloring books, crayons, cards, and board games for you both to play. Nero focused intently on his coloring page before you asked him for a particular crayon only for him to give you one that you didn't ask for.
"Nero this isn't purple," you spoke gently not wanting to upset the boy. "This is blue."
"I know," Nero replied. "I think it would look better colored in blue."
You laughed and shook your head at the Sparda genes making themselves known, "Fair enough."
Dante cleared his throat causing two sets of eyes to stare in his direction. He scuffed his boot on the floor, "I'm sorry for the way I acted. Can I color too?"
You looked back towards Nero, "What do you think? Should we let Uncle Dante join in on all the fun?"
Nero seemed to contemplate the choice before he nodded in agreement. Dante pulled up a chair sitting on the other side of Nero at the table. You ripped out a sheet in the coloring book you were working in and handed it to Dante before tossing him a box of crayons.
"Best coloring gets to pick the movie tonight," you challenged and Nero came alive. His focus intensified and you winked to Dante who chuckled.
"So Nero," Dante finally spoke after a few seconds had passed. "How old are you now?"
"Six," Nero replied not looking up from his coloring.
"Wow! Big man huh? Do you like playing cards?"
Nero shrugged.
"Know how to play poker," Dante asked next.
"Dante," you scolded.
"What?! I was just asking," Dante pouted and you sighed.
Nero won the coloring contest so tonight he could pick out the movie you all would watch. Then you, Nero, and Dante played a few rounds of Go Fish with the deck of cards you had bought. But it was becoming apparent that the Sparda men were starting to become restless. While Nero had Vergil's DNA you could tell that he had some Dante as they both had a lot of energy to burn. A trip to the park was the perfect solution for both boys you had apparently volunteered to babysit.
"Nero would you like to go to the park," you asked after you had tidied up the mess you all had made of the kitchen table.
"I wanna go to the park," Dante shouted peeking back into the kitchen.
You laughed, "I was asking Nero. But I will take your vote under consideration."
"Yes," Nero answered nodding his head excitedly.
"To the park then," you announced before trying to keep both Nero and Dante from running out the front door.
Walking the streets of Redgrave made you wary as you weren't ignorant of the things that lived in it's shadows. You held onto Nero's hand tightly while Dante held the other hand. With Nero between you both, you wanted to keep him safe and secure. You knew how the demons felt about Sparda just from the times you had seen Dante fight against them. With Nero just being a child he was innocent and helpless against the creatures of evil. Dante seemed to sense your thoughts as he had Ebony and Ivory strapped under his coat and his blue gaze held yours. He nodded in agreement that nothing would harm either of you. But you didn't want to think about anything horrifying happening as you wanted to focus on Nero having a good time with both you and Dante.
The park wasn't overly crowded at this time of day and it made you feel better because with less bustle you could keep a better eye on Nero. It made you feel better too that Dante was on the playground with Nero. Going down the slide and helping his nephew with the monkey bars. You laughed at all the antics especially when Dante launched himself off the swings only to not stick the landing as his boots had slipped in the loose rocks. His pride more wounded than his rear, Dante sulked back to sit beside you on the bench.
"Did baby get a boo boo," you cooed ruffling his long silver hair.
"Just my pride," Dante answered. "You can kiss my boo boos better though at a later time and in private." He smirked causing your cheeks to flush.
"Naughty boy," you retorted before going back to keeping an eye on Nero.
"Hey Nero when we're done we'll go for pizza and ice cream," Dante shouted causing you to shake your head at his nephew's enthusiastic celebration. There was definitely some Dante floating around in Nero's DNA.
"And earlier you didn't wany any part of taking care of him," you glared.
"I'm looking at this with the grandparents' philosophy," Dante answered haughtily.
"And what is that philosophy oh wise Dante?"
"Load 'em up with sugar and send 'em back home," Dante grinned.
"No wonder Vergil barely tolerates you. You're not his grandpa Dante, you're Nero's uncle," you glanced away for one second to shoot at glare at your husband.
"Yeah I am," he nodded. "his one and only. Congratulations kid! Besides it's the ultimate form of telling my brother screw you than a sugar overloaded kid that refuses to go to sleep."
You shook your head, completely exasperated with your husband.
A couple play filled hours later and Nero was completely tuckered out. Dante went and got pizza and ice cream to go while you carried Nero back home. His soft breathing stirring your hair as he cuddled into the side of your neck. Your heart melted as you stroked his silver hair. So much like his father and uncle but still so different. You couldn't help but wonder what having a child with Dante would be like. He never seemed interested though. You couldn't help but wonder if the incident that had happened in his childhood had to do with it. You figured it was the main reason, but you never pushed Dante and you respected his wishes. He did the same for you as well, that's why your marriage worked so well.
Back at the Devil May Cry office, you laid Nero on the couch as you waited for Dante to get home with the food. You set up an area so Nero could eat at the coffee table in front of the TV and there would be enough room for the pizza boxes and drinks. Dante strolled in a few minutes later and you took the tubs of ice cream and showed him where to put everything else. Once he sat them down he knelt beside the sleeping Nero and starting to try to get him to wake up.
"Hey buddy," Dante shook him gently. "Foods here. It's time for you to pick a movie."
Nero stirred and you made your way back into the room with them. Nero chose Monsters Inc. and as Dante started the movie, you made Nero's plate and poured him some soda. Before the movie was over the food had been annihilated and Nero was once again passed out on the couch, though this time sporting a stylish strawberry ice cream mustache. While Dante switched off the TV you took a wet rag and cleaned Nero's face. Just as you were finishing up a knock came from the front door.
"Gotta be Verg," Dante walked to the door. "He's the only one that would knock."
Vergil was standing on the other side of the door and he looked more weary than when you had saw him earlier when you picked up Nero from him.
"Thank you for watching him," Vergil nodded at you, completely ignoring his brother.
"What? No hello kiss for your little brother," Dante teased.
"Dante," you scolded. "Don't torture your brother." You turned to Vergil after scooping Nero in your arms. "It was no trouble I enjoy having Nero around. Dante does too though he probably won't admit it."
Dante rolled his eyes while you passed the sleeping Nero to his father. Vergil nodded before he started to leave.
"Wait," Dante's voice stopped his twin cold. Dante took in his sleeping nephew's form before kissing his little forehead. "Be good kid."
With a nod from Vergil, Dante shut the door after Vergil had left. He seemed to deflate before yawning and stretching.
"Well that was fun," he bounced back quickly.
"You exhaust me," you groaned. "I'm going to bed."
Dante chased after you, scooping you up and causing you to yell.
"You promised me that you would make my boo boos feel better," Dante wiggled his brows.
"Not in a million years Sparda spawn," you pinched his cheeks before Dante deposited you onto the bed. He slammed the door shut and pounced causing you to squeal.
You squished his cheeks while forcing him away from your sensitive neck, "I love you."
Dante grinned, "I love you too. Let's take care of the little Vergil spawn more often."
"Nero," you corrected though you couldn't help but giggle. "And yes lets."
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sudsnribbons · 1 day ago
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For what it's worth | S.W
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Sam Winchester x F!Reader
MDNI
Wordcount: 1,749
Warnings: SMUTT, Established relationship, First I love you, Whiny Sam, Happy trail mention (@laceandlipstick you slut), unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral (m receiving), Pet names, Size kink (Sam is huge and he knows it), fingering, infamous greyhound shirt mention, use of Y/n, softdom!sam, cum eating?, cowgirl, creampie, I think that's it idk
A/N: This is for my bsf, love of my life @laceandlipstick. Furthermore I hope you enjoy!
Being a cashier for a rundown gas station your deadbeat father left you, didn't come with many perks. If any honestly. 
Same fluorescent lights boring onto your skin, day after day. 
That was until you heard the familiar 'ding' of the door. Perched behind the counter, you read over the same lines in your outdated magazine. "$50 on two." The gruff man, in the worn leather jacket, laid down a credit card. "Right..Mr.Hector Fromian." You looked up at the man, not convinced he was who he claimed to be. "Listen sweetheart just run the damn card." Rolling your eyes at his words you go to swipe the card when you hear the bell ding again. A rushed figure navigated through the store, before laying down a water bottle and a pack of gum. "This too please." The taller man muttered out, smiling down at you seeming to be in a rush. 
A quick transaction left you confused as the pair filled up the classic car at the pump, and sped out so fast they left tire marks on your parking lot.
---
That interaction was nearly 8 months ago. Somehow, in a whirlwind of events, it ended in a warrant for not just the two boys, but somehow you had gotten roped in too.
Despite your original meet-cute, you and Sam had been going steady for 5 months now. Being on and off the road you never really had the time to breathe, let alone have any personal time to yourself.
Which is why your ears perked up at the mention of dean heading out to the bar for the night. Your eyes immediately shot Sam a look, as if to say 'Your ass better be staying back'. Luckily he caught the hint. 
Dean left, taking baby with him. "Shit." you looked around the rundown motel room trying to find your bag. "What is it?" Sam asked, you shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I forgot to get my bag out of the car before he left." You ran your hands over your face.
All you wanted was to take a hot shower, but having no clean clothes kinda defeated the purpose. 
"Well sweetheart, I do have clothes you can wear." He reassured you. You nodded, watching him dig through his duffle bag. Pulling out a pair of boxers and a purple t-shirt, adorned with a greyhound. "That one's my favorite." He smiled warmly down at you as you stood up, "I know." he handed you the clothes, and a towel from the table beside his bag.
One steaming-hot enough to scorch your skin shower, you pulled the boxers over your bare legs. Comical almost, how they fit around you. Sliding the t-shirt over your head, pulling the wet strands of hair that had gotten trapped beneath the fabric. Looking into the mirror, the shirt fits you like a dress. Hem sitting on your mid-thigh. 
Opening the bathroom door, steam filling the small motel room. Looking over to Sam, with his face buried in that damn journal. 
Crawling up on the bed beside him, rubbing your hand along his arm, "Sam, we talked about this." You reached over onto his lap, taking the journal and closing it. "Dean is having a night off, you sure as hell deserve it more than he does." You leaned over him, setting the book down on his bedside table. He started to protest, that was until he finally took in your form.
He looked like he'd seen a ghost.
Funny enough, this time it was just you.
You.
In his clothes.
"I know I look ridiculous." You rolled your eyes at him, "Not everyone is giant." You teased.
You watched as the corners of his mouth turned to a grin. "I just didn't realize I was this big." He pulled at the sleeve of your shirt. The way it pooled around your arms and waist. 
When he wore this shirt he looked like sin.
Fabric stretching over his biceps like he was going to bust out of it.
And God. One stretch and you could see that line trailing right down to-
You were snapped out of your thoughts, quick to bite back.
"Sam you are quite literally 6 '5.", You continued "I'm like 5' 4 on a good day."
That made him laugh.
"M'sorry I just can't take you seriously when you're drowning in my clothes." He laughed, and you just sat there looking up at him clearly unimpressed.
"Oh fuck off Winchester." You rolled your eyes, clearly joking. Pulling up the covers over your bare legs, Sam followed suit. Untucking the comforter from his side of the bed and pulling it over him. 
"Night princess." He muttered, throwing an arm around your waist. "Mhm g'night Sam." You replied, quick to doze off.
---
The shitty a/c was soon to cut off. Leaving your Sam's clothes stuck to your skin. With a groan you shrugged off the blanket and tried to wiggle out of Sam's grasp. "Where ya goin'?" He mumbles, voice raspy with sleep. "'S too hot." You whined out, overstimulated by the feeling of the clothes on your body. The cotton wrapped around your torso like a snare. 
You drug your hands down your face, overwhelmed. Sam took notice of this, sitting up beside you, “Take something off sweetheart it might cool you down.” he tugged at his boxers on your thighs. “Sam I can’t. I don't have anything under this.” He shrugged and continued, “‘S just me.” His big brown eyes locked onto yours as his fingers dipped under the elastic of the waistband, “You want me to take these off for you?” he asked and you were quick to nod. “C’mon pretty girl, use your words.” He pulled gently at the fabric, “Yes Sam please..” He grinned, pleased with your response. 
Pulling the fabric to your knees, then finally past your ankles and onto the motel carpet. You hissed at the cold air on your exposed skin. He was quick to soothe you, Cupping your core. “You’re soaking wet, did you know that?” he asked, testing the waters by running his fingers along your slit. “Sam-”, was all you could manage to get out. Dipping the tip of his middle finger inside, he curled it up, watching your face closely for a reaction. Your face scrunched up in pleasure and you whined. “Just one finger and you’re already falling apart hm?” He asked, and you nodded. “Yes I–need more.” He tsked in a mocking tone, “So greedy.”. But nevertheless gave in, adding his ring finger to the mix. Curling upwards inside you, he brushed against that spongy-spot. Your back arched at the new sensation, breathlessly mouthing pleas for more. Sam watched as your body contorted in pleasure, accelerating his pace, “I’m right here angel..”. His words filled your ears, and the band that twisted finally went taut and snapped. “Fuck–Sam.” you whined as your body convulsed under him, thighs shaking at the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Sam brought his fingers to his mouth. Taking his middle and ring finger, he pushed them past his lips and onto his tongue. Rolling his eyes at the taste, he wiped his spit off them and onto his pajama pants. “You did so good for me y’know that?” He reached down to cup your face, running his thumb across your cheekbone. 
Dipping a little lower, he brushed his thumb against your pout. Pushing past your lips, you opened your mouth, taking his thumb inside. You swirl your tongue around the digit, savoring the taste. His eyes lit up at your action. “You wanna help me now sweetheart?” He asked warmly. You were quick to nod, “I wanna make you feel good too.” He smiled at your words, and guided you to the floor. Knees sunk into the outdated carpet, Sam perched at the edge of the mattress. 
You found yourself between his legs, tugging at the plaid pants around his hips. He grinned at your desperation, always wanting to help. Sam raised his hips, allowing you to slide them down with his boxers. His cock sprung against his stomach and he raised his shirt, up and over his happy trail, then finally in his teeth. The cotton was pinched between his teeth like he was a dog. Your eyelashes fluttered as you took him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. Just as you did moments before. His head threw back as he grimaced against the fabric between his teeth. You smiled, eyes wide and boring up at him. 
Sinking your lips lower and lower down his shaft, until the tip hits the back of your throat. Your nose brushed against the hair on his lower stomach. He groaned at the sensation as you started to bob your head around him, hollowing your cheeks to fit more inside. Breathlessly he buckled over, “Baby there's no way I can last with you doing all that.”. You pulled off him with a pop, satisfied with the mess you made of him. His hair was stuck to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat, and his chest was heaving with the restraint he tried to keep. 
He rubbed the side of your face, and you rose off your knees to press your lips against his. Still slotted between his legs, you pushed him back against the mattress. You kissed down his neck and he whimpered, his cheeks flushed. “Please Y/n I need you.” His hands wrapped around your waist and you sunk down onto him. “Oh fuck–” He whined at the feeling of you around him, soft and wet engulfing him whole. Your hips rocked back and forth, watching him come undone underneath you, while you chased your high at the same time. Your hand pressed firm against his chest to stabilize yourself as you grinding further down onto him. Unanimous moans and whimpers refracted off the thin motel walls. Sam’s hips sputtered up into you, “I can’t-” he whined. “Inside Sam please.” Your words like answered prayers, as his hips thrusted up one last time and finally halted inside you. Collapsing against his chest, you pressed your cheek into him. As he tried to catch his breath he whispered into your ear, “I love you.”. Raising up to face him, you looked into his eyes searching for anything. All you found was warmth radiating off him, in more ways than one. “I love you too.”
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tojiizm · 2 days ago
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PARTY 4 U
k. nanami || angst. no comfort. fem! reader character death. spoilers for s2 jjk. i think thats it.
an: lowkey cried making this. this was inspired by party 4 u by charli xcx. the song makes me want to die. also sorry if there’s mistakes, its almost 3. k love u.
you hum to yourself, the house empty and quiet. you’re standing at the kitchen counter, decorating your husband, kento’s, birthday cake. there was a small smile on your face as you couldn’t wait for his reaction. you were also dressed up nice for him, just a simple t-shirt with a cardigan and some shorts. it wasn’t much but you knew he wouldn’t mind. he never did. he loved when you wore something simple. he believed that you were beautiful no matter what you were wearing or what you looked like. you could wake up with the craziest bed head and he would still think you were the most gorgeous girl in the world. he loved you. kento really cared for you and loved you, and he would show it through his actions. whether it be taking you out at random nights or just doing simple things like helping you with stuff. it was actually what made you fall in love with him. he was always so attentive and loving to you and you only. you loved him and you still do.
you shake your head to get out of your thoughts, a small smile on your face as you reminisce about your husband. the cake was done and it was almost time for your husband to get home. you sat yourself at the kitchen table, the cake in the center of it.
20 minutes go by; well, okay.. he could be running a bit late.
40 minutes; you start to get worried but you know he would call you if something were to happen, right?
almost an hour goes by and he doesn’t show up. your eyebrows furrow as you scroll through your contacts to call him. you press the call button on his name, fingers nervously tapping against the surface of the table.
it rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.
huh, weird. he usually answ-
oh. right. you forgot.
he’s not here anymore.
you end the call, hand gripping your phone tightly. your bottom lip trembles, hot tears rolling down your face and ruining the makeup you put on. your heart hurts, like you could physically feel it breaking. you sob uncontrollably, sniffles and hiccups filling the quiet room. you eventually tire yourself out, falling asleep with your head on the table.
you wake up hours later, eyes swollen red and mouth dry. you pull your phone out of your pocket. 2:14 am. you hum, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it down. you can feel the tiredness in your body as you walk towards your bedroom. the feeling of being in here almost suffocates you and you can feel your heart clenching, it hurts. you slowly walk towards kento’s side of the room, pulling out one of his t-shirts. you removed your own, putting his on and you can immediately smell his scent. it makes your knees weak, your hand darting out the dresser to ground yourself. you strip out of your shorts before making your way to his side of the bed. you carefully lie down, your blanket engulfing you in warmth. his pillow still had his scent. everything still smells like him. you close your eyes and attempt to go to sleep but it doesn’t come to you. your heart hurts, everything hurts. you just want him back, you need him back. the thought makes you cry, tears dropping onto the pillow beside you. again, you cry yourself to sleep, little hiccups coming from you every now and again. you can’t accept that he’s really gone forever… and you probably never will.
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hoesoflamentation · 3 days ago
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↫↫↫↫↫ 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 '𝘯' 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 ↬↬↬↬↬ a three-part series loosely based on the album by sabrina carpenter, feat. om! mammon x f!reader, 18+
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// synopsis: for as long as you can remember, you've been best friends with the indigo-haired boy next door...and for just as long, you've been in love with his sexy, smug older brother, mammon. after both of you move away, you thought you could finally forget about his wide blue eyes & his big bad mm. but as luck would have it, you're moving back home - and so is he. what a coincidence.
if you'd like to join the taglist, please leave me an ask or send me a message <3
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P A R T O N E. " wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs? "
c o m i n g s o o n !!
// synopsis: your breakup brings you back to where every gen z ends up eventually... your parents' house. it's moving day, and your best friend levi didn't tell you that his brother mammon is tagging along for a day of heavy lifting. but when mammon goes through your unmentionables, it dawns on you that he might just wanna make you fall in love. will you be able to resist him when you're so fucking horny?
// tropes & content warnings: bsf's brother, strong language, masturbation references, play-fighting, suggestive content, a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs (you do the math)
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P A R T T W O. " just know you'll taste me, too "
c o m i n g s o o n !!
// synopsis: your new bestie comes to visit you and your old bestie, but she's not the only visitor in town: you heard mammon's back together with his ex-girlfriend, and if that's true, then you're going out tonight. and if you happen to see you-know-who at the bar, then it's not your fault if you decide to close your eyes and feel his lips. after all, a girl can only stand up to temptation for so long. will she retaliate or take it in stride?
// tropes & content warnings: bsf's brother, strong language, alcohol use, kissing, dubcon, lying & scheming
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P A R T T H R E E. " now he's thinking 'bout me every night "
c o m i n g s o o n !!
// synopsis: mammon hasn't stopped thinking about you since you kissed him, and tonight he can't stop blowing up your phone. one minute you're having a girls' night with your bestie, and now he says he can't sleep. oh baby, you know - and after years of pining, you certainly aren't about to turn him down when he shows up to your room looking like that. clearly, you're not the only one who can relate to desperation...
// tropes & content warnings: bsf's brother, strong language, sexual content - more specific warnings to be added later but don't want to spoil it <3
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a/n: when i came up with this idea, i got so excited to try out a new style of fic that's a bit longer & has a continuous storyline!! i feel like it's going to be a real display of how far my writing has come since i started this blog, and i can't wait to share it with you!!
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